Category: TV & Radio

We Are Norwich and the EDL

We Are Norwich is a rainbow alliance of political, faith and community groups and individuals who have come together to oppose the presence of the English Defence League (EDL) in the fair city of Norwich. The EDL intends to stomp through the streets tomorrow (10th November 2012) to protest against a decision by the City Council to ban a stall by the Norwich Reformed Church* because of the alleged Islamaphobic nature of one of its leaflets. We are Norwich is planning a peaceful, family-friendly counter-demonstration that celebrates and protects the city’s diversity, multiculturalism and honourable tradition of inclusion. The counter-protest will start at 11am in Chapelfield Gardens. Expect an uplifting party atmosphere. For more information please check the website.

We Are Norwich is a broad church and did not campaign to have the EDL march prohibited. I think this was the right approach. Generally, I’m not in favour of banning this and banning that. It tends to drive things underground and is often counter-productive. As a card-carrying dyed-in-wool liberal, extremists on both sides of the political spectrum tend to leave me frigid, none more so than the EDL, an odious little organisation with obvious links to the British National Party and other Far Right misfits. I don’t particularly want them goose-stepping through this city but I wouldn’t stop them coming either. When an EDL grunt was asked by Chris Goreham on BBC Radio Norfolk’s Breakfast Show what the English Defence League was actually defending England from, the silly young man was unable to provide an answer, any answer, and just rambled on incoherently. A fine example of an education system gone awry, I thought. Conversely, Nick O’Brien, Secretary of We Are Norwich, was able to articulate coalition values with convincing authority and depth. It was just a shame that Nick was abruptly cut off by DJ Chris when he mentioned Hitler. Clearly, Auntie Beeb doesn’t do the Third Reich for breakfast. It might put middle Anglia off their muesli.

I hope events tomorrow pass by without serious incident. We Are Norwich has worked closely with the Police to ensure a loud and lively but peaceful affair. As for the EDL? Who knows. They’re a flaky lot. In a liberal, pluralist society like ours, we must accept that people are entitled to hold different views, no matter how offensive they are. There are lines to be drawn, of course. Preaching hatred is one of them, violence is another. We’ll see what lines get crossed tomorrow.

*The Norwich Reform Church is the only organisation, faith-based or otherwise, to demonstrate against Norwich’s annual pride event. This says a great deal about the package of prejudices these people have adopted to promote their particular nasty brand of hell and damnation Christian love. 

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Gran Canaria, Sex Emporium

Gran Canaria, Sex Emporium

Eight hours after leaving Norwich, we turned the key on our digs at Playa Del Inglés. Aside from a few up-market hotels, Canarian apartments tend to be standard fare – concrete boxes with a small dark bedroom, an enclosed shower-room with barely enough light to fix your face, a stark balcony with nasty plastic seats, an ill-equipped kitchenette and a wipe-down living space decorated with lopsided Athena prints. We were pleasantly surprised to find that our concrete box was a comfortable cut above, with laminate flooring, trendy fittings and a flat screen TV. Liam flicked through the channels. The only one in English was CNN. They were showing an interview with Mitt Romney’s sons – all Hollywood teeth and apple pie. I wanted to throw up. At least the Osmonds could sing. I swept open the balcony door and the first thing to catch my eye was a sign for the ‘Garage Sex Shop – Cabins, Cinema and Video.’  It does exactly what it says on the tin, a metaphor for the entire mid-Atlantic rock. We’d arrived.

Gran Canaria October 2012 037

When it comes to a turn around the dance floor, location is more important than lodgings. Happily, we were spitting distance from the Yumbo Center, the throbbing epicentre of gay Canarian low-life. The Yumbo is a naff treat for all the senses, a crumbling multi-layered open air shopping and sex emporium. It started to fall apart as soon as it was built (some twenty five years ago). By day, it’s an over-sized pound shop patronised by ancient slow-lane Germans in busy shirts and socked sandals. But, at the stroke of midnight, the racks of tat are wheeled away, the garish bars throw open their doors and the entire place is transformed into a gaudy cacophonous neon-lit cess-pit of drunken debauchery. After four years of tranquilising sexual ambiguity in Turkey, the no nonsense in-yer-face, up-for-anything style was right up our alley.

Our photos couldn’t possible do justice to the wonder that is the Yumbo Center (we must get ourselves a better camera) but this certainly does:

Next Holiday Post: Sucking on a Woo Woo

Vox Pop

What’s happened to British TV news and current affairs broadcasting? It seems to be terminally afflicted with the desperate need to solicit the views of the man on the Clapham omnibus. Emails, texts and tweets flood in from all corners of the realm from the poorly informed. How does this add to the sum of all knowledge? Writing a letter to the Times is one thing but invading my living room uninvited through the flatscreen is something different entirely. I want my news from the trained and knowledgeable. Where’s Kate Adie in flak jacket and pearl earrings when you need her? Why not just be done with it, move the whole circus to the local pub and let the bar room bores run the show?

A Face for Radio

The talented folk at Future Radio must have thought my debut gig on Pride Live wasn’t too embarrassing as they asked me back for a repeat performance. This time, I wasn’t plugging the book. As the Pride season draws to a close and rainbow flags across the realm are folded away for yet another year, I was invited to bang my drum about paying to be proud at Brighton Pride. Towards the end of the piece, my train of thought was fatally derailed by my new-fangled smart phone throbbing in my pants. It turned me into a rambling wreck. Despite my momentary bout of bumbling amnesia, I hope I came across as the voice of moderation. You can be the judge by clicking on the big poofy pink radio.

