Bear in July

Had high hopes for July. Was looking forward to birthdays, long sunny afternoons, picnics in the park, maybe a bit of kite flying, lots of relaxing.

Had the birthday. Very nice it was too. Madame made me a rather spiffing eco wool jumper and some socks. She did get a bit carried away and was talking about balaclavas and woolly pants but luckily Andrew Morgan has new album out and that distracted her.

I also got my extremely spiffing new car - a shiny red M&S Biscuit Tin Racer. Powered by a small boy and a bit of string that little biscuit tin can send a small bear flying across a play park like, um, a quite fast thing.

Did I say something about slow living? I was wrong. Obviously. Turns out I just needed safety goggles.

The rest of July was mostly rubbish. meh. Rain. More rain. Rain. Too much time spent staring at the phone and the computer. Too much time spent wondering if we have a dodgy phone, a dodgy phone line, a dodgy broadband connection, a dodgy computer or a dodgy power cable. Far too much time wasted thinking about how much better our lives would be if one of us was a telecom engineer. Took some time off from that to wonder at Window Box Squirrel's cheek - dug up half of our lettuces so that he could bury half a baguette. He likes to swing on the phone line. He might be our problem. We have confiscated his baguette.

And then this outrage. The Department for Children, Schools and Families don't have to worry. I wasn't going to share my crayons with them any way.

More rain. Bit of gloom. Apart from a lovely sunny day when Madame went to Inchailloch. I didn't get to go - to busy disinfecting my crayons - but she came back all smiley. Which was nice.

And now it's time to get ready for August. Let's have some Andrew Morgan to get us in the mood ...

Mad about the bear

Busy. Pretending I'm Jessica Biel's bear. *swoon*



She wouldn't wander about in grungy jammas. Eating biscuits and whinging about stuff. Jessica's bear would live an elegant life on a pile of silk cushions. Not covered in cake crumbs and lost under a pile of dirty laundry.

A bear can dream.

Murder and mayhem on a Sunday night

Madame has been making us listen to a radio version of The Duchess of Malfi - "coz it's like culture and that". Hum. I listened very hard and I have no idea what was going on.

Lots of people seemed to be mooching about the Italian countryside - between that Malfi and somewhere they keep calling Millen - which might be Milan. I'm not sure. There's lots of verily and prithee and naughtiness involving apricots or *nudge nudge wink wink* apricocks. Oh, my aching sides. humph. Madame says that one probably went down a storm with the crowd at Globe. I don't know how she can know that - she's old but she's not that old.

Back to the play. Some woman - probably this Duchess woman - gets called a strumpet. I think that sounds like a nice cuddly word - crumpets and trumpets are both good stuff but apparently strumpet is a Bad Thing. Perhaps she goes round spoiling crumpets with trumpets. That would be a Bad Thing. But not bad enough for what happens next.

Some blokes turn up to strangle the strumpet and various other people who happen to be hanging around. Then they all take turns to stab, poison and strangle each other and various other people who still haven't cottoned on to what is happening and are still hanging around. Points are awarded for the most gurgling death and someone makes a gloomy speech about life being like chasing bubbles. Quite.

By now I am a very confused and bewildered little bear - distressed by all this mayhem and murder. I need some jolly music to cheer me up. Aha! A little bit of Gillian Welch ...




um. oh. well.

It is quite cheery sounding. For an extremely gory murder ballad.

Right. I'm off to hide all of our sharp and pointy kitchen utensils. This culture stuff is too dangerous for impressionable minds like Madame's. She'll be sticking to Enid Blyton and Girl Aloud from now on.

Careful now!

A public service announcement. Exercise extreme caution. These bears are very, very naughty and should only be approached with care. They may be considered pawed and dangerous.

Spud Murphy and his moll Bluebell may be found in those disreputable corners of the interknit where loud music and strong liquor is enjoyed. Naughty. Naughty.

Innocent young stuffies may be lured from the path of righteousness into a loose life full of alt-country music and nice frocks. One of Mr Murphy's associates is allegedly involved in yodelling.

A musical interlude

Off for a walk in the park, a picnic, and a yomp through Wuthering Heights ...

Back again

Busy times = neglected bear = neglected blog :o(

Right. On to cheery things.

