BOOKS
THE CARRETA, by B Traven. A young Mexican Indian boy makes his painful way in the world; a world where only money and power matters, and he has neither. The first of Traven's "Jungle" series of novels set in Mexico. With their intense humanity and strong libertarian bias, this is a cracking little read, with a political message that is as relevant today as when it was written in the 1930s.
PAUL SIGNAC, 1863-1935, by various authors. This elegantly produced coffee table book was made to accompany a major retrospective of the Artist's work at MOMA in New York. Everyone knows about Georges Seurat, the founder of "pointillism", that artistic technique whereby the image is composed of little spots, or "points" of colour to produce a magical, nacreous effect. Less is known about his greatest admirer and emulator, a man who, following Seurat's untimely death in 1891, took up the baton of the "neo-impressionist" movement as it was also known, and produced a series of scintillatingly beautiful images in that style. But it's the usual thing with all these books: enjoy the pictures: the text is far less important.
THE CHINESE GOLD MURDERS, by Robert van Gulic. Judge Dee, a newly appointed magistrate in an 8th century Chinese provincial town, is faced with solving the murder of his predecessor. Van Gulic was a Dutch diplomat and scholar who spent his life in the Far East and became fascinated by this series of "Judge Dee" mystery stories he unearthed. He wrote several books where he adapted those ancient stories for a more modern audience, sticking to their format with only a few exceptions, like revealing the identity of the murderer at the end, rather than the beginning as was the medieval custom. Interesting stuff...
FILMS
LE CORBEAU (1943) D- George-Henri Clouzot. In a rural French village, someone is writing poison-pen letters to various dignitaries. The community all but tears itself apart trying to uncover the source. A mystery thriller which owes a debt to Hitchcock, even though it was relatively early in the latter's career. One wants to see it through to the end, but the journey is a slightly uneven ride.
WIN/WIN (2011) D- Thomas McCarthy. A struggling lawyer agrees to care for an elderly man, but dumps him in an old people's home and pockets the fee. Then someone finds out what he's doing. A sweet, low-profile little movie Hollywood is getting gradually better at, with the estimable Paul Giametti very strong (isn't he always?) in the lead.
PHILADELPHIA (1993) D-Jonathan Demme. A young lawyer tries to conceal his HIV status from hos employers. When they find out, he is fired. He then sues for wrongful dismissal. The film that made Tom Hanks a megastar (for better or worse; we haven't been able to get rid of him since) All the horror about AIDS looks a bit odd to us now, but the appallingly judgemental way those hapless individuals were treated at the time should not be forgotten.
PRIMARY COLORS (1998) D- Mike Nichols. An idealistic lawyer assists a presidential hopeful in his race to the White House, but finds he has feet of clay... Opens tremendously well, with Travolta at his best, but the last half-hour deflates alarmingly and leaves one slightly unsatisfied. Shame; it could have been a masterpiece.
NO GREATER LOVE (2010) D- Michael Whyte. The lives of a community of Carmelite nuns, living out their lives of silent prayer and contemplation. For 7 years Michael Whyte tried to persuade the Mother Superior of this Notting Hill nunnery to allow him to make this film. At last they relented and we are the winners, as we witness the slow, totally ordered lives of these brides of Christ. They reveal themselves (in the brief periods each day when they are allowed to speak) as highly intelligent, deeply pious and infinitely gentle human beings. The pace of the film reflects the pace of the community itself: slow, sedate and exuding a sense of perfect calm.
THE HOBBIT: AN UNEXPECTRED JOURNEY (2012) D- Peter Jackson. They're back! All your old favourites: Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel et al, set in a time sixty years before the LotR cycle, though oddly looking slightly older (how that?- Ed) and ready to fight ancient evils or whatever. I mean, it all looks splendid, but haven't we seen all this before somewhere? And how come they need three films to cover a book which isn't half the length of even one of the LotR books. The answer, I fear, is filthy lucre, and in this case I imagine, literally tons of the stuff. Just don't ask me to see the other two.
THE HUNGER GAMES (2012) D- Gary Ross. In a post-Apocalyptic world, a number of young people are brought together to fight to the death for the entertainment of the masses. Owing something to The Running Man, and rather more to the Japanese film Battle Royale, this film has gone down well with the "young people" and at one level I can see why- it is fast-paced, and features a strong leading woman in the shape of Jennifer Lawrence (Winter's Bone). But for me, the style is not to my taste:: the camera work is made to look like shaky hand-held work, and I couldn't help thinking after it had begun to make me feel faintly nauseous, they spent a fortune developing steady-cam technology, why would they leave it in the cupboard now?
