August 2003 Archives

You might have noticed that the Google adverts have gone. I received an email yesterday informing me that Google was cancelling the account, due to 'invalid clicks'. They weren't prepared to go into any further detail, but what I think happened is that due to my family all accessing the Internet through a single gateway, all their clicks appeared to be coming from the same source. Hence the banning. Oh well.

My sister was watching the MTV VMAs tonight (MTV UK decided to show it two days after it originally aired, thus ruining any surprise). I caught snatches whilst writing. To borrow a phrase from my American friends, wasn't the sight of Snoop Dogg dragging women around on leashes a little...well, sketchy? And I think that Sheryl Crow deserves one of Coldplay's awards, considering that "The Scientist" a blatant steal from "No One Said It Would Be Easy"…

Another blog from Iraq was brought to my attention today: Baghdad Burning. Go read.

In other Iraq news, Salam Pax's house was searched yesterday; the army left after liberating a bottle of Johnny Walker. Nice.

A few weeks ago, I sent an email to the Saturday Looks Good To Me website, enquiring whether I could get hold of the CD that they were selling on their latest tour, as I'm currently a bit far away to turn up to a concert.

Today, I got an email from band leader Fred Thomas, thanking me for the request, and giving me the details as to how I could get my hands on a copy of the tour CD. The Internet rules :-).

Perhaps we shouldn't have had all those news reports that said the NY blackout couldn't happen here….

An interesting article from Wired discussing the new advances in artificial diamond production. Includes this wonderful quote from a De Beers representative:

If people really love each other, then they give each other the real stone.

Yes, because nothing says love than a hunk of carbon, rare only by virtue of the huge De Beers cartel, extracted from the earth by poorly paid and often ill-treated African workers, does it?

I know it makes me a bad person, but I love this film..

Research for an idea I'm working on…

Anybody in Chapel Hill/Carrboro with nothing better to do tonight; The New Pornographers are playing the Cat's Cradle. I highly recommend them.

Or, thoughts on last night's Britpop documentary on BBC2.

I'm still not sure how I feel about those halcyon days. On the one hand, the Britpop era marks the time when I became interested in music again, when I would listen to the radio all the time, when I would brave below-freezing temperatures just to get a single on a Monday morning, when I finally felt connected to the world around me. Yet, looking back, I can see the harm that Britpop did to the British music industry; killing off independent labels, causing the downfall of the NME/Melody Maker, and, in the end, marginalising the indie/alternative scene even further.

The documentary was a fairly conventional look at the origins and life of the era, tracing the origins to The Stone Roses and a reaction against American grunge. Fairly typical stuff, but at least this film mentioned the important 1993 Select issue featuring Brett Anderson from Suede superimposed on a Union Jack. Instead of trying to cover everything, it focused on a few key events (Spike Island, 'Parklife', Blur v. Oasis, Knebworth, Noel Gallagher meeting Tony Blair, etc.), and only interviewed the main players such as Noel and Liam Gallagher, Damon Albarn, Jarvis Cocker, plus a few music journalists. And the editor of Loaded. Don't worry, I've got a complete paragraph of bile saved up for him.

None of the interviews were particularly revealing, although Damon Albarn's strange answer to the Blur/Oasis rivalry does seem to give credence to the Liam - Lisa Moorish - Damon love triangle theory of why the two bands didn't get on. I've warmed to Blur in the post-Britpop years; I now only really hate 'Country House' and 'Parklife', but in this film, Damon came across as a bit of a pompous twit, to be honest. Noel, on the other hand, seemed to be quite honest and amusing (although he has a little chip on his shoulder about his background). Liam was his usual charming self; the segment where he pretended not to know what androgynous means was funny, and the end bit where he outed himeself as a fan of S Club Juniors was enjoyable (as was Noel's Old Man act with the dance moves). Jarvis Cocker was as intelligent and sad as ever. Louise Wener had a book to promote. (Incidentally, why does everybody hate her so much? Yes, Sleeper were never going to set the world on fire, but were they any worse than, say, Northern Uproar or Dodgy?)

There aren't many people on this planet who I really hate, but James Brown, ex-head of Loaded is definitely on the list. I don't think we really needed to hear how people at the ironic-porn-mag-for-people-embarrassed-to-buy-porn had arguments about who was going to get the champagne that morning, or the feature deals he made in the toilets whilst doing coke. Or stupid, vacuous statements like "Americans don't have any talent." Useless, cretinous moron.

