Prince Philip - Spokesman for the Nation

I've never been Prince Philip's greatest fan. Over the years he's made the art of the severe verbal gaffe his very own. Thoughtless and prejudiced, Philip has sailed through life while commentators pussy-foot about his 'unfortunate blunders' and 'attempts to reach the ordinary people'. I've nothing in particular against mad old men, but neither would I allow them castles to live in.

But they say, if you give enough apes plenty of pencils and paper, and wait long enough, eventually one will produce a literary novel. And so, in a sense, it's proved with Philip.

Following a Royal Variety Show in December 2007, the great and good of the entertainment world were lined up to be introduced to Mr and Mrs Queen. Among them was Simon Cowell, the 'pop empressario'. As Simon stepped forward, head bowed to meet His Royal Highness, it's alleged Philip called him a sponger, breezily indicating he preys on the talent of others to make his millions.

Cowell has recently released this story to the media, claiming he feels insulted. Perhaps his grotesque ego believes it's not receiving enough attention at the moment. But what he's done is threefold. He's made himself look ridiculous. That said, he's got us talking about him. But his great achievement is to improve the public image of Prince Philip beyond the Palace's wildest dreams.

The Prince's spokesperson has of course denied the episode took place, but with exquisite disdain. 'The Duke of Edinburgh categorically did not call Mr Cowell a sponger. He has said he does not know enough about Mr Cowell to make any sort of comment about him.'

Block 2: Reflections

Last Wednesday marked my final lecture for the second semester - or Block 2 - of my MA. For the past few weeks the course has been extremely active, with lots of fringe activities to choose from as well as the must-do stuff. Well done to all of us for getting through it (I ingratiatingly include the tutors here). And then, out like a lamb; after a final presentation, a quick pint at the SU bar and off home. Next week I start my industry placements, one week with a magazine, and one with a book publisher.

Perhaps because I'd been so busy, it didn't really hit me until a couple of days ago that the end of Block 2 is where the students start to say goodbye to each other, and begin their solo careers. It's all going terribly quickly. Over the summer, I'll be working on my book. My colleagues too will be carrying out their own projects, and group contact time will be very limited. This makes me sad, for I've enjoyed the company of some good friends during the last few months, and I'll miss them.

Block 2 wasn't as rigidly structured as the first semester. You were left a bit more to do your own thing, and make your own choices. I liked that; the University is awash with facilities and I hope I made the most of them. I'd like to have done even more, but sometimes I just ran out of time.

I was delighted with the options I'd chosen for Block 2: non-fiction, and features. Both were demanding, though in different ways, and both were satisfying. I feel we covered a lot of ground. My only doubt is whether I managed to absorb all I'd been taught. Actually that's not really a doubt, but at least I wrote most of it down. Referring back will be invaluable.

I spent the day after the end of term lying on my bed with a jumbo packet of crisps, reading a terrible thriller and feeling completely knackered. This isn't my usual lifestyle choice, so something must have caught up with me. But I did manage to totter to the pub that evening, where I met up with some of my friends from Uni for a pint or two. I had a lovely time. I hope we do it again before too long.

Crack Dealers

Red Nose Day is here. The television awaits. This evening, any interesting or amusing programmes that usually appear on a Friday will be let go.

Instead, we'll be battered into mumbling sixteen numbers down a phone line, pledging some paltry sum and falling back exhausted into our viewing chairs. No, not because of the act of donation, silly. We'll cough up, stupified by the no-marks who'll torment us with their lame acts and demands for money.

Featuring tonight, we'll have the pleasure of Europe's funniest man, Alan 'BMW angry grill teeth' Carr. Once again, Alan will peddle his hilarious gay ticket act. Nationwide, hospitals will be inundated with cases of split sides.

Or Ainsley Harriott, clearly an unwanted nuisance even on his own show, 'Dances With Saucepans'. How I'd like to stick a fork into one of his mad, bulging eyes. An embarrassment of riches, without the riches.

