We'll always have Paris

Well no, I didn't hit the jackpot, but not for want of trying. Needless to say I'm back considerably lighter of wallet, but hey, isn't that the idea?

I'd forgotten just how full-on Las Vegas can be. It's a sensory overload. It's incredibly noisy. Music belches out of nowhere (Here, you really can walk down the street to Herb Alpert's Casino Royale). Slot machine noises and the tinkle of gaming chips gives you a constant headache. There's commotion at every turn.

But it was great. It's on such a massive scale. Of course it's all change since I was last there. We stayed at the Luxor, which frankly has become one big chavarama. Eleven years ago it was cutting edge, but it's been severely blunted. Places like the Wynn, Paris, The Venetian, Bellagio and The Palazzo weren't built back then, but now they dominate the Strip and there's no expense spared. Recession, my eye.

It's such a bizarre world. I couldn't imagine being there for longer than four days at a stretch, it's just too much. It's unreal. It's like being hermitically sealed into one big theme park. There's little fresh air and you don't spend a lot of time outside, so you're breathing in the scent of gardenias one minute, and legionaire's diseas the next.

Of course there's always the illusion that you're outside. Ceaser's Palace Forum Shops has a very realistic blue sky, so it appears to be daylight. Same goes for the casino floor in Paris and the shopping centre at the Venetian. At 11pm one night we went of r gondola ride, captained by a gondolier, who sang Volare, much to our consierable emabarrassment, as we glided through a recreation of Venice, albeit a Venice that only has Pizza Huts and Banana Republics.

I did a lot of walking. I'd forgotten how long it takes to walk past one hotel. Each one is set in the equivalent of Regent's Park. They're so huge. My blisters are legendary.

Other highlights:

1. Real lions in the MGM Grand.

2. Roads called things like Mel Torme Way, Frank Sinatra Boulevard and Wayne Newton Avenue.

3. The food - we had some amazing food. And so much to choose from. I don't remember Vegas food being anything to write home about last time, but this time we were spoilt for choice.

4. Three card poker. Okay, I didn't lose my shirt, it was that tempting. Mrs F-C won $300 on one hand alone. But then you get serious and before you know it, it's all gone. The slots captivated me too, so like some pensioner, there I was. You can't use coins anymore though.

5. The people. Americans are such stereotypes. Grizzled old grannies with long grey hair and leisure suits in those motorised wheelchairs, big Coke in hand. Fat teens. Men in baseball caps with polo shirts tucked in over large bellies. Men who look like scarily like Willie Nelson. Surgically enhanced waitresses who look desperate and vacant. I tell you, all human (American) life is there.

6. Being on a TV panel. I think this must be my main highlight. It was one of those audience appreciation things they love in the US, where you don't know what show you're going to see and then you're given questions about it afterwards. This one was CSI: Miami. Throughout, I had to twiddle a device between one and 100 indicating how bored/interested was in each scene. Then we had to answer questions about the show like: Do you think Horatio Cane is a) Professional, b) Silly, but in a good way, etc. You had to rate each character, and answer questions like, If David Caruso was no longer in the show, would you watch it, and who would you like to join the show - Angelina Jolie, Sandra Bullock and I can't remember the others, but it's clearly going to be Bullock as the others are definitely not available. I loved doing it. It's like you have a real say in what actually happens to the shows you like. I wish they'd do that here.

Anyhoo, back now. Better do some work.

What happens in Vegas...

It's goodbye from me for a week a bit, as I'm off to go-go dance by the pool in sunny Las Vegas.

Have you been? Then you know you must embrace the trashiness of it and just enjoy. I went 12 years ago for my brother's wedding and we had a fantastic time. Gambling at Treasure Island til dawn, all those free drinks, cabanas at the Luxor, meatballs of confusion at the Motown Cafe, near heart-attacks after mile-long breakfast buffets and throwing money up in the air back at our hotel room.

Of course, the marriage swiftly ended in disaster when she left him for a woman less than 18 months later, but that's by the by-pass. My memories purely consist of fun.

So I'm excited to go back and see how much it's changed. Money is less of a problem now than it was back then, but I'm still limiting myself. We did well on the blackjack tables last time, but it may have been pure luck. Mrs F-C was like Linda Fiorentino. I felt like Nicolas Cage, but that's Vegas for you.

