Wednesday, 31 August 2011

august book and film review

BOOKS

DAVID COPPERFIELD, by Charles Dickens. A young boy is orphaned and finds himself in the clutches of 2 emotionally repressed martinets. But he escapes and carves his own path to success. Described by the great one himself as his favourite book (he cited Martin Chuzzlewit as his best, which is slightly different)and perhaps this is because it is also his most autobiographic. Dickens has a marvellous flair for character, as we see here with Mr Micauber, Uriah Heep and the perfectly hideous Murdstones. To me Dickens does not quite ascend the heights of Middlemarch or, say, Persuasion, but he is certainly a master of the story-telling art. Both my wife and my "tutor" Richard Gwyn suggest I should try Bleak House next- the perspective of time has now given it the mantle of his greatest creation. Come back to me next year on that one.
PUT ME BACK ON MY BIKE (In search of Tom Simpson), by Arthur Fotheringham. In his day Tommy Simpson was Britain's greatest ever racing cyclist. He may now have been eclipsed by Chris Hoy and Mark Cavendish, but Simpson will hold his place in history for his tragic end: dying of a combination of dehydration, heat-stroke and amphetamine intoxication on the cruel slopes of the Ventoux in the 1967 Tour de France. In a work of fine journalism, Fotheringham attempts, with some difficulty, to separate the man from the legend. A supremely driven man, clearly prepared to risk everything, even his life, in search of victory. Very readable.
BOY WITH A TRUMPET (short stories)by Rhys Davies. Having submitted 5 of my own short stories for this year's Rhys Davies Prize, I thought it only fair I should familiarise myself with the eponymous one. Also, call it a bit of a shiboleth, if you like. I found a number of good, if not absolutely brilliant, stories of Welsh life from the late 40s and 50s. The exception is the story which gives the book its name. This one, definitely the best, tells the story of an emotionally damaged young man whom a prostitute takes under her wing in the chaos of wartime London. This was deep, mysterious and evocative of an era in a way superior to anything I have written. Don't worry, though: I'm still working on it.
VULCAN 607, by Rowland White. As the Falklands are occupied by the Argentine military in April 1982, an audacious plan is hatched in London to bomb the only airstrip on the islands. Small problem: London is 8000 miles from Port Stanley, and the only aircraft that are capable of carrying out the mission are about to be mothballed. In order to achieve their aim, an elaborate system of in-flight re-fuelling must be devised, and if the slightest thing goes wrong, the planes won't make it home. On the front cover it states that Jeremy Clarkson loved it, which is scarcely a recommendation. However, the simplistic writing style, which reads a bit like Dan Brown writing non-fiction: short chapters, lots of italics, including whenever a character's thoughts are described. The result is highly addictive reading. I flashed through it in less than a week, though not as fast as Simon Winchester, who allegedly "read it at one sitting", which, as it is over 500 pages long, is quite an achievement. That, or the guy has way too much time on his hands...

FILMS

FINAL DESTINATION FIVE (3D) 2011, D- Steven Quale. A young man has a premonition of his awful demise and, along with some friends, manages to avoid his fate. But Death will not be denied his due... That's right, this latest offering in the highly successful franchise follows an identical format to all the others: pretty girls and personable young men meeting a variety of terrible and highly spectacular ends. The 3D effects were faintly interesting I suppose, though to me they just made it look like the whole thing had been shot under heavily overcast skies. Good for a wet bank holiday.
THE ANIMAL KINGDOM (2010)D- David Michod. A family of low-lives in Melbourne have their own twisted moral code, and when one of their number is shot by the police they swear terrible revenge. Really rather intelligent piece of cinema from Australia, which in itself is quite unusual. Guy Pearce, as usual, is strong and believable.
SHREK FOREVER AFTER (2010) D- Mike Mitchell. Shrek meets Rumplestiltskin, who does a "Wonderful Life" thing on him and shows him how the world would be if he had never been born. It isn't a pretty sight... Is it me, or is the Shrek thing getting a bit tired?
THE TAKING OF PELHAM 123 (remake, 2009) D- Tony Scott. A New York subway train is highjacked, not by terrorists, but by criminals out for a few million fast bucks. I know it's money that drives remakes like this, though I wish they wouldn't mess with perfectly good originals, like the one here, when the 1973 version with a very scary Robert Shaw constituted an excellent thriller. Tony Scott at least doesn't descend to the disgraceful ploy of doing a shot-for-shot remake as is the current fashion, and produces a creditable, if unnecessary, result.
COSH BOY (1952)D- Lewis Gilbert. A delectable 17-year-old Joan Collins falls for a nasty piece of work (a bit like Pinkie in Brighton Rock?) who attacks old ladies for their purses. Notable for the closing scene where the police arrive to arrest the little shit but then leave to allow his step father to give him a well deserved thrashing wi' his belt. I imagine the Daily Mail readers must have been cheering in the aisles.
MIX ME A PERSON (1962) D- Leslie Norman. Adam Faith finds himself railroaded for a murder he didn't commit, but Ann Baxter is determined to get him off. These quasi-socially-aware movies were the vogue around this time in Britain, but like Cosh Boy, suffers from stilted acting and not very good writing.
FUUNY GAMES (1997) D- Michael Haneke. A middle class German family spend the weekend in their remote holiday home. A couple of nice young men in tennis whites knock on their door, take over the house and begin to torture them, one by one... Absolutely terrifying essay in "how to make a horror film" by one of Germany's most talented film makers. I'm usuallly pretty cool about horror movies, but such was its authenticity I tell you I've never been nearer to hiding behind the sofa. Terrific stuff.

