THE SOUTHBANK VINTAGE FAIR 31st JULY, 2011

A TRULY “VINTAGE” VINTAGE FAIR

Sunday, 31^st July – we repair to London’s South Bank to attend the Vintage Fair. What larks! A staggeringly beautiful sunny day with clear blue skies, making all those drenched 50’s colours just sizzle!

I went with an Italian friend, Cinzia who has a faux fifties fashion shop in Milan (and another in Sanremo run by her sister Barbara) to show her what – in my humble opinion - she should be showing in her bottegas next season. She was, like me, absolutely gob-smacked (I don't know what the Italian for "gob-smacked is - must find out)  by the hundreds of vendors displaying their wares with such humour and obvious delight.

As many of you will know, I am seldom without my trusty Cannon Ixus, and I was much amused by some of the attendees who turned out in styles of the period as some of my selected pictures below show, which I hope, will amply illustrate some of the delights of our day.

She has balloons in her hat! She's "Balloon Lady" - no, really!                         

His moustache was fake, but his style was real!

Now that's a helluva fascinator!  And there has to be a cherry joke around here somewhere....

Thiis is my favourite photo of the day....She did all the talking, he just smiled. He's got her well-trained. Great US Army outfit, sir! Are those medals for real?

A stand selling old radiograms, wind-up gramophones (some well over £300.00, but “fully restored” I was assured!), and miscellaneous “lo-fi”,  played music that only accelerated one’s senses back to the times when this was the Festival Of Britain in 1951 which the event was celebrating.  

Behind the Royal Festival Hall, the weekly organic food fair was in full swing, so off we went, purchases bundled under arms to sample – sitting with other fair attendees – scoffing dishes from the Levant, Poland and the Indian sub-continent.  A completely sublime and blissed-out day!

Can’t wait for next year to do it all over again!

FANCY FLIGHT & A FLIGHT OF FANCY...

Last week, I had one of the most exciting rides of my life! A journalist friend and I had dinner on the South Bank and afterwards we went to see the new passenger terminal at the upgraded London Heliport. This is next door to the equally remarkable and luxurious Hotel Verta, but that's for another time. Today I shall only discuss the exhilarating - and let's face it - uber-romantic, half-hour helicopter ride over London at midnight.  My photo shows us over the Thames passing the Houses of Parliament at Westminster.

It was a stunningly clear night and I felt an enormous amount of pride as we flew over all those familiar landmarks that gives my city such a powerful impact.

By coincidence, this week’s copy of New Scientist has an important story on the very real prospect of us one day, in the not too distant future of owning our own mini-helicopter. You can read more about this remarkableaircraft, The Terrafuggia (an Italianism for ‘escape the earth’) can be seen here: http://www.aircraftcompare.com/helicopter-airplane/Terrafugia-Transition/289

This wasn't what we were up in (that was an altogether bigger thing).

Now, if they can just make them affordable, we’ll all be whizzing off to Waitrose in our personal helicopters, or will we? They said Ocado wouldn’t work, but now they are in profit, maybe we don’t have to ever leave our homes ever again. Well, not for a  pint of milk.

Such prospects of future life were discussed at a friend’s recently when I learned that her daughter is involved in predicting – if that’s the word – future trends.

‘Futurology’ and its associated study groups have so often got these things wrong.

After all, who could have predicted ten years ago, that we would shamelessly flaunt and share our deepest and most personal details with everybody else in the world? Think Twitter or Facebook. I can’t help thinking that somewhere, employees in the FBI and MI5 are constantly rubbing their hands with glee at how we’re all doing their spook-work for them!  And here in the UK, we deplore the prospect of carrying ID cards!  No worries - ‘They’ already know too much about us.

Right now, I think one of the most important predictions problems we face, is to foresee what the climate is going to be like on our little planet. Even the [London] Met Office can’t get it right 24 hours ahead!

A very happy 4^th July to all my friends in our former Colonies! If I could just get my Learjet started.....

