The period between Dec 27th and the 30th has a strange unhappy limbo feel, particularly as this year’s Christmas break involves a few days’ extension due to the two Eves falling at the weekend. Some people are still staying with their families, and are starting to regret it. Others are getting impatient with the general slowing down of business and of life. Hurry up with New Years’ Eve, they cry. Anything other than these floating, bloated, aimless final days of December.

There’s a pervading sense of wanting to cut to the chase. Saddam Hussein is hurriedly hanged today, and it’s reported as if his main crime is just being on the To Do list during this most fidgety week of the year. The Telegraph reports the late dictator’s choice of breakfast cereal while awaiting the inevitable: Raisin Bran Crunch. ‘But he objected to the sickly sweet Froot Loops.’

Photo by Suzi Livingstone.
Location: The Waldorf Hilton, Aldwych, Dec 24th 2006.

Preparing to write a Christmas Message, I look back at diary entries from the last few Decembers only to discover I’d not bothered with an actual Message for a couple of years. Just photos by way of a Christmas Card to you, Dear Reader, which is rather lazy. My memory is becoming so poor that this diary is fast becoming a lifeline, reminding me not only what I have or haven’t done, but who I actually appear to be.

Well, today I feel rather cat-like. So this is A Cat’s Christmas Message.

In the past year I’ve felt more than ever like a cat-like guest at the gatherings of others. Drifting from group to group, appearing uninvited, but not ejected. Indulged, praised, fed and watered like a child-substitute – often by those without children (people with offspring rarely seek to know me) – and I do my utmost to show my gratitude by appearing well-groomed. Kicked by some strangers, stroked by others. A space-wasting parasite to some, a Good Value Guest to others. A spy of sorts, though a spy who works for no one and is happy to be a calming confidante. I slip into rooms and worlds, mostly silent and keen to not be trodden on. I’m lazy, I spend far too much time asleep, and far too much time wandering aimlessly around the streets. Aloof and alone, neither happy nor sad. Thinking about things, or just content with existing. The days are as empty as I want them to be: I’m always confident I’ll get an invite to something. Today it’s Lucy Madison & Dale Shaw’s Christmas Day Drinks & Games do at their Art Deco flat in Highgate Village. I’ll go along, though not till Doctor Who finishes. Everything, even substitute cats, must stop for Doctor Who.

I prowled in and out of the real world in May, standing as a Green Party candidate for the local council elections. And I was fascinated at seeing first hand how the voting slips are counted – in a huge hall (at Alexandra Palace), by hand, with pens and paper; and not a single computer in sight. Contrast that with my other attempt to leave a dent on the real world in 2006 – appearing on a BBC1 documentary about blogging and the internet. My computerless neighbour said to me in the street the next day, ‘Saw you on the TV last night. I didn’t realise you liked computers.’

She reminded me that the Internet still only matters to those to whom it matters. And of course, the answer is I’m not a computer sort of person at all. Which is why I switched to a Mac this year – the computer for those who use the thing as a vehicle to reach a destination. Not for those who like computers per se. A means to an end, not an end in itself. These days, new computer games are made either for proper games consoles or for PCs. Which suits me.

Thomas Sutcliffe reviewed the documentary in his TV review column for the Independent:

The web itself supplies perspective. When I Googled my way to the online diary of Dickon Edwards, a cravated dandy who represents the new frontier of the blog, it turned out that he was prepared to say what [the programme] wasn’t about the chief attraction of this hi-tech form of vanity publishing: ‘The main reason I’m writing a diary online is because no one has employed me to do it in print.’

Indeed. Though that is me being a little harsh on myself: with my website statistics, I can point to thousands of regular readers who haven’t just stumbled upon these words by mistake. Vanity publishing usually has a suspected readership of one.

