Hmm. Maybe.
Funny how someone (Mark, I think) was talking about my initiation into the Grumpy Old Men Club. I was watching some old episodes late at night the other day and, to my utter horror, found myself agreeing with every word they were saying about mobile phones. I swear to God I became middle-aged when I turned fifteen.
James Hall's Awful
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I can't argue with that.James H wrote: I swear to God I became middle-aged when I turned fifteen.
Mental anxiety, Mental breakdowns, Menstrual cramps, Menopause... Did you ever notice how all our problems begin with Men?
Ok ok, Beep has said that he fell on the tracks after being distracted. It's not like he's making a no win, no fee claim against the rail company, nor did he have to tell the story. It was a nasty business to hurt yourself in such a way and I'm sure he's certainly learnt his lesson.
Let's leave it at that and get back to the real moaners who are quick to blame absolutely anything for their own misfortune. Working for a rail company I have to say my favourite complainers aren't the ones talking about overcrowding, high ticket prices, dirty trains and delays. Oh no, it's people who have lost an item of their property. They are just unwilling to accept it was their responsibility and insist that it's your fault for running such a punctual train service that meant that they didn't have enough time to gather their belongings and that the train left again far too quickly. Don't get me wrong, where possible and where we can help, we will but people who usually say "It's a very important item I lost..." should receive a response similar to "So important that you left it on a train?"
Maybe all the lost property people I speak to are government ministers indulging in their favourite pastime of leaving documents on the train?
Let's leave it at that and get back to the real moaners who are quick to blame absolutely anything for their own misfortune. Working for a rail company I have to say my favourite complainers aren't the ones talking about overcrowding, high ticket prices, dirty trains and delays. Oh no, it's people who have lost an item of their property. They are just unwilling to accept it was their responsibility and insist that it's your fault for running such a punctual train service that meant that they didn't have enough time to gather their belongings and that the train left again far too quickly. Don't get me wrong, where possible and where we can help, we will but people who usually say "It's a very important item I lost..." should receive a response similar to "So important that you left it on a train?"
Maybe all the lost property people I speak to are government ministers indulging in their favourite pastime of leaving documents on the train?
Good Lord!
As a few of you may know, I use the trains on a daily basis, and can honestly say I've had no problems on them except for on First TransPennine Express.
I usually go First Class (yes, snobby I know), and on the new Desiro units that FTPE have got, the First Class bit is tiny and cramped (and with a disabled loo in an awkward place. Recently the First Class service on FTPE has gone downhill too. The trolley dolly used to keep popping in and out and asking if you'd like another drink or a cake but lately... nothing. Not even once!
On Virgin Trains, their First Class is fantastic. You get free wifi now (unless you're going to North Wales or north of Lancaster as the signal doesn't work), a lovely breakfast in the morning, a snacky lunch thing or a freshly prepared evening meal (the kitchens on the Pendelino's are the biggest in the world on a train, apparently.
CrossCountry got rid of the shops when Arriva took over because they did a "customer survey" asking what they'd like on board, and a trolly was the idea. Why couldn't they have done both? Most other TOCs do.
First Hull Trains and Northern now have the spare Adelante sets from First Great Western which are a fantastic unit. The First class isn't up to much but hey, you can't have everything!!
If you get the chance, book a First Class ticket next time you travel on Virgin and see for yourself what the service is like.
And finally... On National Express (East Coast) they have fantastic little dunking biscuits and rhubarb and ginger ones in First Class which go down a treat with the coffee!
James... fantastic post... keep it up!
I usually go First Class (yes, snobby I know), and on the new Desiro units that FTPE have got, the First Class bit is tiny and cramped (and with a disabled loo in an awkward place. Recently the First Class service on FTPE has gone downhill too. The trolley dolly used to keep popping in and out and asking if you'd like another drink or a cake but lately... nothing. Not even once!
