#WorriedAboutJustin

Justin Bieber is all up in our faces again today after showing up late to perform at the O2 last night. Due to come on at 8:30 and actually coming on at 10:30 made a load of little kids cry and kept them up way past their bedtimes, which made a load of parents very mad indeed. He’s like Wee Willie Winkie, but obviously with way more #swag and much more bitchin’ high top trainers.

Justin has been in London for the last few days and has seldom been out of the papers with his partying and late night ways. Recently celebrating his 19th birthday, he tweeted at the end of the night that it had been the ‘worst birthday’ ever. Oh Biebs! Why? Well, it seems Justin’s pal Jaden Smith was not able to get into the party, held at a London nightclub. The bouncers wouldn’t let him in.

Dude, we’ve all been there. You shine up your gold chain, dust off your all white suit and roll out with your homies for a top birthday night out when someone tells you as you slam the taxi door, ‘oh shit, I’ve forgotten my ID’. NICE one.

Now you’re all shivering outside trying to work out whether to go home or go in without your hopeless mate. It sucks, but it happens. However, I should probably point out that Jaden Smith is just 14 years old. I think even that’s pushing things a bit Biebs. No amount of fake ID and begging the doorman is gonna get that little kid past the rope and you might have known.  If Jaden’s coming next year, better hire out Pizza Hut instead.

In the end, they rolled the whole crew (is my young American person talk coming off as authentic by the way?) back to the hotel and just partied there. Meaning, Biebs and Jaden played Fifa and got a takeaway. Again, we’ve all been there.

So here’s a quick Bieber Bio for those who don’t know. Justin Bieber has been extremely famous for years now and it’s been going on since he was just a little boy. While my mum was telling me to ‘be quiet’ because she was ‘on the phone’, Justin's mum was filming him and putting the videos on YouTube. If only my mother had had the same foresight, but sadly my talent lies dormant to this very day. Anyway, I digress. Justin was spotted on YouTube by a man called Scooter and taken to see another man called Usher, who signed him to a record label and some years later, Biebs is arguably (and I’d win the argument) the most famous pop star in the world.

He dated a beautiful Disney princess (called Selena Gomez) for a couple of years before recently breaking up with her after pictures emerged of him standing next to a Victoria Secret model. GASP.

He was a nice kid and seems like a nice guy, but his recent behaviour has caused me concern. He’s gone a bit weird on Twitter, he looks a bit tired behind those shades and he’s hanging around with some ropey looking girls. When 37 million people have pledged to defend you to the death on Twitter, it has a bit of an I Robot vibe don’t you think? You know when they all suddenly go wrong with a red light…?

Biebs, you know what I’m saying man, let’s level with each other. For realz. Take a break, kick off your high tops, put your phone away and start showing up on time for work. You’re no different to anyone else. And no, your 14 year old mate cannot come in, I don’t care who his Dad is. Will Smith? From I Robot? Oh, wow sorry, step this way.

Lookin' Through the Windows: The Jacksons - A Review

The Jacksons. Not the Jackson 5, for obvious reasons (sob). Last night was their much anticipated (by me) reunion show in London. I’ve always been a huge fan of The Jacksons and when it comes to Michael I’m one of those crazy, crying, hysterical fans, so I was pretty excited to go last night but also apprehensive that it would be like watching a load of backing singers, flailing without a lead. Well I needn’t have worried…
The show began with the obligatory warm up. A lady called Denise something or other, who told us afterwards that she’d be hanging around in the foyer, if we wanted to buy her CD. Sorry Denise, your singing was really good, but we’re Jackson fans.  It was a tough crowd and we were there for one reason only.

