Cher, you don't know the half of it

[I am only writing this because, although I watched only part of it, I felt the next day that the Guardian TV review had not done it much justice, so thought I'd pen my own review so I could sleep at night]

Remember when we last saw gypsies on TV? Binding themselves to scaffold, cementing their arms together in oil barrels as the Council heavies moved in. It was awful. But remember the time before that? Gypsy and Traveller weddings: all over the top glitter and glam [and battery powered light up flapping butterflies] with a mildly condescending incidental background music that suggested we as viewers were in on some joke. And before that, curse spewing heather sellers.

My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding (C4) showed a culture that was somewhere close to those alien cultures a beamed down away team led by Riker would have to ingratiate through a dastardly tricky set of social graces. I always thought that The anti-Big Fat Gypsy Weddings was University Challenge. Turns out I was wrong - it was another show about Traveller culture.

Channel 4 scheduled Gypsy Blood with very little fanfare. It was put out as a one-off 95 minute documentary and was to portray the male roles in Traveller society.

Now I am not going to get bogged down in views and thoughts about theirs as a culture. That scenes of violence it showed are repeated in all society. I am not even going to bother with if the documentary was art or not. And, to come clean, I exercised the right that I am sure many will have expressed to those who found it unwatchable and turned it off half-way through.

What interested me was: why?

Why did I find this documentary unwatchable when I praised The Scheme (BBC1) so much in this blog and elsewhere? After all they were both showing me parts of society that I was not part of and, arguably, The Scheme with its hard hitting images of deprivation, drug use and despondency, on paper would be a harder viewing experience.

But we don't film TV on paper, son.

I make no excuses for reiterating my opinion that from the moment it was broadcast, The Scheme is the benchmark and touchstone for all these types of "snap-shot of modern Britain" docs.

Masculinity was the name of the game in Gypsy Blood. It seemed to me to be a daring one-up-manship between everyone concerned: subjects and documentary makers. I'll keep filming it if you keep doing it / I'll do more if you keep filming it. How much could each side bear?

Taking this flight of fancy further I imagine how the documentary was pieced together, please forgive another bit of scripting:

Look I am driving a white transit van!
Yeah, but we've seen this in My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. This is old news. What else you got?
Accelerating while I let my let me 7 year old steer?
Great! Roll camera!

And so it went on.

Hey - film this! Two of us men are in a front yard punching each other, bare knuckle style in their T-shirts, while more of us are watching!
Ok, it's a start - it'll do to set the scene for the documentary being about men...
Fine - here are two boys, they are under 10 and they are punching each other as we men are goading and watching them!
This is better - but do you watch anything else fight?
Hell yes... we make coc... I mean chickens fight. Chicken fighting, that's legit, right? Chickens fighting? Look they are pecking each other to a horrible death and us men are only half interested - like keeping half an eye on the summer BBQ. Oh! One is about die quicker than the other one! Go on finish him!
At least we are making progress? What else?
Dog fights! We men make dogs fight too!

And so it goes on:

What about your kids? The young girls in BFGW danced like their lives depended on it? What do the young men do? We have already seen them at the "grabbing" -  nothing special - so do they do anything a bit more to show how manly they are?
Way Wayne! They learn how to fight then they fight. See, I am teaching my 7 year old!
Meh.
...that I am now calling a c**t.
You have another boy.
Which I am glad you brought attention to, I am also getting him to fight. He is only 18 months old, the c**t.

And on and on:

Do you hunt? Men hunt.
Yeah, of course - watch us trap a hare and rip it apart with me hands, in front of me kid.
What else do you hunt? A hare is a bit small.
We can get a couple of dogs to kill a fawn.
I'll try to make it interesting by tying a camcorder to the dog. People will think its art.
Look the dogs' killed a fawn, and now we are going to have a go at butchering it on this Black & Decker Work Bench in the front garden, with the young boys all watching. We don't know what we are doing with cutting it up - you would think we would, since we do this all the time. But we don't appear to.
We've seen this with the hare.
Wait, don't stop filming! I'll cleave it! I'll totally cleave it's face off. Take it's muzzle right off! Then I'll lick it and then get my 7 year old to punch it, the c**t.

