Listening to the “Sir Roger Moore” podcast this morning courtesy of BBC Audiobooks and their sporadic "Behind the Mic" series (and quite frankly, there should be a Sir Roger Moore podcast every day), and it’s as much fun as I’d hoped it would be. He’s touting “My Word Is My Bond” (of course) – and the fundamental niceness of the man shows through in the little bit of chat he gives in between readings.
Did you know that Richard Kiel was blind in one eye? I didn’t. Roj on Richard’s terror of heights, on being asked to do a stunt on The Spy Who Loved Me involving running along some scaffolding fairly high off the ground – ““But Lewis...!!!”, wailed Richard, “I don’t even like being this tall...”” I wonder if Richard’s seen the first twenty minutes of Casino Royale yet?
This man was (and is) one of the biggest stars in the world, and yet he gets star-struck himself standing at a UNICEF event on the same stage as Audrey Hepburn. His little asides are wonderful, too -
“I thought I might write a book about my illnesses. About my hypochondria. About the time I got shot in the leg. About the time I was rushed to hospital with appendicitis, but it turned out to be acute constipation...”
And later...
“One of the great things about audiobooks is that you can fall asleep listening to them. Most people who read in bed are – usually – reading under not ideal conditions, with bad lighting and such. Listening instead of reading is much more healthy. Of course, with my book, I can guarantee you’ll be asleep by the end of the first page.”
And best of all –
“Thank you for listening. I’m Roger Moore. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written. However, If you want a good read, buy Sean Connery’s book...”
Love that man. Love him to pieces.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
1996. No new Series on the Horizon. What's a boy to do?
It's been a while, but given that there's a little breathing space with a slightly reduced amount of New Who on the horizon, I'm catching up on all the Whofiction that I missed over the years.
Re-reading the Eighth Doctor Adventures when the spirit takes me – which isn’t often, but occasionally the need for more McGann strikes and there’s a fair few I never ploughed through.
On Vampire Science at the moment – it’s weird looking back on these from the position of Who’s current scorched earth policy.... my primary sensation is aggravation at all the right-on stuff keeps getting in the way of the plot – even the descriptive passages are written in such a way that screams “look! We’re young, hip gunslingers, and *this* is how Who should be!!!”
I’m about halfway through, and it's a great book, apart from me sighing every single time Sam opens her mouth (and cheering when she gets her throat ripped open, which is surely not the reaction KateandJon were looking for).
This bit in particular caught my eye, amongst many other exceedingly good bits... I hope nobody minds my posting it. If you enjoyed it, do seek the original novel out. Well worth your time.
'What's to find out about them?' asked Shackle.
'Practically everything,' said the Doctor. An exploring kitten tumbled down the sofa into his lap. He stroked it, absently. 'At the moment all we know about them is that they drink blood. For all we know, we could be dealing with ancient horrors from my people's mythology, human psychopaths, or the giant mosquitoes of Atraxi 3.'
Shackle snickered. The Doctor looked him straight in the eye and held his hands nearly a foot apart. Shackle stopped snickering.
'We need to know their numbers, their goals, and their abilities,' said Kramer.
The Doctor nodded. 'Different strains of vampires, different abilities,' he said. 'The curse manifests itself in many and various ways. All of the attacks so far have taken place at night, so we can assume they have an aversion to sunlight.' Another kitten had arrived, walking across his shoulders. 'The vampires offline Lord legend had incredibly strong circulatory systems, allowing them to heal almost any wound - hence the traditional stake through the heart.'
'I thought the idea was to pin them to the earth,' said Carolyn.
'They can't heal a wound that has an inch-wide piece of wood through it,' said the Doctor. 'You've been reading.'
'As much as I could,' said Carolyn. 'Ever since 1976.'
'Be prepared to forget much of what you've read,' said the Doctor. 'Don't rely on it.' Carolyn nodded.
