Previously my exposure to such things was chiefly being an audience member at recordings of various comedy TV & radio programs, such as QI, Have I Got News For You, The News Quiz, Old Harry’s Game, The Manifesto, The Unbelieveable Truth, Just A Minute, and I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue.

In this case though we (HC, Neonwombat & I) stepped a little outside of our regular remit and had a go at audiencing for BBC Radio 3’s “Discovering Music” series.

Absolutely excellent.

Radio 3 is in the main the BBC’s classical music station (it does other stuff as well), and it has a rich history of recording its own performances of classical pieces – but in addition to the straight performances, there’s a host of informational programmes, and that’s where Discovering Music fits in.

It'd be a bugger to dust though, wouldn't it?

The piece that we were listening to was Dixit Dominus by George Friederic Handel.  My only prior experience with Handel was the ubiquitous Hallelujah Chorus, and his Coronation Anthem “Zadok The Priest”.  Based on this footing my opinion of Handel was therefore that the core of his work was based around him being a fairly bombastic arse-kisser.  Admittedly, if you’re composer to the King it’s probably in the interests of your tenure to produce pro-kingly material.

St Paul’s Church in Knightsbridge was the venue – obviously a church is going to provide the best setting for a piece about how amazing God is, as well as having a good acoustic – and the best way to describe the crowd is probably by the observation made fairly early in the proceedings that I was the only person in the building sporting a t-shirt.  The orchestra were St James’s Baroque, and the choir were the amazingly talented BBC Singers.

The format of the evening was that firstly the description of the piece was given by the host (a chap in a coppertone tie whose name escaped me), and as he worked through the various sections of it he had the orchestra play a chunk – sometimes together, or sometimes bringing out the individual lines.  This very much reminded me of the “exploded view” diagrams you see in car manuals, giving the observer a better understanding of how the individual parts look, and how/where they fit together.  For further expertise the compere would often go to the conductor, who in this case had credentials involving Westminster Abbey – I assumed quite prestigious and scholarly, and inferring from the detail of the answers he gave, this was very much the case.

Not only did the talk describe what was happening in the piece – in terms of the composition of the tune, harmonies, dynamics, rhythm and movement of motifs & themes throughout sections of the choir & orchestra – but also gave a great sense of texture and context in terms of the composer’s life, such as what his experience would have been up until that point, and a sense (in this case) of the fact he would have possibly been either showing off or trying to impress the Italian composers with whom he was working at this time.

The latter section of the programme was a complete play-through of the piece, which was perfect as it allowed you to revise what you’d just heard, and see if you could spot the things that the compere had explained – as well as enjoying the work in total.

What an excellent show – I look forward to keeping up with future editions, and wading through the archive of past recordings.  Already I’m excited to have spotted a programme on one of my favourite pieces, Gustav Holst’s “Planets” suite (needs Real Audio to play).

* or, indeed, hackle

According to this, when passing Westminster Abbey, Darwin’s, and St John’s Wood, as you veer left take care not to run over The Queen - who you’ll find in the middle of the road.

Every now and again, however, I hear of someone who’s turned up somewhere that really makes me stop and say “Whoa, cool!”.

Don’t get me wrong -- moving anywhere has a degree of risk & adventure about it, so I reckon it’s pretty cool when anyone goes anywhere (and that’s not solely because it gives me an opportunity to crash on another sofa somewhere obscure).  However, well… try these out:

A couple of years back I heard that Mark was working over in Antarctica with the Australian Antarctic Division doing electronical engineery stuff.  He was keeping a blog for a while, which made for pretty cool reading -- I mean, come on…!  I know someone… right?  Who works… IN ANTARCTICA!  There’s a bit of footage of Mark lurking in the background from this ABC documentary episode thing, if you’re interested.

Since then, Matty’s gone over there as well I believe -- which is equally cool.  I know *2* dudes working in Antarctica.  What’s funny about that is they’re 2 of the most prolific wearers of shorts that I’ve ever met.

But the one which got my attention today and thus prompted me writing this post (cos it turns out I didn’t write anything when I found out that Mark worked in Antarctica -- lazy bitch that I am…), was the news of a young chap from my Adelaide Gang Show days named Emrys Leitch.