It was at this point that I felt I had watched enough and switched off the telly for the evening. Well, that's not strictly true, it was when the documentary cut to some horses and I thought: Lord, they're not going to gut a pony now, surely?

I left it wondering 2 things. First I wondered if this was genuinely all for real - if this was a typical day, weekly or monthly set of activities. Then 2nd thing was how this Victorian lifestyle has survived.

One clue was from the only female I saw on screen. The boy's mother. She shrugged her shoulders at her eldest (the 7 year old) not going to school. "He doesn't like going and wants to play his DS instead". That's a tough one alright. Normally there would be a parenting book or something to refer to - it's a shame that this situation is so unusual. Soon we saw a the boy struggling to read a remedial book in class.

Could there be a connection? Poor education reduces options when confronted with hard situations in life and fighting is the next best way out? War is declared when diplomacy fails. It is a fair means to reply to bullying and there is little doubt that this culture feels a lot of bullying.

So why did I turn it off (aside from the casual animal cruelty)? I think it was because in The Scheme I saw a heart. It had real people struggling through real issues (many totally unsuccessfully) in their lives but with a gallows humour. Gypsy Blood, I get the feeling did not. If I saw a heart in Gypsy Blood it was probably because it had been ripped straight out a fluffy bunny rabbit and then punched repeatedly by men in front of a baying crowd of other men. And why validate that by watching it happen.

Diesel Ten is that a gun in your... oh it's in your hand, my mistake.

Google images, like all things Google, appears to show us the entire World Wide Web. For most people Google is the rabbit hole to the pantheon of all the Internet. But it is not a hero. It is just a search and retrieval display engine built on algorithms based in the USA.

This is a telephone conversation I had last night that involved Google images.

Friend on Phone: Hi, Greville. You're sort of like a librarian, maybe you could explain something to me?
Greville Tombs: I'll try, what's up?
FoP: I was trying to find a picture on the Internet of Diesel 10. I went on to Google images and searched for Diesel 10 and got Sean Connery wearing pants.

GT: Right. OK. Well - you know - times were tough for Sean, particularly in the 70's. He had to make a living like everyone else. But that is a terrific name for a... actually, pretty much any man doing anything ever: Diesel Ten. I wish I was called Diesel Ten. How cool would that be?
FoP: No, Diesel 10 is a character from Thomas the Tank Engine. 10 is a number. I was trying to find a picture for my young nephew. But why would this picture of Sean Connery come up? It's really strange.
GT: Not sure, likely it'll be poorly imputed meta-data for the image. Google images is based around that kind of thing to generate results. Tell you what, I'll fire up the computer and see if I can recreate your search results.

[firing up the computer]

GT: Ok - I am on Google images. I am searching for Diesel 10. And I've got a whole load of pictures of trains with faces on.

FoP: Do you see Sean Connery in pants?
GT: No.
FoP: I don't understand. I'll do a search too and see if I can get it again.
GT: You do know we are now hoping to see Sean Connery in pants?
FoP: Ok, Ok! I have it. He is here again! The same picture!

GT: Alright. Tell me exactly what your search string is. I'll do the same search and I'll see what you are seeing.

FoP: I am searching: SEAN... CONNERY... DIESEL... 10

GT: Hold on. You're searching for SEAN CONNERY DIESEL 10? I immediately can see your problem. You are typing Sean Connery at the start. Do you find that Sean Connery comes up a lot when you search for things online, things like: SEAN CONNERY LOCAL TV REPAIR MEN? Do you think that is how you make Google work somehow or don't you know your doing it and you think Sean Connery is really popular on the Internet?
FoP: No, no, no! I was just searching with Sean Connery at the start so I would get his picture up. Come on, you do it too so you can see it.
GT: Ah! Ah-ha! Ok, yes, I've got it. They are like blue denim cut-offs and he is holding a flag pole while checking his not-so-little black book. Sean is very assured of his masculinity, I'll give him that. Actually, that's the Union Jack - this picture could be close to treason.

