Cultural lowlights

Looking back on 2013 one of the main events in Cardiff came and went with little or no fanfare in the cultural media. A new outdoor venue opened and closed with the same event…

All girl group +1

 

Some say it was the reformed American rock band from the 1960’s The Byrds, particularly known for their most famous track Tern! Tern! Tern!

         Yet fewer of the locals were attracted by the rumoured reformation of the original Girls Aloud line-up being signed up to officially open the new venue… though it did seem to be good news in Swansea and a crowd excitedly flocked to Cardiff for the event.

Swan armada [2]

 

The missing masses managed to avoid the show’s highlight, as the new girl band attempted to recreate the iconic visuals of the former TLC’s ‘Waterfalls’ track, where the band are seen standing on water…   

and subsequently disappear into it…  

Admittedly, it was a hard act to follow and the Cardiff rendition may have needed more work:

All girl group +1Then they were gone

 

 

 

 

 

It is safe to say that the unexpectedly poor attendance should have been seen, built as it was on no publicity:

Nou Camp 1

But the memory of the iconic Fillmore East venue in New York can continue to rest in peace, as there is no clear or present danger of the Bute Dock East entering the cannon of great music venues any time soon.

   v.   Bute Dock Company sign

 

Until we speak again I have been Juno trying to drop a few ideas to the local authorities about using their vast watery space around the corner from my pad.

 

When Dr Who Called

It was only a matter of time before my laid back life in Cardiff would be interrupted by a call from the doctor.

Castle Arcade 10There were suspicious goings on in the Castle Arcade, as a Dalek was spotted trying to canvas support for their application to appear in an episode of The Simpsons

After all of the tense and challenging situations the doctor has experienced in combat with his greatest foe you would have thought this should be a simple matter to expedite. But then again, you would have thought after 50 years of trying, and several different drivers, that someone would be able to

Tardis

land the Tardis in the right place, instead of missing by a few hundred yards and getting stranded in the local castle without an admission ticket!

So a mayday call arrives through one of those strange Torchwood like portals of fire and brimstone that Cardiff has become renowned for (or not, depending on which dimension you live in)…

  Unfortunately Captain Jack and Gwen were off to some fancy dress shindig in Splott or Grangetown, or another exotic sounding part of Cardiff…

Wall mural [2]

X-ray eyes [2]

So, this was a job for a cool cat with intense concentration. A momentary stare from me and the Dalek’s resistance was futile… Exterminate!

 

    The End.

The key hole in the sky

 

While you have been oblivious to the perils of the world, I have been Juno. Now, if only I can find the key to the great mystery in the sky before I speak with you again…

 

It was 1972…

My ‘Resident DJ’ is gazing at the old vinyl collection and reminiscing about something or another. ” What’s new pussycat, Pussycat Dolls, Stray Cat Strut, Cat Power, Cat on a hot tin roof” I helpfully suggest; but ‘Nostalgia Freak’ is not impressed, and mutters something about me being deported back to England if I don’t develop some musical respect.

   Oops, time to hide…  Year of the cat, Cats in the cradle…” I proffer from my new-found bolt-hole. ‘Now your’e getting nearer’ I hear.

Spillers Records [1]It seems that Cardiff is home to the oldest record shop in the world. It has been 119 years since Henry Spiller began selling shellac phonographic discs from a little shop in the long since disappeared [original] Queen’s Arcade. In true Dr. Who style (a newer Cardiff legend), the shop’s second incarnation from the 1940s coincided with vinyl becoming king; and with a new century seeing the CD struggle against downloads it has more recently moved to its third home in the Morgan Arcade.  

Step into this old emporium of the different formats and it still brings back many fond memories as well as great music to all lovers of a good tune. Everyone who knows Spillers Records are likely to have their own definitive year; something about their personal musical era, or the first time they visited the little shop of big expectations. For the ‘Native Old Git’ it seems 1972 was the year… with record player barely a year old, and a few albums bought in a subterranean part of Woolworths on Queen Street, it was time to enter the dark world of the music shop on The Hayes. I am reliably informed that John Kongos became that first purchase, shortly followed by a couple of albums by The Who, and the changing musical directions from Stevie Wonder. Alas, these uplifting reflections are tempered by a flickering thought of the loss of the other album purchased in Spillers that year, but subsequently lost in the intervening years of travelling.