Tuesday, 30 August 2011

another expensive mistake

On Saturday night, still fizzing with our casino escapade (to say nothing of the can after can of red bull I had consumed in the course of the evening)I blew a candle out prior to my final collapse au lit.

However, I must have blown too forcefully, because liquid wax shot out in all directions, covering various objets d'art, but most disastrously, my glasses. It was immediately apparent that the hot wax had terminally damaged the coating on the lenses, fogging them like a window thick with condensation. Today I went to my opticians to order a replacement pair. They come in, I was told, at £195 each. Ouch!

Worse, I now have to endure the better part of a week with vision significantly reduced. My spare pair is an ancient prescription and of very little use to me now. I managed to wing this morning's surgery without anyone asking me if there was something wrong with my eyesight. Only another 5 sessions to get through and I'll be back to normal again. In the meantime, I hope no one shows me anything small to look at...

Monday, 29 August 2011

life's a gamble, then you're broke

One of the things our Palestinian friend really wanted to do while he was over here was to go to a casino, so on Saturday night we duly turned up at our city's premier gambling outlet.

I have never visited a casino, and my image of them is based largely on James Bond films, so I actually enquired whether I would require a DJ in order to secure entry. In the event, the only dress code was no trainers, and indeed, the place seemed peopled, not by urbane sophisticates with dazzling, jewel-bedecked blondes on their arms, but by a cross section of our city's low-lives and general scumbags.

I had decided in advance I would "spend" £100, giving the same amount to my wife. I had also decided on a "system" (all right, I know there's no such thing), namely the famous "Martingale" method which is applied to roulette. In this, a single unit is placed, say, on red. If it wins, a single unit is placed again on red. If it loses, the unit is doubled, and doubled again each time it loses until a win is secured, at which point a single unit is again placed. In theory it should work, though the system may require a big back-up of funds if there is a run of losses, because the doubling method very quickly stacks up. Especially in this case, where the minimum stake allowed on "evens" bets was £10. Then of course there is the small problem of the zero... In my case this was never a factor, because after only 3 spins of the wheel I was £70 down and unable to follow through, so I repaired to the blackjack table where my remaining £30 was clipped in less than 5 minutes. Neither Issa nor my wife fared any better, and after an hour we were skint, and down a total of £400.

They say you should never gamble more than you can afford to lose, and I at least managed to follow that axiom, but as an evening's diversion I can't say it's something I shall be repeating any time soon. If ever.

Tuesday, 23 August 2011

busy boy

A full day at work today, and another extra session on Thursday, with the same next week to cover partner's holidays, make it the busiest work schedule for me since my retirement. And to add to the strain, this morning I was told that as patients learn I am in work more often at the moment, literally dozens have been queuing up to see me specifically. Obviously this is a personal compliment, though somewhat of a mixed blessing as it only adds to the length of already packed surgeries.

And of course Murphy's Law also applies: namely, that the busier a surgery becomes, the more complex and difficult-to-solve problems occur with it. Like the man this morning complaining of sudden reduction of vision in 1 eye. Something about him makes me think he is lying; that he is fabricating his story in order to hustle his routine appointment at the eye clinic to investigate his allergic conjunctivitis. But you can't just sit there and accuse a patient of lying, so I arranged (with some difficulty) his emergency appointment. If he is making it up, they will work it out soon enough and send him packing. If not, then I will have done a good job.

Saturday, 20 August 2011

london: prospects changeable

Just home from 24 hours in the Great Wen with our Palestinian friend Issa in tow, who did a very good impression of the wide-eyed tourist. Carefully arranged to catch the sunrise, we rode the full circle in the London Eye, something we never would have contemplated without a guest. To be fair, it was actually a highly enjoyable touristic experience, especially when the dying sun caught the sides of several skyscrapers and set them aflame in a divine crimson hue.

One of his greatest fascinations in the week he has spent with us is the (for him) incredible variabilty in the weather, changing, as it has been doing, from brilliant sunshine to heavy rain as often as 4 times in an hour. Where he hails from, the weather is so predictable that it is rarely a subject for discussion and no one ever feels the need to catch a weather forecast.

Today, in sultry conditions, we visited at his specific request, London Zoo, a place I have not visited for nearly 50 years. My highlights: an incredible ant-lion in the insect house, and then, after the heavens opened and drenched animals and humans alike, a group of zebras sheltering shoulder to shoulder under a tiny lean-to. Sensible...

Tuesday, 16 August 2011

pelagius defeats palestinian champion!