FoP: Erm... no they are red pants.
GT: What?
FoP: The picture I have is of Sean Connery in red pants.
GT: Hang on. Let me just... scroll... Ok, I see it. I see it. Jeezus.

GT: You went for "red pants" to describe this picture? That was what you thought was the most memorable part of this "Mad Max does a porno" ensemble? The gayest bandito in Mexico? Jeezus.

FoP: What would you have gone for?

GT: That Sean is holding a non-standard issue side arm revolver. And he looks exactly how I imagine Diesel Ten to look!

Diesel Ten, what a guy.

The modern Holmes show

Are you sitting down? You should sit down.
I have a confession. The chances are you won't like it.
I am not a super fan of Sherlock (BBC1). There. I've said it.

And I have tried hard to adore it. But I merely like it.

I can't get over the nagging feeling just because it is head and shoulders above everything else around it (and it arguably is), it doesn't make it any better just as what it has left behind, really, has not been made any worse.

My main truck is with the writers, Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss. The cult of Moffat possibly deserves a full blog by itself. However in this context, having both him and Gatiss working on Sherlock deflects from my suspension of belief. I find myself constantly thinking of Moffat and Gatiss scripting and plotting the episodes as they play out in front of my eyes. And then Gatiss is in it, and I think of him writing his own part. Most annoyingly, Moffat and Gatiss do seem to court and revel in this aspect of their show.

Viewers can Tweet Moffat to ask him about plots and twists and answers. Viewers look for clues in grammatically incorrect dialogue, paint patterns of a picture hung in the background and noises off camera. Fed on a diet of Derren Brown and Moffat's own Doctor Who, it appears that the modern watcher of a Moffat programme is already second guessing the next series before it is even made. And Moffat is only too happy to weave red herrings and subterfuge and place it in all in a Tweet right back.

Moffat tweeted on the announcement that a 3rd series was being made: "Gotcha!" sending the Twitterscope into overdrive about how Sherlock could have survived the final episode of the 2nd.

Fervent Tweeter: "Sherlock survives because, although alive when we see him fall from the roof, there is a garbage truck that blocks you seeing him hit the pavement in a single camera shot. I bet there were crash mats on the ground."

Yes, there definitely were. Otherwise the other option would be to actually kill a stuntman wearing a cool overcoat.

My theory? It pulls in 9.3 million viewers.

Here is my point:



Who is John Hawkesworth? No one knows. I've asked. No. One. Knows. And this is despite him having a name that is very memorable.

It was never hip in the kitchen at parties to say on trend things like: "Hawkesworth has managed to make cult mainstream and mainstream interesting again." and then have people barely known to each other nod in agreement.

The other thing that doesn't sit well with me, apart from the writers, is the writing.

I will move past the obvious comparisons with Moffat's other titular hero, Doctor Who... alright if I must, quickly: Sherlock is the Doctor, Watson is the Companion, Moriarty is the Master, Mrs. Hudson = TARDIS.

Sherlock is fast paced, humorous but at it's worst it is knowing. It is a romp. It seems half-designed to hit fan boy targets and the half to show generation Y just how cool Sherlock Holmes is. It is sexy geek. Though highly watchable, again I think ocassionally the writing is trying to be more clever and more about the writers wanting adoration than anything else.

A great thing about Sherlock is it has dealt the death knell to a perennial problem for TV shows. How to manage the fact that everyone is on their mobile phones these days. Sherlock deals with it like a duck to water, or a Holmes in the 22nd century to a computer controlled hover police vehicle.



With a simplicity that is close to revolutionary, they print the text of the phone on the screen next to the the character receiving or sending the message.