Kramer was drawing a plan of the nightclub, and the surrounding alleyways, on a sheet of typing paper. 'We're going to the Other Place on a stake-out.' She ignored Shackle's theatrical groan. 'There are two main entrances and exits. Outside' - she drew circles on the map - 'myself in the rear parking lot, Dr McConnell and Dr Shackle in the front parking lot. Inside the club, the Doctor.'
'And Sam,' said Sam.
'Sorry?' said Kramer.
'Inside the club, the Doctor and Sam.' Kramer glanced at the Doctor, who looked vaguely bewildered. By now he had one kitten balancing on his head, two tussling in his lap, and one attempting to clamber up his waistcoat. He looked at Sam. She lifted her hands like paws, and panted.
'Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam.' He shook his head, carefully, and the kitten on top clung on for dear life. 'When are you going to learn not to pointlessly throw yourself in harm's way?'
'When you do. Look, I'm here to learn how to save the world, right? Well how'm I gonna learn how to do it if you don't give me the chance?'
'Oh God,' muttered Kramer. Sam saw how closely the general was watching him. 'Another one.'
'All right. On your head be it,' said the Doctor, removing the kitten. 'But remember, you did ask for it.' Sam grinned, and so did the Doctor, but Kramer's grim expression hadn't changed.
'So what precisely do we do?' Shackle wanted to know. 'Are you going to arm us with machine guns? Or squirt guns filled with holy water?'
'We watch,' said Kramer drily. 'We make a nuisance of ourselves by asking a lot of questions. If anyone suspicious notices and leaves, we follow them.'
'In the meantime, Dr Shackle,' said the Doctor, 'I want to take a look at your records of these killings.'
Shackle said, 'So we're going to defeat these supernatural monsters -'
'Not supernatural,' said the Doctor.
'- these night-stalking, blood-sucking creatures for whom there is no doubt a perfectly logical explanation, through a combination of medical research and patient observation?' He looked at Kramer. 'Couldn't you rustle up a few tanks, or something?'
'Rash action would be foolish,' said the Doctor sternly. If not fatal.' He finally managed to get up and head for the door. 'For now, patience is our weapon. You'll see, Dr Shackle. Tonight.' He stopped for a moment, puzzled, then lifted the last of the curious kittens out of his coat pocket by the scruff of its neck. He presented it to Kramer, who looked at it in utter confusion, and made his exit.
I don’t know about you, but I can totally see Paul McGann festooned with kittens...
Re-reading the Eighth Doctor Adventures when the spirit takes me – which isn’t often, but occasionally the need for more McGann strikes and there’s a fair few I never ploughed through.
On Vampire Science at the moment – it’s weird looking back on these from the position of Who’s current scorched earth policy.... my primary sensation is aggravation at all the right-on stuff keeps getting in the way of the plot – even the descriptive passages are written in such a way that screams “look! We’re young, hip gunslingers, and *this* is how Who should be!!!”
I’m about halfway through, and it's a great book, apart from me sighing every single time Sam opens her mouth (and cheering when she gets her throat ripped open, which is surely not the reaction KateandJon were looking for).
This bit in particular caught my eye, amongst many other exceedingly good bits... I hope nobody minds my posting it. If you enjoyed it, do seek the original novel out. Well worth your time.
'What's to find out about them?' asked Shackle.
'Practically everything,' said the Doctor. An exploring kitten tumbled down the sofa into his lap. He stroked it, absently. 'At the moment all we know about them is that they drink blood. For all we know, we could be dealing with ancient horrors from my people's mythology, human psychopaths, or the giant mosquitoes of Atraxi 3.'
Shackle snickered. The Doctor looked him straight in the eye and held his hands nearly a foot apart. Shackle stopped snickering.
'We need to know their numbers, their goals, and their abilities,' said Kramer.
The Doctor nodded. 'Different strains of vampires, different abilities,' he said. 'The curse manifests itself in many and various ways. All of the attacks so far have taken place at night, so we can assume they have an aversion to sunlight.' Another kitten had arrived, walking across his shoulders. 'The vampires offline Lord legend had incredibly strong circulatory systems, allowing them to heal almost any wound - hence the traditional stake through the heart.'