And yes, although I do moan about never being paid, I am still pleased to write here unfettered and unedited, able to reach people anywhere instantly, and have every past entry available to them as well. Doubtless Mr Sutcliffe was paid for his words – including the quote he lifted from my diary – but once the day of publication is past, his review could only be accessed by physically entering a public reference library which keeps old newspapers. Unlike The Guardian, The Times and the Telegraph, the Independent doesn’t archive its full content online.

It should also be noted that his TV review column appeared above a section called ‘YOU Write The Reviews’, where Independent readers are encouraged to email in their accounts of concerts they’ve been to, presumably for no payment. A sign of the times.

Ultimately, I’d rather be available to just be read, above anything else. The lack of money is a pain, but I can’t complain when I’m treated so well in all other respects. I’m regularly treated to food and drink and even clothes from kind friends and readers. I’m writing this while wearing a tie sent by a reader from Portugal.

Likewise, it’s obviously a shame I wasn’t paid for appearing on TV, or for writing a piece in the well-marketed Decadent Handbook, a piece which I’ve since discovered has been excerpted by Mojo Magazine (without asking me, though I’d have said yes). But I’m in no position to grumble. In both instances I was fed and watered and given shelter and cat treats (a bottle of absinthe and a copy of the book from Dedalus Books; taxis, tea at Maison Bertaux and a DVD of the show from the BBC). And as the cliche goes, it’s all good experience and looks good on my CV. But at the age of 35 and thus having lived a fair amount of the Vitae on my Curriculum, I do worry if the day will ever come when I stop doing unpaid work for ‘the experience’ and actually earn a living BECAUSE of my being ‘experienced’. Oh, that dreaded phrase ‘Work Experience’. Am I really still to be given Work Experience, and never be given Work? Well, of course, this means I have to pull my finger out and actually work a lot harder to prove I can deliver. I dread my gravestone reading: ‘Here Lies Dickon Edwards – Well, At Least It’s Good Experience.’

Still, the New Year includes a meeting with a TV company about new projects, so fingers and paws crossed. Till then, thank you to all those who give to this constant taker, this beggar with a choice, this lazy decorative cat that must evolve into a productive working human.

A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO YOU.

Dickon Edwards
Highgate, London.

A quick recommendation before I write something more substantial.

Some Nativity-themed radio comedy from the BBC, available on their 7 day Listen Again facility:

The National Theatre Of Brent’s Messiah (2006 Radio Version)

Brilliantly silly and frequently rather touching, the Nat Theatre Of Brent’s style consists of two grown men acting like pompous schoolboys; specifically a swottier boy bossing about his more highly-strung best friend. Full of delicious malapropisms and general tutting at each other, the nearest point of reference is the Molesworth Books. An absolute joy.

A sixth B&D flyer design from Lovisa:

… just saw the documentary and it was interesting… Could have been more about when you write your diary in a suit and tie, I think. I am not so quick as a lot of your other readers but I thought the flyer thing was so much fun so I made one even though you already found your winner…

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting any responses to my open request for Beautiful & Damned flyer designs, let alone five. You never know until you ask. I’ve gone with Mr Cook’s Beardsley-esque design, though I think they’re all great. My gushing thanks to the kind souls whose fast work is showcased below. I shall never underestimate my readership again.
1. From Sofizel:

2. From DrinkMILK Design:
http://drink-milk.net
http://www.myspace.com/drinkmilkdesign

3. From Danny Chidgey:
www.lazygramophone.com
www.myspace.com/nochancemilega

4. From Stuart Mackie:

5. From Gary Cook:

I’m keen to make a new paper flyer for the Beautiful & Damned Christmas Masked Ball. Something simple in B&W A6 size, where four flyers can be printed out on a sheet of A4 and cut up accordingly.

My own talents in this department are found wanting. So if this sort of thing is second nature to you, please do get in touch. I’ll pay what I can.

The flyer needs to have the following text:

BEAUTIFUL & DAMNED – Christmas Masked Ball.
The decadent disco gets festive…
Thursday 21st December.
9pm to 12.30.
The Boogaloo, 312 Archway Rd, N6 5AT. 020 8340 2928.
Highgate Tube.
Free. Dress code: Stylish & Masked.

