almost witty

In case you hadn’t noticed, everybody seems to have gone Harry Potter-mad this weekend. The Internet, the media, even real-life people talked about it.

Half my friends’ blogs disappeared for the weekend while their owners sat down with a nice cup of cocoa and a huge book. I, meanwhile, went to a christening of Swansea (say hello to Cai Llewelyn!) where there was a copy of the final tome on the bookshelf, untouched thanks to church scheduling but the mother confessed that she was hugely looking forward to reading the book tonight. Mischievous git that I am, I quickly skimmed over the last page and told her how I didn’t know how wizards could regenerate.

However, I’ve never been particularly interested in fantasy-based works like Harry Potter or Lord Of The Rings, even though many friends are. I’m not too sure why I can happily swallow and enjoy tales of a 900-year-old humanoid alien travelling in space and time using a machine that’s bigger on the inside and out, battling aliens with the help of a wand-like device that makes a buzzing noise and emits a blue light, while I just can’t lose myself in a world of a young boy with magical powers and a magic wand. Perhaps it’s because they’re rooted in a magical past, while science-fiction pretends to concern itself with the future. Although the difference is rather slight in the end.

Still, give me science any day. Although since these days science seems to include magic spells - sorry, equations based on words not mathematics, and faith-based telepathy, it might as well be fantasy.

Somehow, Miss R and I managed to get tickets to Live Earth at the apparently all-new Wembley Stadium. Although it looks and feels just like Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium to me - except there’s a huge gaping hole in the roof for some reason. Rather silly of them.

Anyway, we got past Wembley Stadium’s woefully inadequate security team, and looked for our seats. After literally being misdirected up and down the wrong set of steps, it turned out that our seats had already been taken by … some black netting. And the stadium’s solution? “Well, you can stand on the pitch” - neglecting our weary feet.

So we ended up being seat gypsys, and grabbing various people’s seats as soon as they vacated them, rather like the seat-fillers at an Oscar ceremony. We did eventually migrate to two fantastic seats near the front right of the stage, where I had a great view of the camera crane swooping over the crowd at regular intervals. Plus someone trying to unfurl a banner that declared that “Robbie Williams is gay”. I wonder why that never made it past the TV cameras…

At one point, while the Red Hot Chilli Peppers were storming the crowd, a stocky bald man came down and tried to shove his way into a spare seat in the row in front, which the guy was (understandably) having none of. So said bald man stood there for a while, watching the Chillis. Then he shouted at them “You fu–ing c–t” and stormed off. I have no idea why.

The general atmosphere at the concert was much less that of a global gathering of environmentally-minded music fans, and more middle-class yuppies having a nice day out sitting in the sunshine watching music. The constant inane corporate propaganda about how to reduce carbon emissions (Top tip from Ben Affleck: buy your music digitally and save on CDs!) didn’t make much of an impact on anyone at the concert, judging by the number of plastic cups strewn across the stadium. It certainly didn’t seem to hit Thandie Newton. She’s a talented actress, very easy on the eyes and has a first-class degree in anthropology from Cambridge University, but telling the crowd that she drove to Wembley Stadium was not a good idea. Even if it was a Prius.

At the moment of the great switch-off of the Wembley Stadium lights (prior to an exceedingly dull speech from Terrance Stamp), the stadium was lit up - with digital camera flashes. Which rather defeats the point.

In another breathtaking moment of hypocrisy, the MSN’s video streaming of the Live Earth concerts is sponsored by car manufacturer Chevy, who produce six different kinds of SUVs. Am I the only person who can’t see the problem with this?

The music itself was pretty good - although I was surprised to find it was the likes of The Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chillis and Metallica that got the audience going. Thankfully, James Blunt did *not* play the most hated song of all time.

Although Madonna and the Pussy Cat Dolls also did their bit. Interestingly, during the Pussy Cat Dolls, the only people dancing were the ladies - all the men sat firmly down. Can’t imagine why. I can’t decide whether the PCD are a progressive feminist burlesque positive act or the ultimate in reducing music to a gyrating beat and thrusting crotches and thighs.

Wembley may have more toilets than anywhere else in the world, but there were still long snakes forming outside ladies toilets.

And in a totally random moment, I was walking past the exit for a ladies toilet when I literally bumped into an old friend from University I hadn’t seen since 2002. And they say the world is a big place.

Oh, and it took us two hours to get to our Kensington hotel from Wembley Stadium. For future reference.

Next time, I might just watch it on TV!

Stumbled into work today to find four sheep cheerfully munching away at the sodden green grass opposite the ye olde mansion house I currently work in. Something you wouldn’t see in your average workplace, I’d have thought!

Moving back to a coastal town has seen the re-appearance of seagulls in my life, and their characteristic squawking. Normally the presence of more feathered creatures wouldn’t bother me one bit, except for the fact that these seagulls have no fear. And will not stop in their quest.

Twice now, they’ve divebombed me while I’m walking down the high street with a baguette in my hand, with the express intent of stealing my food. And always from behind so I have no idea what’s happening until it’s too late and I find myself with half a sandwich and passers-by looking at me as if to say “Are you mad for walking and eating down the high street?”. Not for nothing do I realise anyone who’s eating in the street is under cover of some kind.

And now a small flock of seagulls has taken nest next to the chimney in our house. On one hand, the hatching of three little seagulls is slightly cute. As are the stares of passers-by who walk past our window and look up on the roof, unaware that we can see them staring at the roof.

But the head of the seagull family seems to be of the opinion that he/she controls all the space around the chimney. Including the garage, and entrance to the house. So last night, when I tried entering the house, the seagull squwaked and swooped down heading for me - before pulling out about ten feet from my head. For some reason, I was feeling uncharacteristically silly, so I just stood there goading the seagull as it continually swooped, dive-bombed and then pulled out of the dive.

With next door’s cats using the front garden as a toilet and the seagulls using a chimney as a nursery, we may be in danger of being labelled the crazy cat/bird household soon. And none of them are even ours!

When I was at university, some chums of mine persuaded me to give this thing called fantasy role-playing a go. So I turned up one night to find my friends huddled around a table, making up some kind of interactive story while staying in character, throwing dice and making pencil markings on a piece of paper. I gamely tried to play along, but I never quite got it, and after I was somehow injured, I opted to play the part of the best friend who gets left behind to deal with the hoarde of enemies coming along and never to be heard of again.

Fast forward to last night, when I watched Dara O’Brian (the man for whom the phrase ‘genial Irish comedian’ was invented) spend a weekend with some live-action fantasy role-players before crafting a twenty-minute stand-up routine just for them. Watching his befuddlement, confusion and baffled reactions to the proceedings was highly amusing and rather mirrored my own reactions - and I at least have a vague awareness of what goes on in fantasy role-playing sessions.

Part of me suspects that fantasy role-playing would be much more fun if you just took out the orcs, elves, warlords and ditched the rather heavy costumes and weapons and replaced it with a more modern setting. In the age of retro-childhood, modern fantasy roleplaying could be a huge hit amongst people wanting to escape their humdrum lives for the weekend.

Having said that, due to my tenous grasp on reality at the best of times, I won’t be going to any fantasy role-playing games any time soon. Part of me would love to watch them from afar, and perhaps lose myself in the game - but most of me would just be very very uncomfortable at having to wear silly costumes and brandish foam weapons.