'I thought the idea was to pin them to the earth,' said Carolyn.
'They can't heal a wound that has an inch-wide piece of wood through it,' said the Doctor. 'You've been reading.'
'As much as I could,' said Carolyn. 'Ever since 1976.'
'Be prepared to forget much of what you've read,' said the Doctor. 'Don't rely on it.' Carolyn nodded.
Kramer was drawing a plan of the nightclub, and the surrounding alleyways, on a sheet of typing paper. 'We're going to the Other Place on a stake-out.' She ignored Shackle's theatrical groan. 'There are two main entrances and exits. Outside' - she drew circles on the map - 'myself in the rear parking lot, Dr McConnell and Dr Shackle in the front parking lot. Inside the club, the Doctor.'
'And Sam,' said Sam.
'Sorry?' said Kramer.
'Inside the club, the Doctor and Sam.' Kramer glanced at the Doctor, who looked vaguely bewildered. By now he had one kitten balancing on his head, two tussling in his lap, and one attempting to clamber up his waistcoat. He looked at Sam. She lifted her hands like paws, and panted.
'Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam.' He shook his head, carefully, and the kitten on top clung on for dear life. 'When are you going to learn not to pointlessly throw yourself in harm's way?'
'When you do. Look, I'm here to learn how to save the world, right? Well how'm I gonna learn how to do it if you don't give me the chance?'
'Oh God,' muttered Kramer. Sam saw how closely the general was watching him. 'Another one.'
'All right. On your head be it,' said the Doctor, removing the kitten. 'But remember, you did ask for it.' Sam grinned, and so did the Doctor, but Kramer's grim expression hadn't changed.
'So what precisely do we do?' Shackle wanted to know. 'Are you going to arm us with machine guns? Or squirt guns filled with holy water?'
'We watch,' said Kramer drily. 'We make a nuisance of ourselves by asking a lot of questions. If anyone suspicious notices and leaves, we follow them.'
'In the meantime, Dr Shackle,' said the Doctor, 'I want to take a look at your records of these killings.'
Shackle said, 'So we're going to defeat these supernatural monsters -'
'Not supernatural,' said the Doctor.
'- these night-stalking, blood-sucking creatures for whom there is no doubt a perfectly logical explanation, through a combination of medical research and patient observation?' He looked at Kramer. 'Couldn't you rustle up a few tanks, or something?'
'Rash action would be foolish,' said the Doctor sternly. If not fatal.' He finally managed to get up and head for the door. 'For now, patience is our weapon. You'll see, Dr Shackle. Tonight.' He stopped for a moment, puzzled, then lifted the last of the curious kittens out of his coat pocket by the scruff of its neck. He presented it to Kramer, who looked at it in utter confusion, and made his exit.
I don’t know about you, but I can totally see Paul McGann festooned with kittens...
Silliness can crop up in the most unexpected places
I’ve started listening to BBC’s “Behind the Mic” podcasts – “an exciting look behind the scenes at BBC radio”, is what the strapline on iTunes claims. What it actually is, so far as I can tell, is “an exciting look at the audiobooks that you can now buy – for extortionate prices – at your local bookshop (and sometimes much more cheaply on Amazon Marketplace)."
They’re not bad, if a little heavy on the “everything’s brilliant” side – the first one focussed on David Tennant’s reading of “Pest Control”. Hey! It’s an original story for audio, and fantastically written, fantastically read and fantastically produced. Go and buy it! It’ll be fantastic. I did. And it was quite good, actually.
However, the one I’m listening to now is throwing up some pleasant surprises. It’s a piece on “Men’s fiction on audio” – what sort of audio books do MEN like to listen to, when they’re doing MANLY THINGS, like drinking, pulling birds and throwing up in fireplaces? The answer to that is, they don’t – they’re too busy doing MANLY THINGS, like drinking, pulling birds and throwing up in fireplaces.
