Pan-Am TV

Next month, BBC2 is going to do the best thing it has ever done for me. Bring the TV series, Pan Am to into my life.

Have they bugged my brain or something?

I am going to be watching this ABC drama with excitement (the past in the sky- hoorah!) jealousy (the past in the sky - hoorah, but where's my part?) and geekery (the past in the sky -hoorah! But what was printed on that napkin? What's the font? Can I write my blog in it? How did Edward Larabee Barnes come up with such an enduring logo? Why is 'transcontinental' such an enticing word? Where are my peanuts?)

It's ridiculous serendipity that it exists. Not only does it star one of my heroes - the dark and hilarious indie comic-legend Christina Ricci (The Adams Family, Buffalo 66 and the Ice Storm - all insanely good films) it's makers are as obsessed with oldfangled airline splendour as I am. Am I wrong in wanting one of those blue antiquated uniforms to wear day to day? Oh gawd, this is already getting out of hand...

'Drinks anyone? Sir, stop chewing your life-jacket and blocking the emergency exit with your ego...'

And if you think it's 'chick lit' TV, please don't. Well, I suppose your guess is as good as mine currently. Some critics have noted that it has 'too many' (hm?!) beautiful cast members, which equals a sort of banal, good-looking soup where you can't tell one person from another. For what it's worth, I'm sure they'll chuck in a few croutons. At the very least, there'll be some amazing old school design to gawp at.

I really hope it's got more depth than just beautiful people wearing crisp uniforms in decreased air pressure. There's hope. For starters, there is a spy hook. And for main, the director is The West Wing's Thomas Schlamme and the writer is ER scribe Jack Orman.

See? Politics + accidents & stitches = classy sixties aviation drama. Equations are rarely wrong, my friend.

Well, not initially. Eh, Einstein...

Hidden Treasure: BOAC Friday

Apparently airline memorabilia is scarce. So imagine my delight when, after a chat about my blog on a Friday night, my mum said these magical words: 'We have a BOAC ashtray.' Not what I was expecting. And so, with a little digging around the kitchen, she produced this wondrous item (yes, I did a jig, clasped my hands together and squealed like a normal female in a handbag shop). The 70s collectable used to belong to a university friend of hers and it survived my parents' ruthless downsize: a house move which spelled the end for many less lucky items, such as a satsuma coloured Sindy bathroom suite and a Dot Matrix printer (RIP). She says she had an inkling of it's potential value. It totally surpassed my expectations. A deep navy/green-blue think it's one of the most beautiful things ever.

BOAC's life-span was 1939-1974, and this is a piece of in-flight furniture made by English potters Copeland Spode. I've found an exact replica on a collectables website which recently sold for a not exactly earth shattering £35.70. Very specific. But hey, why would you sell something so cool? I can just imagine a bristle-faced smoothie flipping a Piccadilly De Luxe into it, while ordering a gin and orange and eyeing up the flight attendant's knee.

Since this discovery, I've found this delightful website where you can buy yet more curious accessories from bygone airlines, from an Air Panama Knife and a Concorde spoon, to assorted 'barf bags' (Rune from Sicksack - take note) of which my favourite by far is Pan Am (are the stripes representing a particularly geometric hurl?)

Just an aside: I would not be disappointed to receive anything from this site for say Christmas or a birthday...

Travolt-Air

Props (ahem) to John Travolta for buying and running this Boeing 707-138B jet, the only one in active service. Daubed in its original 60s livery, it started life as a Qantas jet before Braniff bought it in 1969. It was then converted into a private VIP craft and has been around the block in terms of owners (Frank Sinatra, everybody!) and pretty, swirly liveries, until John snaffled it up in 1998.

Qantas does John's maintenance in return for him being all ambassador-y about their flying kangaroo. It does the trick. Even a Hollywood billionaire can't afford to keep such a beast running alone. Good to know. It's above our heads after all.

Most excitingly, it also mean't Johnny painting it faithful to yesteryear. Look at the lovely Qantas font(as). And I really enjoy the aesthetic of a black nose which makes it almost anthropomorphic. An airborne puppy sniffing out turbulence. As Travolta preceptively says: 'Owning a big plane like this without it looking like an airline seems odd to me.'

He even has his own uniform for him and his six crew: An efficient navy, wavy and white get up with tasty epaulettes, that shout competence. Not white and flared, unfortunately. But then I'm pretty sure he didn't contemplate calling his liner Night Fev-Air either, but it's fun to ponder. And really, Tony Manero in the cockpit? He'd be too busy showing the laydee's his throttle. What a yoke. Fnrr.

I once I spent an entire afternoon talking about all the things your could paint planes to look like: sausages, toothpaste tubes, pencils, an accusatory finger...

