December 2009 Archives

I am listless, but it is not for a lack of lists.

It is that time of year, a time when newspapers and all associated media are clogged with a catalogue of pointless point-scoring, usually notated in a point by point rating such as the top ten most pointless points I've already made this year at various points but insist upon doing so again, and you will love me for it, pointedly.

I'm possibly somewhat jealous, never having been organised enough to keep adequate notes that could form the basis of such a list. Now, of course, my memory cannot be trusted with such things. It was probably always this way. Once upon a time I was often asked my opinion about the best albums and singles of the year; I could barely remember them at the time. Now I'm no longer asked - partly because I'm not relevant enough, partly because I probably didn't do a good job of it in the past and partly because I no longer listen to enough music to make an educated stab at it.

To the victor the spoils, I think that's how it goes. If in this case the spoils are a self-satisfied-smug-grin then I won. We won - we took control of the Christmas number one. In truth we always had control; we always had the choice (to an extent) of what singles we bought but we lacked the motivation and the organisation to give a damn. This year, something changed.

Perhaps it was about social media, the galvanising effect of noticing that others think in the same way and were prepared to take action. Few people want to take a stand on their own, none of us wants to stand and piss into the wind - which is what this campaign would've looked like without Facebook.

Ignoring the faceless corporation behind both the RATM single and Joe McElderry's effort, because it's covered elsewhere and is irrelevant, this was a victory for those of us who were tired of being force-fed this diet of pop-pap. It was a reaction to the tyranny of televised karaoke, the monopoly of one TV programme over the charts.

This is the second episode of the Prague chronicles, in which our 'heroes' endeavour to have a cultural experience, or two, whilst also enjoying a beer, or twelve. All of these things took place, but possibly not in this order.

Friday, Prague: I'm up with the larks - presuming that Czech larks rise at 10am in order to look at a disappointing continental breakfast. This is the last time that the breakfast room will 'enjoy' the presence of my travelling companion Shane who insists upon trying one of the congealed mini-fried-eggs. I will suffer for this later.

Having been in Prague twice before we had a rough idea of our bearings, we also had an indestructible map and a plan. The plan was to head toward the castle to find a funicular railway and an observation tower - two attractions which we'd conspired to miss on previous visits, despite once walking straight past both of them.

On the face of it Prague is perfect. Magnificent architecture, historical relevance, favourable exchange rate (none of that Euro nonsense, yet), only two hours flying time from Birmingham, more bars than you can count, great beers, generally friendly people with a good grasp of English; it seems to be the consummate eastern-European city.

The problem depends on who you go with. Shane is a long-term friend, former near-neighbour, school & team mate, fellow Baggies season ticket holder, frequent travelling partner and regular drinking buddy. Therein lies the issue - with Shane in tow it was practically impossible to pass more than three attractive bars before we were magnetically drawn towards another beer. Naturally he would say the same of me.