And it don't get more cheery than a new Biscuit album on the horizon - this time next week CSI Ambleside should be on its way to my fuzzy little paws. Causing joy and happiness. And maybe dancing.

Until then we'll have to amuse ourselves with a bit of online radio.

TV junkies can mock but we love our radio in this house. Did try one of those DAB radios a couple of years ago. Hum. Not quite as wonderful as we'd heard. I'm sure that the whole thing is genius but the only way we could get a signal was if Madame stood on a chair and held the radio up to the top of the window. A lovely Statue of Liberty effect but not really practical. Apparently. She does like to moan.

So we get the computer and - woohoo - there's Listen Again - oooooo, now Madame can have a life AND never miss an episode of The Archers. Hum.

No. Not going to make any jokes about The Archers. I've seen The Archers message board. Some of the scariest people on the interknit hang out there. One wrong word - you wake up with a llama's head on your pillow and the threat that Lynda Snell's voice is last thing you'll ever hear. *shudder*

Some good stuff on BBC7 and when they've run out of episodes of Round The Horne and Old Harry's Game we pop over to the OTR Network for some old time Lux Radio Theatre fun. Because sometimes we just need the sound of Marlene Dietrich selling soap flakes to get us through the day.

Not much time for music radio. Used to listen to a bit of Radio 2. The bits with Radcliffe & Maconie in them.

But now we have AOL radio to play with. Hours of fun. Read about it in Word magazine. Article on internet radio. Haven't had a chance to try any of the other recommendations yet.

Too busy playing with all the AOL options. How to chose? And how could you not love a site that offers a radio station that plays nothing but klezmer music, an All Mariah Carey station and channels with themes like Love Stinks - songs of heartache and disgust.

Just time for one more cheery thing - Joshua Allen Harris's inflatable plastic bag polar bear (as seen on BoingBoing) -

Cutest of them all

Having a nice quiet day. Freezing cold and rain demands that we go back to bed with a hot water bottle and a good book. Listening to Biscuit. Madame got me Saucy Haulage Ballads as a thank you for all the extra trauma sponging I've been doing recently.

A good day. But the Guardian has to spoil it. A certain Sam Delany person claims, in an article in today's Guide, that "not content with being the poster bears of environmentalism, our polar friends are taking over TV and cinema screens too." The creamy furred iceberg botherers are apparently taking over from penguins as the Cute Animal Du Jour.

Humph. And humph again. I don't think the seals are going to like this. Never mind the penguins. Never diss a penguin. They can be right nippy when they want to be. If you ever wake up with a sardine head on the pillow next to you ... oh, that's a whole lot of Witness Protection Scheme you'll be needing. Unless you have a cat. In which case, just be glad you've woken up with your head still attached.

But I digress. Oh, yes. Having a hissy fit about polar bears in the Guardian. "But Bear," you are probably saying, "aren't you just being jealous and mean?" Yes. And what of it? If it had been pandas - fine, who doesn't love pandas (oh, this is odd news) and koalas - ok, they look a bit grumpy and they are all riddled with various unpleasant diseases - but they have the cutest fluffly ears. And, ladies and gentlemen, I give you *drum roll* - The Sea Otter ...


Where's your cute old polar bear now, Mr/Ms Guardian Person? Eh! Well! Ok, maybe I have been sitting too close to the hot water bottle. Off to sit in the fridge for a while. See if proximity to the ice cubes boosts my cuteness levels.

More sea otter fun here.

Puir wee lamb

She's a sad sight. She had a ticket to see Ed Harcourt at Oran Mor tonight but the poor little sad sack is too knackered for stand up, crowded, noisy fun.

And.

Insult to injury. Vashti Bunyan is on Radcliffe & Maconie. She - Ms. Bunyan - sounds like a lovely woman - but the look on Madame's wan wee face would crack a granite heart. Good job that I'm heartless. She's trying to get me to join her in a game of Mousetrap.

It's board games or knitting. She's been having a look at some of her craft books today and is thinking about attempting some Big Knitting. Something smallish and simple on biggish needles. By coincidence Althea Merback's beautiful wee pieces of miniature knitting got a mention on BoingBoing today. Lovely stuff.

Ah. She's just perked up a bit. The Scaremongers are making her happy. Yes, it is that Simon Armitage.

