Vaisakhi Nagar Kirtan

THE ORANGE AND THE BLUE

A new toy arrived yesterday and I'm keen to play.  I've purchased a camcorder in recognition of my unofficial role as the Edinburgh Contemporary Choir's film maker.  Since my wife joined the choir I've tried to take footage of their public performances and stick them up on YouTube so that choir members can show off their achievements to friends and family, and making that effort has been well received.  But all have been filmed using my phone so far, with the limitations that implies.  The new toy should provide a step up in quality and result in something that's a bit better to watch.

For that to happen I need to start getting the hang of what the new kit can do, which means getting out and using it.  And it so happened that today presented an ideal opportunity.  The main road at the foot of ours was to be closed off for a period to allow a procession to make it's way along.  Vaisakhi Nagar Kirtan it said on the parking restrictions sign, which Google showed up to be a Sikh celebratory procession in which all the community were encouraged to join in and blue and orange were the key clothing colours.  Sounded like a perfect subject for a bit of filming, especially as the sun was shining.

We went down to await the arrival of the crowds.  A few metres away some cars from a local takeaway and delivery service drew up and unloaded supplies.  Clearly intended as a refreshment station for the marchers.  But their largesse went beyond that and we had several offers of water, soft drinks, fruit and crisps.  It's all part of the Sikh approach to life as this leaflet we were given made clear.

Here's a short video showing the food providers preparing for their distribution task.

A motorbike cop stopped by us to direct any oncoming traffic and was immediately offered a bottle of water, which he was happy to accept.  In a strong Ulster accent he told us that the procession wasn't very long, but it was very slow, not least because of the road sweepers preceding the barefoot contingent.

What that meant in reality became clear when the colourful crowd made it's way past and this video is the result.

As you'll see I haven't quite got the hang of things yet, and I'm just playing about  a bit to see how things turn out, but at least the subject matter is both interesting and full of colour and life.  Look out for the bare footed marchers and the sophisticated mobile DJ set up.  What I do hope it conveys is even a part of the sense of joy and solidarity that the procession radiated.  It was impossible not be grinning from its influence.

With a bit more practice the results will get better.  I get the feeling that this blog, and my others, will be providing links to YouTube more often in future

Goodbye Victoria

NEVER MEET YOUR HEROES?

Forty years ago I'd never been to a stand up comedy show.  It was nowhere near as easy to find as it is today.  But living in Edinburgh there was, of course, The Fringe.  So a mate and I got tickets to go and see somebody we'd heard off on the telly.  Jasper Carrot (don't mock, he was pretty cool in the seventies....).  Before the lights go down there's an announcement.  The advertised support act had had to call off, but they'd got hold of a replacement at short notice.  This didn't sound encouraging.

The show begins.  A name is read out.  On stage  a short, slightly dumpy, woman appears with a blonde bob and an apprehensive air.  She looked hardly any older than we were.  And she looked just mildly terrified.

I can't recall how long her set was, probably no more than thirty minutes, but I'm not sure what she had to worry about.  She was superb.  It's too far back for me to recall any of the subject matter, so all I have in my memory is being struck by just how much I was laughing and how easy she made it look.  Carrot followed, was excellent, if a little predictable, but when we emerged all we found ourselves talking about was this unknown Victoria Wood woman and wondering if we'd ever hear of her again....

So I became a fan quite early on in her career, although in those pre internet days it wasn't really possible to see where she got to.  One thing that gig did teach me was that often it's the unknowns who will prove to be best to watch, a lesson I continue to follow to this day.

Later she'd turn up on TV doing those wonderful comic songs on That's Life and go on to become a small screen favourite.  The likes of Acorn Antiques and Dinner Ladies have become classics and are still as funny to watch now.  I got to see her doing stand up a couple of times in the nineties, in much bigger venues than that first one of course, and it was the sheer energy of her performance that stays in the memory.  Meanwhile she's knocking out a great comedy film like Pat and Margaret, or going on to write, and star in, straight drama in Housewife, 49.

I heard her being interviewed one time, saying that in her early years as a stand up she'd been terrible and terrified.  Which made me wish I could tell her what a hit she'd made on us all those years ago.  To my surprise, I got my chance to do so.  The premier of Loving Miss Hatto, which Victoria wrote, was shown at the Filmhouse, and after the screening she was up on stage to answer questions.  All very amusing of course.  I was a bit slow getting out of the building and when I did Barbara was there pointing and saying 'go and talk to her'.  And sure enough, there was this tiny figure standing on the pavement on Lothian Road and, for that moment, on her own.  So I went over, introduced myself, said what I wanted to say, and we had a bit of a laugh about it.  And Barbara took this picture.

I'm not generally one for getting excited about celebrities (or feeling affected by the deaths of musicians, actors etc.), but for the next few hours I couldn't stop myself  saying "I talked to Victoria Wood" in a squeaky excited voice.  The voice was put on, the excitement wasn't.  You never know if a star will be as pleasant to talk to you as you imagine.  She was.  She was lovely, and modest and exactly as you'd imagine her to be.  And tiny.  Very, very tiny.

