You may remember a while ago I posted this all about my assault on Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol.
Today’s entry is somewhat less well-known but in my eyes more exciting. Have you ever seen/heard of The Adam and Joe Show? It was on Channel 4 in the late nineties, I re-watched them a while back when they put it up on 4oD, it’s very silly and funny.
I listened to them on XFM and then they had a Coca-Cola sponsored podcast which was a bit rubbish, now they’re on BBC 6 radio and they are back to their great standards.
There is a new Tintin movie on its way next year which Spielberg is directing. Joe Cornish is/was involved in the screenplay, which is very cool.
So I was out this afternoon watching Pied Piper this afternoon and we wandered into a really cool arty abandoned bunker thing made by Robert Kusmirowski.
He has created a World War Two-era bunker. This highly atmospheric installation – featuring a warren of mysterious rooms and a draisine running along a track that disappears into a dark tunnel – transports viewers to another reality.
We came out and bumped into Mr. Cornish. Now my first mission was to remember whether he was Adam or Joe, my brain delivered on that one and before I knew it I was telling him how much of a fan of ‘his work’ I was. That’s probably the most clichéd sentence I could have come up with.
He then asked me why I was here and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to put myself in an Ali G style pose when I said we were here for the street dance. He claimed he’d just come for the exhibition but I saw him half an hour later, sitting in the row in front of us watching the street dance too, so… .
I then realised that he felt it was appropriate to leave and I tried to think of something else to say, all I came up with was “oh, have you met my brother Dewi?” What!? Where did that come from? I quickly realised that this exchange was over and wished him a Merry Christmas and briskly walked away.
One always re-imagines these situations and thinks through the other things they could have said. In my mind we compare notes about writing scripts and he tells me some exclusive gossip about the new Tintin film and how Steve Spielberg is “such a sweetheart”. But my lips failed me this time. Oh well.
Not the Joe Cornish I met, just some photographer with the same name. This is nice though isn't it!?
There was such a stench rising from my trainers earlier on today. One often says that feet smell cheesy; well I just ate some stilton and genuinely couldn’t smell the difference between the two.
Maybe I should pay a visit to the doctors? Or is it a natural thing? Is this result of the modern world’s shoes, not giving feet enough breathing space? I know in Jesus’ time they all wore sandals. Should we all be wearing sandals? On the other hand they did wash their feet regularly, maybe that’s what we should be making sure we do three times a day!
I’ve put on some anti-odour spray on them now, so we’ll see.
Not much going on blog-wise I’m afraid, I’ve been having a bit of a playwrighting burst, doing Theatre at Uni and all, so other things like this (and Uni work!) tend to get pushed to the side.
I’m still alive and seeking to be creative as much as possible.
Here’s something funny:
“Modern day Popeye!”
22 year old German arm wrestling champ Matthias Schlitte is skinny but has a giant arm!
I had my sinffly-itis yesterday, when my nose refused to stop flowing with mucus. I think it was influenced by some sort of allergy to pollen or dust or oxygen. Today this has developed into a traditional, common, bog-standard, run of the mill, cold. So now one nostril flows snot and the other feels like it’s got a piece of chewing gum up it.
And everything is rubbish when one feels like this. Well not really, but one finds himself blurting out such cries, which leads me to my list of top 15 noises we make when we feel yucky or unpleasant or generally sad:
On Sunday I was sat with Sibyl, my grandparents and another friend as we ate a lovely meal. The subject of my Taid (Grandad)’s cousin; Robert Maynard Jones (Uncle Bobi) to me came up. Taid spoke about how multi talented he was, that he could speak fluently in Welsh & French as well as being good at painting, and rugby and being one of the most prolific writers in the history of the Welsh language on top of that.
I recalled that he had once been given the task of teaching Prince Charles some Welsh; a surreal experience I’m sure. Apparently he was uninterested in talking about theological matters, but very ready to share his dissatisfaction with Prime minister Harold Wilson.
This conversation sparked my interest and as sonn as we’d finished eating, I dashed to the front room where I found a biography of his life written by John Emyr.
This is a well written, easy to read English book all about the man’s life and work.
Here’s an extract from the book:
“Bobi Jones is an author of great significance, not least for non-Welsh speakers. Himself having learnt Welsh, his work offers an insight, more so than the work of most authors whose first language is Welsh, into the significance of Welsh language and culture, particularly because of the strong intellectual or reflective element in his work. Deeply involved with the language and its culture, passionately committed to the best things in Welsh life, there is in his work – even at moments of high intensity – an element of detachment, an ability to step aside and see the wonder of Wales, its beauty and its tragedy, with an outsider’s reflective, almost analytical gaze.”
- John Emyr.
I’d never really taken the time to think about or look at who this guy was and only heard about him in passing so this was quite an eye opening experience for me. Everyone is researching who their families are these days, I should too.
I was about a third of the way through the book when the doorbell rang. Neither of my grandparents were around so I went and answered the door. I open the door to see the smiling face of an elderly man, standing upright, looking straight at me saying (in Welsh) “You don’t know who I am do you?”
Immediately I think to myself, “It’s not..? Could it be..? What!?”
“I’m Bobi!” He says holding out his hand for me to shake it.
…
“Unbelievable! I was just sitting in there reading your biography!”
Then in walked Aunty Beti, his wife. She grabbed hold of me and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Well, actually I was just reading the bit about how he met this stunning brunette, Beti!”
“Oh, sorry to disappoint.” She said, laughing, and handed me what looked like a wedding present.
They stayed for no longer than five minutes and were on their way.
What a special providence! Of all days for them to turn up out of the blue!
This conversation sparked my interest and as sonn as we’d finished eating, I dashed to the front room where I found a biography of his life written by John Emyr.