Anyway: it’s a two-handed interview with Clive Mantle and Christian Rodska, barely moderated by the purring voice of Kate Thomas who claims to be producer of these things. By the sound of it, she just revs up the readers and lets them go (I'm sure that's not the case, it's just that the boys are enjoying this little chat so much she doesn't have a great deal to do...). Neither of them are taking the interview remotely seriously, which makes for an entertaining listen. “So, Clive – what sort of stuff do you like to read and listen to when you’re not working?” “Things about mountains, mainly. People climbing up mountains. People falling off mountains. People going back down mountains. People dying on mountains, that sort of thing...”
Everytime Kate attempts to introduce a clip from one of the stories under discussion (Andy McNab, usually), our duo greet it with cries of “No! My god! Are you telling me that... we’ve got a clip? Here? Now? Amaaaazing!” and so on.
Christian starts it going downhill – “I find that when I’m narrating these, I have to feel as male as possible. So no high heels. Flatties, possibly, but definitely not high heels. Perhaps just a touch of lippy, but that’s it.” Clive immediately interjects – “perhaps a nice pair of cami-knickers under the combats, though. Just for comfort.” And that’s it. The interview’s out of control from there on.
Following a clip of Christian reading an Ian Rankin story which seems to feature a man lying on a mountain hiding from some other men – Clive would probably enjoy that one – Clive’s only comment is “now, I don’t know about you, but I’m sure I heard the merest whisper of cami-knicker behind that reading...”
Poor old Kate. How she managed to keep a straight face, I don’t know. Although to judge by the number of hard edits in the thing, I suspect she didn’t.
Anyway, all hugely entertaining, even if it doesn’t make me want to rush out and grab a copy of Clive Mantle reading an unabridged version of Bravo Two-Zero.
I note that the next one up is simply labelled, “Sir Roger Moore”. I wonder what that could possibly be about?
They’re not bad, if a little heavy on the “everything’s brilliant” side – the first one focussed on David Tennant’s reading of “Pest Control”. Hey! It’s an original story for audio, and fantastically written, fantastically read and fantastically produced. Go and buy it! It’ll be fantastic. I did. And it was quite good, actually.
However, the one I’m listening to now is throwing up some pleasant surprises. It’s a piece on “Men’s fiction on audio” – what sort of audio books do MEN like to listen to, when they’re doing MANLY THINGS, like drinking, pulling birds and throwing up in fireplaces? The answer to that is, they don’t – they’re too busy doing MANLY THINGS, like drinking, pulling birds and throwing up in fireplaces.
Anyway: it’s a two-handed interview with Clive Mantle and Christian Rodska, barely moderated by the purring voice of Kate Thomas who claims to be producer of these things. By the sound of it, she just revs up the readers and lets them go (I'm sure that's not the case, it's just that the boys are enjoying this little chat so much she doesn't have a great deal to do...). Neither of them are taking the interview remotely seriously, which makes for an entertaining listen. “So, Clive – what sort of stuff do you like to read and listen to when you’re not working?” “Things about mountains, mainly. People climbing up mountains. People falling off mountains. People going back down mountains. People dying on mountains, that sort of thing...”
Everytime Kate attempts to introduce a clip from one of the stories under discussion (Andy McNab, usually), our duo greet it with cries of “No! My god! Are you telling me that... we’ve got a clip? Here? Now? Amaaaazing!” and so on.
Christian starts it going downhill – “I find that when I’m narrating these, I have to feel as male as possible. So no high heels. Flatties, possibly, but definitely not high heels. Perhaps just a touch of lippy, but that’s it.” Clive immediately interjects – “perhaps a nice pair of cami-knickers under the combats, though. Just for comfort.” And that’s it. The interview’s out of control from there on.