But it has been such a good idea for the makers of Sherlock that they have adapted to it all sorts. The ATM machine was one example. Couldn't just put a camera over Watson's shoulder for that one, no? Sherlock's actual thoughts was another. Making sense of how Sherlock Holme's mind works out a case was the job of Dr. Watson (the "Mind Palace" inspired line aside). Not now we can see the words forming, the map clearing and the problem solving literally has it happens.

But just as the text messaging is great the case the code breaking technology in the episodes has fallen into my pet hate trap. Passwords.

Invariably needing to hack into a military science base computer, Sherlock looks at the book the General was reading and deduces the password. He does the same by feeling the pulse of a femme fatale. Both passwords are people's names.

Now, I don't know about you, but in my job (which is pretty low level) my password is a random series of numbers and a punctuation mark put somewhere inbetween which changes every 4 months. The IT department at my work insist on it. And I just have a couple of spreadsheets on my PC.

Finally, the Sherlock Holmes character of this latest adaptation was something that I was going to witter on about for perhaps another 3 or 4 paragraphs. But I now have no need. In fact, nobody need ever discuss the Sherlock in this series agian. A comment on the Guardian TV review site has summed it up more perfectly than anyone ever could. In fact, it sums up the whole thing so neatly I probably didn't need to lay down this blog at all, except for quoting:

This Sherlock is just a vicious Detective Monk

Hans Greville Tombs

Sitting in a coffee house this morning I came to start thinking about a possible children's story book. It was to have the big bold lettering of classic Puffin Books and the colourful illustrations of a local watercolour artist.

Called The Cannae Bee, the story would basically involve a young Scottish boy who would see a bumblebee in various improbable places. He would say, "Mum! Dad! I have just seen a great big bumblebee!", "Where did you see it?" they would say. "In the fridge!" the young boy would reply (for example).

Then the Mum or Dad will say - and this is the key to whole concept - "It cannae be!" then give the reason. So in this scenario: "It's far too cold in the fridge for a bumblebee!"

Ok, it's uncomplicated in the format, but it is - you know - for kids. And I hadn't planned on story boarding a kids book over a hangover coffee in Cafe Nero.

Now it may well have been the 2nd espresso but I quickly found the plot taking a darker tone.

Once his parents have given the reason for the bee not located in these places, the boy would go back to check but the bee would be there hovering and say, in the grizzled voice of a serial prison convict: "No one will bee-lieve you, your parents, your granny or your friends. I am the Cannae Bee and I am where I cannae be! I am mad for a buzz so you better get me some pollen. I am talking the good stuff, too. Or I'll sting ye! You will see me again. Soon. Where you think I just cannae be!". I figured that the Bee character could basically haunt the boy in a constant waking nightmare.

I'll sketch up something for the end. I don't know: maybe the boy can't get to his pollen dealer (Fiona the Florist's Assistant) for one reason or another - if you had to push me on it, then, because he had an after school science assignment - and the Cannae Bee, hiding in a clock, goes mental and stings him right in the neck, as the parents come running and finally see the bumblebee's little prone dying hairy body.

The parents learn not to doubt the boy, the boy learns that bee stings are sore so best not to annoy them, the bee learns that given the consequences of stinging someone he should have sought therapy for his pollen addiction instead. It'll end on some joke like the Dad sneezing and the boy saying, "What you need is a vitamin bee!" It keeps things light.

In fairness, I hadn't thought it all out but it was at this point that I came up with the sequel to The Cannae Bee.

The Wisnae A Wasp.

Writing stories for children is very easy.

Blog Writers of the World unite and take over

On my lunch break at work I was reading the imaginery world of Twitter on my phone app and stumbled on a note that my good blogging comrade, Dumpling, was considering the very future of their blog.

Dumpling, say it ain't so! I have just got Google Reader, for heavens sake.

Dumpling, you explained that a new work policy banning blogging freedoms on personal social networks is making blogging almost too difficult to negotiate.