Just time for some Coulter's Candy before bed. Remember and brush your teeth after! Night night.

Candie is my darling

So, I'm going to have Madame mooching about for the next couple of weeks. Apparently she may be suffering from something called Post Viral Fatigue.

I don't know. She is a lazy sausage. I will be supervising her rehabilitation.

Any trouble and I'm going to replace her with Candie Payne. I like Candie Payne. I like Candie Payne a lot. Possibly even more than Regina Spektor. I'm going to have to go and think about this. Madame is getting a bit old and tatty. Might be time to trade her in for a new model. And a shiny red sports car.

Wandering mind

It's been a bit of a week. Tired out. A lot of trauma sponging done. Am awash with angst and tears.

Toy bears - the forgotten emergency service. Because Raj Persaud won't always be there.

I did have some help. A big shout out to Mr Devandra Bernhart. We take back everything we said about you.

*cough - scary folk muppet - cough*

We take it all back. We bow down before you. First there was that photograph. And we've heard a couple of songs from the new album and they're ok. Quite good actually. No one's going to be injured in the stampede to turn the radio off if they get played.

(J'accuse Vashti Bunyan - my paw hasn't been right since the Great Turn-That-Off-Now! Disaster of 2006 - I don't care if you do have star children in your hair - keep it to yourself in future. Yours, a small crushed bear)

Sorry, where was I? Oh, yes. Drum roll, please! Ta da! Dress Up Devendra!

Is it just us? Are we just easily amused? Well, yes, but ...

More fun than the dress-up dolls in Twinkle .

Actually I quite liked "Twinkle". It was Madame who had spoil things and tell the lovely Grandma that She was a big, grown up girl now and "Twinkle" was for babies and big, grown up girls read "Smash Hits". Not "Bunty". "Bunty" was for stupid girly girls who played with, yuk, dolls.

Oooooooo. That's odd. I started out with a bloke in a spangly bra and here I am having a Proustian tea and cake moment.

I'm sorry. I am going to have to retire to my cork lined shoe box now. To contemplate my past.

Read NemuNemu!

Escape from BearFest

I've run away from my own festival. It was mobbed. Crazy. Scary. Not fun.
They all claimed they were "on the guest list". And they all have VIP backstage passes. I don't remember any guest list. And how can they all have a VIP pass. That's just P. Not V. Not I.

Ok. I did miss the week they did loveliness and sharing on Sesame Street. And wasn't Oscar the Grouch the coolest anyway?

But - I was expecting the world's most exciting and exclusive festival.

Instead I found all the usual suspects - dodgy old friends, various exes, that bunch of weird knitted rabbits who run a poker school on the top of the bookcase. Don't be fooled - they might look all cute and woolly but they know the cards.

I did try to have fun but it was impossible.

Impossible to move. Small animals kept getting trodden on. Everyone fell off the stage at some point. And the queues. Queues for everything. Queuing at my own festival.

Impossible to hear anything. I swear that some people were trying to dance to the sound of Madame heating up her lunch in the microwave.

An overexcited penguin kept squawking "Hardcore. Feel the fluff." in my ear. And when I asked him to stop he tried to sell me a little bag of white sparkly powder. He claimed it was the proper Lush stuff but it looked like some cheap puff out of Lidl.

Cough. Not that I know about that kind of thing, officer. Honestly. Ok. So I like a little sniff of bath bomb sometimes - they smell so good. And if you tuck one of the small ones into your hoodie (while the hoodie hood is down obviously) then you smell good too. Ok. Can we just change the subject?

Kids - messing about with talcum powder is wrong and naughty. It might seem like fun to cover yourself in the stuff, especially the posh sparkly sort, and pretend to be a wild, crazy iceberg botherer but it leads to trouble - mess, shouting, hoovering. It's not worth it. The same goes for sherbert fountains, tubes of glitter, and icing sugar.

I'm leaving them to it. Just as I left someone had found some jelly and Larry Lamb was going to do his 2-for-the-price-of-1 tribute act - Shakin' Sufjan Stevens. Jomas was telling a silly young pig that he was really Pete Docherty and "would she like to hear some of his poetry?" And, I'm not positive about this, but I think I saw the small one out the Manics lurking by the Comedy Cushion.