Vinyl [1]

Hmmm… this John Kongos guy looks a bit like a cat, but I am a bit wary of meandering around someone who says He’s gonna step on you again!  At least Stevie Wonder knows how to cheer a sun worshipping cat up.

Vinyl [2]

 

As for The Who, I am left wondering what there is to do in Leeds… apart from leaving their mark on the concrete column. Their songs about Young Man Blues and Teenage Wasteland suggest they should try somewhere else. Cardiff comes to mind…

Back in 1972 vinyl wasn’t ‘cool’, vinyl was ‘everything’. It is hard to believe that this venerable institution was already 78 years old at the time ‘Nostalgia Junior’ was ready to spend the hard earned (by somebody else) pocket money. Then again, apparently not; we are talking about a time when smoking was still a widespread profession rather than the Public Enemy No 1 badge of today, and most places had a darker dingier feel to them… and Spillers on The Hayes was no different. This second incarnation of Henry’s gift had already absorbed 25 years or more of people loitering and browsing with intent; of passionate staff and inquisitive punters engaged in musical inspection and introspection.

Unlike any other music selling joint of the time, this was a place where you could even disappear into a private booth to listen to a few tracks before deciding on what to give the cash up for. That first album personally bought in Spillers was known for its couple of previously released singles, but what of the rest? In the claustrophobic atmosphere of that booth John Kongos sang of nostalgia, and the deal was sealed. This was no place or time for absence of thought and rash musical whims. After all, when you walked out of this place and set off around town, your vinyl album under your arm said something about who you are; it would become part of your teenage peacock-like display. CDs slipped into pockets or bags project nothing, and as for downloads… beam me up Scotty.

    Old & New 

It’s another world we live in, compared with 1972, but today Spillers became the ‘Old Git’s’ destination for the first time in 30 years… there was unfinished business, a long lost album to be rediscovered. The shock of the airy brightness soon recedes as the same old Spillers values of love for music becomes clearly evident on the racks and in the banter between staff and visitors. It’s nowhere to be seen in the CD racks on the ground floor; but what’s this new invention… a smaller upstairs room housing the vinyl… could it come to the rescue? Still no sign of the elusive lost album, until without hesitation the welcoming staff immediately offer to order it. With three additional live tracks, my ‘Native Bottler’ throws nostalgia to the wind and orders the remastered CD version, and in a few days I am promised the treat of Santana Abraxas providing the soundtrack to my universe. At least it isn’t the download version, God knows where I would have to plug something in to listen to that!

It seems that The Oldest Record Shop in the World keeps the fire going for those who love their music, but it is more than a collection of hardware, I am reliably informed this place is a purveyor of memories, a definer of ages, a repository of personal histories. I have been Juno, and until we meet again it looks like I am going to be transported back to the early 1970s.

Immigrant Song

How is a cat who has moved between countries supposed to feel with all this anti-immigration stuff in the media? Where is the evidence for all this negative impact of immigration? It seems to me like us cats bring nothing but diversity and peacefulness into your miserable whining lives.

I ask you, am I putting additional pressure on your precious veterinary resources? It seems to me like not many of your indigenous cats are desperately queueing up to get additional appointments at the local vets. What’s more, I am a fairly healthy cat, doing my own thing and not needing much else other than an annual check-up. Hardly the basis for claims I might cause the collapse of your animal health and welfare services.

Do you really think I am just an opportunist trying to cash in through some kind of ‘cat litter tourism’, cynically just trying to avail myself of the benefits of your superior quality litter? It seems to me like you should be more concerned about the way your indigenous cats just go around digging up other people’s gardens with no consideration for the inconvenience they cause.

What do you think about the fact I simply arrived in your country and moved straight into a nice flat surrounded by quiet canals, close to all the amenities of the city centre and the bay? It seems to me, listening to the headline grabbing nonsense in the media like you think I obviously deprived one of your indigenous cats out of a home.

Do you think I have suddenly arrived and put one of your local mouse-catchers out of a job? It seems to me that there is an absence of local cats queueing for any available jobs currently; more interested in waiting around for a ‘more for less’ job opportunity to show up. Taking in the rays and having naps seems to be the preference for many of the indigenous cats (though I can’t criticise them on that count).