You also got the sense that she had integrity, that whole showbiz thing wasn't for her and she'd be as happy doing what she did in relative anonymity.  She always said she wouldn't get drawn into the whole comedy panel show thing on TV, and stuck with that.  But she did appear on my favourite radio comedy programme, which produced this gem.

Ask comedians who their biggest influences are and the name William Connolly always seem to come up.  Of course Billy is one of the great comedians of our time, but I think some of the admiration for him comes from the wide range of talents he's displayed over the years - singer, musician, writer, straight and comic actor etc etc.  A true renaissance man.  Yet Victoria, if not his equal in the art of stand up, was his match, or superior in the rest.  And The Big Yin never wrote one of the great TV sitcoms or most iconic sketches.  Two soups anyone?

The news of Victoria's death today did sadden me, the more so I suspect because I did have that brief opportunity to meet one of my heroes.  Even if I never did get the chance to beat her on the bottom with the Woman's Weekly.

The ukip election manifesto is a work of genius

I HAVE A CUNNING PLAN

With the general election now less than four weeks away the various elements of the party propaganda machines are chugging towards full bullshit speed.  Not least the Scottish political powerhouse that is ukip, who have launched their manifesto in the presence of the ever popular Farage, a man with his finger on the pump of our.... beer presumably.

Now at first glance this carefully crafted work of legislative fantasy looks to be just as much of a total fuck-up as you'd expect.  But look again.  Underneath all that bluster and regressiveness lurks genius, a cunning plan that Baldrick would give up his deodorant for.  We all know kippers aren't overly keen on immigration.  Or change of any kind come to think of it, but lets stick with the problem in hand.  Who hasn't come across a ranty kipper on social media telling them it's a "fact" that 'Britain is full'.  (Evidence?  Don't be silly....)  But now they've decided if they can't stop immigration then they'll have to reduce the population by other means.  And what better than a form of natural selection, encouraging far more of those premature deaths we used to have in the good old days.  It's brilliant.

So they'll raise the drink/driving limit to ensure that we have a decent rate of road accidents again.  With the added benefit that this 'liberalisation' can encourage Scots back where they belong.  Topping the tables for alcoholism.   There's to be smoking in pubs again, just to make sure our lung cancer rates are up there with the best.  Free parking to encourage more cars into city centres, ensuring that pollution levels are the health hazard they should be.  Every new respiratory disease victim is one more contributor to lessening the impact of immigration (better still, some of the dead might be immigrants, killing two birds with one smog).  Not only that, but all these breathing problems integrate brilliantly with the increase in smoking to reap the greatest possible benefit.  It's all been fully thought through, hasn't it?

At first glance the promise to provide easier access to airguns doesn't really fit the pattern.  I mean, airguns are rarely powerful enough to actually kill people.  But you underestimate just how clever these ukip people are.  A few misguided pellets, a few eyes being put out, more blind people traversing our streets equals better targets for all the drunk drivers.  You couldn't make it up, could you?

Of course no manifesto, well not a ukip one anyway, is complete without a policy so crazy you know someone put it in as a joke to see if anyone ever read it all the way through.  Ukip want to legislate to prevent something called 'political correctness' being taught in schools.  Not a subject I'm familiar with, but curriculums are a mystery to me these days.  Anyway, good luck to them trying to ban something that only exists in the crumbling minds of elderly straight white males who're wedded to the 1950s.

It would be depressing if any of this garbage ever had a chance of coming into effect. Fortunately the chances of ukip being in government in Scotland are about as likely as David Cameron admitting his dad was a crook.  Or David Coburn managing to speak three whole sentences without revealing just how much of a prat he is.  At least they bring a bit of comedy to the scene.

An unexpected route to fitness

WHEN YOU HAVE TO DO IT....

You do it.

Enjoyment comes in many forms, and the ability to take part in fun activities is an important part of a good life.  Often that can depend on having the money, or the time, or someone to do it with.  But more than any of these it requires good health.  Health problems, both physical and mental, are often the biggest limiting factor in what we can or can't have a go at.

I'm lucky.  As my sixties approach I feel I'm generally in good shape and able to do the things I want to, as is my life partner.  There are minor niggles of course, that comes with the ageing process.  We didn't go out to many gigs or plays in January and February because one or both of us had an annoying cough and didn't want to be the people in the audience everyone glowered at.  That gone, I've only just made a start at returning to the gym, trying to get back a bit of the stamina the virus deprived me of.  And as part of that regime I've been trying to make sure I climb the stairs to our fifth floor flat at least once every day.

It's all very well taking on something like that because you want to, and can make sure that it doesn't involve carrying a load of shopping with you.  But this week has been different.  The lift is broken.  All week (it's due to be fixed tomorrow).  Having been away for the weekend I've made the climb with suitcases, bags of shopping, and plodding determination.  I've paced myself carefully and have yet to arrive in a state where I couldn't manage to utter a word (it's been close, but not quite).  Yesterday I made the trip six times.  And I'm still alive to write about it.  Amazing what the body can do when it doesn't have the choice....