Now, I think I'm going to suggest to Steve Wynn that instead of all this Paris and Venice nonsense, what we really want is a hotel in the style of the hotels that existed in the 1950s or 1960s. That's a theme.

Wish me cash luck.

Twitter ye not

I'm never, ever twittering. Blogging takes up enough time, so this is a distraction too far.

I'm still at a loss as to what's so appealing about it. It's just like constantly updating your Facebook status isn't it? So why is that interesting for anyone, because to do it you'd have be sitting down somewhere (probably). So you couldn't, for example, say 'I'm currently swimming across Lake Geneva', because it wouldn't be possible, therefore it would be 'I've just seen an Ikea van go past my window' or something. Hardly amazing.

I wonder why people are slavishly following other people and why this is catching on so fast. It's only been about a month and it's taken off like sliced bread. Perhaps it's just a fad, a craze, like the Rubik's Cube. Or they want to be friends with a celebrity.

Can someone please explain the appeal? Does it lie in the fact that people like to be followed or they like to 'broadcast'?

Do tell.

A welcome in the hillsides

I'm off to Cardiff today. No, I'm not guesting in the forthcoming Doctor Who specials, silly, but it is for work.

So as I've not been able to find my song du jour, Somewhere My Love by the Mikes Sammes Singers, here they are soundtracking a great old Fine Fare ad set, naturally, in a new town.

Westworld

Where are you going on holiday this year? We thought we might go to 1967.

Wouldn't that be great. Sigh. Imagine if you could go on holiday to say, London in 1967, taking in the full swinging scene, shopping your head off for stuff to bring back that would be worth a fortune now, going to the grooviest of hangouts in your Carnaby Street wardrobe and generally immersing yourself.

To me, that's the holiday of a lifetime.

The only proviso would be that you couldn't change the course of history, otherwise, the world is your oyster. So where shall we go?

How about joining the jet set in St Moritz, 1969, where you'd be swigging kirsch as you dipped your fork into yet another cheese fondue in front of a roaring log fire in a place very much the one George Lazenby goes to in On Her Majesty's Secret Service, complete with international babes, naturally.

Or how about Hawaii, 1960, when everything South Seas is all the rage, and you spend your evenings sipping elaborate cocktails in an open-air tiki lounge against a backdrop of fake Easter Island statues while Yma Sumac wails her exotica in the background.

Or let's go to New York, 1975, at it's scuzziest, most Taxi Driver/CBGBish best. Or what about a country house hotel in 1950, or perhaps a motoring holiday in the Italian lakes in 1963. You might like to catch what's on at the Cavern in 1962, or make your way to Woodstock, or do some go-go dancing by a Hollywood pool in 1966 - you know, the list is endless.

If Fantasy Island was real, this is what it would do. Perhaps I'll invent it.

Your hand in mine

Happy Valentine's Day to you. It's a silly occasion isn't it? All pink, hearts and flowers. Mrs F-C I gave up on it years ago after being in long line of tables for two at a bleak restaurant in south London, as identical embarrassed looking couples glowered at each other across a single red rose while not saying anything. We thought if we did celebrate it again, it certainly wouldn't be like this.

So while it does involve flowers and chocolates and cards, it's the going out part we tend not to do. It's hideous. Everywhere's always busy, it's more expensive and the scenario is like the one played out above. It sends a shiver down my spine. I'd much rather go the the NFT and watch Breakfast At Tiffany's, or cook something spectacular at home.

Dear Mrs F-C has just come back from Paris and between bouts of bickering as to who's really in charge at home, presented me with a very beautiful chocolate heart full of other chocolates. How thoughtful.

So I'm on the hunt for a present at lunchtime. I know what I'm getting.

What about you?

Here's Willie Nelson with the gorgeous Valentine:

We shall never see their like again

Not sure how much you care about ITV drama - perhaps not a lot, but it should be said it's a shame that a lot of stuff that's been in the can for some time will more than likely never been shown.

It's just been announced that three dramas: Octavia (a Jilly Cooper adaptation), Gun Rush (starring Timothy Spall) and Sleep With Me (with Adrian Lester) are unlikely to see the light of day, this year at least.

