And we are back, season two of the Lost Property Office limps stridently forward having survived a complete clearout, reorganisation and a system put in place. Which is better for the students, strike rate of returning keys and small electronic equipment has soared by over 100%, but less good for the show. But creative constraints can cause creative epiphanies, and who better to discuss creative epiphanies with than novelist and comics writer Al Ewing.
Actually we almost totally avoid talking about creative epiphanies, to instead discuss lost comic panels, skinny men getting stuck in holes, posh breast cancer ribbons, A BOOK THAT SHOULD NOT BE OPENED (we open it) and pop music which for the first time on Lost Property Office we recognised from the opening notes. And for pretty much all of the running time Al forgot (until pushed) to pimp his new novel The Fictional Man, which is a pulp rollercoaster ride through a metafictional universe eerily similar to ours (which at least as many Sherlock Holmes’s). I’ve read it, its great! At least as good as he is on this show.
So on Saturday we ran a fun little club night called Europoptimism, which was partially to celebrate the fact that Eurovision is coming up. And all the Eurovision songs are available now so we wanted to try to pre-empt the competition, but we didn’t want to spend two hours playing 39 tracks. So we decided to try to judge the intros instead, as without a good intro, what song can really soar. 30 seconds of each of the intros were played, and then voted on Eurovision style. It was so much fun, we thought we might like to give you the option to play along here.
The Guardian, aware that we are living in a country down to its last thruppence ha’penny, is thinking about the finances of the poor gig going kid. Look, they have a video and everything to tell you how to save money:
As you can see the secret of cutting the cost of gig tickets is to go to gigs that took place nineteen years ago. If you fancy seeing the Manic’s in Hull in 1994, or Mansun at the Kilburn National, well – you’ll be quids in. I am sure this is excellent advice, otherwise why would you advertise the piece which such out of date tickets. Of course back then I too had my own methods of getting into gigs for free, which I can shamefully reveal now…
I saw Theatre Of Blood for the first time tonight, at a BFI Screen Epiphanies showing (you will be unsurprised to discover it was a favourite of one of the League Of Gentlemen, Reese Sheersmith). I know this is far too late in life to watch such a delightfully well made black comedy, but I enjoyed it thoroughly with the additional frisson of having the directors family sitting behind me. For those of you who have not had the pleasure, Theatre Of Blood is a wickedly dark horror comedy where Vincent Price plays Edward Lionheart, a classical actor/manager who specialises exclusively in Shakespeare who runs foul of the 1970 London Critic Circle. Thought dead from suicide, he returns to bump each of the critics off in a suitably Shakespearian fashion. Hammy, gory and with a wonderful 70′s Who’s Who cast, it is a treat – with a delightful central premise. In particular it overcomes the biggest problem in black comedies, how to balance sympathy for the central murderer without being voyeuristically complicit. Here all we meed to know is in the opening line with Michael Hordern’s critic, a pompous ass bemoaning that his best crack against an actress had been cut from his review. These are critics, and self-satisfied ones at that, who the audience have no difficulty in agreeing deserve their fates. Price is so delicious as the lead, given an extra dimension by Diana Rigg’s devoted daughter, and the critics are so grotesque, that you worry some may escape. So you get gore, imaginative deaths, and Vincent Price delivering ten of Shakespeare’s finest roles (also a bout of fencing on trampolines!*). By the end of which you appreciate the bitter irony that you still root for Lionheart even though through these performances you know the critics were actually right. He is pretty terrible.
Being of my unoriginal, gadfly, generation, and enjoying the film thoroughly, my first thought on exiting the cinema was of a remake. If you were to do a remake, who would star?
So the great clear out happened. WHat went from an Aladdin’s Cave of the lost and misplaced briefly had bare shelves. We even got rid of the duvet. So the Lost Property Office took a short hiatus for a few weeks whilst we patiently waited for the students in the area to start losing things again. And what a bunch of losers they turned out to be, from law pupillage guides, to bodice ripping fantasy yarns. Oh and a pair of pants, there is always a pair of pants. How do people lose pants? Seriously.
