Fair Exchange

Be Bop Deluxe. The joy of i-tunes. This still summons up 1973 for me, and a battered 45 that I made a sleeve for out of a couple of adverts in the NME.
Also, still on the retro kick, finally watched the last 3 episodes of Angel. I find David Boreanez difficult to like, because he so obviously thinks that this is beneath him. The rest is just fantastic, and the sparring between Angel and Spike wonderful. I hadn't seen the Ilyria episodes, and so had not realised what an excellent actress Amy Acker is. Honestly. The Fred thing is not the limit of her abilities. And delightful to see Alec Baldwin again, even if he is basically playing Jane in a suit. Browncoats will understand.

Meanwhile, another payday has rolled around. Damn you George W Bush. Will you stop driving the dollar down? Some of us have to take them home to countries with real currencies.

Going over old ground

Am back in the land of the future present, where the world's tallest building is still taking shape. Curiously though, I am revisiting old DVD favourites. Ok, I know these things are self-evident but Farscape, Serenity and Buffy are really good. Honest.

So far failed to source dodgy bootleg Dr Who DVDs, so the breadcrumbs are looking at disappointment. Still at least they can have fun building Arks again. Blighty is sinking, and me, I live by the river... ok, no I don't.

So, being retro - here is Chriss Foss. The way the future used to look.

Philanthropy/Yellow Ribbon

Well, I'm going home as soon as I eat my tea, have a shower, finish this blog and pack. Easy for 35 minutes...

So, I was thinking. Mainly because of an articlein Psychology Today of 10 politically incorrect truths, that there is probably no such thing as philanthropy. We are all the same gene machines, and anything any of us does to save the planet will help our genes along too. So, every do-gooder is really selfish. Just pointing it out...

Life's great imponderables

Why does every allegedly international hotel have to have a coctail bar with some national signing songs they have learnt phoentically in an endlessly booming karoake of the damned?
What is wrong with silence? Or piped music? Or god forbid, something that might actually reflect where you are?

Meanwhile in my so called glamourous life, why is it so hard of hotels to sort out the internet connections that they charge us an arm and leg for?

But these are rich person's complaints, which are shown up as rather hollow when I read about the construction workers in Dubai earning 500dh per month. That is £70, or $140. Per month. And they send money home from that.

Punch up at the 7-11

Unkansas. So there I am at the check out, slowly losing the will to live, when these two guys come pushing and shoving up the steps to the door. Suddenly one lamps the other, who falls down, and follows it up with a kick to the groin. No mean feat on slippery steps. Then both parties run off into the night, while the youths on the steps beat a rhythm on the steps with bottles, showing that they could easily be broken into weapons. So what is the protocol for this?

I've been trying to avoid there being forever a corner of a foreign field that is forever an English pedestrian by obeying the crossing signals. But that does not save you from motherfuckers on motorbikes going the wrong way up 4 lane one way streets, with no lights, against the signals. I mean, what does?

I'm not really abroad, but in Crowne Plaza world. The third world is just around the corner, but in here we are in the first world. And beer is reassuringly expensive. For the hotel that is. For me it is just prohibitive.

Hijabs and hookers. More than one culture clash. But me I am in a cocoon.

Wake up Boo

Genetics is an odd thing. Junior Miss Breadcrumb naturally shares a genetic mix with Kid A. Sadly for all concerned, Kid A, Mrs Breadwinner and me are all predisposed to lying in late. Jnr Miss takes after her grandmother, and Mrs Breadwinner's sisters, and believes that the best of the day is done by 7am. This is going to be a drag for a long, long time. For all of us.

Funnily enough, Jnr miss realises that she takes after Gran - and told me that she looks like Gran. Kid A took himself off to look in a mirror, and announced that he looked like Uncle Simon.
Me and Mrs Breadwinner will be having words...