Some sort of 1920s-themed masked ball imagery would be ideal.

There, I’ve asked.

dickon@dickonedwards.co.uk

I’ve been charged with taking dictation from Mr MacGowan again. This time, it’s for the Guardian website’s blogs section. Essentially, I get him on the phone while he’s on tour, he rants on about whatever’s on his mind, and I write it all up. Rather helps that my answering machine can be switched to recording a live call. The blog has the blessing of Mr O’Boyle and Ms Clarke.

He mentions a Mr O’Neill, who has something to do with football, specifically Celtic FC. It’s fair to say I had to look him up.

Link

Some correspondence and responses in the week since the Imagine programme was transmitted.

Firstly, Stuart of the blog Feeling Listless was disappointed that the programme had no website with further information about its content. Quite unusual for the BBC, really. You’re used to hearing an announcer over the credits of a documentary saying “If you’d like further help about depression / adult literacy / switching to digital TV / doing the Hokey Cokey, go to www. (etc.) or phone 0800 (etc.).”

Not so with Imagine. The individual programme’s title, “www.herecomeseverybody.co.uk” just led to the relevant short description on the BBC’s What’s On site. Perhaps this was a sly tie-in with the DIY spirit of the subject, with the pitting of Unpaid Amateur Webland against Paid Professional TV in the gold rush for people’s leisure time. That someone out there would do the follow-up research for them, in their own free time, for no payment. In which case, they thought right:

I wondered if you’d seen this annotation I put together for the Imagine
programme …

http://feelinglistless.blogspot.com/2006/12/imagine-links.html

Stuart.

Lovisa writes from Gothenburg, Sweden:

dear mr edwards,
I read in your diary that there was a documentary about you and internet diaries on bbc1. Am very interested in seeing it, but I find the bbc website retarded and cannot find anything about it or if there is a possibility to download it. in sweden you can download everything that has been shown on public service for 30 days, which is really cool.

could you post a link or something..? would be lovely.

Try a torrent site like www.uknova.com. UK Nova has an admirable sense of responsibility: only programmes which are unavailable on DVD or anywhere online are allowed to have their torrents hosted. You can find all sorts of rare gems there, past and present – the 1979 Tom Stoppard play ‘Professional Foul’ starring the late Peter Barkworth, for instance. Last year’s ‘South Bank Show’ on Alan Bennett. It’s completely replaced my video recorder. Though like VCRs, it takes a while to work out how to work torrents, along with something called ‘Port Forwarding’. Which sadly has nothing to do with getting a letter to a sailor boy.

Here’s a blogger’s response that singles me out, via Googling my own name (an ‘ego-search’). Yes, I know that way lies madness, and I’ve more or less kicked the habit these days, but on this occasion of Internet Use As Solipsism I feel it was warranted. From Nathan Williams of Simiant.com (link):

Uh so I sat down to watch Imagine on the BBC last night, the one where Alan Yentob tells us about the Internet, and was disappointed to find that at least, what, 15 minutes (?) of the program was dedicated to shots of Alan either posing or pulling confused and puzzled expressions. Shame, could have been much better. Also who was Toby? And where was Tom Coates et al? And why Dickon Edwards? Why?

As my mother must think on occasion.

Why Dickon Edwards? You’d have to ask the programme makers. I didn’t seek them out; they came for me. Though perhaps it helped that I came with a selection of suits and ties to choose from, and had done my own make-up.

By the way, I’m writing this while wearing a tie, shirt and suit trousers, even though I’ve only left the house to go shopping in Highgate and have barely spoken to anyone else in person today. I wouldn’t want newcomers to the diary who saw me on TV to think I dress that way purely for the cameras. I dress this way so I can think straight.