The film made a valiant attempt to tie the rise in Britpop with the ascent of New Labour, showing Tony Blair's cringeworthy "Three Lions" speech, and talking to Peter Mandelson about how he tried to reposition the party to take advantage of the new optimism that was supposedly sweeping the nation. Some of the analysis didn't work; Jon Savage suggested that Oasis' first number one, Some Might Say, was a celebration of the Tories defeat in the local Council elections, but then the title card revealed that the single was released a month before the elections took place. It was also interesting to see how Albarn and Wener viewed Noel's visit to Downing Street as a sign that he had been captured by the system, while Noel himself gave the impression that he only went to see what Number 10 was like.

Obviously, a 90-minute film wasn't going to be able to cover the whole era in any depth, but there a few omissions that I felt should have been examined. Firstly, there was very little mention of how, well, conservative Britpop was, both musically and culturally. Almost everybody was white, and a lot of groups mined the musical heritage of the sixties for their songs (The Beatles, The Faces, The Kinks, etc.). In many ways, it was a retrograde step from the days of Acid House and Shoegazing. There's a short interview with 3D from Massive Attack in the film which touches on these issues briefly, but I felt that they could have (and should have) done more. Radio 1 wasn't mentioned at all, which was weird, as the Bannister regime was (to me, anyway) an important part of the era; it was a station that was looking to redefine itself, and so became a major backer of the Britpop bands (going as far as having a week in 1996 where all the daytime records were from UK artists). The fall of Britpop left Radio 1 directionless again, and it's still struggling to redefine itself (an interesting discussion about this is progressing on Usenet, if you're interested). Finally, the film concentrated solely on the major players of the scene: Blur, Oasis, and Pulp. It would have been nice to see some of the myriad of bands that sprung up at the same time, about the Camden Town bands, and how the end of the era left most of these signed to a major label that demanded success (and hence, nowadays, most of these bands are not on major labels). There's only so much you can cover in 90 minutes, however, and as a primer on Britpop, the film does quite well.

I'm still conflicted about that time. It's responsible for a lot of the problems that British music has had for the last decade, but when I see that shot of the Wonderwall video where the lights are reflected in his Lennon sunglasses, I remember what it was like when I thought Oasis were the coolest band in the world…

Couldn't they have waited until next week? (This message brought to you by the former elitist users of Usenet).

Yay for unrestrained capitalism! The Google AdWord account passed $100 yesterday, so I should be getting my first cheque from them soon. Thank you, one and all, for clicking on the links. I shall spend the money wisely, honest (*runs off to Amazon*).

Ahem.

After reading this post on BoingBoing the other day, I fully endorse Warren Ellis' idea of breaking Cory's hands. Writing a 21,000 word novella in a week is bad enough, but re-writing two novels, critiquing over twenty pieces and still having the time to read several books? The man needs to be stopped.

Proof that complaining does get results: I received my first SoBig email this afternoon. Okay, so it's not the deluge that everybody else is experiencing, but at least it proves I'm on somebody's addressbook. Not that I think about these things. Not often, anyway.

Everybody else on the Internet is probably linking to this today, but hey, it's big news: BBC to open archives.. Admittedly, the announcement has little in the way of details, so we might end up watching the archive in 100x100 Realplayer windows, but this could be huge, considering that the corporation is sitting on over seventy years of television and radio programmes. If nothing else, it might stop the Doctor Who fanatics from writing into Ceefax and the Radio Times.

Any UNC people who might be reading - I will be sleeping while you are all cavorting at the FallFest, but have a good time, and don't get too drunk…

Exciting legal updates! Fox's rather insane lawsuit against Al Franken was thrown out of court on Friday, with the judge describing it as "wholly without merit, both factually and legally." He also disputed the validity of Fox's trademark, so we can be fair and balanced without threat of Mr. Murdoch's lawyers. Hurrah!

(Incidentally, the book in question has already gone back to the presses for a second printing, the high demand brought about by…the publicity that Fox has given the book whilst trying to get it taken off the shelves. Genius.)

Yes, I've finally got rid of the rather pointless sideblog. It was thought, by some, to be to cluttered. More exciting changes will be coming soon! (Maybe)

Anyway, onto the music. Dedicated to everybody at UNC going back this weekend (*sniff*).