I found a comatosed womble and used him to help me climb up over the security fence. I didn't feel too bad. He had had me pinned up against a wall earlier while he explained, with flip chart, flow diagrams, and a powerpoint presentation, exactly why Arcade Fire are the Best Band Ever. Of All Time. Never To Be Bettered. Ever.

I am running away from it all. I'm going to have a quiet couple of days camping in the Wardrobe. Just enough space for me. Got my snuggle bag. Wind-up torch. Good book - anyone else read Kling Klang Klatch?

Provisions? Well, I've got a bowl of Smarties that I lifted from the festival rider. A Chinese bowl of just the red, orange and yellow Smarties. Classy. Shame they don't do black Smarties. Then I could get rid of the orange ones and have red, yellow and black Partick Thistle Supporter Smarties. But that would be too much excitement.

Madame is going to lend me her 3rd-cheapest-from-Argos-and-a-bit-rubbish-really mp3 player. She tells me that I'd probably like Arctic Monkeys. If I could get over all the hype and stuff. I'll give them a go. And the big question is - are the little buttons going to be too fiddly for me to skip all the Rufus tracks? Snork. Only kidding. I just can't hear Poses too many times. Apparently.

Was that the week? was it?

The week's just flown by. Like a lead elephant in concrete tap shoes.

I'm off to BearFest this weekend. BearFest - the world's most exciting and exclusive music festival. By Bear. For Bear. Have got a thrilling new venue - the Big Cardboard Box Stage - thanks to Madame's new toy.

Go on. Ask her about her new hoover. It's black and silver and shiny and appears to work as a vacuum cleaner should. Her previous bit of kit was popular with dust bunnies. It blew the loose fluff round the flat so that it settled in more artistic patterns and left behind the scent of scorched rubber. An excellent Turner Prize possibility but rubbish for housework.

Hopefully this will keep her occupied so she won't find out that shhh Quentin Tarantino is in town shhhh. She loathes, despises, and deplores Mr QT and his work. Him and "his evil little sockpuppet, Eli Roth". I couldn't possibly comment as I haven't seen examples of either gentleman's oeuvre. I want to be Werner Herzog's bear.

I haven't seen all of his films yet. My favourite so far? No. Not the obvious one. Instead - Stroszek. Top film. German angst. American gloom. And then - bring on the dancing chicken! Pretty much something for everyone there.

Nearly time to set off. Not sure if I'll have time to pop back over the weekend. Might be having too much fun. Or jammed inside a shiny new hoover.

Hang on. Wondermark has been to ComicCon. Looks like fun. Comics. Costumes. Action figures. More comics. Oh, no. Disaster. I want to have BearCon. I don't want to go to a stupid festival. I'll just end up wearing a rotten jingly jester's hat, stuck in mud up to my paw pits, with only a tofu and mung bean smoothie to drink while I'm forced to listen to Arcade Fire.

Passing thought - who'd win in a fight? Arcade Fire vs Arctic Monkeys? Or would they merge to form a frightening hybrid - Arctic Arcade Monkeys on Fire?

Meh. Have a good weekend.

Yay! Do the happy dance!

My little blog has reappeared on BurntWombat QuagmirePlatypus FireFox. If I knew where my pants were I'd be dancing round with them on my head. I have a nice black lacy pair that I like to affect in moments of celebration. Hum. Forget I said that. Any way ...

We think we might have a lovely Blogger person to thank because Madame has been banned from pressing any buttons until she can prove that she can be trusted again.

She hasn't been too sulky because her copy of Wormwood: Gentleman Corpse arrived. And she went to see The Diary of a Lost Girl. Louise Brooks did her thing on the big screen and Mr Neil Brand played the piano. It was a magical experience. Madame already has her ticket for Pandora's Box next week.

I had a moment of revelation. Previously on Bear ...

Tom Waits = the sound of fear and loathing. Making a grown animal cry and tremble in the dark. Probably a lovely man. Kind to kittens and always helping the old folk. And yet. Make it stop. Make the gravelly weirdness stop. Please make it stop. Please. Whimper. *exit sobbing bear*

That was previously. I was sulking away quite happily behind a copy of A Liar's Autobiography Vol. VI by Graham Chapman (him out of Monty Python's Flying Circus) when I heard this noise. It was a beautiful noise. It was this noise.