What about the issue of dog immigration… after all, don’t they go in for eating your children? It seems to me like that would be a real alien invasion; so perhaps you need to get a more positive immigration policy in place, not just allowing any old dog in, but prioritising how we integrate and get on well together.

        

Fortunately for me my host servant recognises the value of us cats moving into their humble abode, and bringing some colour and variety into their lives. It seems to me like many of you people should be a bit more selective about the scare-mongering nonsense you listen to from a small minority of those on the small-minded political extremes. Sure, one or two of my kind step out of line a little, and they may cause you a few problems; but don’t let that be your view of all of us. However, I am a bit partial to the idea I keep hearing called UKIP… I like to kip as often as I can, after all this amount of beauty doesn’t come without a great deal of sleep you know!

Juno cushion [3]

It seems to me like you do have some of the more objective media reporting around, if you can be bothered looking for it; and until we speak again this immigrant wouldn’t have anything other than the Observer lining my litter tray.

Wales 2026 World Cup Bid

Dear Zed Lister and fellow Sweet FA delegates,

I feel it is time that I launched the Wales bid to host the 2026 World Cup. After all, you have provided Qatar as the clearest of blueprints for success. Listening to my cortege of footballing pundits I could have been mistaken for thinking this once every four years prestigious tournament was a true spectacle of the peoples game put on as a festival of entertainment for the delight of the people of the world. However, you have enlightened me to the true realities that it is a complex front for your eminence and fellow crooks, sorry administrators of the game, to engorge yourselves in luxury at the expense of the ordinary spectators. Why didn’t I see that earlier, it is just like the life us cats weave for ourselves on a more permanent basis in the homes of our servants.

As leaders of the world game I am sure you will be steeped in its history, so I will launch the Wales bid on an example of the selfless generosity of its historical contribution to gamesmanship. We clearly surpass Qatar in our our World Cup pedigree and history. They weren’t even in Sweden on that 1958 day when we generously allowed Brazil a quarter-final 1-0 win for them to go on to eventually win the cup. We realised at the time that Brazil may never be good enough to grace the World Cup stage again, whereas we would undoubtedly become permanent attenders at all future tournaments.

The most important element of any worldwide competition has to be the official mascot… what else does anyone remember a few days after it has all finished? Qatar are unlikely to fool anyone with their diamond studded pot of gold mascot, whereas we have the ghost of John Charles

     to strike fear into all, and leave a memorable image of the gentle giant for the kids of the world to dream of emulating. Gareth Bale was in contention, but concerns publicly expressed by Harry Redknapp that “he spends most of his time working on his barnet” led my bid committee to be concerned about his availability outside of salon opening times. As for the constant playing with his hands and that heart thing… will someone just give him a mobile phone to play with!

    

As paragons of virtue and intelligence I thought you at the ‘Sweet FA’ were perfectly placed, in your plush Swiss offices, to be fully aware and on top of the necessary considerations about summer temperatures of 40-50 degrees. You offered Qatar and the football loving world a perfectly reasonable choice… an unnatural and phenomenal expense to provide an innovative green cooling system to reduce temperatures in all stadiums, or cause massive disruption to football leagues the world over by staging the tournament in winter. I promise you that here in Wales the summer temperatures are frequently 40-50 degrees, but a plan is in place to provide spectators with complimentary plastic macs and jumpers in their national colours, with the addition of the Welsh flag emblem as a gesture of multicultural friendship. I apologise unreservedly if this deprives you of an opportunity for skimming off the top any lucrative backhanders resulting from the need to impose grotesquely over-inflated and costly solutions to unnecessary problems. However, along with other cost-savings I will outline in our plan, this creates greater opportunities for us to lavish our expenses on you and your wives.

What about the cost of developing stadia? In the middle of the Qatari desert billions are planned to be spent on state of the art stadia, while here in Wales we will save all that money by playing most of the games at the Millenium Stadium, where the roof can be kept closed against the potential for steel rod like rain dampening the motivations of the young billionaires on the pitch. It is close to the railway station for teams and their supporters flying into the UK and then getting the train. It is also next to the river Taff, so we can extravagantly transport you and your delegates by Cardiff Bay pleasure boats from your hotel direct to the stadium.