• David Bowie — Helden
  It's Heroes! But! In! German!
• Mint Royale — Dancehall Places
  I heard this during Lauren Laverne's stint on the 6music Breakfast Show this week. It reminds me a little of Bran Van 3000, but don't let that put you off.
• Oasis — Take Me Away
  This is one of the b-sides from their first single. It's one of my favourite of Noel's "I'm quite miserable, actually" acoustic numbers. I was surprised that it didn't turn up on The Masterplan (mind you, Round Are Way isn't on that album, and it's been in a film). I haven't actually heard it for a few years, as somehow the single escaped my attention when I was converting my music to MP3 format, but I found it today, and that's why it's included on this entry.
• Broadcast — Colour Me In
  Fulfilling the ethereal female voice quotient of today's music selection. It sounds like it wouldn't be out of place in a Play School episode. In a good way, natch.
• Neneh Cherry — Buffalo Stance
  I'm having an eighties renaissance at the moment, so you have to suffer too. It's the extended 12" mix, just to add to the torture. Bwahahaha!

I haven't received one SoBig email yet. I feel so left out.

I have R.E.M. tickets! Yay!

Special features will include audio commentaries from series creator Aaron Sorkin and director Tommy Schlamme on five key episodes, including the Pilot, What Kind of Day Has It Been, Take This Sabbath Day, In Excelsis Deo (which features additional commentary from co-executive producer and director Alex Graves) and Celestial Navigation (with additional commentary by co-executive producer and director Chris Misiano), cast and crew interviews, 2 behind-the-scenes documentaries (The Primaries and The West Wing Inauguration), behind-the-scenes footage from the first season (including Capital Beat and Sheet Music), deleted scenes, the Gag Order outtakes and bloopers reel, the Off the Record featurette (outtakes from various cast and producer interviews) and more.

All for $60. Which, at today's exchange rate, is $40 less than I paid for the UK bare-bones releases (slaps forehead).

Admittedly, most of the people who care about this will probably know about it already, but Lauren Laverne is standing in for Phill Jupitus on 6music at the moment. If you're up between the hours of 0700-1000 BST (0200-0500, EST fans), you could do a lot worse than tuning in.

A new side to affirmative action. Rumours that Ann Coulter will be on UNC's reading list next year remain unconfirmed at this point…

Europe goes to the moon (albeit rather slowly)!

The power of Photoshop!

Paul Newman is Fair and Balanced.

Design magazines that are hideously expensive, but look extremely cool :-).

Finally, from today's Google ads: tickets to the Chapel Hill Springsteen concert start at $125. And go up to $390. Ouch. Amusingly, the hall I was staying in last year is less than 100 meters away from the stadium, so I imagine the new occupants will have a good night on September 15th (ideally, they should throw a listening party).

The record industry's constant carping about the dangers of the EVIL INTERNET PIRATES today received a small setback, at least here in the UK. It turns out that 228 million albums were sold from June 2002-3, a 3% increase on the year before, and an industry record. Huzzah!

Of course, the companies still aren't happy. Their complaints seem to centre on two things: the single market is still doing really badly, and their profits have taken a dive due to high discounting. There's not too much to say about singles that I haven't said before; they're a dying market and even if the Internet went dead tomorrow, I'm not sure that single sales would increase all that much. The profit complaint, however, is a little disingenuous. The BBC article says that album prices have fallen to £9.79 as a result of price reductions. From today's interest rates, this is roughly $15.50. When I was living in Chapel Hill, the albums I bought varied in price from $12.99 to $15.99. The front page of fye.com (personally, I'd recommend Schoolkids or CDAlley, but they don't have prices on their websites to illustrate the point) shows that many new releases are being sold for prices as low as $11.99. So I can't feel too sorry for the industry, as the decline in profit only shows that they're not gouging the UK market quite as much as they did in the past.

Before.

After.

Death to trademarks!

(Also: the nicest cease-and-desist letter that you'll ever see)

While standing in line for entry to last night's concert, I remembered just what I'd missed from UK venues: the unmistakable stench of urine. It's good to be back. Or something.