Additionally, poor Denise was hopelessly scuppered by the appearance of Peter Andre in the audience at the back. Pete tried to sneak in without notice, but word spread round the auditorium that he was there and before long there were camera flashes going off in his face and people scrambling to shake his hand. Oh well, it provided a bit of interest while we waited for the show to begin when finally, at 8:30… the lights went down, the four microphones appeared on stage and suddenly, there they were…

Subtly choreographed and effortlessly slick, it was immediately clear that these guys were old pros. Tito on guitar, looking thinner than you’d except, Jackie the oldest and quietest, yet somehow more charismatic than Jermaine (the usual peoples’ choice) and then Marlon. Super fans will tell you that Marlon used to get the belt from Old Papa Joe Jackson more than any other sibling - apparently for his failure to dance correctly. I watched very carefully to see if he screwed anything up and can tell you that I think Joe was a being a little bit harsh.

The set list was a fabulous mixture of 25 tracks: Old favourites like ABC, I Want You Back, Blame it on the Boogie and Never Can Say Goodbye combined with lesser known songs from their enormous back catalogue of albums such as Push Me Away and Man of War.


Sharing the singing was Jermaine, who took most of the high stuff, Marlon who gave it his best shot (bless him - WHACK) and Jackie, whose smooth tone is clearly made for back up but nevertheless, did a pretty good job. Marlon interspersed the singing with little speaking interludes, telling us his memories from The Ed Sullivan Show, or occasionally busting out a 'Michael Jackson spin' which looked about 0.1% as good as Michael, but maybe was one of those things that was probably Marlon’s idea to begin with and Michael probably pinched it, like brothers tend to do with your stuff.

What was especially nice to see, was how much the brothers obviously enjoyed doing the show. I guess 50 years of singing back up for your electrified, super talented brother and then finally taking centre stage, was bittersweet.

Of course, it was unavoidable that Michael Jackson would feature heavily in the show. But it was done not with mawkishness, but with ownership. The space left by Michael was filled with tributes, images, glittery costumes and songs and the concert was not only a beautiful memorial to a clearly much loved relative, but a spectacular showcase of the group’s collective talent.

Jermaine sang Gone too Soon, to a background of Motown clips, stills and later photos of Michael looking unfortunately, progressively more drowsy. The obligatory kiss to the sky and subsequent applause, that lasted just that little bit longer than usual, was heartfelt, not indulgent. This was and is a real family.

The musicians forming the band were introduced towards the end, where they each took their turn to show off. Needless to say, these guys were the very best of the best. From guitars, to drums, to percussion to keyboards, not only did they sparkle but they made the Jacksons shimmer against a back drop of jaw-dropping musical ability.

The two hour show ended with Michael’s hits Wanna Be Starting Something and Don’t Stop Til you Get Enough. The audience, who’d been on their feet for most of the show, were enraptured. The Jackson’s had them in the palm of their hand, which was a situation they were more than familiar with.

I’m glad I saw them live for the first, and what I suspect will be the last, time (Jackie is 61 years old, not that you could tell) and I can certainly see why they’ve stuck around for so long. In a boring era of transient, vapid and disappointing pop music, where a fast buck is more important than a developed talent, The Jacksons are real life singing relics from a time when music was really music. Ten out of ten from me and if you’re in Germany or Australia where the tour is rolling onto, I’d recommend catching this special moment in music before it’s over.

David Attenborough's AFRICA

If you didn't watch Africa last night, then the following will serve only as an enraptured report of a place you'll think I've made up. It was incredible. Africa is INCREDIBLE. Who knew? Well maybe you already did know, but in my mind (when I think of Africa) it goes like this: 'Sahara desert. The Sun.  The Lion King. Is Kenya the capital of Africa? So where is Jamaica then?' And that's about IT. Until last night...

Darling David Attenborough - is there anything in this WORLD more wonderful than a new series courtesy of our national Grandpa? His lovely soft voice, his witty narration, the way he shows us splendid things we had no clue existed until he told us. He's wonderful. I certainly hope that while the BBC are sending him on these phenomenal expeditions, they are simulataneously working out how to make him never die.

So on to Africa then and what did we see? Well, as Frozen Planet was the strong leader in the category 'David's programmes that are very COLD', this is a magificent cousin from the opposite category - 'HOT'.