On Virgin Trains, their First Class is fantastic. You get free wifi now (unless you're going to North Wales or north of Lancaster as the signal doesn't work), a lovely breakfast in the morning, a snacky lunch thing or a freshly prepared evening meal (the kitchens on the Pendelino's are the biggest in the world on a train, apparently.
CrossCountry got rid of the shops when Arriva took over because they did a "customer survey" asking what they'd like on board, and a trolly was the idea. Why couldn't they have done both? Most other TOCs do.
First Hull Trains and Northern now have the spare Adelante sets from First Great Western which are a fantastic unit. The First class isn't up to much but hey, you can't have everything!!
If you get the chance, book a First Class ticket next time you travel on Virgin and see for yourself what the service is like.
And finally... On National Express (East Coast) they have fantastic little dunking biscuits and rhubarb and ginger ones in First Class which go down a treat with the coffee!
James... fantastic post... keep it up!
I must agree about the most annoying thing about using trains is other people.
People that annoy me on trains:
* The ones who seem to take 45 minutes to settle in their seat. Moving things around from bag to bag, and only get settled 2 stops before they get off again.
* People who get confused by their coach and seat reservation. Their look on their faces is priceless when they are trying to find their seat. It's as if they've just seen a dead body in the luggage racks. Half the time they're in totally the wrong coach.
* People who gently nudge you with their elbow every time they decide to take out another Werther's Orignal to suck on. Or they stand on your foot, and YOU have to move your foot away from THEIRS.
* People having a conversation so loudly by the end of a 5hr journey you could write a book about them.
* People 'touching base' with their office by telephoning them and asking them if they have received the e-mail they have just sent. Then they go on to discuss very personal things about a work colleague. I really don't want to know that Susan in Accounts was 5 minutes late and last week visited the doctors about her women's bits.
* Groups of teenagers with the intelligence of a bathroom tile.
I didn't realise you worked for CrossCountry James. I love their refurbished HSTs.
Can this be an excuse to dig out my class 43 pic?
People that annoy me on trains:
* The ones who seem to take 45 minutes to settle in their seat. Moving things around from bag to bag, and only get settled 2 stops before they get off again.
* People who get confused by their coach and seat reservation. Their look on their faces is priceless when they are trying to find their seat. It's as if they've just seen a dead body in the luggage racks. Half the time they're in totally the wrong coach.
* People who gently nudge you with their elbow every time they decide to take out another Werther's Orignal to suck on. Or they stand on your foot, and YOU have to move your foot away from THEIRS.
* People having a conversation so loudly by the end of a 5hr journey you could write a book about them.
* People 'touching base' with their office by telephoning them and asking them if they have received the e-mail they have just sent. Then they go on to discuss very personal things about a work colleague. I really don't want to know that Susan in Accounts was 5 minutes late and last week visited the doctors about her women's bits.
* Groups of teenagers with the intelligence of a bathroom tile.
I didn't realise you worked for CrossCountry James. I love their refurbished HSTs.
Can this be an excuse to dig out my class 43 pic?
Beat ya to it!...
I’ve finally managed to do it – I’ve finally managed to beat off my sleep deprivation from the past three days. I feel utterly drained still – as though someone’s weighing my eyes down with a pair of chunky beef steaks – but I feel overall quite happy, apart from waiting to hear back from the school of acting I’ve just been interviewed for. Everything’s up in the air – I’m waiting to see whether I should cancel other auditions, change other trains, pack my bags, get my shirt off and do a victory dance or sit in the corner of a pub looking dejected reading a Gay Times and telling my girlfriend that I’m off to work for ASDA for eternity. It’s a hard life, this acting shite.
But it’s also utterly fantastic. Not just acting, but musicianship and dancing as well – they’re all equally wonderful. Staying overnight in Guildford (close to the school of acting) provided me with a wonderful insight that I feel I’ll remember even more poignantly this year, if only because there’s something really getting on my nerves at the moment. It isn’t Brown, it isn’t the Daily Mail (though they come close to the top of the James Hall Shit 100 List, only topped by Richard Littlejohn and Michael McIntyre) and it isn’t even the weather, which is actually quite nice. It’s something far more serious, sinister, and something which has been threatening the UK for hundreds of years now. It’s the phrase, “anyone can have a go”.