No pictures, this time, as the Mean Fiddler policy is to stamp on your camera with big hobnail boots if they discover one (having said that, a few people did manage to smuggle them in, but there wasn't anything like the comedy of people bringing in video cameras like in America). Amusingly, the PA was playing Life Without Buildings "The Leanover" as everybody was having their tickets examined. It's strange that I first heard it two weeks ago, and now I'm hearing it everywhere.

The LA2 is a split-level affair, so you can watch groups from the balcony, if you desire. Being something of a purist in these things, I decided against that option, and made my way to the stage, ending up in the second row. Hurrah!

First band on was Klang. Nice enough, but nothing I haven't seen or heard before (as has been pointed out many times, my collection of bands featuring female vocals is varied and comprehensive). Next up, Electrelane. This is where I realise I may have made a slight mistake. I'M IN THE SECOND ROW OF AN ELECTRELANE PERFORMANCE! HELP! The first sonic booms of the bass guitar confirm that I'm in trouble. People in the first three rows clutch their heads as the low frequency sonics hit the back of their brains. The guy behind me develops a nosebleed. Seriously.

It's actually the first time that I've seen Electrelane, and they don't disappoint. The aforementioned Death-bass, a guitarist who bears a slight resemblance to the esteemed Ms. Laverne (now hosting trashy satellite dating shows, but once part of the Band of Champions that was Kenickie), plus lots of groovy keyboard action. I do prefer it when they don't sing, though. They're more intense without words.

Sleater-Kinney come out at around 9:30pm (UK concerts tend to start and finish a little bit earlier than the American ones, I've found), and immediately storm into a blistering "Oh!"

[At this point, we leave the relatively calm and collected manner of this entry so far for a bit of breathless gushing. Please stand by. — Ed.]

OH MY GOD! CARRIE IS WEARING MY BELT! MY BELT! MYYYYYYY BBEEEEEEELLLLLLTTTTT!!!

[*smack* Sorry about that, readers. He's under orders not to do it again. — Ed.]

Ahem. It's at this point that I'm given another culture shock. You see, the audiences at the Cat's Cradle were a little different. Sedate is the wrong word, as there was much dancing, but it never quite got to the point where serious injuries could result. However, back in Britain, there's a certain class of drunken [first syllable of Buckminsterfullerene, rhyming fans] that decide they really deserve to be at the front of the crowd, and that no-one can stop them in attaining this goal. Cue lots of pain for those unfortunate enough to be in their way (i.e. me). This is especially bad if you're already hemmed in to the point where you're close enough to smell the hair of the girl in front (recently dyed blue, for those of you who were wondering about the previous entry), but you can't step back because there's a girl jammed behind you, blowing smoke from her cigarette onto the back of your neck. What about the sides, I hear you ask? I couldn't even lift my arms up without striking several people, so that wasn't much of an option either.

Anyway, the band played much the same set as when I last saw them, playing most of their current album "One Beat", throwing in two new songs, "Giraffe" and "Entertainment", and a smattering of songs from their previous work, including the pirate-themed "The End of You" (the only track from "The Hot Rock" that they played, sadly). Highlights included Corin's teasing version of "Words And Guitar", "One Beat" as an interpretive dance number, and the stomp and glam of "Step Aside". Plus! Janet with an industrial fan! Carrie dances like a rock God once more (but disappointingly without the cool shuffling)! She invites everybody to the after party, only to trip up on the rather British place name; "We don't have names like Rathbourne back in America."

I don't enjoy myself quite as much as last time, due to all the pushing and pulling. I felt obliged to keep an eye on the girl beside me; while I am sure that she was fully capable of looking after herself, she looked extremely close to fainting after the third song, and her small stature meant that she was being thrown around like a hockey puck. She was rather annoyed by this, but her attempts to stop it weren't going very well, so I attempted to absorb most of the momentum from her assailants. Unfortunately, I ended up behind a girl with very long dreadlocks, so for the final two songs I was lashed by coarse bunches of hair. Ow.

Part of me was tempted by the idea of the after party, but when I was in the queue outside, I was in front of the people who were doing the organisation, and it sounded like a "too cool for school" affair, and sadly, I wasn't. Anyway, I had a train to catch, and while it's reasonably acceptable to go to a concert by yourself (although, as it has been four years since I went with someone else, it would be nice to go with someone again), going to a party alone is a little out there. Plus I didn't have enough money for the ridiculous amounts of alcohol that would be required before I had the courage to join a dancefloor that included Janet, Corin, and Carrie.