Africa is very hot. Very very hot indeed. And there is no water and nothing to eat. All the animals that live there spend the whole time dragging through the heat-wavey, dusty air searching for water and food. Occasionally they encounter each other and then it's just marvelous.

Highlights included:

Giraffes

I had no idea giraffes behaved like this. Filmed in the style of a Cowboy and Western, an Old Bull is challenged for potential courtship of a lovely lady giraffe by a younger, cockier giraffe who swaggers over and tries a bit of funny business. 'Hey Old man, why dontcha hit the road? This town ain't big enough....etc.'

They size each other up and then...they just start whacking the absolute spots off each other with their necks! Great, thunderous whacks! Plus horns! And dirty tactics like going for each other's legs (out of order) and undercarriage! I always thought those long necks were just for gentle reaching of leaves out of tall trees, or peering over high fences and I thought those horns were like little tufts of furr! But no. Giraffes have kick ass necks made of IRON for smashing the hell out of other giraffes. Needless to say, Old Bull won and that cocky youngster got his just desserts. Take THAT! WHACK.

Crickets

If you want to have nightmares forever, then this is the section for you. Giant crickets the size of chickens, with enough antennae to broadcast Sky News and enough legs to....ummm....win a football match against a millipede? Anyway, they were nightmarish to look at and their special move is to climb trees with their big, strong arms and snatch baby birds out of nests. Arrrrrghhhh. HORROR. Any crickets that fall from the tree with a giant CRASH get gobbled up by their cricket friends. Totally frightening but utterly amazing all the same.


Rhinos

The most cumbersome, prehistoric looking animals we've got. Notoriously grumpy and disinclined to share their water with anyone. Not with the desperate, parched animals who've walked 5000 miles in the burning sun to get there or even with each other. However, by David's magical 'starlight camera' we saw that at night, these typically grouchy animals are very affectionate, sociable and loving. Sharing water, snuggling each others' noses and all sorts. One comment on Twitter read, 'Grumpy by day, affectionate and sociable by night? Rhinos are total lesbians!'.

A highlight was a courtship scene where a challenger arrived with antelope horns stuck to his nose. Even David was baffled at how this had happened, but it did the trick because the lady rhino picked him. Ladies do love a bit of creativity.

Golden Cartwheel Spider

Finally, a story to make the chicken-crickets look like teddy bears. A mummy wasp in the desert looks for moisture to lay her eggs. Fine - seems reasonable. But wait...she decides in this endlessly arid landscape, the best course of action is to lay them INSIDE A SPIDER. Dear Lord. Never in all of creation has this been the best course of action. NO mummy wasp. What are you thinking? Are you out of your MIND? But she's determined unfortunately. She duly digs a spider up from his sandy hovel and when he appears, he's as horrifying as you would imagine. Pale and strange with lots of eyes. However, when the spider gets wind of what mummy wasp is planning, quite understandably he takes off! Cartwheeling down the sand dune like a shooting star! - It's like one of those moments when you're crying so much with terror that you start laughing. Brilliant.

BRILLIANT. Well done David. Well done animals. And well done Africa. Can't wait for next week.

Goodbye 2012, you rocked.

BOOM. Weeeeeeeee. CRACKLE. ShhhhhhhhhhPOP... BANG. Ooooooh.

Happy new year everyone! Did you watch the fireworks? I did because I stayed in last night as usual.
I really feel that New Year's Eve is an underage teenager's game. Who wants to spend £50 getting into a Wetherspoons and then be barraged around by drunk, tall, teenagers shouting Auld Lang Syne into your face? Ugh, no thank you.

Mr B. and I had a lovely evening by the fire sipping champagne, eating steak and watching TV until I decided it was time to start the dancing and cranked MTV to Vol. 65 (I know - that's pretty wild even for an NYE). As I whirled dangerously near the fire, shouting 'YES George (Michael)! YES', poor Mr B. (who'd had significantly less to drink, spent the latter part of the evening looking disapprovingly up at me from the sofa until at 12.30 he announced he was off to bed, leaving me and the Christmas tree swaying to Dead or Alive's 'You Spin Me Round'. A total NYE success if you ask me. Those teenagers can keep their precious Wetherspoons.

