UNBESPOKE: some of my musings

Cromford's 60th Birthday Music Countdown!

As I turned sixty on 25th April, I thought I'd do a bit of a John Peel, and have thirty days of Cromford's Countdown... sixty of my favourite musical memories, which were posted to Facebook in the run-up to my birthday, twice daily.  Now that all the birthday dust has settled here's the full list, with YouTube or Vimeo links for you to follow, and maybe enjoy.
Please notify me of any broken links (via my 'Contact' page).

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She Loves You (So The Beatles Assured Me)

Picture this: you're a child of three or four, walking along a pavement; your parents are either side of you, each holding one of your hands firmly; suddenly your father says "One, two, three, uuup", and you're lifted off your feet for a couple of seconds, accompanied by parental cries of "Whee!"  You are then gently deposited back on the ground, feeling exhilarated and eager to repeat the 'flight'.  "Again, again!" you shout.

Remember those moments?

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History? It's All Tabs And Slots To Me (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.13)

Okey-dokey folks, we're risen, shiny and zingy; let's now pile into our frukost.  It's Day 13991 (for at least one of us) and another breakfast in Stockholm is delightfully imminent.  Orange juice (with 'bits' of course: the smooth variety carries unpleasant reminders of orange squash, the additive-ridden mainstay of childhood), and a generous bowlful of Quaker Havre Fras, bobbing about in a milk-bath.  That will set me up for the next four hours or so.

"Havre Fras, Paul?  What's that all about then?"

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Some Real Autobiography At Last (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.12)

Back on number 006 of this flip-book, I wondered about the sequence of events in my life that had led me from small-town, small-time, smallest-bedroom obscurity to this penthouse apartment in Stockholm; how had LOSER reached CHAMP?
Now, as I move to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, it's time to revisit the theme.  Look at that astonishing view of the city skyline; how on earth did I get to see this?

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Which Sack Of Potatoes Is Taking You Home Tonight? (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.11)

Here's a bit of a quotation while I pull on some garb: "...the apparel oft proclaims the man...".  So says Polonius in Hamlet (Act 1 Scene III), but that ever-popular multi-headed oracle known as 'They' usually trot out a simpler variant: "clothes maketh the man".

Whether you agree with this sentiment or not is immaterial, because it happens to be true.  It was clearly a self-evident truism in Shakespeare's world, otherwise he wouldn't have put the words into the mouth of such a tedious old buffer as Polonius; there's no reason to doubt that it was true when Marco Polo was flogging, um, Polo shirts in Cathay, and when Republican Roman generals were entering the city in their triumph.

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Playing My Face (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.9)

In the perfect illumination of the strip-light above my shaving-point (Swedish efficiency again), I squint skeptically at my reflection and attend to my facial hair.

My facial hair has fascinated me since the first isolated strands poked out of my chin like tree-clippings through a plastic sack, when I was 14 or 15 (yes, I came somewhat late to the puberty party).  I do like the way my appearance can be transformed in so many ways, by mucking about with those tussocks on my phizog.

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If The Wind Changes You'll Stick Like That (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.8)

"Lawks, it's five to seven.  Is he still in the you-know-what?"  Yes madam, I am: in a very square, windowless, Small Tiled Room of Ablutions, in an apartment on an island in Stockholm, Sweden.  On Wednesday 13th August, which as you now know is Day 13991.  Now please, madam, be patient.

The room is not quite six feet square, and is home to the shower, toilet, wash-basin, and a front-loading washing-machine.  It also boasts a formidably powerful extractor-fan in the ceiling: I've had very high hair while living in Stockholm.

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Slumpington, Wilts. (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.7)

The Small Tiled Room of Ablutions has claimed me on this glorious Day 13991, and I'm now seriously relaxed: never mind the details, use your imagination if you must!  Alternatively, consider this question: what's the most relaxing word you can think of?

For me, it's 'Cricklade'.  Aaah; pardon me while I sag a little more over these keys....

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Promenade 1: Puzzle Corner (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.6)

I saunter from the bedroom and through the apartment.

(By the way, apologies for the next paragraph, which reads like estate agents' particulars: let me assure you now that I've never been, slept with, or bought drinks for, an estate agent in my life.  However, as a breed they are quite a lot like radioactive fallout: is there any way we can adequately protect ourselves from the taint?)

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No Pooka Required (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.5)

Hello, world. 

Now stop that.  Stop it, I say!  I'm not going any further with this until you stop sniggering, and pull yourself together.  I know you might well have studied computing, maybe you learned your earliest C programming from Kernighan & Ritchie, and as soon as I spoke those two words at the start of this piece you immediately thought of that damned little scrap of beginners' code.

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Upsy-Daisy (The 'Flip-Book' series, No.4)

In my previous article, I mentioned that I consider myself a morning person.  Now: I apologise if you're an evening person and your sensibilities are offended by this notion; nevertheless I am now going to enlarge on the subject !

What does it mean to be a morning person?

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We Are Alarmed (The ‘Flip-Book’ series, No. 1) 


Or, as it might be, BEEEEP.   BEEEEP.   BEEEEP. 

Or possibly, "...was conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, on their 2000 recording of 'Pavane Pour Une Infante Défunte' by Maurice Ravel. And to take us up to the

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