Goggle Box to Google Box
I just contacted TV licensing to let them know I don't have a TV or watch live TV in my house. And yes, ok, I feel a bit smug.
When I moved back to the flat there was an apologetic cathode ray tube which had been left by a lazy tenant which was promptly given to the charity shop. It didn't fit the decor - I'd rather have been without. There might be little character in today's TV schedule but when it was off it was distinctly characterless - depressingly black and empty - the living room looked cheerier without. I'd just OD'd during my 4 months at chez Megson and was happy to give it up for a bit in any case. I had a short stint on-the-wagon until Niall's ridiculously over-sized flat screen came to stay for 5 months while he worked abroad. It didn't take up as much depth but it took up half the wall when it made itself at home: it's shadow created a small micro-climate. It was fun to have but far too easy to collapse in front of. The TV has now gone and, for the first time in my life, I am a radio, internet and papers kind of a guy. I'm not saying it's forever but, like smoking, I can't say I miss it.
Posted by stupot at 11:56 AM Sunday 27 Nov
A Scottish Revolution
I'm writing a proposal for a series of programmes for the BBC around Independence. I have confidence that it is a worthwhile venture and I'm busy making inroads into the corporation. I am also positive it would help people understand the subject of Scottish Independence more clearly, driven by conversations on the ground, facts and, crucially, with no hidden agenda.
I can feel eyes, low to my right, as I stand at the bar - waiting on unaccomplished staff to find another wine glass and some change. I turn round and he's staring up at me so powerfully that he looks cock-eyed. His body is not tense though, he's quite calm apart from his head which is straining up toward mine, eyes boring into me. There is no emotion in his face - "having a nice night?" "not bad" I say - "long day - just having a wee one to finish up". "What do you do?" he follows up with, and I give him a quick breakdown. "how about yourself?" "Security" says he, tight-lipped. I ask if this is in Glasgow and he shakes his head. silence. "...further afield?". He nods yes. "OoooKay' I feel my self saying turning back to the bar, my eyes wide at his social skills.
"Do you understand what I mean by security?" he asks after a pause. "ehm, you weren't giving much away" I venture. "Close protection services" he says. "and not locally?" I add. "Abroad". He works security for private sector in Afghanistan. "sounds dangerous," I try. "so, so." "well paid though?" it's the line he's been waiting for - "how much are you on?" I tell him and then he throws in his bounty for a days work - one thousand british pounds. Each day for Four months. "Sounds very dangerous."
He's still looking at me, head slightly to one side. I'm too tired for his intensity and for such a laboured conversation leave him to go back to the table where my colleagues await their drinks.
Posted by stupot at 12:15 PM Sunday 20 Nov