So 2012 was great wasn't it? That's the consensus. Don't we seem notably more sentimental about saying goodbye to 2012 than we have to most of his forefathers? Usually we're like, 'See you later 2001 (booted into the canal) or 'So long 1945, you sucked (pitched over the pier). Splash. But 2012...we're all 'Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend..' and lovingly releasing it, like a Chinese lantern over a calm sea as we wipe away a tear. But why?

Don't panic - I know why and I'm afraid it's mainly down to two major, national events: The Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the London 2012 Olympic Games.

The Jubilee was essentially the Queen, sailing down the Thames, in the rain as Londoners cheered her on. And the Olympics was sportsmen and women winning medals. On the surface, this sounds pretty rubbish. And some people probably thought it was. But those people missed the point. What was really going on was that these events gave us that elusive, wonderful feeling of 'we're all in this thing together'.

Feeling 'together' usually happens on a smaller scale. You can go to a concert and shout 'YES George!' with a crowd of other people. Or go to a football match and shout at other people across a park. But these are just pockets. It's unusual for the whole nation to climb aboard the Jubilee barge and sing 'Wake Me Up Before You Go Go' together - but in 2012, that is (metaphorically) what happened.

We watched the events on TV, we read about them in the paper, we made snide little jokes from our sofas, we chatted at work, with our friends, wherever - For once, we had something tangible in common other than 1. The endlessly dreary weather or 2. Blaming someone for something. We were a nation, we actually felt like a nation and it was good.

Wasn't it nice to have something else to say to the hairdresser? 'Did you see the Queen on that barge? Did you hear the Duke's in hospital now after all that rain on his head? He should have been wearing a hood. Who's fault was it?' - OK the weather and the finger of blame usually slip in there somehow, but at least it had a memorable context for once. We like to feel together because it spurs us on. In a world of fear where we're defined more by our differences than our similarities, these moments are pure treasure and here's to much more of it.

What will 2013 bring? A scorching summer (PLEASE)? A royal baby? That'll get us going.  Let's just hope next NYE is more of the 'Chinese lantern' variety than 'shopping trolley of rubbish in the river'.

Happy new year to all and I hope 2013 is good to us. In the immortal words of beloved George, 'Bad boys, Stick together, Never sad boys'. YES George. Bloody yes.

Physics is Phun!

Well Neutrinos are a bit blooming fast ain’t they?! At last, something interesting has happened in the Large Hadron Collider and we can relax about £4.4 billion it cost to make. Phew. Day and night, desperate physicists have been whirling all sorts around in there trying to make something happen; particles, light, dining room chairs (no I made that up) and after much accelerating, firing and colliding it seems that we have a winner! 

Dr Ereditato (before you check, yes this is an anagram of Retired Toad) is making Albert Einstein look stupid all over the news today with Neutrinos of all things! He's poured them into the collider (which I think is a bit like pouring soap powder into one of those washing machines that you fill from the top) and the suprising results have scuppered Einstein’s best theory, making it look about as clever and likely as Mariah Carey’s last album E=MC2. 

Currently, the unexpected Neutrino results are being checked by other scientists (just to make sure) and the Doctor says ‘we want to be helped by the community in understanding our crazy result - because it is crazy’. Well that may be so Mr Toad. It is crazy what you’ve done. Who would have thought that something with a name like a chocolate energy drink would turn out to be so fast! If you’re right about these Neutrinos, the consequences could be ‘very serious’ apparently. Give yourself a pat on the back Doctor because you’ve ruined everything.

Posters of Mariah Carey and Einstein looking cheeky at his blackboard are being torn from bedroom walls all over the world! The science community are up in arms because (if I understand this correctly, which I’m pretty sure I do) all we have to do now is climb into the Hadron Collider, sit on a dining room chair holding a full carton of Neutrinos and presto! We can time travel! It’s only a matter of time I should think.