Well I say, don't ever let yourself be silenced by The Man.

My work says in a legally binding regulation appended to my contract that I am not allowed to blog/send letters to the press/talk on public transport about all sorts of things. But when the occassion arises then I use a simple little trick I learned on the streets. Streets that had Wi-Fi.

Instead of saying something clear like: Louise was back typing about pirates again. What is it that fascinates Louise with pirates?

I will blog: CODENAME Louise was back typing about CODENAME pirates again. What is it that fascinates CODENAME Louise with CODENAME pirates?

I call it the CODENAME mirage.

The Man might well realise something about those couple of sentences is amiss, but will they have the evidence to prosecute? I very much doubt it.

Dumpling, I do hope that this small act of defiance in solidarity with you and now my patented CODENAME mirage techinique will both help you feel you have the armoury to continue with your blogging.

Regards,
Greville Tombs

Boiler Technician Hulk SMASH!

A friend of mine was telling me that he was helping to carry out disaster training at his work at the weekend. My friend, to explain, works at a Nuclear Power Plant.
The scenario was a breach in the reactor, leading to a meltdown - just as a passenger train goes by.

He said that it was going to be as a realistic set-up as they could make it.

It sounded like quite good fun and I, naturally, offered my services to help add to the realism. My friend declined the offer. This was perhaps a wise move, as, to be honest, I could just see it how it would probably turn out:

Greville Tombs: Hi. We are here for the Plant disaster training. I OK'd it with my friend. He won't mind that I've brought another friend, Grant, along. I am, obviously, going to play the part of a radioactive zombie.
Nuclear Operative: And what has your friend, Grant, come dressed as?
Grant: I am the result of the folly of 20th century man's pursuit of a future fuelled by nuclear energy.
Nuclear Operative: And that result would be?
Grant: I am a super-sized atomic caterpillar.
Nuclear Operative: With torches for antennae?
Grant: They represent lasers.

Surely all those Godzilla movies can't be wrong?

Of course, I am against nuclear energy madness - the consequences if something goes awry would be devastating. Radioactive zombies, giant bugs - they would be simply unbearable to live with. I think that we can also concede that fossil fuels are not a long term answer. Most believe that the planet would be better with a replacement for both of these power sources. The answer is to see about harnessing  the natural re-usable resources out there.

But what to go for? Now, I am no scientist, but here are my views.

Solar power - there is an abundant supply of sun waves coming from the Sun. And for some in the North of Britain, people don't even notice they are there. So it seems the ideal source of natural energy. To power just one house, though, I would think your entire roof needs tiled with solar panelled calculators. And, taking in the costs of running the technology, maintenance and repairs, it will economically break even for you after installation within 120 years. Which you could work out using your roof. Hmmm, maybe not the most cost efficient.

Wave power - waves, you get lots of them in the sea. They are happening pretty much constantly. But the technology, unlike solar, is not up to scratch. It is costly, inefficient, could upset the fish, stop boating channels... it is quite intrusive. Most of all, they have to transport that energy inland. Not everyone lives by the sea. Until such times as they can hook one up to my local Waterworld (famed for it's "wave pool") thereby powering it and the rest of the area in a perpetual motion configuration, I can't see wave power being cock of the walk.

Wind power - now we are talking. Wind is everywhere - there is wind in the air and air is all over the place. Wind turbines can be put close to where power is needed, and they generate a lot of it. Look! How much power is this one generating?

F**ing awesome

They actually produce more power than the other alternatives and produce no emissions. They are ideal. In fact, the only negative to the wind turbine is that it is visually unappealing on the landscape. But I may just have a solution for this.

OK, I admit, one or two of these turbines on the horizon, next to lovely woodland scenery or on the side of a hill - they look awful.

But just picture loads of them on that hill or near that favourite woodland walk. I am talking, like, 85 of them. All rotating their 130ft blades in unison. Now that is a sight to behold. A wondrous sight. A true spectacle. Who could complain about that?