Emrys is in Kyrgyzstan.

(Image courtesy Wikipedia)

I’m always really impressed to hear of someone who’s gone somewhere where there’s more than likely a big language barrier, and where they probably don’t know loads & loads of people already.  Having never heard of anyone ever going to Kyrgyzstan before, I don’t imagine there’s a massive community of Adelaideans that Emrys can regroup with.

The bit that impressed me more, though, is how he got there.

Emrys rode his bicycle to Kyrgyzstan, starting in Germany.

I’m not going to tell the story, because it’s much better if you listen to the ABC Radio interview.

In fact there’s no point in writing anything else, because even if I come up with the world’s best one-liners about it, or think up a new way to express my incredulousness or respect for having the balls to pull off such an epic adventure, it’s all going to be eclipsed by the fact that EMRYS RODE A FRIGGING BIKE FROM GERMANY TO KYRGYZSTAN!

Respect, man.

(n.b. Story photo courtesy Bell Chamberlain)

“Fish & chips” is an interesting cuisine option – it’s almost universally invoked with a modicum of enthusiasm, and is very much regarded as an English cultural cornerstone – and though it’s ostensibly a simple meal, there’s definitely a huge variation in quality. One thing that’s always puzzled me, in fact, is how people maintain their enthusiasm for fish & chips from their local chippy when it’s obviously terrible.

Having walked past The Laughing Halibut many-a lunchtime to see a queue stretching out the door and towards the corner of the street I was keen to give them a try and see what the fuss was about. With so many nice places to choose from in the immediate area, why on earth would you line up for 15 to 20 valuable minutes for a meal which flies in the face of popular health wisdom, with an eager look on your face!?

Turns out – I discovered, making a special weekend trip in – it’s because these guys really know their way around a piece of cod. Crispy golden battered fish sits amid a sizeable pile of chips which, once I’d gotten them back to the office, were suitably crunchy (without being crispy) and tasty as well! (My chip vocab is a little lacking) They weren’t the sad anaemic looking excuses you sometimes discover next to your fish. Similarly, the fish was tasty, with just the right thickness & texture of batter, and – perhaps it was coincidence – not a single bone.

The whole thing seemed quite well-priced for the amount of food you got – probably a serve of chips & 2 bits of cod could satisfy 2 people, and set you back somewhere in the region of 10 or 11 quid. There’s other types of fish there, but I’ve not had the chance to get anywhere near the menu since that day, so you’ll have to go find out yourself.

There’s a good reason why The Laughing Halibut’s a local point of reference when giving directions – it’s been there a good few years now, and judging by the following they’ve got it’ll be there a few more yet.

Check out my review of The Laughing Halibut – I am mrfrisky – on Qype

Someone Else: by Elliot Mason, and the David Goo Variety Band

Out on a Saturday evening’s pub-skylarking with a friend we found ourselves in Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, and I have to say – I was very impressed!

Photo borrowed from teamaskins Flickrstream

Initially the heat from the fireplace seemed oppressive, but that was possibly in contrast from the frigid chill we’d come in from. As our eyes adjusted to the stygian darkness of the front bar we managed to find a couple of chairs and thought “Ah well, this is a tourist pub – we’ll just grab one and then be on our way”.

2 hours later we were still there, having shifted to pints of ale with port chasers & chatting to a few punters who’d rocked up – we met a couple of lawyers from Lancashire, and a couple of tourists who had romanced across 4 continents. Maybe it was the fact that the pub – erected in 1667 – claims to have played host to a couple of hundred years’ worth of literati, such as Dickens, Twain, Voltaire, and Dr Johnson, and so visitors entered eager for it to present a memorable trip and experience, rather than just another nice old building to stand in, look at, and walk out of again.

As we sat, sipped & extemporised more than one new group of tourists ingressed – typically a shivering & slightly dejected looking gaggle led by an excited young man in front clutching a guidebook: and all of whom warmed up nicely, put away at least a swift half, before returning to the arctic Fleet-Streetian wastelands.

