DO I KNOW YOU?

One of the advantages of a blog over a regular journal, or an autobiography, is that you can say just as much or as little as you want about yourself. And what you say might not even be true: I did warn when I started this one that I made no claim to candidness. Will you believe me if I tell you that I have yet to take advantage of that latitude?

But even though I have so far never lied to my dear readers, they don't know all that much about me: I am French, I like food (I know, it's implied in the previous one, but at least you know some of the food I particularly like), I have a knack for insulting people from other countries (I know, implied), my social life relies heavily on a set of German foldable boxes... Quite sketchy, isn't it? If you have a fertile imagination, you might be thinking that such scant information has to hide some dramatic secret. Maybe I am some serial killer taunting the police with, in each of my posts, some cleverly disguised clues to my next vilainy - in which case I am probably playing it quite safe: how many of Scotland Yard's best are reading this blog?... Or maybe I am someone famous who has chosen the cover of anonymity to say at last what he really thinks. Not that my posts are hugely controversial, but between us, would you like people to know you wrote them?

Anyway, at the risk of disappointing the thrill-seekers, I am not a murderer. Too bad: it would make my posts so much easier to write! And probably so much more exciting to read... But does this mean I have to be famous, then? Indeed it does. Of sorts. Do you remember that I told you I had  appeared on TV quite a few times, and in different countries? Well, you may even have seen me; that is, if you like quiz shows. After all, if you read this, you must have a lot of free time. No, I am not Gail Trimble, and you are not about to see some photos of me, however tasteful. But I have appreared to this day in about a dozen individual shows, not counting repeats. I even won a few, and I have a small glass pyramid to prove it (the cash is long gone unfortunately).

Even apart from that invaluable addition to the decoration of my house (actually, it's in a box somewhere), this interest of mine has brought me countless fringe benefits. I have been offered a behind-the-scene glimpse of how TV shows are recorded, I have been able to talk with game show hosts who are household names, and to realise that however difficult the questions they ask, a monumental intellect is not necessarily a criteria for their selection... I even had the priviledge to stand in a public urinal next to a very famous French director!

One side effect that it did not bring me is instant recognition. In fact, nobody has ever told me: "Don't I know you from that show?". Of course, they may have recognised me, and not said a word to avoid being outed as a dork who watches quiz shows... Whatever the reason, I should be thankful. Nothing would make me more uncomfortable than to have complete strangers stopping me in the street because they have seen my face on their TV screen, and think they know me because of that. Still, you can't help wondering if you are that unremarkable. Ah, to be a serial killer...

IRELAND'S CALL

© The Guardian

The VI Nations tournament is now over, and I must say it ended with a bang: the final week-end was by far the most interesting, and the most dramatic we've had this year. France have gone to Rome, where they always seem to do well, and have managed to restore a small part of their bruised and battered honour, beating Italy 50-8. Still, the previous week's humiliation at the hands of an unremarkable English team will not be easily forgotten. Not by me anyway.

England have gone on to beat Scotland, still without impressing, and pip the French to the 2nd place of the tournament, thanks in no small part to Sunday's thumping.

More importantly, Ireland beat Wales in Cardiff in a thrilling game, and won the second Grand Slam of their history, and their first since 1948. As much as I would have liked to see France in their place, I cannot begrudge Ireland their triumph. They are the stongest Irish team in years, they have the best supporters, the few surviving heroes of the first Grand Slam were so gentleman-like, and looked so happy, and it was St Patrick's Day this week anyway. So, without the slightest hint of a reservation: hearty congratulations to the winners, and Sláinte!

UNIVERSITY CHALLENGE

© BBC

Do you know University Challenge? If you hail from the UK, and you have a television, there is no doubt you do. For those who haven't lived here, University Challenge is THE best quiz show ever to grace our TV screen. It was launched in 1962, and has been running ever since with only a few years' interruption in the late eighties.

The principle of the game is very simple: it pits two teams of four competitors from the best universities in the UK, to whom are asked very diverse questions of general knowledge. But the quality of the questions, as well as that of the contestants makes all the difference, and this is probably why the program has lasted so long. By most measures in fact, it is as famous here as Who wants to be a Millionaire: it has its catchphrase that found its way into everyday language ("Starter for ten"), and that catchphrase is also the title of a novel based on the quiz show, as well as of the film derived from it. Granted, the film did not win 8 oscars, and all you get for winning the four rounds of the competition is just a book-shaped piece of glass. But no game show on the planet has had so many contestants go on to become famous: actors Stephen Fry and Myriam Margoyles, writers Sebastian Faulks and Julian Fellowes, politician Malcolm Rifkind and David Mellor, journalist Jon Simpson, historian David Starkey or TV presentor Clive James all appeared on the program as students. I wonder how many The price is right alumni have known a similar fate...