You can catch the entire podcast here.

My song choice (which I almost forgot) was the Marc Almond cover of Charles Aznavour’s ‘I Have Lived’. Because I have.

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Jack on Future Radio

Pride Apartheid

A Very British Olympics

A Very British Olympics

We Brits love to wallow in glorious failure. It’s almost a national fetish. We relish the underdog fighting against insurmountable odds – remember Eddie the Eagle and the Jamaican Bobsleigh Team (not to mention Dunkirk)? This time we had a runaway success on our hands and it crept up behind us like a batty boy in a back room, confounding the doubters and crowned with a bulging bag of bling. Blighty has been in a foul mood for years and, for a brief moment, people have something to smile about. For me, it was the Paralympics that defined the true spirit of the Games – from mad dash to Mad Max, fire to phoenix, high fliers to high wires, gold-play to Coldplay – the very best of humanity tainted only by the very worst of Channel 4 coverage. Keenly covered at home, not so keenly covered abroad, some of our friends across the seas should hang their heads in shame. The Americans televised only limited highlights (despite the presence of a large and impressive American Team) and my former foster home, Turkey, decided to screen a soccer match instead of the opening ceremony. Tonight saw a joyous and very British closing show received by a wall of noise. It was a triumph – a triumph made in Britain.

Photo: Ian Kington/AFP

Now that the big top has come down and the circus is leaving town for Brazil, what next? Will the park become a weedy white elephant like so many of the past? Will the colossal cost deepen the double dip as the bills drop on the mat? There’s a chance, a good chance, that the legacy will endure. The park itself is small and perfectly formed (a bit like me), the velodrome was going to be built anyway and the aquatics centre will replace the aging National Sports Centre pools at Crystal Palace. I used to train there when, for a short while before I discovered hormones, I was a promising young diver. It was a bugger to get to. As for the Olympic Stadium itself, it’s a great fit for big-ticket concerts by big-wig stars. It’s already booked for the 2017 World Athletic Championships and we may yet see Hammers’ fans screaming from the terraces. Transport links in that part of town have been completely transformed and the Olympic Village will provide quality affordable housing for one of the most deprived areas of the country. Remember the Millennium Dome (itself a 2012 venue)? Who would have thought back in 2001 that it would emerge as one of the most successful music venues in the world as the O2? Few facilities were specifically built for the Games and some were designed to be temporary. One or two may even get packed up and shipped off to Rio for 2016. Now, here’s a thought. Perhaps the IOC should commission IKEA to design the travelling flat pack games. Now where did I put that allen key?

X Factor Hair-Raisers

Tonight Matthew, I’m going to be…Quentin Crisp.

Jack on Future Radio

I managed to stumble through the interview on Future Radio without too many pregnant pauses or tripping over too many ums and aahs. MC Di was warm and engaging and witty Nick was a gently inquisitive host. Adding to the splendid blend was roving reporter Nick C, a young man reading history at Cambridge, no less. Just before the show, Di offered me an ice cream to calm me down and warm me up. I had a dribble of chocolate on my chin throughout the interview. No one mentioned it. Liam waited in the car park and recorded the gig, balancing his laptop on one knee as he jammed it up against the car speaker. He needn’t have bothered. Di provided me with a link to the podcast.

I’ve added my star turn to my Jack Scott Website. Click here or on the radio image to have a listen. The future’s bright, the future’s perking pink.

If you prefer, you can listen to the entire show on Future Radio’s website (click on Pride Live 06 08 12).

I chose Mika’s ‘We Are Golden’ for my playlist of one. The boy’s a genius. The track speaks to me of youthful hope and independence, and Blighty’s golden haul at the Olympics.

Pride Live!

I’m nervous. I got an email from DJ Di Cunningham inviting me along to Future Radio to be a guest on Pride Live!  Future Radio is a community station broadcasting on 107.8FM to the good citizens of Norwich. Their mission statement is:

We promote social inclusion in its broadest sense, freedom of expression and the dissemination of information for the benefit of our local and wider communities. We use music of all genres to promote racial and social harmony, embrace social, cultural and economic diversity and promote tolerance, understanding and democracy.

You can’t argue with that.

I’m on a 6.30pm this afternoon. Face for radio? Certainly. What am I going to say? No idea. Triumph or flop? I’ll tell you later. Meanwhile, you can catch the show online.

Mommie Dearest

The day after we moved into our ancient gaff, a nice man called Richard  from Virgin Media (not the Richard, obviously) installed our all singing, all dancing multimedia techno-wizardry – 30 megabyte fibre-optic broadband, telephone line and high definition TV. The whole compendium was half price for six months and came with free installation, free equipment and free weekend calls. We now have more channels of crap than you can shake a stick at. Currently, I’m being forced to watch wall-to-wall Olympics (Liam’s current obsession). We’ve never had HD TV before. I can see every wrinkle, every blemish, every spot and every blackhead on the faces of the famous – except for Gary Lineker (who surely must have had a nick and lift). No wonder an old bundle of ageing TV presenters decided to hang up their auto-cues and throw in the flannel: there are some things even the thickest slap can’t hide. Now we have free weekend calls, they’ll be no more Sunday Skype calls to mother. Just as well. I could never get the bloody thing to work properly from Turkey anyway and the compulsory weekly check-in was always a painful exercise, invariably ending in complete frustration.

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Size Really Matters

Conversation on BBC Look East a few minutes ago:

Commentator: “What does it take to be a great cox?”

Expert: “Size really matters.”

Amen to that.