In a stunning display of controlled power, or outrageous luck at least, I actually succeeded in taking a frame off my friend Issa. I should probably mention that he gives me 4 blacks start, he was breaking in a brand-new cue at the time, and I scored several quite remarkable flukes. Nonetheless, a win is a win, and I can feel justifiably proud of my minor achievement. In all fairness I should say that I played at my (miserable) best, scoring several breaks in the teens and playing some good safety shots too. So it wasn't a totally sham victory. I feel now, however, that he won't be giving me any more easy wins. He has his face to think of, after all, and we all know how important that is to an Arab...

Sunday, 14 August 2011

we're number 1!

Off to Heathrow yesterday to pick up our friend Issa who comes from Bethlehem on his first trip to Europe.
Today I enrolled him at our local snooker hall where he demonstrated why he has won the Palestinian Open 3 times. There is no doubting it; he is a class act, holing pots I would normally deem impossible. Roald Dahl once observed that he played snooker "for 30 years and got worse", and although I was a useful player in my youth, I haven't hit a shot in anger since my son, with whom I often played, died, nearly 5 years ago. Obviously I was rusty, but it was a highly enjoyable experience. And as he is due to stay with us for 3 weeks, it is one, I anticipate, that we shall repeat several times before he departs.

COMMENT

England's latest and decisive victory over India has placed us at the top of the world rankings, a first in my lifetime. I rate this as one of most illustrious sporting performances ever. How did we pull it off?
Asking a knowledgeable friend this question, he was reluctant to name individuals, preferring instead to pay tribute to the team as a whole, and how magnificently they have worked together. When pushed, he nominated Stauss's captaincy (reminding me that a cricket captain's job is far more crucial than that of almost any other team game)as being critical. Other players "mentioned in dispatches" included Alistair Cook, Jimmy Adamson and that extraordinary match-winner, Stuart Broad. But he also wanted to cite the vital role played by the coach Andy Flowers.
All I know is that the boys done us proud, and there should be knighthoods etc in the offing, and in abundance- I say you chaps: well done!

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

I predict a(nother) riot

COMMENT

If there was anything more revolting than seeing children looting JJB outlets before setting fire to them, it was Theresa May endlessly parroting the line devised by her masters, namely: "it's criminality, pure and simple, and these criminals will face the consequences of their actions."
I swear I heard her say this 9 times in a single 3 minute interview on radio 5.

In fact, she and the government have been so anxious to sell this line that I begin to feel they do not actually believe it themselves, and that the real cause is indeed the revenge of a disaffected youth railing against the further privations the latest round of Tory cuts has brought about in their lives. In which case I can only stand with them, at least in a moral sense, as they torch the emblems of a capitalist establishment that cares little for them or their kind.

Saturday, 6 August 2011

tragedy on Svalbard

COMMENT

Yesterday on Svalbard, a remote island north of the Arctic Circle, a hapless outward bound student was attacked and killed by a polar bear. It succeeded in badly mauling 4 other young people before it was eventually dispatched with a bullet.

The dead boy was 17. That's a rotten age to leave the world: you haven't really had a chance to live yet. And the parents, inconsolable in their loss.. "Who'd a thought he'd go that way", they must be puzzling.

But what happened really there? A party of young people, more or less a tourist group, is taken into the domain one of the most naturally aggressive animals in the world, and one who looks upon human beings as food sources. And at the height of the summer, when the sea ice is all but gone, the bears are nearing starvation. They must abandon the sea which is their normal habitat, and eke out their meagre existence on the unfamiliar, and in this one's case, dangerous, land.

I have a suggestion : in view of the environmental pressure those magnificent but beleaguered creatures are under, they should be left alone in their dwindling habitats as far as possible. And that means no more tourist groups of whatever description. It might help more people survive, and perhaps more bears too. We owe it to them, if we are to consider ourselves an advanced civilisation.

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

beurocracy gone mad dept.

On Monday I was asked to do an urgent house call on the way into surgery. Consequently I did not have the benefit of having her notes with me. Fortunately, as I knew her well they were not really necessary. Or so I thought.

On my arrival, having been let in by an elderly neighbour, I found a confused old lady, off her feet (a doctor's expression for being unable to walk) and, as she was living alone, completely unable to look after herself. I phoned the local hospital to arrange emergency admission, something I have done literally hundreds of times in the past. I gave the patients' details, then was asked to give the postcode of her house.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know it", I responded.
"Can't the patient supply it?"
"I'm afraid not. She's rather confused, you see, as I explained earlier."
"Well I'm sorry, doctor, but I can't send an ambulance out to you until I get a postcode."
I will admit that at this point I became a little testy.
"Oh really? So if the patient simply sits here at home and dies of neglect, I can tell the coroner's inquest that although I gave you the correct address, you wouldn't send an ambulance here because I didn't give you the postcode? How do you think that's going to look?"
"There's no need for you to adopt that tone of voice with me, doctor. I'm just doing me job as I've been trained to do."
It took a lot more persuading, cajoling and, eventually, abuse, before the operator accepted the admission. But before I put the phone down, I said:
"Thank you for that. I'm now going home to memorise the postcode of all 4000 of my patients. Goodbye."