Following a clip of Christian reading an Ian Rankin story which seems to feature a man lying on a mountain hiding from some other men – Clive would probably enjoy that one – Clive’s only comment is “now, I don’t know about you, but I’m sure I heard the merest whisper of cami-knicker behind that reading...”
Poor old Kate. How she managed to keep a straight face, I don’t know. Although to judge by the number of hard edits in the thing, I suspect she didn’t.
Anyway, all hugely entertaining, even if it doesn’t make me want to rush out and grab a copy of Clive Mantle reading an unabridged version of Bravo Two-Zero.
I note that the next one up is simply labelled, “Sir Roger Moore”. I wonder what that could possibly be about?
Monday, 22 December 2008
Oliver
I've held off making this post for longer than I should, simply because I don't know what to say that others haven't said better. Charlie Brooker delivered two superb eulogies - one in his Guardian column, one on this week's Screenwipe. I can't possibly reach the levels of eloquence he managed, so I'll bumble on as best I can. Warning - this post will reach unacceptable levels of heartfelt emotion. So what? Cynicism is overrated, sometimes.
Oliver Postgate died recently. And with his passing, a door to my childhood, my personal safe-place, a world where I felt protected.... died with him.
Oliver Postgate died recently. And with his passing, a door to my childhood, my personal safe-place, a world where I felt protected.... died with him.
Come back with me to 1999. I'm a mewling ball of panic, as the world seems to be crashing down around my ears. There's nothing in the tank, my nerves are shot, and I don't seem to be able to focus on anything. I'm going under. A bad time, one I'm glad to have left behind. Right in the middle of what I now realise to be the onset of my first bout of an illness that never altogether goes away, I flick through the channels on cable and Nickelodeon's showing an episode of Bagpuss. The music starts, Oliver speaks. And suddenly all the panic, worry and insecurity leeches away. For fifteen minutes, I'm Five years old again, cosetted, comfortable, hypnotised. The world just seems right for a quarter of an hour.
Switch forward. There's one of those bloody interminable countdown shows on. Oliver gives as good as he gets to Jill Pythian and her psycho-sexual theories of children's viewing. I forget exactly what he says in his gentle, professorial manner, but it comes down to this - sometimes, a knitted pink mouse is just a knitted pink mouse, Jill. Sometimes, that's all you need. I'm actually off the sofa, cheering.
Switch, to better times. I'm having a rip-roaring night in with a close friend. Said friend leaves the room, and I'm ripping through the channels again, killing time. There's an episode of The Clangers on this time, and even though I'm massively drunk, once again I'm captivated. The whistling permeates through to the other room.
"Walter, are you watching The Clangers, in there????" comes an accusing voice.
"No! I'm.... just whistling. Don't come in!" I shout back, and we fall about, laughing hysterically.
Switch back, and I'm ploughing through the complete Clangers dvd. Admiring the artistry, submerging myself in another lovingly created world. And I realise how gut bustingly funny some of it is. The one in which an Earth Astronaut comes visiting and is driven away by hospitality must rank as one of the funniest ten minutes anyone's ever created.
Switch again, and there's a documentary on Smallfilms on the box. Peter Firmin and Oliver are rootling through a box of old props, and they discover the Soup Dragon, lovingly packed away. Missing a scale or two, but looking a lot better than you or I would after thirty years in a cardboard box. "Ah, there she is", says Oliver, his voice crowded with affection. My world becomes just a little bit nicer.
Switch to a freezing cold evening, buried in "Seeing Things". A stunning autobiography. Heartfelt, with a lightning change in tone at around the midpoint that I didn't see coming. I feel I know this man now, but instead of coming away from it disliking him as happens so often when you know the intimate details of a persons life, I realise that here is a decent, unswerving, downright nice human being, someone you'd want to know, to have in your life. Sadly, that's not going to happen now. Although in a way, he's still in my life. He always will be, as one of the prime shapers of my childhood. He may not have fully appreciated just how deeply affecting his work was to millions of us. I certainly didn't at the time. But just for a short time each week when I was growing up, a wise old voice told wise old tales, with charm, wit and the utmost love and craft.