Now, you’ll see where the link comes in. Previously, in the seventies, auditioning for places meant that you had to have at least a modicum of talent to get anywhere. I have a friend who trained at the Royal Northern and graduated with a B(Mus) before going on to become a star (she’s about to tour with The Sound of Music as Mother Superior). She told me that previously, where you’d have maybe thirty people in one audition going for a part in a show, the times they are a-changing, and you can now expect to see a hundred people in one day out of ten for a recall for one part. Performing arts and theatre has become such a difficult world to get into now, and part of it is owed almost entirely down to this phrase, this ridiculous motto that prompts sheer mediocrity.
The majority of scorn I pour on this feeling stems from shows like Britain’s Got Talent and The X Factor, both shows that are utterly dross in their appeal but seem to sweep over the country on a wave of sympathy voting. Due to various commitments, I haven’t been able to watch any of this year’s festivities, but I gather so far the UK has learned that ugly people can sing, little girls are cute, people who look silly have high voices and that everyone thinks Piers Morgan is a cunt. That is, to be honest, pretty much what you’d expect from such a show. What really ticks me off, though, is the way it’s all packaged. Instead of just getting the ugly woman to come on and sing, they set her up as this pathetic old windbag who’d never been shagged and fancied a bit of ritual humiliation. It worked well, for despite the fact that she has a face that’s been smacked by a huge shovel and then driven through cat turd, she had a voice so passable it put her in the news around the world, and made her that fifteen minutes’ favourite to win the chance to look ugly and sing in front of Prince Charles.
The next week, a cheerful little child came on screen to sing his way through the intro of a song made famous by a mad druggie, after which self-proclaimed king of pop Simon Manboobs stopped him, and asked whether he had a new song prepared. Miraculously, he’d been listening to Eggnog Qunt’s album (and was responsible for the majority of its sales figures) and had prepared a nice little ditty by Michael Jackson, to which Amanda Holden tried to cry, Piers Morgan looked smug, and lovely Simon did the comedy jaw drop made famous by pantomime dames. Unsurprisingly, he got through. Can we see a pattern?
The only thing is, these people aren’t particularly talented. Sitting through the Guildford singing audition, I was dumbstruck by the number of simply amazing voices that came through. Voices who weren’t just trying to copy Beyonkers or Britneh, but voices that had been through so much preparation to get to this stage that it was visibly and audibly noticeable. This was new, young, fresh talent. And it’s forgotten in the search for the weird, the wank and the wet. All of it is forgotten when the TV comes on and we see Susan Boyle’s eyebrows. There is seldom a mention of how many people have auditioned for prestigious performing arts schools in the news, yet how many people stood in line to meet people who’ve met people who’ve met people who blow Louis Walsh for a job is routinely front-page fodder.
Few people who actually get into drama schools are doing it for the fame or for the notoriety. They are doing it because they love to act, to sing, to dance, to get inside the head of a character, to make audiences laugh or cry, to make them feel as though they’ve learned something tonight. But ask anyone standing in the line for a televised karaoke contest and you’ll get the standard response. “I want to be famous... the dream is to have people calling out my name... I want a recording contract...” are but a few quotations from the SYCO dream factory last year. And it’s devilishly depressing. It’s horrific to think that the mediocre have praise for singing vaguely in tune whilst some amazing talent are left scrounging pennies in a grotty bedsit. That’s the nature of the profession, though, and it stinks.
