Autumn is definitely here. The mornings are colder, obscured by mist and fog, and even when the sun breaks through like it has today, there's an oddly feeble quality to it. Oh, and I've noticed a few leaves lying around. Nothing gets past me.

Are We There Yet?

It's already getting into mid-October and the Old College is still standing. Now they did promise us that demolition would be taking place - I even got the official notification through my letterbox in case I was going to get upset about it.

After all the hullaballoo and posh presentations, is anything going to happen? New shopping centres don't spring into being in a flash of smoke. The original plan for a tall 17-storey tower was dropped due to critisim of it's domination of the local landscape, and the latest plan for a more modest development has been criticised for not dominating the landscape whatsoever.

Apparently, according to the archives of our local paper, the site will be demolished. No, really, they mean it. But not until the end of the year, with work starting on our new shopping mall beginning early next year. That is, of course, unless it gets criticised.

Bellow Of Frustration

Okay, I know I don't take any interest in modern pop music (can you blame me?), but even I stumbled across a band called Bellowhead just lately. They seem to making quite a stir. The idea is to take old english folk tunes and update them in a modern context.

I've no doubt some will claim that's an original idea, but I'm afraid it isn't. Red Jasper/i] were doing that twenty years ago, and at least we had the verve to inject our olde worlde influence into a rock music context. I remember one review called us 'Jethro Tull on speed', and another that mentioned we were balancing the relatively polite english folk with rock music, as opposed to the the more lively irish heritage which was more popular then, and we were congratulated for our efforts.

Actually, the rise of ethnic influence in popular music of the eighties ignored Red Jasper almost completely. So did most of the audiences. No, I'm sorry, it's no use complaining, you had every opportunity to turn us into rock mega-gods and you didn't. Now you'll have to make do with Bellowhead.

Monday Mornings

"I hate Monday mornings" Said the young lady who sat down at the next computer to me. As ice breakers go, that wasn't bad, much better than the guy opposite whose clumsy attempts to break everything backfired, but starting conversations in a library was always going to end in tears.

The bank was no different. The lady behind the counter asked if I'd had an account review lately. Erm.. No...

Please, not another review. How many times does my bank need to be told that I don't want to pay X amount of cash to them every month for the privilege of storing my money, and after the financial piracy in British pension schemes revealed on a watchdog program last night, I'm in no mood to let them grab my cash.

It didn't matter, As always happens on Monday mornings, their system was down. That's been happening for thirty years. You'd think someone would notice. But the teller is going to send me a letter asking me to come in for an interview. Definitely.