Millenium Stadium 4

Cardiff City Stadium [1]

More lowly ranked countries can play at the nearby Cardiff City Stadiumparticularly those who are unsure what colours they should be playing in, and to avoid the sight of empty seats through smaller crowds in our national stadium. However, your presence would not be required at such a small venue… it would be so undignified in relation to your overblown image of yourselves.

Player accommodation at the St Mary Street Travelodge allows the majority of them to walk to the stadium; but an extra bus can be put on the route to the Cardiff City Stadium for players of teams who are not used to walking further than to their parked Ferrari’s. Of course, you at the ‘Sweet FA’ as world administrators of the beautiful game will be accommodated at the St. David’s Hotel and Spa at no personal expense.

St Davids Hotel [8]For your many unnecessary visits we will meet you at the rebranded Wales International Airport, at Heathrow, and pay all of your fees at the Severn Bridge toll booths. During the competition all players and spectators will be directed through the clapped out Cardiff Airport, not to burden you with the need to meet or speak with the lesser subjects of your sport.

All of the money-saving initiatives are carefully designed to increase the pot available for bribing, sorry, entertaining you the world leaders of the professional game at the ‘Sweet FA’. As highly respected visiting delegates you will be provided with free use of the City Sightseeing Bus, with commentaries about all the cities in warmer climates where you would currently prefer to be. Your wives will be offered free gifts from their personal choice of stall in the Cardiff Central Market, with free shoe repairs while they wait thrown in for good measure. As a re-think on the Bale heart thing, commemorative hearts will be cast in gold for each delegate and their wives… wrought from the iron ore of Merthyr Tydfil, smelt by the power of purest Welsh steam coal, and borne of the sweat and toil of our working man, if he can be found or isn’t on a health and safety imposed permanent tea break. In this event there is always Plan B… a plastic replica made in China (helping to secure their vote). Free bags of Welsh cakes will be available throughout the period of the bid and tournament, but only to ‘Sweet FA’ personnel and their families.

We are fully aware of the tactics needed to win the strategic votes from around the world… a Welsh Baptist Minister in Patagonia is working on the Americas vote, with South America in the bag, and dispatched to target the bible thumping mid-west. Threats to sue over the title New South Wales should bring in the Oceania vote. The Cardiff City FC connections with Malaysia should easily secure the Asian vote. Craig Bellamy‘s predicted role as a future African President will guarantee the African vote. Europe as our home region initially appear a stubborn convert… but when we seduce Scottish support with our plaque at Cardiff City Stadium the vote will surely follow.

Cardiff City Stadium [8]It is surely to our credit that we have many useless sporting administrators here in Wales, which should endear us to your core philosophy and ways of thinking; and with further mentorship from your delegates we should proudly ensure that nothing deviates from the main ethos established in your corrupt, sorry open and transparent, commitment to leadership. What we have learned most from the experience of Qatar is that we don’t need any relevant history in the game, or existing stadiums full of passionate supporters, or a climate suited to sporting exertion, or even respect for the ordinary fans. Whatever the available budget, as long as we demonstrate that the majority of it is directed to the comforts of you, the world administrators of the ‘Sweet FA’, and your shopping obsessed wives, then we can fill our boots and have ourselves a tournament. Where in Switzerland do I send the suitcases of unmarked bills?

I have been Juno, demonstrating my bid-leading credentials, and I am open to any bribes, I mean constructive suggestions, before I speak with you again.

Wos occurring?

I understand that Cardiff is the location of a rift in time and space, which acts as a portal for all extra-terrestrial life arriving on our planet; or so the Torchwood legend would have us believe.

  But is there any evidence that intelligent or other life has actually come through this portal, and does Torchwood really protect us against any threatening invaders? The jury is out on both cases, but I thought I would stroll around my local area to search for any evidence. My initial discoveries suggest that strange creatures may well have made it through:

          Recent reports suggest that the local football club has been infected by destructive forces. Either that or the future of male fashion has been unveiled, and it isn’t a pretty sight! The first shock wave came when a ‘Tan the man’ invader conjured up a spell that changed the cherished local blue of 100 years into red. If that shock wasn’t enough for the baying hordes, the fear factor was ramped up even further as an experienced bureaucrat with superior HR powers was suddenly turned into a novice painter and decorator. Spectators at the next home game should be very fearful of the powers of this footballing ignoramus, unless, that is, there is evidence of intergalactic protectors in the local area.