Was it as good as the Cat's Cradle gig? No, there was something special about that, maybe because it was the first time I had seen them live, maybe Carrie's dance steps, maybe the fact that I had an exam the next morning (did well in it too!), or maybe it was that it lasted until 2am and that the walk back to Chapel Hill from Carrboro was fantastic. Nevertheless, it was still a great concert. And rather a surprising one, considering that their latest album was never officially released here. Hopefully the sell-out of this mini-tour will change that.

I appear to have remnants of blue hair dye in my nose.

Wow.

If you've ever wondered what Hunter S. Thompson would have been like if he was English and a pirate, then go see Pirates of The Caribbean. It's probably unlikely that this thought has crossed your mind, but go see it anyway. AVAST!

When I first heard about this film, based on the popular Disney ride, I thought it was going to be another example of the shameless cash-ins that the studio has been producing of late. Oh, how wrong was I. Fun one-liners, excellent sword fights that don't call attention to the CGI (yes, Matrix: Reloaded, I'm looking at you), and Johnny Depp stealing the film with all the ease of a master thief. It manages to be predictable in the best blockbuster fashion, while the script rewards the audience for paying attention, yet throws in lots of twists and turns along the way. It's also quite amusing, dragging in a touch of Monkey Island yet at the same time remaining relatively free of knowing self-referentialism. HERE THERE BE MONSTERS!

Johnny Depp is wonderful. To the point where he alone is worth the £5/$10 ticket price. Go! See! It! WHY IS THE RUM GONE?!

Picking niggles because I can: it's a bit slow at the start (although Depp's entrance is note-perfect, telling you almost everything you need to know about the character even before he's stepped on dry land), Orlando Bloom's character doesn't seem to do much except act as the McGuffin, and the final five minutes are little more than a very quick and unsatisfying way of tying up all the loose ends and still having a happy ending. But you've had so much fun during the last two hours that it seems churlish to criticise too much. Plus, it features the main title theme from The Rock, and you can't ask much more from a film than that, can you? MONKEY!

Altogether: ARRRRRR!

Killing The RPC-DCOM worm:

• If you're on a LAN, disconnect the machine from the network before you boot up, to prevent other infected machines from rebooting you again.
• Right-click on My Computer, select Manage, then under the Services and Applications branch pick Services.
• Right-click on Remote Procedure Call (RPC) in the list on the right, and select Properties. On the Recovery tab, change the 3 combo boxes from "Restart the computer" to "Take no action". Click OK to close the dialog.
• You're still vulnerable but your machine won't reboot, giving you time to go online and get the patch. Reconnect your network cable, or establish your normal dial-up connection.
Go to http://support.microsoft.com/?kbid=823980 to grab the patch for your machine. As soon as you've got it, disconnect your network connection/cable, and run the patch. BUT don't reboot when prompted!
• Open RegEdit and browse to HKLM\SOFTWARE\Microsoft\Windows\CurrentVersion\Run and delete the "windows auto update" value, which starts the worm when Windows starts. Now restart Windows and you should be free of the worm.
• To finish the cleaning process, delete C:\WINDOWS\SYSTEM32\MSBLAST.EXE

"Passengers In Coach Must Remain Naked For The Duration Of The Flight"

Hmm, let me think: a digital camera, MP3 player, and iBook. I think I'm going to be there a while…

(and thanks, AA, for reducing the price of my flight in September by $200. Grrr.)

But first, some illustrative images:

The temperature finally broke the 37.1˚C barrier earlier today (that's around 100˚F for those of you still working in old money). Given the state of Britain's weather normally, it seems churlish to complain. But this country simply isn't built to handle this sort of temperature. Back in Chapel Hill, it was regularly this hot during the summer months, yet it never seemed this bad; the area's buildings were designed with the extreme temperatures in mind. Here, however, houses are built with an eye for keeping every last degree of heat trapped inside. Bricks, insulation, fairly low ceilings, etc. Great for those winter months, and, to be honest, most of the year. Not so great during once-a-decade heatwave.

Of course, it's not just our homes; the railway network falls apart as soon as the temperature goes past 30˚C (although it also falls apart of its own accord fairly often as well), economists go into a panic; insisting that the good weather is going to cause havoc on the economy (oh no! People won't buy stuff for a day or two!), and lots of people with white skin decide to give themselves fashionable skin cancer. (strangely, we're probably one of the groups that needs sunscreen the most, yet we refuse to wear it).