A bear called It. And another bear called Pemberthy

Another blogging bear. Yay! Pemberthy. He looks rather charming and civilised. I'm feeling a bit shy about saying "hello".

Civilised. Sigh.

Madame has had the day off work. To "do stuff".

Eating chocolate buttons for breakfast. Sitting around in her jammies, drinking beer, and reading naughty comics. Sticking feathers in her hair and pretending she's a showgirl.

She has finally managed to get us connect up to ... oh, dear ... Godzilla Watervole.

- Would you be meaning Mozilla Firefox?
- 'ullo, little animal. pat. pat. pat. haven't wu got shiny ickle peepers. pat. pat. pat. dance for me!

Let's have some nice, soothing music. Jane by Stephen Duffy. And a little lie down in a darkened room.

BearFest 2007

We're not going through to Edinburgh. No Fringe frolics. Not my decision. Don't live in a democracy.

Not that I care anyway. Pah. Edinburgh. Glastonbury. Their time has passed. Everyone and their mad auntie is putting on a festival. Why not me? Got the rules here - thanks to nice Mr Marshall at Guardian Unlimited.

They must be aimed at a unique audience. - BearFest will be the world's most exclusive festival. By Bear. For Bear.

They must have unique headliners. - Bear. I think I'm quite unique. I've certainly never met another me. And this will be my only festival appearance this year. Probably.

They must involve camping. - Hum. More difficult. The festival site is probably going to be the pillow end of the bed. She tends to discourage me from camping on the grounds that "She's got to sleep in that bed" and tent pegs leave holes in the mattress. I might manage a cushion cover bivouac.

They must allow moshing and crowd-surfing. - Like I need an excuse. I'm moshing right now.

In the spirit of rock 'n' roll, they must be "socialist". - I am an oppressed minority and I was purchased from a branch of the Co-op. I'm more socialist than a working men's club full of Tommy Sheridans.

They cannot have the Manic Street Preachers playing. - What if they try to force their way in?

Result! I'm all tingly and excited. What if I can't get a ticket? Should I take my ukulele? Will I need my wellies?

I don't think I own a ukulele or a pair of wellies. Disaster.

Right. Must go and practice my juggling. And then see if I can hire Big Zippy and Clanger to do the site security. So much to do.

the sound of madness

Much busy. But clever Bear. I am using the sound of Madness to block out the sound of madness.

Madness are a funny old band. It may be unfair but they have had a strange image. Chirpy songs about baggy trousers. Crazy dances. Wacky videos. A touch of the novelty act? Not "serious" musicians like, bless him, Weller or (small bear runs screaming from the room) Waits ?

She brings home Madness - The heavy heavy hits. It was going cheap in Avalanche Records.

We all know the deal with "Greatest Hits" selections? They're for lazy, indecisive people (so we have a lot of them) who can't deal with that scary downloading lark.

There will be the couple of songs that you buy it for - the Greatest Hits. Maybe four or five if you're lucky. Then the OK/Skippable Hits. Bit of filler - dodgy 12" remix of the Greatest Hit? Then something "special" for the fans - obscure B side or quirky little cover - because they have everything three times over already and need an excuse to shell out more dosh (*cough* Elvis Costello reissues *cough*).

Naughty cynical bear ...

Back to Madness. Twenty three songs. And not a single duff one. A big surprise to be honest. There is the big upbeat noise. But there is also sweetness and light. Darkness and disappointment. Worth revisiting if you only remember nutty boys and the heavy, heavy sound.

Or if you need to block out the sound of a deranged and demented woman.

That Wainwright, in what I can only consider a personal vendetta against me, has announced an extra gig. Here. Not somewhere nice and far away. Here. In this city.

Yes. She is going to both nights. No man or small bear can stop her.

I just happened to make a passing query about the cost of the ticket. Sniffle. Some things should never be said. Even in jest. And "I could sell a much loved old friend on Ebay so that I can afford to see some boyish fop and his stupid floppy hair poncing about for two nights in a row in October" is one of them.

She may have phrased it a little differently but I knew what she was saying. Sniffle.