LONDON'S NEED FOR A RESTAURANT INSPECORATE

I can only blame myself for my absent-mindedness and - more likely- a complacency in observing my rule of going to check out the loo before I sit down in a restaurant before ordering.  The thinking being that if the restaurant is slovenly in the way it presents its clients' conveniences, they're probably lax in the kitchen and hygiene departments too.

I first heard about this rule-of-thumb many years ago while listening to British journalist and broadcaster, Janet Street-Porter on BBC Radio 4's "Today" morning programme.

I thought: what a great idea! She also posited the additional idea that we diners should also ask to take a peek in the kitchen.

Two things collided that have brought about the stream of consciousness. One was taking a late Sunday lunch at the "Coach Makers" pub in London's Marylebone Lane recently. I specifically name them because I think that such remarks should be public - even more for reasons that become apparent when I mention reason number two in a moment.  The pub by the way was full (at 4pm) with the local Marylebonites haute-voix, which one got used to after a while.

My wife, her friend and myself ordered wine and the specials. All quite acceptable, but this isn't a restauarnt review (as regards the food quality per se). Before desert Madame and her friend traipsed off to 'powder their noses' which gave me an opportunity to peruse a copy of "The Observer". On their return, they both had wrinkled noses indicating that the toilets were 'disgusting'. I'll not outline their reasons for commenting in case you're eating while reading this, save to say that my wife called over the manager and read a version of the Riot Act to him - well within earshot of the other diners.

He sheepishly said that he would look into the lack of toilet paper, broken seats, and non-flushing [you said you weren't going to mention this, Ed.]. We in the meantime forewent desserts and coffe and did some quick vamoosage vowing not to return.

All this is in contrast to those civilised people over in the Big Bagel.  There the New York Sanitary Inspector has regular inspections that take place and their (the eatery) is awarded a rating which is publicly displayed outside.  The findings are also published in the local press. This procedure incidentally, is not confined just to New York, but is nationwide.

Why can this not happen in London? "Spending Cuts", "We haven't got the manpower", and rubbish like that. "Piffle" as our Mayor Boris would say. I think that if such a system were to work here it would go some way to upgrading the facilities in places such as I have just mentioned that would, in effect, make the places self-policing, especially not knowing when inspectors might be coming round!

In the meantime, do as I will make sure I do henceforth - check the loos and kitchen FIRST!

WOMEN! DO GET A GRIP ON YOUR APPEARANCE!

I went to see Marianne Faithfull the other night at London’s Barbican Hall.  Now, if you are at all a fan of this 60’s chanteuse I would look away now because this is definitely not going to be an appreciation of her.  I have to say that I was far more taken by a member of her band, the willowy rangy-legged 6ft tall Kate St. John. More of her in a bit.

But back to Marianne. In the UK we have a chain of stores called Primark. They sell highly disposable clothes that are allegedly made in south east Asia by children in sweat shops. You can buy a two piece track suit for around 6 pounds (about $10.00). It was one of these that Marianne was apparently sporting on stage. Not only that, but it appeared that she had actually been sleeping in it too throughout her tour. 

I was most struck by her slovenly “I-couldn’t-give-a-shit” attitude throughout the evening.  After her second number, she reached for a Kleenex in a box on a nearby table. (I was wondering what they were for). She cleared her throat and spat up some phlegm advising the audience; “I’ve smoked my fucking brains out, and I am so fucking frightened of a fucking scan I’ve got to have tomorrow.” Her candour was not appealing. She then lit up a Gaullois, much to the irritation of the punters who cried out things that sounded  like “Oy!”  She is surely a couple of light bulbs short of a chandelier if you get my meaning...

The last time I saw Marianne was at the BBC recording a session for an edition of “Saturday Club”. Then, she had the appearance of a frail little bird with a sweetly tremulous voice ideally suited for faux-folk.

Fast forward then 40+ years and her voice has dropped about 38 octaves.

So, this is a complaint more about appearance than performance, it’s true. Which is why I was taken more with the antics of Miss St. John. She is talented I thought. She was on the organ, piano, accordion, sax and cor anglais. The last for the plaintive ‘hook’ on “As Tears Go By”.  I was captivated by her.