As for Toby, the young man who sat on Mr Yentob’s Internet Sofa and showed him around the Web, I ‘imagined’ (or rather hoped) he was a kind of BBC Houseboy, an arcane position available to executives during the earliest days of the Corporation, and never revoked. Like the Pronunciation Unit, but more frequently consulted. It’s said Michael Grade was once offered a half-naked Indian boy from the 1930s to follow him around TV Centre whispering into his ear “You ARE right about Doctor Who, memsahib.” Said purely by madmen, I must add.

I didn’t know who Tom Coates was, so I looked him up. It transpires he’s ‘well-known as an expert in Social Software’. Which is where I feel like Mr Yentob somewhat. Mr Coates has been blogging since 1999 and has won all kinds of awards for it. ‘Bloggies’ they’re called. Including a Lifetime Achievement Award, defined as a one-off gong for “Webloggers who have been blogging at least since January 1, 2001.”

Though I’ve written this diary since 1997, and have been quoted in magazines (Select Magazine featured the diary once – that rather dates it), and have a known following of kind readers, I guess these are just not the sort of readers who vote in awards for blogs. They can’t all come here out of sarcasm.

Besides, I’m not part of that gang, by design or default, accident or deliberation. I don’t see myself as part of what some call the ‘blogosphere’. I don’t keep tabs on what other bloggers are saying, I don’t ‘tag’, I don’t allow for comments, and the one time I tried to Join In – converting the blog to a LiveJournal – I realised it just wasn’t me. I’m better off going it alone like this. There is danger in numbers.

Competing with other blogs, counting the comments, is not my cup of Twinings Aromatics. The only competition is with myself – I struggle to write at all some days. I just want to provide something you might not get elsewhere.

“I may not be better than other people, but at least I’m different.’

-Rousseau

I write as if I’m read by people who don’t usually go on the Web. When I began the diary, there were no blog communities, no comments boxes, no sidebars with a list of Blog Friends. I had no Web friends; that was the whole point. I was not so much an explorer on virgin soil as an outcast shipwrecked. When the colonies came, I tried to join in; then I realised they were from the same world which had exiled me in the first place. Although I’m happy to co-exist with them as they draw up new boundaries and name the things I was doing already (‘Web diary’ becoming ‘blog’), I feel a fraud if I try to pass myself off as a citizen of their world.

Am I still talking about blogging? I’m not sure.

My fellow DJ Miss Red had now re-branded this month’s Beautiful & Damned as a Christmas Masked Ball.

As ever, the dressing-up is optional, but the addition of a suitably stylish mask is strongly encouraged. Even those cheap Zorro-style eye masks will do.

Other details are unchanged; the club is on Thursday 21st December, at The Boogaloo. Full club information is on the News page.

I’m going to start quoting email correspondence that may be of interest to the Reader. If only so I can try out the Indent Block Quote button on this new diary entry form.

Master Hughes writes:

Oh, Mr. Edwards –

“Including the spam email, the swines.”

the plural of ‘swine’ is …..’swine’. Tsk, tsk!

Just looked this up. Both the Oxford and Cambridge dictionaries give ‘swines’ as acceptable in the plural, as long as I’m using it to mean the old-fashioned slang for contemptible person, and not for pigs.

Oxford link
Cambridge link

It’s also seems funnier than just ‘swine’. I’m aware of the comedian Russell Brand’s endorsement of phrases like “the swines!” as part of his curious mix of 2006 Estuary English and an affected old-fashioned vernacular. But he’s picking up a tradition. Though I concur that there’s more to Mr Brand’s style than just that. And I’m hardly best placed for accusing others of using an archaic vocabulary to attract attention.
“You dirty rotten swines” is a Goon Show catchphrase, and Mr Sellers uses it in Dr Strangelove when playing the stiff-upper-lip RAF officer:

Group Capt. Lionel Mandrake: I was tortured by the Japanese, Jack, if you must know; not a pretty story.
General Jack D. Ripper: When they tortured you, did you talk?
Mandrake: Well, I don’t think they wanted me to talk really. I don’t think they wanted me to say anything. It was just their way of having a bit of fun, the swines. Strange thing is they make such bloody good cameras.