When the news broke that he'd gone, my first thought was a deep, palpable sadness. As if I'd actually lost one of my close family. That's how much the work that he and Peter did - all those years ago, in that scraggy old barn out in the country - meant to me. He'd been ill for a while, but he's at peace now. Which is only just recompense for the deep peace he was capable of engendering in millions.
For Bagpuss, for the Mice, for Professor Yaffle... for Gabriel, for Madeleine, for the Clangers, for the Soup Dragon, for the Iron Chicken... for Ivor, Dai Station, Jones the Steam, for Idris the Firebox Dragon... for The Pogles, for Noggin, for Nogbad... for a life of meticulous craft, loving care, and for an existence immeasurably enriched just by your being in it, thank you, Oliver.
We miss you. And we love you. Goodnight.
Saturday, 1 November 2008
Friday, 31 October 2008
The Cuckoo Waltz begins a new season of none-too-funny domestic comedy
Well. For the last few months, I've been beavering away at a project - a magnificent folly, even - that has pretty much consumed me. Since I discovered the online archive of the Times newspaper, I've been trying to produce the definitive compilation of television and radio listings for the UK. It's something that absolutely fascinates me. There's no better way to chart the history of broadcasting than by leafing through pages of listings for any given year, seeing what was on a particular channel - what the other channels put on in opposition, what the reviewers said about the previous nights fare - and indeed, the stuff they chose to highlight in the preview columns.
I thought I'd have a go, see how far I got before boredom set in.
Boredom comprehensively failed to set in. A nagging feeling of hopelessness set in, but boredom didn't. So - may the lord have mercy on my soul - I present the fruits of my labours. A 99 percent complete set of television and radio listings for the UK as published by The Times, for the years 1955 - 1985. The archive ends at 1985, and it makes a useful cutoff point. If anyone from The Times is reading this and doesn't want these up here, please let me know and I'll remove them immediately. I hope you don't though, because I'm about to try and steer some business your way. Go and look at the Times Archive -
http://archive.times.co.uk .
It's a fascinating resource. Hundreds of years of history as it happened. One of the best resources on the Web.
None of this would have been possible without my partner in obsessiveness - I received an email from a colleague when I first expressed my interest in doing this, and he's worked like a trouper alongside me and used his substantial technical know-how to not only compile an equal amount of listings, but also tidying up and formatting pages, and generally making them presentable. Thanks, Ian.
Anyroad, the listings - the reason that these are only 99 percent complete is that the Times was hit harder than most by industrial action over the years. It started in the early fifties, continued on and off over the next two and a half decades and eventually caused the complete shutdown of the paper for nearly a year over 1978 and 1979. We couldn't fill in these pages, but everything else should be there.
Go and dig in if you feel so inclined. There's almost 5 and a half gigs worth of data here. And I'm not finished yet. I've got every intention of marching back to the first night of broadcasting on the BBC. I've already got 1939 to 1954 compiled and complete. If anyone expresses interest, I'll be glad to share those as well.
1955 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/26rasi
1956 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/29g49g
1957 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/03bbig
1958 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/g1gggx
1959 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/yquu7t
1960 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/wwk3qb
1961 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/4c4hmp
1962 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/8ouu2p
1963 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/dy3u8i
1964 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/hc2704
1965 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/g5tvw7
1966 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/fhf5v7
1967 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/r62fu4
1968 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/2t0xbs
1969 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/0mk03r
1970 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/x6pzv6
1971 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/35cmd5
1972 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/0r6k9a
1973 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/rvhr9q
1974 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/ql5p87
1975 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/48tkkt
1976 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/busboo
1977 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/b1k83q
1978 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/48lk4n
1979 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/iyhgeq
1980 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/0hjvvy
1980 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/llzne8
1981 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/e5vzd0
1981 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/ics0jb
1982 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/dj77i1
1982 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/l3u1si
1983 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/ci9f0m
1983 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/o2h50q
1984 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/infmnn
1984 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/yw1wh8
1985 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/a9fhw6
1985 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/sn28y2
I thought I'd have a go, see how far I got before boredom set in.