This is because ITV has to pay the independent production companies half the money when they make the show and the other half when they actually broadcast it. The credit crunch means they can't afford to do this.

So they join a long list of dramas made by ITV that have never been shown, some in my working journalist days I actually did interviews with the cast for, like Me and Mrs Jones, in which Robson Green played a journalist who falls in love with the Prime Minister (Caroline Goodall). I did interviews for this in 2001, one of them, with Goodall on September 11th. When I got back to the office it was all kicking off.

Then there's Hereafter (AKA Shades), starring Stephen Tompkinson and Dervla Kirwin when they had just split up. It was meant to capitalise on their golden couple status, but sadly the atmosphere on set was nothing less than chilly. It'll n ever see the light of day.

And what about Avenging Angels with Jessica Stevenson? That was made about nine years ago. Or series two of Distant Shores with Peter Davison and Samantha Bond? And what's happened to May Contain Nuts with Sophie Thompson? There's more, but I can't think of it. I'll add it as it comes to me.

So all that plus no more Heartbeat, The Royal, Wire In The Blood and John Nettles quitting Midsomer Murders and The Bill being cut to one episode and there's not a lot to see here.

I like drama. I think it's sad that it's coming to this. It's not a great time to be in the TV industry.

This woman really should lighten up

I read today that Chrissie Hynde once punched Carly Simon. Can you think of anyone more inoffensive than Carly Simon? So why did Chrissie Hynde lamp her one? If her interviews are anything to go by, she was probably eating a ham sandwich in her vicinity.

I like the Pretenders and I think Chrissie Hynde has a great voice, but I do wish she'd lighten up. The punk attitude and rabid political views are all very well, but why doesn't she give herself a break once in a while. All interviewers seem petrified of her, and she comes across as the most humourless, unsmiling martinet you could never wish to meet. I bet she's a really embarrassing mum, too.

She clearly doesn't get enough protein. She's so uptight. What she could do with is a really good crispy bacon doorstop dripping with brown sauce. Then she can remove that poker from her arse.

Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me)

If you remember the summer of '86 and you always had the radio on, then you'll remember that Owen Paul's My Favourite Waste Of Time was never off it. Personally, I didn't care for the song or the singer (weed in an outsize vest), but you couldn't escape it.

Which leaves me wondering: why do we never hear it now? It was a huge hit, number two IIRC, and was played to death. Now it's completely dropped off the radar. You could say the same for Rain Or Shine by Five Star (which I do have a soft spot for) or Let's Go All The Way by Sly Fox, another big hit that clogged up the airwaves that year.

What about Life In A Northern Town by The Dream Academy from the previous year? Or from the 70s Hey Fattie Bum-Bum by Carl Malcolm (perhaps un-PC now), Resurrection Shuffle by Ashton Gardner & Dyke, A Little Love and Understanding by Gilbert Becaud? All big - Top 10 - hits, now consigned to the pop graveyard. It's not because they're one hit wonders either. For example, you often hear Martha & the Muffins' Echo Beach. Even songs from the big groups have vanished into thin air. When was the last time you heard Belfast Child by Simple Minds coming out of your radio? Or Margherita Time by Quo? Or Big Ship by Cliff?

The reverse of this of course is that you're never more than 30 minutes away from Pride (In The Name Of Love) by U2 (though you never, ever hear The Fly) or Raspberry Beret by Prince (why do they never play Paisley Park?) or (God help us) Easy Lover by Phil Collins and Philip Bailey. You never hear Separate Lives!

So who decides what's trash and what's treasure? Is it us? Are we not requesting it enough on Chris Evans' All-Request Friday, the show that plays the bleedin' obvious week after week (Stuart Maconie always begs for something a little more leftfield when he sits in)? Or are we living in a world dictated by radio programmers who decide Girlie Girlie by Sophia George or Rain by The Cult are not for our ears?

I need my own radio station. Thank God for the ipod.

Nothing

I can't think of a single thing to blog about today, so I won't bang on. I feel a bit ill, Mrs F-C is housebound with a Norovirus derivation and it's bloody cold.

Catch you later.