Dr Who Experience [1]The first positive signs appear in the unlikely form of a sci-fi/Jimmy Hendrix cross-over shed like affair. Just to portray the right kind of strong message it stands defiantly in blue.

Didn’t the whole Torchwood hub idea emerge out of the legend of some doctor with a sonic screwdriver. ‘Doctor With’ doesn’t have the right ring to it, so I send a call out for anyone to come up with a better name for a Doctor Who type of character instead (CV’s strong on foul-mouthed government experience preferable)! However, this cat wants a bit more evidence than just some oversized shed, before I believe we might be saved from the Malaysian Megalomaniac.

Tardis in a shopping trolley

Didn’t the old space and time travellers use some sort of police box as a way of getting around? Given their current press coverage I am not sure that connections with the police should be that reassuring regarding our future safety. But if our potential saviours have only nicked police property to effect time travel, I am slightly more reassured when I find evidence of a possible time machine not far from the afore-mentioned shed. What’s more, it has successfully managed to navigate itself outside of the inevitable trap laid by the ubiquitous supermarket trolley… one of the most environmentally recognisable icons across the landscape of the UK.

At first I receive a big set back, it seems that one of our possible saviours is no longer. Hopefully this shrine is only a fiction, designed to give a false sense of security to alien visitors; but these humans have form when it comes to ridiculous collective outpourings of grief for people they only know through the media!

Torchwood [1]

Torchwood [4]

It seems I am not alone in the desperate search for our Torchwood heroes, as heavily disguised Cardiff City FC fans scour the area where the team had previously been sighted entering their secret hub. If they are still here somewhere in the city there might be some hope that the soccer slayer from the far east might be stopped.

Much to my surprise and delight, it seems that even super heroes leave their litter outside of the office. Sure signs that earth-saving powers are on hand.

Torchwood [6]Being the location of a threatening space and time rift through which evil can arrive on earth is one thing, but this cat isn’t easily scared by just one example of the dark arts identified across Cardiff. Having said that, a few more examples are tending to give me some vivid nightmares of late:

Wall mural [2]

Wall mural [3]

 

 

 

 

 

I have been Juno, bringing you reasons to be fearful, but if Torchwood is still out there I will be more confident about speaking with you again soon.

Fat cat bankers

Some of my superior species seem to have attracted bad press in recent years. I was just telling my human credit card that I couldn’t understand why, when they drew my attention to a few uncomfortable truths, that some unsavoury characters leading the financial industry have been frequently referred to as fat cats… clearly not eating out of my bowl!!

[Pictures downloaded from internet search ‘images of fat cat bankers’]:

                

Economic disaster, casino banking, double-dip recession… the language of our day-to-day transactions has been transformed by a few people doing something to a mouse that hardly seems worth getting out of bed for:

     The majority of the reasonable population goes into spasms of indignation, demanding these cats be cut down to size. Yet they even seize on our well-known sense of nonchalance, claiming that any threat to their power and wealth will be met with the wholesale departure of talent overseas.

                 

Talent! Talent? Seems to me that anyone whose main talent is to screw everything up for everyone else is better off overseas… any contributions to the one-way tickets should be sent to my accountant for payment into the ‘I wouldn’t mind becoming a fat cat‘ account.

I do smile each time I hear a government representative boasting about all they have done to get our slick-suited armageddon merchants helping the honest trades-folk of Broke PLC, when the usual response received to a cap-in-hand request goes something like this: 

Even more impressive was the recent tactic in the City of London of creating buildings that can set fire to the ordinary peoples’ attempts to scrape a livelihood. While the casino bankers relax in the richest sun-belts of the world, they have found something they are happy to share with the proletariat… spreading the heat!

So, it was with great delight, as I slinked around the local city centre, that I came upon a vision of divine retribution… a Barclays Bank building now occupied by Poundland!

Barclays PoundlandCould it be true, that representatives of the once almighty financial institution of ‘total disrespect for the ordinary punter’, where numbers only mattered if they were interrupted by several commas, are now in the business of selling goods to the proletariat for numbers that don’t even need a decimal point!? Or will I wake up and find it was all just a lovely impossible dream? I have been your intrepid financial correspondent, Juno, until we meet again soon.