 Incidentally, my late, sainted mother, who was a fan of Patty Page, thought the song was called “As Queers Go By” (she was alittle ‘ard of ‘earing). This title was actually most apt in view of the apparent preponderance of attendees at the Barbican.

I think if people are frequently in “the public eye” they need to at least glance in the mirror before they go about their public business. Not to diss their fans.

Just before I go, and while I’m on the subject of attire, did you see that affreux outfit that Michelle Obama wore to see the Queen? In my eyes, it looked like something run up from a pattern cut out from a Woman’s Own magazine. 

You may have read about the so-called “Slut Walk” where woman in America (natch!) were railing against us male chauvinist writers who think women should not dress like sluts because that is likely to attract the “wrong sort of man” (whatever that may be), who would want to rape them. 

Look, even at Primark you can get some fairly respectable looking clobber. You can either look like a slut, an attractive lady who has taken a bit of trouble before she goes out, or, as in Marianne Faithfull’s case, a sack of potatoes. The last one doesn’t work for me...

THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE NON-EXISTANT DRAGON-FRUIT RANT

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU ACTUALLY CHECKED YOUR SUPERMARKET RECEIPT?

Did you even bother to take it?

The reason I ask this probing question, is because, for the past year or more, I have been regularly checking and have been, rather alarmingly, finding frequent errors.

Don’t stop reading! This is going to amaze you, and, I guarantee SAVE YOU A WHOLE BUNCH OF MONEY by making sure that you do, hereafter, scrutinise those purchases.

I’ll not name the supermarket, but will say only that they are identifiable by their orange coloured plastic  carrier bags. (Oops!)

The way that supermarkets try and con you while you are sleep-walking around their aisles are myriad, but some of the most frequent include (but are not limited to) those ‘buy two, get one free’ so-called ‘deals’. (I am penalised if I have the temerity to only want to buy one!) Often, because the staff who should be pricing the products forget, or have not been told to apply the offers, or (more likely still) have failed to enter the ‘deals’ into the store’s computer (linked to the check-out tills). Chances are, that you’ll actually be paying full whack for all three!  And chances are too that multiply these incidences by 'n' and you can understand why shareholders love supermarkets in their portfolios!

A recent trip to buy a few bits of fruit and veg found me looking amazed that I had been charged for two dragon fruits. Now, up until this time, I didn’t actually know what a dragon fruit was! I had another peek in the bag. Nope! No dragon fruit. I caught a passing ‘staff member'’ and challenged him. I explained that they didn’t even stock dragon fruit!  Store manager was called. “Dunno, mate.” This is the well-known British response to anyone not having the faintest idea, or can even be bothered to find out what is actually occurring. I was then told to go to the back of the store to “Customer Service” I explained that that was precisely what I expected to get throughout the whole store anyway, and under no circumstances was I going to trek back there. Just give me a refund from that till where you took my money! Seeing that I was getting truculent, he obliged.

I wrote to “Head Office” with a copy of the till receipt asking for an explanation. Two weeks later, a fob-off letter and ten pound store voucher card arrived. They were unable to offer an explanation, and said that they had contacted the manager who was equally baffled, but had promised to make sure that all prices and products in store were kept up to date.

Now, I could rant on for the rest of this page about the cunning and often downright stealthy means by which the supermarkets are out for your change knowing full well that you’re just too busy to take the trouble to look at your till receipt. But CAVEAT EMPTOR! Buyer beware! They ARE out to do just that.! I did a conservative calculation on the “mistakes” they had made in the past year, and reckon that if I hadn’t bothered, they’d have had nearly 150 Pounds of my well-earned cash. And if *I* am being ripped off, multiply that by the many millions of shopping trippers who march through their doors and don’t even know they’ve been shafted!  It’s true, all they’re really concerned with are the shareholders and “performance targets” whereby the directors line their pockets with your dough!  If you think I’m making all this up, just check your till receipts for a couple of weeks. A 10 pound supermarket (of your choice) voucher for anybody who proves me right!

I’ll return to this theme again, targeting the fruit section and the “convenience” of fruit bagged ready for you (clue: it’s at least 25% dearer than  you picking your own loose version of the identical stuff!)