But as ever I digress, like we always do on the show. So in this weeks show, we discuss anti-abortionists, cats, cat castration, basically a whole fistful of sexual reproductive issues. And you don’t want that in your fist. This weeks guest is Marna Gilligan, FreakyTrigger’s queen of cheese. Watch her delve with gusto into the all new lost property office.
Welcome back to the Lost Property Office which is reaching a critical phase in a standard University term. The duvet is still there, but the influx of lost jackets, jumpers and notes, oh so many notes, is threatening THE BIG CLEAR-OUT. Well before that happens, we had a fine discussion on Ewan McGregor, Polish music, and rummaging through bins to find lost wedding rings. Oh and this is bay far the sweariest Lost Property office we have ever had (don’t worry, all swears bleeped out unless you consider PISH to be a swear).
This weeks Lost Properteer is Meg Hewitt, and has proper found MP3 music on it. No idea what it is, as ever please let us know what you think it might be. We also see a welcome return to “Though The Pencil-case” to wonder who lives in a pencil case like this? And see how fast I can find a piece of music if I need too – we truly are living in the future. As ever you can download here, or iTunes and enjoy!
Hello Losers! Hmm, not sure if I should call regular listeners to The Lost Property Office Losers, you are all of course winners of a brand spanking new podcast. And this week I have one of the original Lollards for you, a man who by his own confession rarely loses, but rarely finds stuff either. And is always getting lost, and the approbation it might summon up. This intrepid Lost Properteer is of course Tim Hopkins.
In our little chat we broach upon parental disapproval, the Police Benevolent Fund, why anyone would need a calculator, the theory of mix CD’s, and we learn via book and flexi-disc how to play guitar. Unfortunately we do not have guitar in the studio to prove that we have completely learned how to play it. There is also some music which may or may not be by Michael Jackson, and as is often the way we seem to talk about the GOOD OLD DAYS. Oh and I sign not once but twice (Gordon Lightfoot and Miguel…) Download here, or on iTunes and enjoy.
How can we follow last weeks wonderful tales of hands across the water and the stirring, beating heart of communist Cuba? Well mainly by being rude to an out of date new age owl based diary, and City AM. We really give City AM a kicking. We hate City AM. All this and Chilean pesos, pennys found on the floor and a huge giant laminated poster which is remarkably scary. All of this and a terrible joke in the intro that might put you off for life.
Today’s guest plucky enough to brave the duvet of doom in the Lost Property Office is the old Lollard’s stalwart and raconteur in chief Alix Campbell. She brings us tales of South America, London, Dorset and bins. We talk about flightless birds, collecting coins and other things lost and found. Music comes from the Balkans we think, Baille Balkan Funk perhaps, which maybe is just all Sam & The Womp all the time…
One of my favourite things about the most modern incarnations of Sherlock Holmes* is how they deal with Sherlock’s apparent mastery of disguise. Visual Media is wary of masters of disguise** because the medium in itself is playing exactly the same trick on the audience. Robert Downey Jr is NOT really Sherlock Holmes, but we have to believe he is. But if he is Sherlock Holmes in disguise, the audience should be able to spot the disguise, else we aren’t in on the game. Hence RDJ dragging up appallingly in a Game Of Shadows amongst others. So obviously then I saw this picture I thought it was Benidct Cumberbatch in some sort of lousy Sherlock disguise.
(Note, Gollum is not in the original picture – that is my theory.)
Do you find it difficult putting together a political rally? Do you find that your poorly performing football club is losing fans by the thousands and it is hard for you to maintain a general sense of hub-bub in the stands? Do you really like the Spanish word “Olé” poorly enunciated but loudly projected over and over again to what, everyone in my office agreed, was the Olé Olé Olé tune? Well salvation is at hand for you:
I must admit I have always wondered who was singing the Olé Olé Olé tune at many football grounds.