Going nowhere

So there I was gazing out across all I could survey in this idyllic place I call home, when my appointed journey planner suddenly asked if I was going somewhere.  Plotting an escapeWell, I said in contemplative mood, to go somewhere you need to be sure about something and saddle up a means of somehow. Which only served to confuse my poor food fetcher, so I made do with a simple it’s a know-nothing going nowhere kind of day.

Much to my surprise this seemed to produce one of those butterfly-effect moments, and somewhere on the far side of ‘journey planners’ brain a couple of stray cells briefly rubbed together, and out tumbled all sorts of reminiscences about a long-distant past where a nationalised British Rail used to provide entertainment for the masses by organising ‘mystery trips’ by trains out of Cardiff Central station; or ‘Cardiff General’ as it was then, bearing in mind my groomer-in-chief is what I can only refer to as an ‘old git’, who seems to be thriving on my presence and attention.

Cardiff Central stationMystery trips, I thought. Seems to me that with all this privatisation malarkey one constant remains… go to Cardiff Central station these days, and the place is one big mystery trip in its own right!

If you are planning on going ‘somewhere’ just hope that nobody looking for a reason to play a practical joke suggests your train goes from Platform 5. On the other hand, if you are going ‘nowhere’ this is just the right place for you… go straight to Platform 0! Yes, you are right first time, I said zero.

Platform 0 [4]

Research on this computer contraption tells me this rather strange option for non-travel, or possibly even time-travel, is not just the preserve of the good people of Cardiff… the good, and in the interests of equality all other types of people, in Stockport (Cheshire), Preston (Lancashire) and Haymarket (Edinburgh), can all share in the global pursuit of going nowhere.

However, in Cardiff, we are talking about a mystery trip of a journey in the station itself.

Platform 0 [1]You might have been planning on a straight-forward visit to the M&S Food emporium, stocking up for your journey to who-knows-where. But, who can resist the message that blocks your advance… Platform 0 even has a staircase of its own. If this doesn’t convince you of its elevated status (excuse the pun), what will? So, you make the understandable decision… London can wait, Swansea has lost its appeal (if it ever had any), Manchester and the North (wherever that place is) will have to wait. We are off on what might just prove to be the experience that knocks Harry Potter’s Platform 9 and 3/4 at Kings Cross station into a minor footnote in the history of rail travel.

Platform 0 [2]As you overcome your initial trepidation, you climb the stairs. Ever the informative types, the railway company have even expanded your knowledge of Welsh, with what must be one of the most useful signs you are ever likely to come across in the whole Principality. But, at least you know you are on the right track (ok, produce your own puns then!). Then they really excel themselves… remember, you are on a mystery journey going nowhere. For this, the most vital guide should be ‘no information at all’; and wow, do they come through. To top off your mysterious journey they have even provided a customer information kiosk… closed and shuttered!

Platform 0 [3]

Armed with nothing, you are now fully geared up to go nowhere… the train company wish you a relaxing and pleasant journey; if you have any further questions, just don’t ask.

For those readers who use this rail equivalent of a black hole, on your way to all stations to Ebbw Vale, I am Juno you mobile DJ offering you a little bit of Going Nowhere by Oasis, or alternatively for you ‘valleys’ go-getters here is Somewhere by Tom Waits. See you at the end of your journey, where ever that may be.

Diplomatic incidents

It always starts with my staff being wrong and me being right, but each time I need to manage the situation as if we are trying to avert some full blown diplomatic incident. On this occasion it was simply triggered when I looked at my nearly full bowl of food and just happened to throw a glance of expectation to my personal chef, all the while thinking ‘are you seriously expecting me to eat this stuff?’ I usually start with the cute look, something like ‘look, no eyes’:

Look, no eyes!