Boredom comprehensively failed to set in. A nagging feeling of hopelessness set in, but boredom didn't. So - may the lord have mercy on my soul - I present the fruits of my labours. A 99 percent complete set of television and radio listings for the UK as published by The Times, for the years 1955 - 1985. The archive ends at 1985, and it makes a useful cutoff point. If anyone from The Times is reading this and doesn't want these up here, please let me know and I'll remove them immediately. I hope you don't though, because I'm about to try and steer some business your way. Go and look at the Times Archive -
http://archive.times.co.uk .
It's a fascinating resource. Hundreds of years of history as it happened. One of the best resources on the Web.
None of this would have been possible without my partner in obsessiveness - I received an email from a colleague when I first expressed my interest in doing this, and he's worked like a trouper alongside me and used his substantial technical know-how to not only compile an equal amount of listings, but also tidying up and formatting pages, and generally making them presentable. Thanks, Ian.
Anyroad, the listings - the reason that these are only 99 percent complete is that the Times was hit harder than most by industrial action over the years. It started in the early fifties, continued on and off over the next two and a half decades and eventually caused the complete shutdown of the paper for nearly a year over 1978 and 1979. We couldn't fill in these pages, but everything else should be there.
Go and dig in if you feel so inclined. There's almost 5 and a half gigs worth of data here. And I'm not finished yet. I've got every intention of marching back to the first night of broadcasting on the BBC. I've already got 1939 to 1954 compiled and complete. If anyone expresses interest, I'll be glad to share those as well.
1955 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/26rasi
1956 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/29g49g
1957 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/03bbig
1958 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/g1gggx
1959 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/yquu7t
1960 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/wwk3qb
1961 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/4c4hmp
1962 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/8ouu2p
1963 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/dy3u8i
1964 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/hc2704
1965 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/g5tvw7
1966 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/fhf5v7
1967 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/r62fu4
1968 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/2t0xbs
1969 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/0mk03r
1970 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/x6pzv6
1971 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/35cmd5
1972 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/0r6k9a
1973 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/rvhr9q
1974 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/ql5p87
1975 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/48tkkt
1976 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/busboo
1977 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/b1k83q
1978 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/48lk4n
1979 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/iyhgeq
1980 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/0hjvvy
1980 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/llzne8
1981 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/e5vzd0
1981 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/ics0jb
1982 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/dj77i1
1982 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/l3u1si
1983 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/ci9f0m
1983 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/o2h50q
1984 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/infmnn
1984 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/yw1wh8
1985 1of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/a9fhw6
1985 2of2 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/sn28y2
Saturday, 25 October 2008
The inaugural mumblings of whispering Difbrook
Well folks, here it is. The first ever Catholic Taste podcast. And it's a bit of a shambles, frankly. My intro and outro links are recorded at painfully low volume, the first track comes in far too quickly and I managed to add an track that isn't actually there into my playlist details at the end.
Sorry about that. If you can stand all that (and do remember to turn the volume down before the first track begins), I do hope you'll enjoy it. I'm quite proud of the choice of music - seems to flow pretty well together and hopefully you'll find a few things in there that you may not have heard before.
Have fun. And be gentle with me. I'm still learning. Not that that's an adequate excuse.
http://www.sendspace.com/file/80x6um
Sorry about that. If you can stand all that (and do remember to turn the volume down before the first track begins), I do hope you'll enjoy it. I'm quite proud of the choice of music - seems to flow pretty well together and hopefully you'll find a few things in there that you may not have heard before.
Have fun. And be gentle with me. I'm still learning. Not that that's an adequate excuse.
http://www.sendspace.com/file/80x6um
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