Basically anything long and pointy (stop it). But let's face it, none of those are as good as a plane looking like a ruddy good plane.

Having said that, I'd still love to see a giant hotdog careering across the horizon...

(left, below: the beauteous original 707 interior)

Aircraft Geekery Part II: Braniff, the Pucci Years

Braniff International's rebranded 'Jelly Bean' fleet in 1965 makes today's low-cost liners look like the inside of a drab, spiritless insurance company. Man did they go all out when they launched their End of the Plain Plane campaign. It was an exercise in multi-coloured funk. And I'm in love it it. The Pucci-clad stewards were so achingly chic, if you'd shown up to fly without a thin cigarette at your fingertips, a shot of frosted colour on your lips and a fruity cocktail in mind, I like to think you'd have been expelled via the rear exit. Braniff was alluring. It was Andy Warhol's favourite airline. It marked the zenith of the sexy steward. It hinted that you might fleetingly lock eyes and fall in love with a glimpse of Co-pilot, over your Whiskey Sour. Yes please. Braniff was basically like the coolest kid at school. If cool kids had wings... (watch out for my as yet un-made high-school Sci-Fi thriller movie of the same name).

Retro-obsessives still hold Braniff's jazzy mile-high pomp dear to their hearts as it conjures an image of the expensively perfumed international jet-set elite; the heady days when cruising at 30,000 feet was an occasion to rival Christmas and it was de rigueur to look as lavish and nonchalant as possible. It makes me a little giddy. The next time I fly, no matter how much I am inwardly cursing the craziness of Bernoulli's Principle and lack of ground beneath my feet, I don't want to be in jeans. I want to look like a style-cocktail of Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor and Jackie O. This way, even if I have to clutch a sick sack with white knuckles, or even get sucked out of a faulty window (this sh*t happens, kids), I'll still look classy.

A trio of keen eyes were employed for Braniff's swank-over: designer Alexander Girard, the aforementioned fashion supremo Pucci and shoe designer Beth Levine. Old red, white and blue livery was binned in favour of seven jazzy upbeat colours, and the fleet's interiors were sloshed in equally vibrant shades. In fact, the colour palette seemed so broad, a rainbow would have felt inadequate.

Even the gate lounges and ticket offices on the ground were heaving in bright, bold colours. And Girard's simple dove logo (right) found its way onto glasses, matches, interiors, uniforms and proper cutlery (no vacuum packed, disposable bendy pie-prodders for this brat pack.) The food was curiously real too...

The whole result was like a kaleidoscopic smoothie. A delicious, swirling head rush of hue. A bold, glamorous statement and a massive two fingers up to self-restraint and tradition. I'm so sad I genuinely can't experience this first hand.

And, most daringly, they clad their air hostesses (no male blood until the early 70s) in uniforms which consisted of space age style 'Rain Domes' to keep the breeze off perfectly coiffed Elnett 'hives and a series of mini skirt length shift dresses, layered so they could be (honestly) removed at various points during the flight. It sounds grubbier than it is - it was mostly a Russian doll-esque situation of a dress over a dress. Over some pants. But no one saw those.

However, it was racily dubbed the Air Strip. Take a look at the ad below...

Pucci's original designs also included a fur coat (slightly superfluous but very flirty and unfortunately very real) and a bunch of streamlined jumpsuits for the ground crew. I have a curious affection for an all-in-one. Although the white ones were a little misjudged (better boil it on a hot wash with some Lux).

And you know something's off the scale when Barbie gets involved (Doll reference NOT for sale, okay?)

It all seemed to shout fun and frivolity. Which there's never enough to feast on in life...

If you've got an evening to consume more things Braniff, see their amazing pages.

Aircraft Geekery Part 1

My relationship with planes is love hate. I hate flying. It makes me have nightmares, it f*cks with my ears, stomach and soul. It makes me drink Bloody Marys. It makes me contemplate the fragility of life with far too much force. The smell of aviation fuel makes me physically weak with fear to the very pit of my being. Sometimes the speed at which we take-off makes me cry...

However I love planes. I love them. Love, love. Yes I do. I don't want to go up in one, but I want to see inside as many passenger jets as possible, old and new. Especially old. I like the Wings video for Silly Love Songs, because I get a look inside and out a chartered 'Wings Around the World,' jet from the 1970s. Curtains instead of blinds? Check. And look, they are yellow! Faux wood interior? Delightful!