I can’t comment on the quality of food, as we only supped of the hop & vine. The pristineness of the toilets was remarkable – we suspected a recent renovation, but in contrast to the ancient smoke-stained walls upstairs, the loos were almost hospital-like!

Having read other reviews here complaining about short pints & whatnot – the “standard” beers are dirt cheap (as Sam Smith’s pubs always are), so getting 1/4 of an inch more head on your pint than you’d like isn’t the end of the world… either let them know the tide’s out, or quit whining.

Realistically, the joy in this pub’s in sitting back soaking up the atmosphere & ambience and enjoying a snug fireside chat – so get to it! It’s a treasure.

The only regret I’ve got is that the darkness in there was so impenetrable that I wasn’t able to get a decent photo of the front room. And it had nothing to do with all the beer I’d drunk, honest.

Check out my review of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese – I am mrfrisky – on Qype

On Monday Feb 15th the London Skeptics In The Pub were holding a meeting, so it seemed a good idea to pop along & see what it was all about.  The topic was “Homeopathy and the 10:23 Campaign – There’s Nothing In It!”.

The 10:23 campaign has been set up by the skeptic/rationalist movement and has gained quite some attention lately – the cut & thrust of it is that the scientific & medical community believe it’s unjustified for the NHS to fund homeopathic treatments on the basis that there’s no proveable scientific basis that they’re in any way effective.  It also draws attention to the fact that some chains of chemist stores are selling these unproven remedies without any clear labelling to indicate that the remedies are placebo in nature.

There is a huge raft of materials expanding on the topic matter – a very good summary of the issue is on the 10:23 Campaign Website – but in essence it relates to homeopathy (and specifically to homeopathy, not any other form of complementary or alternative medicine), which is the belief that symptoms are treatable by taking super-diluted mixtures of a relevant compound.  The system was invented in 1796 by a German doctor, and the concept is that a super dilute solution is given which is so dilute it just contains an “idea” of the substance.  The typical dose is at a concentration known as 30C, and as the wikipedia entry on homeopathic dilution puts it:

on average, this would require giving two billion doses per second to six billion people for 4 billion years to deliver a single molecule of the original material to any patient.

The content of the Skeptics talk was summing up of the case from the scientific side, and outlining the sorts of claims which homeopathy proponents have made, such as what is treatable and what scientific evidence & research they have in support of their discipline.  The main body of the talk was delivered by Martin Robbins: a science blogger who writes for The Guardian’s blogs, and much of the content mirrored a recent article he’d written for them, and then his response to the British Homeopathic Association’s response to that article.

As someone who has a broad working understanding of the topic area I found it fascinating to learn more of the specifics of the issue, such as the BHA referring to certain studies as evidence of the efficacy of homeopathy – whereas they’ve cherry picked what looked like statistical outliers from the greater body of research, and used partial quotes to substantiate their claims.  One example was a quote the BHA pulled from a study performed by Cucherat (2000):

There is some evidence that homeopathic treatments are more effective than placebo

As Robbins pointed out, the full published line that quote is taken from is:

There is some evidence that homeopathic treatments are more effective than placebo; however, the strength of this evidence is low because of the low methodological quality of the trials. Studies of high methodological quality were more likely to be negative than the lower quality studies.

Overall the evening was excellent and the speakers were highly knowledgeable and informed within the topic area: the introducing speaker was scientist, broadcaster & author Simon Singh.  He spoke of a small trial that some people from the Sense About Science campaign conducted whereby they sent a girl around to 10 homeopaths to say that she was travelling to Africa and wanted to obtain an anti-malarial treatment, but didn’t want to take “conventional” malaria tablets due to their side effects: each of the homeopaths sent her home with a highly diluted homeopathic remedy containing no active ingredients whatsoever.  As a “control group”, they also sent the girl to a travel advice centre with the same question – here they asked her what kind of tablets she’d had side effects with, as there are more than one variety of proven effective conventional treatments.  As well as this, they discussed various means of minimising infection risk in the first place, and she left with many strategies and a lot of useful information.  I was quite staggered by this: the idea that anyone would advocate sending someone into a high-infection-risk situation with sugar pills to protect them is quite stunning.