Much to my amazement, on this occasion they say ‘your bowl is full and your not getting anything else until you are eating what is already there.’ Now, I don’t know about you, but for me the recipe for a stand-off has just been triggered… the question is: how to play these deluded humans along, so they think they have made a point, while I still win. At this stage cute is too easy  on them, it is time to try a bit of cunning, and also offer the threat of a right hook to show I mean business:

Right hook

The first tactic is what is commonly known as the snub… I deliberately brush against their legs, and just as they are bending down to stroke my head I walk away a few paces and throw the disgruntled look:

 

This is designed to deliver a psychological blow to the snubbee; but to my surprise they step back and look at me in some kind of accusing way… is this the counter-snub in play I wonder?
I could respond by walking further away, but that could easily be interpreted as the sulk, and sulking would be a surefire admission of defeat. How do I retaliate in this situation? I remind myself that inevitably there can only be one winner here, we can’t have humans thinking they are in control.
The second tactic, to escalate from the snub, is what we call the break from protocol; so I jump up onto the coffee table and deliberately sprawl out across the newspaper. This will show them who is boss around here. But once again, to my utter amazement they reply with the unprecedented break from protocol by trying to shoo me off the coffee table… shoo?… me? what’s going on?
By this stage I had calculated on receiving some gentle strokes, but instead I believe the situation has reached the level of an affront. However, the intensity of the atmosphere deepens as my accuser replies to my affront with their declaration of an outrage. I do what any self-respecting cool cat would do in this situation, and adopt the frosty look:
 

It seems that what started out as a difference of opinion has now become a full blown incident. I slump to the ground on my side and flex my claws, to which the now disgruntled human retrieves the claw-clippers from the dark mysterious cupboard that I am not allowed in… sabres are being rattled!
Clearly different tactics are required in order for me to regain the upper hand. If the first line of cute did’t work it is time to put the second level of cute into practice… I lie on my back with legs in the air as the offer of the olive branch.
Olive branch
At first, the indignant one seems to rebuff my olive branch; but once it is accepted with a tummy stroke it is time I went to the next tactic of putting out feelers. Perhaps if I dazzle them with my x-ray eyes it might just win them over:
X-ray eyes
At this stage I purr loudly for effect, and they respond with the suggestion that poached salmon is on their menu… and I might just get some for a treat. This is their way of making the necessary overtures.
At this delicate stage the diplomatic thaw is under way, and I resist from reminding them that I am clearly winning. It is necessary to maintain the thaw until the salmon has been delivered and consumed… at which point I will be ready to start the next snub!
[This post has been developed around a column in the Observer newspaper written by Raphael Behr on 11th August 2013].

In a New York Minute

I have never been one for thinking that close proximity to something means I have to do anything about it. Take music, for example… I have my own in-house D.J. to decide what we listen to, and when. The limit of my exertions are simply to just lie there and reflect on wherever the music takes me. Just the other day I did get a little confused, as Eagles seemed to be soaring indoors but outside there was nothing other than a flock of sea-gulls (think about it music lovers). Suddenly a beautiful version of Don Henley’s ‘New York Minute‘ filled the room:

In a New York Minute

Everything can change 

In a New York Minute

Things can get pretty strange

It is usually described as the period of time between a Manhattan traffic light turning green and the driver behind you honking their horn. But it instantly got me thinking about my previous life ‘In a London Minute’, where a similar urgency and madness seems to be born out of people always needing to be somewhere else. For all of you readers afflicted by a similar malady, I say take a minute now and then to just chill-out. You don’t see us cats battling the traffic to get to the gym for yet another yoga class before we need to gargle the falling-down water just to get over the stress of the gym. Whatever you do, don’t try this yoga with cats thing on me, my take on it all is something like this:

More sunshine please

 

Why not take a few hints out of my new life… ‘In a Cardiff Minute’. I might live on the edge of the city centre of a capital city, but I still find it easy to seek out the spaces to be in the moment, without having to do the full Buddhist trip. Come on a journey around my local neighbourhood and see what I mean. No cars allowed down here:

Canal at 14[2]Lily pads [1]As for here, cars are allowed, but this is my kind of rush hour:

Rush hour dream [1]        Rush hour dream [2]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They say that for a brief period back at the start of the last century this local dock was busier than New York… perhaps the Eagles first song was ‘In a Cardiff Minute’! Now it is where I prefer to practice my trick of walking on water:

Bute East Dock [3] However busy your life might seem, just look out for those still spaces and still moments. You can always check out the mindfulness and meditation websites for ways of chilling on the move… or take a look at the ideas that are set out on the happiness experiment blog. I’ve even trained my personal financial consultant in the ways of the cool cat… when you think about your workspace every office needs a bed:

Office [1]

 

I’m feeling so laid back I almost forgot who I was for a minute. Going back to the early theme of these musings, the Eagles… I am Juno, and until I see you again Take it Easy.