I want to see as many aircraft liveries as possible. Especially those on the empennage. Old and new. Especially old. I always have a face to the sky, picking out fancy fuselage (thanks Emirates for painting your undercarriage) and beautiful branded tail fins. I love defunct airliners and their colour schemes and logos. What made them go for those stripes and shapes? And what went wrong? Airlines have to look like they will instill confidence. Company liveries get me excited because not only are they expected to be patriotic (it's not just about pride, it's also so the airport staff on the ground can recognise one jet from another for take off clearance - a problem BA had when they introduced those jazzy 'ethnic' tail fin designs Margaret Thatcher so detested) they also have to make you feel that this is a great airline. An airline which won't pop a wing off in bad weather or burst into flames when someone in row C switches from Pirates of the Caribbean to Track Your Journey (a left-field move, admittedly). Imagine the time and effort that goes into creating art that reflects this.

And who doesn't love a branded sick bag (which, in Quantas' case, if you didn't manage to spray it with gut-chunks, used to double up as a handy pre-addressed envelope to pop your films in for development). I thought I was the only person to begin an airliner sick bag collection when I went travelling, but it turns out I'm not. Check out Rune's 'barfbag' collection at sicksack.com. It's a truly inspirational haul...

I also have a special penchant for Eastern Bloc airliners (just to add to my love of Eastern Bloc most things). Aeroflot has a particular hold over my imagination, mostly because they've been ridiculed and maligned for years and have fought a persistent bad image of rickety craft, drunk pilots, (rumour has it occasionally flying on one engine to save on fuel) and terrifying landings. And the fact their soviet built Tupolev and Ilyushin craft have comically bad reputations with one TU-154 'disintegrating in mid-air.' The supersonic TU-144 (right, above) was an amazingly handsome thing though. And it's interior, with chairs like orange lozenges wrapped in cling-film (top), are like a piece of history space-age Awesome Pie. You can almost smell the polyester, mothballs and repression. But also, it's stunning design in my opinion. It makes sense. Honestly, it's something to behold.

I also adore all the retro advertising, poster and marketing campaigns for airline companies. BOAC, Dan Air, Braniff... There's some really beautiful artwork and graphics going on. It's a lot funkier and a lot less sterile than today.

My next few blogs are going to be airline specials. So if you don't like this:

Look away now...

Hack It Up

While at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, I 'adapted' someone's flyer, putting my subbing skills and calligraphy to good use. Luckily someone else knew them, and they thought it was funny.

Never has there been a better use for a Sainsbury's Gingerbread man. Unfailingly perky, he's a true ambassador for the plucky, posh and dim.

And he tastes excellent.

Chalk Ladies

I drew these ladies in chalk.

Shame I can't draw some more in cheese.

So the cliche is right. They really are that different...

BBC I love Thee

'You're such a sentimental old weirdo,' said my mum when I sent her this photo of the thoughtfully chosen screensaver for my new MacBook Pro.

Yes. I am both these things. The idea of the BBC computer intro screen juxtapositioned with a laptop that's more powerful than 1987 could ever have imagined, makes me rub my hands with glee, until they too become pixelated.

My mum is not so nostalgic. 'It reminds me of so many lost OU essays,' her forlorn text read. That makes me sad. I wish the BBC could have been better at looking after my loved ones. I, on the other hand, used it solely to write endless Nedso stories and play Podd; desperately hoping that one day I'd get him to poo or speak Japanese:

So I'm guessing she probably won't be jumping to accompany me to the next Vintage Computer Festival, then. Yes, you heard correctly. It's at Bletchley Park where the National Museum of Computing (yes, you may wet yourself with excitement) resides. Last year, they even had Twitter loaded onto a dusty 1982 ZXSpectrum. See, old and new, old and new. They think like me and I didn't even know they existed until today. And something else I learned: that the BBC Micro was responsible for the graphics in some Dr Who episodes, including the terrifying Five Doctors - one of my earliest memories.

I think this is all coming together rather nicely, and I should celebrate with a pilgrimage to the Computer History Museum in Mountain View, California. That's if I can get Podd to fly me there...

Nostalgic geek? Guilty. In the meantime, here is the BBC Computer Literacy Project Owl.

A spectacle of analogue fluff. The most impressive low-res animal of the Microcumputer-woodland. Hope he doesn't scare my mum too much. He's too cute to bring back bad memories, surely?

"Boo."

The "Dumpatron"

Inspired by a chat about Mr Dumpty. So many looks, Dumpatron. I love that they're mostly medieval or jester inspired. Hump is an egg. We all have at least one egg shaped relative. I'd love to meet someone called Humphrey Dumpty. Or even a genuine Humpty. Give me a shout, if that's you...

It's heartbreaking really. All he does is put his best clothes on. And then dies.

Life in brands

Ault

1940s America made real by George Ault. Quiet and slightly bleak. You can almost feel the wind stinging your cheek and hear the silence. Awesome.