We'll look forward to Jonathan Ross, justly restored to his rightful place as king of everything after some trifling incident blown out of all proportion by a few mad people in attics. Good on yer, Wossie, welcome back to my living room. I love your easy, familiar style - have a knighthood, you deserve it.

We're promised these celebrities will do something funny for money. At last. But according to various reliable press sources, Jonathan Ross has a red nose every day. Perhaps a duet with Charles Kennedy then.

My New Machine

It's all go at the moment on the MA course. Lots of nice regular work, plus all sorts of optional (at your peril) extra activities. My colleagues are beginning to look tired. I of course am sanguine, except that I wake up thinking of MA and go to sleep thinking of ... well, MA. Hard going you might say, and at the moment you could have a point. But the internet provides moments of hilarity between the tsunami of tasks, and serrendipitously, while surfing during my heroin break (used to be a nice cup of tea) I found this cunning machine.

When I worked at Falmouth Docks, people were said to have attacks of 'the fuckems'. Not that I've quite reached that stage yet. Never mind, nearly time for Easter eggs.

W B Yeats - He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

I'm not too well-read on the poetry front, but a friend introduced me to this. It always moves me.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with gold and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Scaling the North Face of the Paper Mountain

Here I am, sat at my desk planning my weekend paperwork with care and efficiency. My MA course workload has suddenly shot up - maybe I should try the same.

I remain jolly in the face of adversity, it's good to be British at a time like this, we are born to it. At least I don't have to go down to the tube every night for a sleep or a good old sing-song to keep the spirits up. But the next few weeks should prove interesting. I'm writing this quick note firstly as a displacement activity, and secondly to avoid the need for pastoral care by talking to you about my distress.

That said, I'm off to watch the rugby on Saturday ... the oasis in my current world of sweated labour.

John Porte and the Flying-Boat

One of my interests is aviation history. At the moment I'm researching the life and work of a man named John Porte. Here he is, standing in front of the Curtiss 'America' flying-boat during the summer of 1914.

Maybe you could help. I'll give you a brief summary of where I've got to so far.

During the First World War, Lieutenant-Colonel John Cyril Porte - to give him his final rank - brought dogged determination and unrivalled experience which fundamentally contributed to Britain’s battle against Germany’s U-boats.

Porte was born in 1884 in Bandon, County Cork in Ireland. In 1898 he joined the British Royal Navy. He developed a keen interest in the emerging submarine service, for which he volunteered in 1908. A great follower of technology, while still in the Navy he began to explore a new enthusiasm which would stay with him for the rest of his life - the possibility of designing and building a flying machine.

Ill-health caused him to leave the Service, but he learned to fly and joined a succession of aircraft companies, the first in 1911. From these experiences, he gained a great deal of knowledge on aeronautical matters. Despite his lack of formal engineering training, Porte found he had a natural flair for both aviation design and development. Through contacts in the aviation community, he met the earliest flying-boat designers: he came to view the potential of this water-based type of aircraft with great enthusiasm.

At the onset of the First World War, despite his health problems Porte rejoined the Navy, which he encouraged to invest in flying-boats for maritime patrol and anti-submarine activities. Early flying-boats were primitive and unreliable, but Porte felt the expertise he had acquired could be used to improve them. He was given free rein by the Navy to conduct experiments with this object in mind; these were carried between 1914 and 1916, at Felixstowe in Suffolk. The work was empirical, often round the clock, and performed by a small, close-knit team under Porte. The result was a new design, the prototype of which was tested successfully, and found to be much improved compared with the flying-boats then operated by the Navy. A production programme was hurriedly established, and the Porte flying-boats began to enter service in early 1917.

Between 1916 and 1918, hundreds of Porte-designed flying-boats were built. They were known as the Felixstowe 'F' series, and were manufactured both in Britain and the United States. Many technical advances and revisions were incorporated as each new type emerged. Porte would test-fly the new models as well as designing them, a rare combination of abilities that helped him greatly in refining his aircraft as he went.

