Bombs away!

It’s all rather quiet here at the moment. Almost everyone else has trouped off to the khazi or the tea point as part of the bomb shelter exercise. This was announced over the tannoy by a man with a reassuringly Teutonic accent: “Vor you Tommy ze exercise iss oafer”. Witness the last of my diversity points trickling off down the drain.

I believe that everyone has now gone down to the basement shelters, following a second announcement. ”Do knott use ze stairs in Core B. I emm repeating: Do knott use ze stairs in Core B. You vill comply!”

You will note that I am resolutely remaining at my desk. I refuse to cluster for ten to fifteen minutes in a smelly, over crowded khazi while the Department tries to recreate in miniature the Black Hole of Calcutta; if there is ever a real bomb alert, I already know where the shelters are; hiding under my desk and kissing my arse goodbye is every bit as effective and was recommended practice for nuclear alerts in the 50s and 60s, so should be fine for a couple of dozen pounds of semtex; and the entire thing is voluntary anyway.

Give me a good fire drill any day. That’s a far more likely occurrence, we get to go outside for some fresh air and can nip into Starbucks or similar for a chat and a Danish.

I hear the voices of other dissenters across the floor somewhere. I am masked from them by filing cabinets.

Additional: The exercise is now over and no-one, not a single person came to check that the building was empty. I was waiting to tell them that the bomb had deafened me. A wasted opportunity.

Bombs away!

It’s all rather quiet here at the moment. Almost everyone else has trouped off to the khazi or the tea point as part of the bomb shelter exercise. This was announced over the tannoy by a man with a reassuringly Teutonic accent: “Vor you Tommy ze exercise iss oafer”. Witness the last of my diversity points trickling off down the drain.

I believe that everyone has now gone down to the basement shelters, following a second announcement. ”Do knott use ze stairs in Core B. I emm repeating: Do knott use ze stairs in Core B. You vill comply!”

You will note that I am resolutely remaining at my desk. I refuse to cluster for ten to fifteen minutes in a smelly, over crowded khazi while the Department tries to recreate in miniature the Black Hole of Calcutta; if there is ever a real bomb alert, I already know where the shelters are; hiding under my desk and kissing my arse goodbye is every bit as effective and was recommended practice for nuclear alerts in the 50s and 60s, so should be fine for a couple of dozen pounds of semtex; and the entire thing is voluntary anyway.

Give me a good fire drill any day. That’s a far more likely occurrence, we get to go outside for some fresh air and can nip into Starbucks or similar for a chat and a Danish.

I hear the voices of other dissenters across the floor somewhere. I am masked from them by filing cabinets.

Additional: The exercise is now over and no-one, not a single person came to check that the building was empty. I was waiting to tell them that the bomb had deafened me. A wasted opportunity.

Burfdi

Many happy returns to ladkyis.

Have a good one, Ann.

Burfdi

Many happy returns to ladkyis.

Have a good one, Ann.

Nearly as ancient as me...

Coming soon to the Caddyman collection of listening pleasure, two little CDs that I've had on my Amazon wish list for a while and which have recently dropped in price to a level I think almost demands their purchase.

I have noticed recently that record companies have woken up to the potential of their more obscure back catalogues and that some interesting and rarely heard stuff is beginning to see the light of day for the first time in four decades.



Belle Epoque: EMI's French Girls 1965-68 and Tell Him: The Decca Years by Billie Davis, a singer whose accident proneness ensured she never reached the hights of fame enjoyed by Cilla Black, Sandie Shaw or Dusty Springfield

Daily Telegraph, April 28, 2007

Belle Epoque: EMI's French Girls 1965-68

This Collection of 40-year-old Gallic pop is distinguished by its delicious melody and sophistication, but also clinging to it is an unmistakable whiff of cabaret kitsch. Beautifully orchestrated and featuring names such as Les Roche Martin, Christie Laume, Ria Bartok and, less obscurely, Sandie Shaw, it's a sliver of semi-forgotten musical history pitched midway between show tunes and cheeky Parisian strip-parlour sass. Naturally Serge Gainsbourg puts in an appearance, crooning on Michele Arnaud's Les Papillons Noirs, which he also wrote.

Nearly as ancient as me...

Coming soon to the Caddyman collection of listening pleasure, two little CDs that I've had on my Amazon wish list for a while and which have recently dropped in price to a level I think almost demands their purchase.

I have noticed recently that record companies have woken up to the potential of their more obscure back catalogues and that some interesting and rarely heard stuff is beginning to see the light of day for the first time in four decades.



Belle Epoque: EMI's French Girls 1965-68 and Tell Him: The Decca Years by Billie Davis, a singer whose accident proneness ensured she never reached the hights of fame enjoyed by Cilla Black, Sandie Shaw or Dusty Springfield

Daily Telegraph, April 28, 2007

Belle Epoque: EMI's French Girls 1965-68

This Collection of 40-year-old Gallic pop is distinguished by its delicious melody and sophistication, but also clinging to it is an unmistakable whiff of cabaret kitsch. Beautifully orchestrated and featuring names such as Les Roche Martin, Christie Laume, Ria Bartok and, less obscurely, Sandie Shaw, it's a sliver of semi-forgotten musical history pitched midway between show tunes and cheeky Parisian strip-parlour sass. Naturally Serge Gainsbourg puts in an appearance, crooning on Michele Arnaud's Les Papillons Noirs, which he also wrote.