As I said – the evening was very informative, however if I was to offer any sort of critique it would be that I found it all a bit smug.  The room was definitely full of rationalism zealots, and the smugness that came across was that of a bunch of people who know that they’re right and what’s more they can prove it with repeatable scientific evidence.  It’s difficult to articulate what about this I disagreed with – I’m a huge supporter of the science/evidence school of thought, however in the field of civilised discussion I guess I believe that the way to prove the strength of your argument versus someone else’s is by presenting your case as:

My claim is this, and here is my explanation and evidence to support it.

The tone of the Skeptics evening, as far as I could interpret, was more along the lines of:

My claim is this, here is my explanation and evidence to support it, and oh my god can you believe that these other people believe something different? They’re so stupid! What they think is clearly ludicrous!

Perhaps it’s a stylistic point – I’d always thought arguments were more effective if the losing party had the chance to realise by themselves how ludicrous their side of it was, rather than having it beaten into them.  Although I can also see that there must be a point where once the argument’s gotten exhaustive and the opposing side still refuses to give currency to a watertight case it all gets a bit frustrating and easy to conclude that possibly the opposing viewpoint doesn’t have the intellectual capacity to understand the facts.

Still – I was rather hoping that the content & attitude of the evening would be such that if they’d invited a homeopath spokesman along to present their side of the story that they could do so without it turning into an intellectual sort of “Lord of the Flies” moment.

Overall though the quality of information outweighed the downsides of the presentation.  There were certainly some moments of quality humour throughout the proceedings: the shape of the room was such that not everybody could hear very well, and at one point someone shouted out “We’re experiencing a homeopathic quantity of sound around this side”.

I guess you had to be there.

If you’re a Skeptic Trainspotter then it’s not a bad night to be at – along with Simon Singh, also present was wild-haired Bullshit-Buster Pursuivant Dr Ben Goldacre, and Allan Green who runs the excellent Jack of Kent legal blog.  Sort of rationalist royalty, if you will.

I don’t know – maybe the smugness thing’s justified after all.  I mean, any discipline which seriously suggests that taking sub-molecular doses of sulphur can treat over 1300 complaints – including

“being busy all the time, childish peevishness in grown people, averse to business (loafs-too lazy to arouse himself), nervousness before period, vertigo & dizziness while walking in the open air, dry scalp, cornea like ground glass, offensive smelling discharges from ear, imagining foul smells, elongated uvula, very weak and faint about 11 am, haemorrhaging from anus, great quantities of colorless urine, back perspiration, waking up singing and freckles”

- and can’t provide any solid scientific evidence to prove effectiveness or mechanism for any of it, and yet maintains that it should be sold in pharmacies because the public have demonstrated a demand for it is past the point of level-headed discussion.

(story caption image borrowed from Flickr)

You know you’re in Knightsbridge…

We recently bowled in here for a Sunday roast whilst in the neighbourhood – as a visitor from the far North I’d often heard of The Union in the wilds of Greenwich, and was quite pleased with what I found.

The main drawcard of this place is the beer: the tap selection is almost solely the preserve of Meantime Brewery, London’s excellent artisans of the brew. There were around 6-8 interesting looking beers on keg, and 3 further ales on handpump. We tried several of them, and they were all very tasty & fresh tasting – the Smoked Bock was an interesting find, the Wheatbeer had the fruity character of the German variety it’s based on, and the handpumped London Pale Ale was sheer hoppy, piney joy in a glass!

That's a pub interior, alright.

The building itself seemed cosy enough, but with a slightly modernised edge to it: perhaps it was the blondwood finish of everything; it definitely didn’t give off the vibe of Old Man pub.

We ordered Sunday lunch, and whilst initially thought we might’ve been screwed over on portion size (I seem to recall the roast being £12?), although it was all very tasty and by the time we’d finished we felt just on the pleasant side of being farctate. Which left room for more beer.

The staff were friendly and helpful: the barman mistook my indecision over which beer to try for confusion, and set about describing the different styles, which he did very capably and clearly without sounding like a prat.

I’d happily swing back through there – no questions!

The only downside is that it didn’t seem quite as cosy as the Richard I next door. Otherwise: nice battle cruiser, this!