(SIGH) THE POST OFFICE

“Is it urgent or valuable?”

God, how I shudder when I hear the Post Office clerk asking the little old lady, or similarly vulnerable (read “sucker”) person on the other side of the glass trying to send a birthday present of a pair of slippers to their brother in Glasgow.

“What’s in the packet?”

“Oh, it’s only a pair of slippers.”

“How much are they worth?”

“£10.00. How much is the cheapest way to send them?”

“[Not answering this question directly] Well, they can get lost,” says the clerk trying to ramp up the business and put the frighteners on the customer.

“What the difference in cost?” asks the now intimidated customer.

“Well, Signed For (quoting first class rate and not even bothering to tell her the second class cost) is £3.60, and Special Delivery is £8.85. But it’ll be guaranteed to be there before 1pm tomorrow.”

Seeing that there is now a queue of roughly 400 people behind her waiting to collect their pension or buy a second class stamp, she feels she must capitulate and fall for the bullying tactics of the counter clerk who tells her- having effectively doubled the price of her original purchase – that here’s her receipt which she can track online.

Online? What’s that? The washing?

I think it’s scandalous, this whole  scenario!

Royal Mail as it is now, or, Royal Frail as I’ve heard it called in some waggish circles, is supposed to be an entity in which we entrust our mail. And, for the most part, it does work quite well. I take a view that post doesn’t “get lost”. It can go astray, but it’s very, very rare that it does. In such an event, you can make a claim (you’ll need to send an original receipt of posting – better photocopy that in case it too “gets lost”), in which you are asked all manner of questions; anything in fact that can actually dissuade you from actually even having the temerity to make a claim!

As a virtual monopoly, Royal Frail can do what it likes. It’s now 46p to send a so-called “First Class” letter, with second class 10p less. I have an idea. If everybody just used the second class service, all mail would HAVE to go first class as they’d be bogged down with all the second class stamped stuff! This would hopefully do away with the scandal of a two-tier system and bring us back to one rate.

Incidentally – and don’t say I told you this –but I have heard that if you affix a 2^nd class stamp to your letter and turn it through 90 degrees (so that Her Maj is facing downwards), the phosphor strips are read as a first class stamp. I’ve tried it, and (ahem) it does appear to work...

There was a time a few years ago, in order to hide their shame of being Royal Mail and try and get up to date, well, into the twentieth century, that millions were spent on a  new name and logo. Consignia it was. And what was that logo supposed to suggest? A maelstrom of confusion?

Another thing about stamps: The first and second class stamps now have anti-reuse strips in them, that if you try to steam them off, come away leaving you with two small holes in the stamp. Help is at hand however, with some careful use of lighter fluid...

You should watch out for another illegal scam they try. Since installing digitral scales at most of the larger Post Offices, these tend not to return to zero after a particularly heavy parcel has been previously sitting on there. Your airmail letter to the US, which you thought weighed 19grammes, and was therefore eligible for that weight band, now weighs 25 grammes. DOH! They forgot to return it zero! Sucker! You just payed for the next weight step, as if it wasn't going to be dear enough...

So, remember, the next time you go into the Post Office (if you really, really must), and they ask you if it’s urgent or valuable, say yes and yes, but I expect you to look after it. It’s in your charter tell them. And also to mind their own business as they have no legal authority to enquire about either!  And would they please reset the scales! If they can’t make a profit, let Deutsche Post or TNT show ‘em how to do it!

PHOTOSHOP: YOU'RE EITHER GOOD AT IT, OR YOU'RE NOT

Looking at some news sites east of the Mediterranean this (Monday) morning, I'm apt to say that I feel that the image of a dead Osama Bin Laden does bear many similarities with a photo of him taken a few years ago. The identical head position, facial features, that curious left eye shape) shade and light; all, in my view, exactly the same. I find it incredible that an opportunity to display this photo if it has been digitally altered (i.e., Photoshop), it is an extremely clumsy job. The conspiracy theoritsts will have a field day, and who can blame them? Just saying...