The second science shock of the day is that a satellite the size of a double decker bus is plunging  towards the Earth and it’s just luck if it’s not your head that it lands on. This isn’t a brilliantly thought through way to end the journey of a satellite really. That it just crashes to Earth I mean. I can’t imagine any of us would get that life-endangering ending past our bosses. ‘So thanks for that presentation Alice. This all looks good to go up. Can we just ask though, what happens at the end?’, ‘Oh right sure, well it just crashes to the Earth in a ball of fire?’, ‘Right fine. Off you go then. To infinity and beyond!’ Nasa clearly has some logistical kinks to work out. There’s not much we can do about it, other than just stay inside, but then if it’s your house it lands on, it’s probably game over anyway. Good luck with that. Fingers crossed.

There's No Business Like Show Business!

It's time. To face. The MUSIC!

I've been watching The X Factor every Saturday night for a few weeks now and I have come to a conclusion. What we're facing is definitely not 'the music', but more like what you might face if you picked up a moss-covered rock in a haunted wood and then forced yourself to let the woodlice crawl all over your hand for an hour, all the while trying to enjoy your Saturday night curry.

The poor old hopefuls always get a lot of stick so I won't go on about that. We all know what we think. Sometimes we laugh for a few seconds at the singing, but then stop when it becomes apparent that the singer is mentally ill. Sometimes they will have nice voices and we’ll cry at how they overcame such adversities as say, ‘coming from Fife’ (their words not mine) and round and round we go again week after week until Christmas. However it’s apparent, at X Factor time more than ever, that such a premium is placed on having 'talent' and being famous that it has now actually turned our young people into jittering lunatics and sent our existing lunatics completely and irretrievably over the edge. It isn’t fair. It's just not FAIR Gary Barlow. We need a reality check from reality TV and pronto.

But what actually is talent? Is it something you're born with? Or are you in the Malcolm Gladwell Outliers club and think that it's something you can develop on your own if you try hard enough? (As long as you're not born in August obviously, you youngsters are clearly stuffed right from the start).

These days, recognised talent (in the media at least) seems to be all about entertainment. Can you dance? Can you sing? Can you act? Not much glamour or recognition is handed out to the other job sectors. There’s no Administration Factor - It’s time. To face. The HOLEPUNCH! No Engineer Idol or Britain’s Got Social Workers. No. Young people today, in the main, want to be in the entertainment industry and they want to be famous and that’s that.

Why is it that some people *pictures the divine Beyonce rising above the X Factor railings in a cloud of sparkling rain* seem to have an other-worldly twinkle in their eye whereas others are doomed to a life spent making cardboard boxes in a factory? *Aside* Cardboard Box Factory Worker is my idea of the world’s worst job – no offence if this is your job but seriously come ON, get a better job. If you’re set on being a factory worker, at least make something else? The box is just the vessel! It epitomises emptiness and confronts you by forcing you to imagine all the other jobs out there where people have to fill the boxes with interesting things. Dreary. Plus, who makes the boxes for the boxes in the factory? A worse job even still! Is this an existential problem that drives box makers mad as they punch, fold and pack? Or is it unlikely that a box maker would even ask this type of question? I bet Beyonce would have asked it on her first day at the factory. ‘Beyonce, here are your safety goggles and do you have any questions before you get started?’, ‘Well actually yes, who is it that makes these boxes? They’re boxilicious!’ But anyway, I digress.

Analysis shows that to be successful (or at least to appear talented), you have to have put in 10, 000 hours of graft. TEN THOUSAND HOURS of doing the same thing over and over. You’d have to be as focussed as a bloody box maker! Then when you’re finally ready to show off what you can do, it will appear as though you have magical powers, when in fact you’ve practised your socks off and probably bored yourself rigid.