Check out my review of Greenwich Union – I am mrfrisky – on Qype

Mitch & Bill from our morris dancing team have been heading down to Padstow for years now -- like 30 or so years -- and effecting roughly the same routine: they, along with their chums Roy, Mac, and over time other local folkies, set up in the front bar of The Cornish Arms in St Merryn nightly for most of the week leading up to May Day and get cranking on a session of folk tunes & songs.  Some of it’s traditional Cornish music & song picked up over time from the locals, and then they also do all manner of other music, including the odd Elvis tune.  They invited me to join them & experience this cultural gem, and with almost no thanks to First Great Western trains & in spite of their curious bike-carriage booking policy (whereby you book space in the carriage for your bike, and then when you get off the train and open the carriage door to get your bike out learn that about 80 people along the way have jammed their bikes in & around yours, and narrowly avoid getting slammed shut in the bike carriage whilst trying to wrestle yours from the bottom of the pile) I managed to make it down to the westernmost end of the rainy island.

Cheating slightly: this isn't from The Cornish Arms. It's from another pub a little way around from there. But it DOES show Roy on the left and Mac on the right.

The main event, however, is the ‘Oss parade.

This annual event has been traced back to the 1800s according to written accounts, however there is proof that as far back as the 1600s the Padstonians have held great May Day celebrations.  The locals of the fishing village of Padstow decorate the streets with flags & foliage; the main colours used are red and blue, as there are 2 ‘osses which process around the town.

As it was, we had timed our visit to be about the place for the red ‘Oss, known as The Old ‘Oss, or The Original ‘Oss.  The Blue Ribbon ‘Oss -- known also as The Peace ‘Oss -- processes around the village earlier in the day.  The procession consists of a large group of the ‘Oss’s supporters -- bedecked in white and their ‘Oss’s colour -- gathering outside the stabling place of the ‘Oss (in the case of the Old ‘Oss, it’s The Golden Lion Inn), and waiting for it to emerge.

“What’s an ‘Oss?”, is probably a pertinent question at this juncture: the name is a regional contraction of Hobby Horse, although the ‘Oss itself doesn’t particularly resemble the child’s toy of the same name.  This ‘Oss is a large black lacquered disc with a black fabric “skirt” around the circumference.  On one side is a protruding horse head, opposite, a tail.  In the middle the wearer’s head pokes through, wearing some sort of conical hat & mask arrangement.

Once the ‘Oss emerges from the stable it dances around -- cavorting and pitching erratically back & forth in a space made by the crowd -- following the agitations of a person designated as the “teaser”.  As the ‘Oss dances the song is played, and periodically as directed by no hand that I could discern the villagers strike up the accompanying song.  In addition to singing, often you’d hear the cry of “Oss! Oss!”.  It wasn’t readily apparent to me whether this was to get the attention of the ‘Oss and beckon it towards you, or just a general bark of enthusiasm.

And through the magic of YouTube I managed to track down a video of the ‘Oss emerging from the stable, to give you some idea of what’s going on.  The tune of the song’s quite clear:

Once the ‘Oss is out, the band of musicians lead their way through the streets with teaser & ‘Oss following, and then the rest of the paraders follow up.  They make their way around some sort of predetermined parade route, which must take in a series of relevant or historical sites -- buggered if I know what was going on.

One of the exhilarating features of the thing is that everybody seems to get involved: Mitch pointed out the “accordion army”, comprising -- it seemed -- nearly every bloke in the whole town, all playing the ‘Oss song.  To see this gives some sense of how important the event is to the people -- many of them go to the trouble of buying an accordion (not a cheap instrument, at all) and learning this tune (and in many cases, this tune only!) in order to be a part of the festivities.

People of all ages are involved, and the vibe in the town is a very happy one.  Mitch explained: “To a lot of these people, this is bigger than Christmas”.  The weather’s certainly better, for starters.

Tradition & legend dictate that if a young lady gets caught ‘neath the ‘Oss’s “skirt” then this will bring beneficial fertility side effects, and as with so many allegedly fertility-based customs, she will soon fall pregnant.  You may call me a cynic, but one can’t help but wonder if this rumour isn’t due to a statistical increase in pregnancies culminating in early-February births: certainly it correlates with the arrival of the ‘Oss, as well as coinciding with a large festive celebration where people are probably happy, drunk & keen to… errm… celebrate.