In any case, there was a controversy two weeks ago, a bit of a storm in a tea-cup, as you often get in the UK. It was revealed that Sam Kay, a member of the winning team (Corpus Christi, one of the colleges of Oxford University) was not a student any more when the last rounds were recorded. After it was made public, the BBC decided to disqualify the winning team, and award their prize to the runners-up, Manchester University, who seemed less than pleased with the accolade.

The fact is, stripping Corpus Christi of their title was the wrong decision on many levels. First, without belittling Kay's contribution, he was part of a very good team with a truly exceptional captain. Gail Trimble, dubbed since "the human Google", scored personally a record 800 points over the whole of competitions, which is two thirds of her team's points. She has so impressed the UK public that men's magazine Nuts apparently tried to contact her to arrange a "tasteful" photoshoot. Yeah, right! Even the Independent, reputed to be a serious newspaper, was wondering in an article who could win Gail's heart. Can you imagine that if the team's captain had been a man? Of course, they would be thinking of his career prospects...

But what makes the BBC's decision even more unfair is that for reasons only known to them, they record the program in two stages: one in March, and the other one in November, or in other words, in two different academic years. Sam Kay, who was still studying when the first recordings were made, failed to get funding for his planned PhD, and had to start work in September, and so became ineligible. So, the BBC did stick by their rules, but those were made absurd by the corporation's own lack of common sense. In fact, it looks like Corpus Christi is being made to pay for a couple of recent, more high-profile, scandals that have involved the Beeb recently, and where they had been criticised for their lack of a quick reaction.

I personally remain unmoved, and still consider University Challenge to be one of the best programs on British television. All that it lacked was a (moderately) juicy scandal to while away the weeks until the next series: what more can we ask for?
Maybe some tasteful photos...

RED NOSE DAY

Today is Red Nose Day. For those who don't live in the UK, Red Nose Day is a hugely popular charity event that takes place every other year in the spring. On that day, people are encouraged to don a red nose, and generally raise money for charitable causes by making fools of themselves. Since it is something that I do quite naturally, and for free, I can't help but find this an excellent idea. At last a national event that plays to my strengths!

This year however, although I gave to the charity, I haven't done anything really foolish (I think...), so I thought I would just remedy that situation here. Maybe I went a bit over the top, though. I mean, the round glasses make me look a bit geeky...

THE JOYS AND PERILS OF SHOPPING

© Punkbirder

Although I live in West London, I had never been to Westfield, a new shopping centre which opened at the end of last year. A grevious oversight for more than one reason: non only is it impossible to retain my claim to coolness without having visited "the largest in-town shopping and leisure destination in Europe", but in these days of credit crunch, it is my civic duty to spend my hard-earned cash to stimulate the British economy.

So, having some purchases to make besides my usual food shopping, and being reluctant to travel into central London, I decided to head to the fabled shopping and leisure destination. The location is quite surprising for a place that boasts such a high-end image: it is located between Shepherd's Bush and White City, which is to say between a run-down residential area, a giant housing estate and an industrial area. Not really where you're most likely to find customers for the Prada, De Beers and Armani shops inside the centre.

Now, maybe it is testimony to the plebeian kind of shopping centres I had patroned so far, but when I arrived there, I was surprised to see a valet parking desk, where two people were expectantly waiting for customers. The parking being quite empty, and finding a place next to the elevators being no problem at all, I am guessing they had not had a very busy day so far. But they were very helpful, and gave me ample directions to the toilet. That is, the one one the ground flour of the centre two levels above, not the one located on the same level, which was reserved to their hypothetical customers. For a moment, I felt like asking them to re-park my car, just to be able to see those undoubtedly sumptuous lavatories, but I thought better of it.

As I went on to start my shopping, I soon had the impression I was being observed. I even imagined that one of the sales assistants in the department store where I was browsing was speaking about me to a security guard, but I tried to dismiss it as a bout of paranoia. Well, no sooner had I stepped outside the department store that two other security guards (the first one must have transmitted my coordinates through walkie-talkie) converged upon me. I thought my cover as an international terrorist and spy was finally blown, but as it turned out, the trolley that I had found at the local supermarket and taken along, expecting to have a lot to carry, was not allowed outside of the confines of said supermarket. When I asked why such a ban was in place, all they could say was that it was the centre's policy (they repeated it quite a few time, as if the number of iterations could somehow make up for the lack of details...). I briefly weighed my odds in a trolley chase through the arcades (I watch too many movies, and after all these gym sessions, I tend to over-estimate my athletic abilities), but I had to relinquish my treasured vehicle, luckily still empty at that point, and was left to speculate for the reasons behind the iniquitous edict. Maybe they want to promote their "handsfree shopping" service, where for a fee, a member of the concierge team (I know!) will collect your purchases after you. Maybe they think that the trolley would hide the labels on the beautiful designer carrier bags, and deprive them of a well-deserved source of advertising. Or maybe they have access to some recent study which has discovered that the World Trade Center towers were in fact brought down by supermarket trolleys, and the planes were only a clever decoy.