The lesson to be learned, as early as possible, seems to be that you get nothing for free and if you want to be successful, you’re going to have to put in some bloody effort. The sooner you work that out, the better. Unfortunately for most of us however, while our parents were reading us The Hungry Caterpillar and our infant brains marvelled at how that hole went right through the book, (right through it!? Amazing stuff and oh the possibilities!), Michael Jackson’s father (the horrifying Joe) was lashing his sons with an extension cord and screaming into their terrified faces, ‘dance! Sing BETTER and MORE!!’ While we were sliding down the stairs in our sleeping bags with our stupid and talentless peers, Beyonce and Kelly were putting together Destiny’s Child. ‘Did you have a nice time at Beyonce’s birthday?’, ‘Oh yes thanks, we organised ourselves into a girl group and worked on some harmonies’.

Really it’s no wonder that when delusional, residential home out-patients rock up to the X Factor, tears streaming down their faces and with tragic tales of shattered dreams and jobs in factories, Barlow shifts uncomfortably in his seat and then sends them on their way proclaiming, ‘you are never, ever going to boot camp’. Barlow had to graft and he’s just not having it.

But is there anything we can do about our collective lack of talent? Is it too late? Are we doomed to spend our lives at our desks and never know how it feels to sell out the O2 in 10 minutes? Sadly, it seems that this may be so. All there is to cling to is the hope that it’s not too late to get a part on Eastenders as an old person. Just look how long Jim Branning waited for that break! And even when he lost his marbles and his dodgy eye started rolling in his head, they just wrote it into the show! Brilliant.

Perhaps all we can do is try to be as good as possible at the thing we’re already doing. Even Beyonce must need a flat pack box sometimes and when she does, who is she going to call? YOU that’s who. Feel better? Yeah, me neither.

Chris Lilley

I met Chris Lilley on Tuesday. I shook his hand and simultaneously thought two things. One, ‘crikey those are the greenest human eyes I have ever seen’ – it was literally like shaking hands with a dragon and two, ‘this stranger, whose hand I’m allowed to hold for the next 2 seconds, is someone who really sees people’. Well of course he would with eyes like that, but the television programmes he has made so far are the most sophisticated example of pathos we’ve seen since Charlie Chaplin.

Hugely successful for years in Australia and lately in the UK and America, We Can Be Heroes, Summer Heights High and Angry Boys are comedy series written by Lilley and in which he stars as all the major characters. Young, old, male, female, black, white, Asian and everything in between - each one of the characters is a total work of art. Sophisticated, complex and yet beautiful in their simplicity, each is a fully rounded, utterly believable, vulnerable, loathsome, loveable creation of humanity and woven expertly into a script where you will laugh at them, with them and then cry for them all at the same time.

Lilley is obviously a professional people-watcher and what he’s produced with these shows clearly represent 1000s of hours of observation, research, thinking, writing and editing. The result is so realistic that to say this is good TV would be like saying Fred Astaire was good at dancing or Frank Sinatra was alright at singing a song like he meant it. This is fabulous TV. Comedy at its very best.

When analysing the success of these shows, it’s heartening to note that people must be getting it. I mean really getting it. Sure, there will be people who shout ‘Nathan!’ into Chris’s face in the street, people who will download ‘Animal Zoo’ and listen to it thinking, ‘you know I really should get to a zoo’ and people who will scrawl ‘dicktation (just imagine the picture for the sake of the argument)’ onto their school books, but on the whole, people are enjoying the shows I think because it causes them to have the paradoxical feeling of escaping from reality by confronting it. Lilley plays with all the big ones like racism, homophobia, disability, prejudice, discrimination, but also has a point to make on just about everything else. It’s as if collectively the audience is shown something familiar, shocked by it, amused and then all give each other a big virtual hug and carry on with their lives, maybe feeling just a little bit more in the know.

From what I’ve read, Lilley seems somewhat surprised by his success and personal popularity. He doesn’t want the fame and possibly thinks what he’s done by making shows which are essentially just about people isn’t all that unusual a thing. Everyone loves a reluctant hero though so I don’t think his appeal is going to wane any time soon.

I’m glad I met him. I couldn’t help feeling afterwards like I wished he was my friend and I don’t think I was the only one...