Without talking to many of the people (they seemed fairly wrapped up in their celebrations, to be honest) I didn’t really get to find out much about why people follow one ‘Oss or the other.  There didn’t appear to be any sort of competitive element to it, or any signs of rivalry (other than that everyone appeared to have picked one to support).

The tune’s quite catchy, if a shade repetetive, and has many verses -- all of which end with “In the merry morning of May”, and is therefore more than likely the only lyric you’ll discern from the video, and indeed the only one that half the people are joining in with.  The full lyrics are found at the Wikipedia entry, but the first 2 verses, bridge stanza, and final verse are:

Unite and unite and let us all unite,
For summer is acome unto day,
And whither we are going we will all unite,
In the merry morning of May.

Arise up Mr. ….. I know you well afine,
For summer is acome unto day,
You have a shilling in your purse and I wish it were in mine,
In the merry morning of May.

O! where is St. George,
O!, where is he O,
He is out in his long boat on the salt sea O.
Up flies the kite and down tails the lark O.
Aunt Ursula Birdhood she had an old ewe
And she died in her own Park O.

Now fare you well and bid you all good cheer,
For summer is acome unto day,
We call no more unto your house before another year,
In the merry morning of May.

And again, through the magic of YouTube I found a live recording of folk band Steeleye Span singing their song, “Padstow”, which bizarrely enough is centred around the same lyrics and tune.

So, that’s how that all worked.  Part of the fun was that everyone was involved, and like so many of these regional traditions it gave off a sense of vibrancy, counterbalancing the ever-present assertion that folk traditions are dying out.  Happily, there doesn’t appear to be any lulling in the energy of the ‘Oss Festival.

Other than that, we spend the days looking around that end of Cornwall -- Mitch, Bill & I went & had a stickybeak at The Flambard’s Experience --  an amusement park which bravely advertises that it’s fun “come rain or shine”, however the queues of people not there spoke out for the favour of people not wanting to ride water rides in drizzly May.  It featured an excellent museum of London during the Blitz, as well as a recreated Victorian village, and a large section on Aviation (including a section of Concorde fuselage/cockpit that you could walk through!).

Another day we drove down to river inlet town Boscastle, and the muso’s had another session at The Cobweb: a spectacularly dingy pub with an eclectic bunch of stuff shoved in & stuck to every surface.

I mentioned pushbikes earlier -- one of the other things we did was saddle up on the bikes we’d all hauled down there and go for a lovely ride from Padstow along to Wadebridge.  It was both brilliant fun, and completely an unjustified amount of riding to necessitate hauling a bike all the way down there from London, and back.

That’s enough of the slide night for now: as usual, I’ve got a Flickr gallery of all of my photos from the Padstow trip.  It really is magnificent country, and somewhere which I’m extremely keen to get back to at some point soon!

One final thing worth mentioning though -- the beer.  Mitch & Bill tell me that for a long time Cornish beers weren’t exactly excellent, but happily in recent times this has been adequately corrected, and we spent a goodly chunk of our evenings sampling the local brews from St Austell, Sharp’s and Skinner’s breweries.  As well as the handpumped cask ales we also got our hands on the Rick Stein inspired bottle beers from Sharp’s -- Chalky’s Bark and Chalky’s Bite.

Of the varieties we tasted, I found the Bark & the Bite interesting as an exercise, but ultimately not an enjoyable thing to settle in to a session of.  That honour went to St Austell’s Proper Job -- a fresh, hoppy & citrussy IPA.  I’ll readily confess that one of the selling points was that every time I asked Mitch to buy one he’d say “Praaaper Jaaaab” in an hilarious mock-Cornish accent.  A very close second place was the excellent bitter St Austell’s Tribute.  We’ve longtime been a fan of Tribute, and to get it this close to its home was an absolute pleasure.

I can’t remember much about Tinners.  Perhaps I ought to schedule another trip down there to take some more notes?