Have finally purchased The ‘Black’ Office DVD and have discovered something as good as the Go-motion raptors in Jurassic Park. On the second disk of the first series there are, as with most DVDs, deleted scenes. One of these, more of a full version of a scene than a deleted piece of footage, is Brent reciting Betjeman’s Slough.
This ‘extra’ features Brent consulting the index in a book of collected poems to see where else JB does not like. More writing shall appeal on this lovely piece of paraphernalia soon. I plan to transcribe the scene (that is if it does not appear in the script book of Chris’s).
R B Grange
29/09/2007
27/09/2007
Go Place
I’ve just got out of the shower. I had quite an uneventful wash until it came to my wrists, or arms. I have to actually think to wash my hair and neck but washing everywhere else comes quiet naturally. Recently I’ve been using some special solid shampoo for blond haired people and with being back in London for a month now my neck, as it did last year, has ended up getting very grubby very easily.
On my wrists was a stamp from a club Chris, Clare, Hayley, Libby and I went to a few nights ago, but seeing it (and getting rid of it) just now, reminded me of what had happened during that day not the night.
Rachel had come round for the afternoon. In the morning I was not particularly excited by this – it was merely Rachel, a very good friend, but a person I saw everyday from last September to June. I feel it is a skill of mine, being able to put down and pick up friendships with no tears or goodbyes, or furtive smiles and small talk. But seeing Rachel again in the afternoon made me very happy. I hadn’t missed her over the summer but something seemed complete again in seeing her now and knowing that she’ll be living in walking distance.
We took the train into central London and looked round H&M. Whilst Hayley, Rachel and Clare were trying on clothes I waited on the shop floor, looking at the shop floor. That’s something I don’t like about now; men cannot look at children because people will think them paedophiles, nor can they look at women’s clothes lest they be mistake for transvestites, nor can they look at people in general (probably).
We then retired to a coffee shop where we took part in a pilot episode for a fashion programme on BBC Three. I had to wear a silver belt – I was a bit annoyed.
Now I’ve unpacked and have a soft floor in my room I feel back in my element, and I’ve made a promise to update this thing every other day.
The club thing I went to was full of younglings.
R B Grange
On my wrists was a stamp from a club Chris, Clare, Hayley, Libby and I went to a few nights ago, but seeing it (and getting rid of it) just now, reminded me of what had happened during that day not the night.
Rachel had come round for the afternoon. In the morning I was not particularly excited by this – it was merely Rachel, a very good friend, but a person I saw everyday from last September to June. I feel it is a skill of mine, being able to put down and pick up friendships with no tears or goodbyes, or furtive smiles and small talk. But seeing Rachel again in the afternoon made me very happy. I hadn’t missed her over the summer but something seemed complete again in seeing her now and knowing that she’ll be living in walking distance.
We took the train into central London and looked round H&M. Whilst Hayley, Rachel and Clare were trying on clothes I waited on the shop floor, looking at the shop floor. That’s something I don’t like about now; men cannot look at children because people will think them paedophiles, nor can they look at women’s clothes lest they be mistake for transvestites, nor can they look at people in general (probably).
We then retired to a coffee shop where we took part in a pilot episode for a fashion programme on BBC Three. I had to wear a silver belt – I was a bit annoyed.
Now I’ve unpacked and have a soft floor in my room I feel back in my element, and I’ve made a promise to update this thing every other day.
The club thing I went to was full of younglings.
R B Grange
03/09/2007
Green jelly - Green cords
Got the train from Wakefield down to London yesturday. A journey I often take now but one that is always reassuringly different. The train I took was delayed and, I llater found out, contained three lots of passengers – one from an earlier train on the same root and one from Scotland or something. The journey is not the main content of the blog so don’t worry. This post is not about how GNER should get their act together and that I hope the company who are taking over the route do better.
Anyway (indeed anyway because the train did not take its usual route [stopping at Huntingdon of all places]) after arriving into King’s Cross an hour and forty minutes late I topped up my Oyster card and descended the escalators to get on a northbound Piccadilly line train.
As one pulled up the image of Kevin Eldon flashed before my eyes. Now some of you may know my many stories about comedians and transport, my theories and links about them etc. But Eldon is very different from Ian Lee or Simon Pegg or Mackenzie Crook. As you can gather from an earlier post, I place much more importance on the career of Mr Eldon; the work he has done over the last decade (longer in fact) has shaped my comedy and my love of comedy more than any other.
When I say ‘the image of …’ I mean he was sitting on the tube I as about to board, the one I boarded about twenty for hours ago. I placed my large wheely suitcase in the bay and sat down beside him. I had already mentioned him to Libby earlier that day so I was able to think about the beauty of London and coincidence.
Mr Eldon was reading a paper, an article about employers and Facebook. He put the paper down and I decided to strike up a hopeful conversation. I respect people’s privacy; I was holidaying Keswick last week and whilst walking through the town centre I heard someone shout ‘Richard Grange!’, it some Sam Thomas and some students doing the Duke of Edinburgh Award. I didn’t really want to talk to them but I did. Back to the important stuff, our conservation when like this:
RG: “Erm excuse me, are you Kevin Eldon?”
KE: “[Funny noise of confirmation]”
RG: “Ah, my friends would have killed me if I hadn’t have said hello”
KE: “They can’t be particularly nice friend if they’d kill you”
RG: “Ah… I wrote about you, how you are important, as a meme. How you and Paul Putner link all good British comedy [I mumble most of this].”
KE: “Oh well [the train starts to stop, My Eldon gets up]. Nice trousers.”
RG “Thanks. They’re corduroy.”
And then he was gone.
R B Grange
Anyway (indeed anyway because the train did not take its usual route [stopping at Huntingdon of all places]) after arriving into King’s Cross an hour and forty minutes late I topped up my Oyster card and descended the escalators to get on a northbound Piccadilly line train.
As one pulled up the image of Kevin Eldon flashed before my eyes. Now some of you may know my many stories about comedians and transport, my theories and links about them etc. But Eldon is very different from Ian Lee or Simon Pegg or Mackenzie Crook. As you can gather from an earlier post, I place much more importance on the career of Mr Eldon; the work he has done over the last decade (longer in fact) has shaped my comedy and my love of comedy more than any other.
When I say ‘the image of …’ I mean he was sitting on the tube I as about to board, the one I boarded about twenty for hours ago. I placed my large wheely suitcase in the bay and sat down beside him. I had already mentioned him to Libby earlier that day so I was able to think about the beauty of London and coincidence.
Mr Eldon was reading a paper, an article about employers and Facebook. He put the paper down and I decided to strike up a hopeful conversation. I respect people’s privacy; I was holidaying Keswick last week and whilst walking through the town centre I heard someone shout ‘Richard Grange!’, it some Sam Thomas and some students doing the Duke of Edinburgh Award. I didn’t really want to talk to them but I did. Back to the important stuff, our conservation when like this:
RG: “Erm excuse me, are you Kevin Eldon?”
KE: “[Funny noise of confirmation]”
RG: “Ah, my friends would have killed me if I hadn’t have said hello”
KE: “They can’t be particularly nice friend if they’d kill you”
RG: “Ah… I wrote about you, how you are important, as a meme. How you and Paul Putner link all good British comedy [I mumble most of this].”
KE: “Oh well [the train starts to stop, My Eldon gets up]. Nice trousers.”
RG “Thanks. They’re corduroy.”
And then he was gone.
R B Grange
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