Be it as it may, I must say I was not overwhelmed by that first visit. As slick as they try to be, they don't seem to have got it just right yet, and I probably won't go back there in a hurry. Of course, having the nagging suspicion that I have been judged too white trash to be a valued patron doesn't help...

EDIT: I actually went back to Westfield two days later (a long story - even for me), and spent like a drunken sailor. I have no shame!

WHAT DAY IS TODAY?

© Associated Content

Today is International Women's Day, and although I like to think I support women, and everything that this day represents (apparently, it is also the day for women's rights, AND International Peace...), as a man, I can't help feeling a bit left out. You can probably argue that each one of the remaining 364 days in the year is in effect an International Men's Day, but it's not the same, and I would like something more official.

Luckily, there is no shortage of official, international days. When you go to the United Nations' website, as I am sure you often do, you can see that there is an International Mother Language Day, a World Post Day, an International Civil Aviation Day, and an International Mountain Day, among more than 50 others.

Still haven't found your dream day? Many other organisations also declare days of celebration. You have World Bread day on the October 16th (launched, rather unsurprisingly, by the International Union of Bakers and Bakers-Confectioners), National Pig Day in the States on March 1st, International stop-snoring week in April (please don't ask me how I know), and World Crochet Day on September 12th, to cite but a few.

All these are worthy causes, I am sure, but not ones that I feel overly concerned with. When is the day where we celebrate everything that is Abraham Septimus? Well, I have scoured the web extensively, and it seems my day is yet to come. But I am keeping faith! And anyway, Friday is Red Nose Day...

DOUBLE BILL

© Royal Academy

Have I told you yet that I was a museum fiend? In fact, I have been known to time a trip to France so that I could go to a particularly interesting exhibition in the Louvre. So today, I decided to be greedy and I went to the Royal Academy of Arts, to see not just one exhibition, but two. You can never have too much of a good thing!...

Well, the day kept its promise. To be perfectly honest, I kind of knew what to expect, at least as far as one of the exhibition was concerned: I had seen Byzantium 330-1453 a few months ago when it opened, and I had been bowled over. The splendors of Byzantium, at a time when the Western world was plunged into what is dubbed "the dark ages", are legendary, but I had failed so far to realise the width and breadth of their achievements, especially from an artistic standpoint, and how much Christianity, and in particular the Great Schism, had changed that part of the world. The wealth of exhibits on display is quite staggering, from monumental doors to jewelry and paintings, from marble and ivory to enamels and fabric, from everyday objects to ceremonial garb fit for a queen. Leaving the exhibition, I felt (again) very much like Yeats, whose poem Sailing for Byzantium is quoted in the first room:

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Incidentally, these beautiful words have inspired a song to the artist Lisa Gerrard, and I feel that she too has managed to capture the majesty and melancholy of these Lords of the Christian Orient, standing guard over the edge of the civilised world...

© Runmode

The Andrea Palladio: his life and legacy exhibition was focusing not quite so far away in the East, but it was steeped in the same Greek and Roman roots. What was impressive there, was to see that the harmonious lines of Palladio's buildings, so pure, so simple, were the result of a very conscious and methodically researched effort to modernise architecture. Ironic, since he drew his inspiration from the works of antiquity, but how visionary! In fact, two centuries later, English architects would copy Palladio's works for the benefit of wealthy patrons who had seen Italy during their Grand Tour.

As you look at those majestic "villas", and let your mind be carried away to the Venitian countryside where they can be found, you may dream of wealth and drowsiness again, of the elegant "far niente" of a priviledged few. In fact, Palladio's buildings were designed to save the somptuary costs of their predecessors, replacing for instance most of the marble with stucco-covered bricks. And some of them were originally very busy farms, whose elegant wings were hiding very prosaic storage rooms. A very modern approach...

I think you've guessed that it was a very good day, and that I heartily recommend either, or preferably both, of these exhibitions (be quick though, the Byzantium one closes in a couple of weeks). The only disappointment was tea in the cafeteria of the Royal Academy: dry scone, tiny amount of indifferent clotted cream and jam. They also had cucumber sandwiches, but the waitress advised against ordering one of those... Luckily, with Fortnum & Mason on the other side of the road, chances are you won't have to make the same mistake.