The flying-boats fought a determined campaign against Germany’s U-boats, airships and fighter floatplanes, and were deployed widely around the British coastline, covering particularly the Channel and the North Sea. Hunting the submarines was much the most urgent task, because the potential of the U-boat to influence the course of the war by depriving Britain of critical maritime trade was profound. Porte’s aircraft contributed fundamentally to the deterrent vital in keeping Britain’s sea lanes free, and preserving the flow of merchant shipping. The principles he established became enshrined in flying-boat design and development.

Post-war, Porte joined the civil aviation industry and pursued ever larger and more complex flying-boat designs including a four-engined biplane enormous for its day. However, over the summer of 1919 he became seriously ill, perhaps as a result of over-work: he died in October of that year.

If you have any information you feel able to share on John Porte or his flying-boats, I'd love to hear from you.

Technology Triumph

I spent this morning at Uni in a 'special' class of one, alongside my tutor. The object was to plug this blog in to the Feedcat feed boosting engine. And between us we did it. This means, I managed to remember my password to the Feedcat site, and Alex set me up - not in an Al Pacino way, more a 'this works now' type of thing.

Since then I have played with all my new buttons, and haven't broken any of them yet. I have fiddled with the new sites connected to the buttons, and look forward to the next step on the journey of a non-technologist in my enhanced blogosphere.

Asian Babes - Sponsored by Sony Ericsson

I'm not terribly up on e-technology. With determined patience, my tutor at UCF has tried to explain to me the methods of smothering my blog with RSS feeders, networking platforms and so on. But I've struggled. The younger students on my course simply lap it up, the ingratiating lot. They have displays and counters for this and that all over their blogs.

It's dispiriting because I know it has taken only a matter of seconds for the young to 'put up' their button things. Meanwhile, I pore over the tutor's instructions for hour after tearful hour. The fate of my laptop hangs in the balance as I contemplate flinging it over the nearest picturesque Cornish cliff. I mean that.

But experience and cunning will outwit youthful enthusiasm. Since half the world seems obsessed with porn and cellphones, I've decided to use two terms on Slice of Life that (I imagine) have been top of the pops with search engines since the dawn of time. There they are, in the title bar above. My plan can't fail to get me up those reader / follower ratings. Watch this blog take off!

By the way, sorry about the choice of image above. I viewed the alternative as unacceptable.

Hob-Nobbing

Last summer my band The Slaves played a gig at Chris Gray’s Troubador recording studio in Falmouth. This was part of the Falmouth Arts Week celebrations, and we looked forward to strutting our stuff at such an unusual venue. Chris carefully rearranged his workplace to provide a really great atmosphere. All ready to belt out our electric folk mayhem, then.

We played on the middle floor between an arts exhibition above, and the toilets on the ground. The arty toffs who visited the exhibition stayed to come to our gig, get pissed and dance around with surprising aplomb. A lady named Miff had organised the shindig. She was eventually persuaded to dance too, overcoming initial reluctance and my romantic overtures which involved leaping from the stage and lunging lustfully at her with my tongue dangling out (could've been worse I suppose). All part of the act folks.

It turned out that among the audience that night was no less than Spider Stacy of The Pogues. That band! What they did with Irish music has been eulogised over many, many times and has given us all such a buzz.

At the end of the gig, Spider joined us on stage and sang Dirty Old Town, a song we’d never played previously. It went well, particularly because he told us the key he wanted it in; Helen even took an instrumental break - full marks! Spider was a down-to-earth, unassuming person, and was a pleasure to do business with. Over the next couple of weeks we all bought Pogues CDs, and in turn awaited massive orders of our album Mental Notes from Spider and all his mates.

This was only our first foray into playing with celebrity guests. Since then we've performed with some huge names, including SOME TEXT MISSING