So why do the truly amazing allow it to continue? Because, for the most part, and for the reasons outlined above, they are content. Fame is fickle and fleeting, and only usually doled out to the most undeserving recipients. Those who are serious about chasing dreams of performing are usually not the slightest bit interested in performing in front of a panel of celebrities, because usually not one of the celebrities has a modicum of talent. Cheryl Cole is a prime example – a young girl with a pretty, marketable face, yet a distinctly sub-par voice and a manner that seems insulting to Geordies. This is what the contestants aspire to be – vapid, self-indulgent, televised personality disorders, devoid of any discernable talent and prey for the tabloids to play with them as they choose.
All this came to me as I was sitting, post-audition, in the Guildford Yvonne Arnaud Theatre at the weekend, and I thought the following: if Britain really does have talent, it’s all here. The six who got through (including me, oh, how I love being modest) to interview stage could probably knock down any of your Susan Boyles with Simon Cowell’s media machine behind them. But they wouldn’t want to. They’d want to sit by the canal, eating chips and talking about Sondheim, whilst listing our favourite off-West End musicals and humming songs from Follies. That’s talent – but for the vast majority, it will remain unseen. This is why I urge you, humble readers, please don’t forget that the theatre, whilst admittedly being one of the oldest forms of entertainment, is still by far the best. You pay more, but you get a far better night.
And come and see me when you’re done for a private performance.
This week James travelled First Class because it was only £2 more expensive than standard class. James stole a mug from said First Class coach. James forgot to call his grandfather on his 76th birthday. James wrote this piece after cutting the grass in a now beautiful garden.
But it’s also utterly fantastic. Not just acting, but musicianship and dancing as well – they’re all equally wonderful. Staying overnight in Guildford (close to the school of acting) provided me with a wonderful insight that I feel I’ll remember even more poignantly this year, if only because there’s something really getting on my nerves at the moment. It isn’t Brown, it isn’t the Daily Mail (though they come close to the top of the James Hall Shit 100 List, only topped by Richard Littlejohn and Michael McIntyre) and it isn’t even the weather, which is actually quite nice. It’s something far more serious, sinister, and something which has been threatening the UK for hundreds of years now. It’s the phrase, “anyone can have a go”.
Now, you’ll see where the link comes in. Previously, in the seventies, auditioning for places meant that you had to have at least a modicum of talent to get anywhere. I have a friend who trained at the Royal Northern and graduated with a B(Mus) before going on to become a star (she’s about to tour with The Sound of Music as Mother Superior). She told me that previously, where you’d have maybe thirty people in one audition going for a part in a show, the times they are a-changing, and you can now expect to see a hundred people in one day out of ten for a recall for one part. Performing arts and theatre has become such a difficult world to get into now, and part of it is owed almost entirely down to this phrase, this ridiculous motto that prompts sheer mediocrity.
The majority of scorn I pour on this feeling stems from shows like Britain’s Got Talent and The X Factor, both shows that are utterly dross in their appeal but seem to sweep over the country on a wave of sympathy voting. Due to various commitments, I haven’t been able to watch any of this year’s festivities, but I gather so far the UK has learned that ugly people can sing, little girls are cute, people who look silly have high voices and that everyone thinks Piers Morgan is a cunt. That is, to be honest, pretty much what you’d expect from such a show. What really ticks me off, though, is the way it’s all packaged. Instead of just getting the ugly woman to come on and sing, they set her up as this pathetic old windbag who’d never been shagged and fancied a bit of ritual humiliation. It worked well, for despite the fact that she has a face that’s been smacked by a huge shovel and then driven through cat turd, she had a voice so passable it put her in the news around the world, and made her that fifteen minutes’ favourite to win the chance to look ugly and sing in front of Prince Charles.
The next week, a cheerful little child came on screen to sing his way through the intro of a song made famous by a mad druggie, after which self-proclaimed king of pop Simon Manboobs stopped him, and asked whether he had a new song prepared. Miraculously, he’d been listening to Eggnog Qunt’s album (and was responsible for the majority of its sales figures) and had prepared a nice little ditty by Michael Jackson, to which Amanda Holden tried to cry, Piers Morgan looked smug, and lovely Simon did the comedy jaw drop made famous by pantomime dames. Unsurprisingly, he got through. Can we see a pattern?