For the past week, Britain has been quietly going insane. IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE 22˚C AT NIGHT! How can you enjoy a decent cup of tea when it's this hot? IT'S JUST NOT BRITISH!

Ahem. It looks like the thunder and rain period of the heatwave has just begun. I'm going to go and stand in the rain for a little while. Time to cool down!

California's plan to replace Florida as the butt of all electoral jokes continues apace. The current list of candidates includes a porn star, a porn mogul, small actors, large actors, and a comedian that no-one outside of America knows about. The only two people in California who won't be in the running for Governor, it seems, are Gary Davis (he's not allowed to participate in the recall), and Darrell Issa, the man responsible for turning the state into a laughing stock in the first place. He's dropped out because he knows he'd get destroyed by Schwarzenegger. Hohoho.

The really funny thing is that this could be a never-ending source of amusement. The Democrats have already floated the possibility of recalling the recaller. All you need is 1.3 million signatures. Both sides have enough money to keep going for years, although at a cost to the state of $35m for each election, California may run out of money before too long…

Al Gore gives another of his President-in-Exile speeches. Florida still has a little while to go before it's forgiven, you know…

Even Domo-kun is taking the day off:

BITE MY SHINY METAL ASS.

In response to Red Hat's suit, SCO Group says it can file a motion to dismiss or to file counterclaims against Red Hat. Either way, the company doesn't expect the suit will be settled before the start of its lawsuit against IBM, which is scheduled to begin April 11, 2005.

2005? 2005?! You mean we have to suffer this for at least another year and a half?

Phil had forgotten the number for railway enquiries, so we had to walk through Piccadilly Gardens to see if the number was in the tram station. We didn't get very far.

"IIIIAAAAAANNNNNNN!!!!"

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Matt, one of my friends from my time at Manchester, and one of the people I didn't expect to see this weekend, considering he works in London:

Strangely, by the time this chance reunion occurred on Saturday afternoon, Phil and I were ready for just about anything. We had seen sheep and a cow in Albert Square, watched a a silver clad man in stilts chase after girls, waved at a gondola containing two men dressed up in 1920s Oxford clothes, watched a street show fronted by Japanese Yakuza pranksters, and puzzled over a man and a woman having a pillow fight in a transparent tent.

It was a weekend of weirdness. For instance, did you know that Selfridges sells chocolate-coated scorpions and ant encased in peppermint? Before you ask, I didn't try them; I know I should be open to new things, but there are limits. Phil also took me to a bunch of shops and cafés that I'd never seen before, but had been around while I was living there, which made me feel pretty dumb. On the other hand, I introduced him to the delights of Vinyl Exchange.

The centre of Manchester has been in constant flux since the IRA bomb in 1996. While I was at university there, the bomb site was cleared, and new buildings began to spring up; now there's a host of shops, seating areas, and a huge IMAX-screen cinema to be found where rubble once stood. Having finished with clearing up the bomb site, the city now seems to be revamping the 1960s-style Arndale Centre and expanding the Northern Quarter (the trendy part of the city). Here's some pictures:

Aside from Matt and Phil, I met up with some other friends as well; we bumped into Will Rizk on our way back from surveying the remains of the Haçienda (okay, there are no remains, so we looked at the new housing development), and we had a nice tea at Will and Rosie's house on Saturday. At this point, I am obliged to give out this public notice: Don't let Phil near your wedding presents. That is all.

I saw three films over the weekend: Buffalo Soldiers, T3, and Legally Blonde 2. The last one was not my idea. Buffalo Soldiers was quite funny, and came complete with GIANT TANK scenes, although quite a few of the scenes suffered from some really bad dubbing (and that the projector was out of focus for the trailers and the first few minutes of the film). But a GIANT TANK more than makes up for that. T3 was better than I thought it was going to be, but I'm still trying to scrub the horror of Legally Blonde 2 out of my mind. Oy.

Interesting Manchester fact I learnt over the days I was there: apparently, there's gunfire in Moss Side every night. But, according to the police, they're really bad shots. So, don't be a random passer-by near Maine Road…

After that boost to the Manchester tourist industry, I think I'll just leave you with a few more pictures; it really is quite a nice place, honest.

Back home. More later…