So I've been singing "It must be love" to myself while she reads out highlights from Uncut's audience with RW.

Hang on.

Oh.

She'll have to repeat that last one - hum - Wainwright reckons that Gordon Brown is considerably more sexy than Tiny Blur. To quote the Rufus person - "I think Gordon Brown's really sexy. I think most most women I know feel the same."

Hum. Indeed. Well, that's a thought ...

That's something that will take a bit of pondering. Unfortunately.

Madness. It's all madness.

Bear with a sore head

In a bad mood. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. In a really, really bad mood. STOMP.

Look. It's young Flynn and Mr Beaver. They had lunch with Madame at Theo's Cafe yesterday. I wasn't invited. Not bitter. Sniff.
I expect I was busy anyway. Doing stuff. Important stuff. Sniff.

Important stuff? Some interesting things maybe.

Oliver Postgate - one of the men behind Bagpuss and The Clangers - has a website. But it's not what you'd expect if you only have memories of that voice telling stories of Noggin the Nog or Ivor the Engine. He was on Desert Island Discs recently. A fascinating man. And Madame has just finished reading a book by his father. She picked it up in a pile of old Penguin paperbacks. Hadn't realised the connection until she was part of the way through it. A good read.

And listening to Marcus Brigstocke's inspired rant from The Now Show. I'm an atheist and She would probably describe herself as humanist/agnostic if you prod her enough. So he was, um, preaching to the converted.

Have just checked with Madame. We're going with humanist/agnostic. Because the Church of the Divine Rufus only exists in her head. Whatever she thinks.

And Ingmar Bergman. Deary me. I have happy memories of watching Hour of the Wolf. It's one of those experiences that have to happen at the right time. Another day, in another mood ... But for some reason it worked. A twisting tale of strange events. I couldn't tell you what it all meant. Or if it meant anything. But the sight of Max von Sydow in drag ...

Time for bed. Think we have a tough week ahead so have some Half Man Half Biscuit before I go. Good night!

Billy Pumpkin and the Wet Hen

Spoke too soon. She's still poorly. Moping about like a wet hen.

The things I do to amuse and entertain ...

Apparently. Allegedly. With my ears pinned back. With actual pins. I look like that Billy Corgan out of those Smashing Pumpkins.

Not sure what I am supposed to do with this new found talent. Children's party entertainer? All toy tribute band? The Plushie Pumpkins?

If her boss would like her back then I can arrange to have the door left unlock. Bring a big enough sack and she's all yours.

There is a bear, and he never goes out

Ok. Yes. Barton Fink is a film. I knew that. I did. Honest.

Would I lie to you?

So. The holiday. Definitely going to tell you all about the holiday. Except ...

Not really in the mood. It's Friday night. I'm still young. I should be out there. A few drinks. Friends. Laughter. Bit of music. Fun. Frolic. Froth.

Instead. Stuck in with Madame Misery. She's tired. She's got no money. So much housework to do and her life is a wasteland because she doesn't have a solar lighted Eiffel Tower. Or the sunshine to power it.

Try turning that into a musical comedy.

Apparently she is going to put on her serious pyjamas. Big boy pyjamas. Pyjamas that shout "See that tub of ice cream. I'm eating it all. And I'm eating it in bed. Without you." And her fluffy Latvian socks. She might read a bit of her lovely green and white vintage Penguin copy of "The Department of Dead Ends". She might not.

I'm just going to sneak off to my corner and try not to draw attention to myself. Do a bit of thinking. Hang on. Here's an idea. Richard Hawley - Coles Corner. Smooth and soothing. Enjoy.

back again

A quick hello. Home and holiday nearly over. Have been here and there and back again. Have been rained on. Enjoyed the sun on my fur. Hunted wild tiggers. Been hunted by wild tiggers. Have experienced luxury, frivolity, indignity, and insults.

Lots of stories and pictures and other delights and warnings to share. Unfortunately my staff have informed me that it will take a while to get everything sorted out and back to normal. She has bags to unpack, and laundry to do, a ton of chocolate to eat, and then she'll be trailing about the interknit looking for new stuff on yon Rufus until she has a migraine.

So we'll have to be patient. I'm going to use the time to grow a moustache.

And I'll be listening to Gogol Bordello ... yay!