The only thing is, these people aren’t particularly talented. Sitting through the Guildford singing audition, I was dumbstruck by the number of simply amazing voices that came through. Voices who weren’t just trying to copy Beyonkers or Britneh, but voices that had been through so much preparation to get to this stage that it was visibly and audibly noticeable. This was new, young, fresh talent. And it’s forgotten in the search for the weird, the wank and the wet. All of it is forgotten when the TV comes on and we see Susan Boyle’s eyebrows. There is seldom a mention of how many people have auditioned for prestigious performing arts schools in the news, yet how many people stood in line to meet people who’ve met people who’ve met people who blow Louis Walsh for a job is routinely front-page fodder.
Few people who actually get into drama schools are doing it for the fame or for the notoriety. They are doing it because they love to act, to sing, to dance, to get inside the head of a character, to make audiences laugh or cry, to make them feel as though they’ve learned something tonight. But ask anyone standing in the line for a televised karaoke contest and you’ll get the standard response. “I want to be famous... the dream is to have people calling out my name... I want a recording contract...” are but a few quotations from the SYCO dream factory last year. And it’s devilishly depressing. It’s horrific to think that the mediocre have praise for singing vaguely in tune whilst some amazing talent are left scrounging pennies in a grotty bedsit. That’s the nature of the profession, though, and it stinks.
So why do the truly amazing allow it to continue? Because, for the most part, and for the reasons outlined above, they are content. Fame is fickle and fleeting, and only usually doled out to the most undeserving recipients. Those who are serious about chasing dreams of performing are usually not the slightest bit interested in performing in front of a panel of celebrities, because usually not one of the celebrities has a modicum of talent. Cheryl Cole is a prime example – a young girl with a pretty, marketable face, yet a distinctly sub-par voice and a manner that seems insulting to Geordies. This is what the contestants aspire to be – vapid, self-indulgent, televised personality disorders, devoid of any discernable talent and prey for the tabloids to play with them as they choose.
All this came to me as I was sitting, post-audition, in the Guildford Yvonne Arnaud Theatre at the weekend, and I thought the following: if Britain really does have talent, it’s all here. The six who got through (including me, oh, how I love being modest) to interview stage could probably knock down any of your Susan Boyles with Simon Cowell’s media machine behind them. But they wouldn’t want to. They’d want to sit by the canal, eating chips and talking about Sondheim, whilst listing our favourite off-West End musicals and humming songs from Follies. That’s talent – but for the vast majority, it will remain unseen. This is why I urge you, humble readers, please don’t forget that the theatre, whilst admittedly being one of the oldest forms of entertainment, is still by far the best. You pay more, but you get a far better night.
And come and see me when you’re done for a private performance.
This week James travelled First Class because it was only £2 more expensive than standard class. James stole a mug from said First Class coach. James forgot to call his grandfather on his 76th birthday. James wrote this piece after cutting the grass in a now beautiful garden.
Mostly agree Charlie, urr, I mean James, I agree with what you say about the sorts of people who apply for talent shows. The apprentice is a talent show, you'd imagine the 12 people there would be Britain's best young business talent, but some of the people are so amateurish.
It's the paradox of this kind of reality TV, the truly talented probably aren't going to go anywhere near it. But it's all about making dreams come true and it makes good TV (mm, I know that'll be an unpopular view...).
It's the paradox of this kind of reality TV, the truly talented probably aren't going to go anywhere near it. But it's all about making dreams come true and it makes good TV (mm, I know that'll be an unpopular view...).
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Gavin Scott
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You're right, cdd.cdd wrote:It's the paradox of this kind of reality TV, the truly talented probably aren't going to go anywhere near it. But it's all about making dreams come true and it makes good TV (mm, I know that'll be an unpopular view...).
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Ebeneezer Scrooge
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I was having a drink!Gavin Scott wrote: You're right, cdd.
Snarky