DARK HORSE (2012) D- Ted Holonze. A geek who at 30 is still living at home and unhapplily working for his dad, thinks he can see a way out when a pretty girl appears to fall for him. But it ain't that easy...Another one of those acutely observed little set-pieces (like Greenberg) which as I pointed out in my review of Win/Win, is the kind of movie Hollywood is slowly learning to make and market successfully. Jordan Gelber is excellent as the overweight cuckoo in the nest.
TROUBLE IN PARADISE (1932) D- Ernst Lubitsch. (written by Sam Rafaelson) In high society Paris, a con artist and a pick-pocketess realise they can work together and maybe make a killing. Or maybe not... Now here we go! This is what I'm talking about! An absolutely stunning movie, funny sweet, clever, extremely saucy and with such innovative cinematography we are still seeing echoes of it in movies made today. Terrific.
Monday, 31 December 2012
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Review of my year
I take my cue today from history's greatest diarist, Samuel Pepys, who at the end of each year looked back over his exploits of the previous year.
I am about to complete my second year of retirement, though it has still felt quite busy for all that. I have worked a number of sessions for our out-of-hours service, covering the bank holidays (understandable; they pay double then), but I have now decided to cease my involvement with them as an initial step towards winding down my responsibilities. Two other practices in the city have been quite anxious to use my services, and over the past year I have averaged out one extra session per week above my 1 1/3 sessions I still work for my old practice. This has provided useful extra income to the Pelagius coffers, though one does wonder whether I really need the extra cash. My NHS pension is handsome by most standards, and perhaps I should start getting used to living on that alone before I decide to do so in January of 2016.
At home we have have installed a new shower in our bathroom, though the workmen have had to call back on numerous occasions to put right little faults that have developed. And the power remains disappointing. If only we had a shower as good as the average gog standard unit you find in even the cheapest motel in the States. Now that would be heaven!
I have completed my autobiography and am in the process of trying to get it published. No defintive offers have emerged as yet, but I am aware that this bit of the process can be a lot harder than writing the damn thing, so I'll keep trying and try to remain patient. If all else fails I'll publish on line, but I'm giving myself most of next year to approach publishers in the UK, and perhaps in the US too. You never know your luck...
Since the death in the summer of the second of two cats we acquired in 2008, in November we got two new kittens, a boisterous ginger tom called Rufus, and a rather more reserved calico cat called Matilda. They lighten our days with their chaotic antics. The last two cats we had, obtained from a cat rescue centre, must have been traumatised somehow before they arrived there. For weeks it was only possible to entice them from their hiding place behind the fridge with the promise of food. They ended up being able to relax, though they never learned to purr. By contrast, these two purr like lawnmowers at the slightest encouragement.
One of my friends made the helpful suggestion that, rather than getting cats we should adopt a child, but they clearly don't know me as well as they thought they did. She has been a semi-pro foster mum for years and is superb at her "job", even adopting one fully. But I couldn't take the stress of that kind of commitment, and my wife feels the same. I'm too old, too screwed up and far too selfish for that to work. So the cats it is. Let's hope they live a bit longer than the last two. When we lost Leon in July it was a shattering blow, bringing back all the feelings of loss from the death of my son. It was six years ago it is true, but the pain in many ways is as strong as it ever was.
We've had some good holidays this year; in Denmark (slightly marred by a viciously spasming back) and Sweden (when it had thankfully receded somewhat), in Paris in the Spring and a couple of fun weekends in London. But not many visits to the country, where we and everyone else has been hampered by one of the wettest years since the end of the last Ice Age. For Chrissakes, when's it going to fucking stop raining? Well at least we were never flooded, like thousands of others, many of whom were sold new houses built on floodplains. The builders didn't care; the government doesn't seem to care, so I guess they''ll go on being flooded next year too.
I wish you a dryer year in 2013, and a happier one too if you too have lost someone or something precious. Hey! The world didn't end, and that can't be bad. So let's go out next year and fulfil our potential as humans. Go for it people!
I am about to complete my second year of retirement, though it has still felt quite busy for all that. I have worked a number of sessions for our out-of-hours service, covering the bank holidays (understandable; they pay double then), but I have now decided to cease my involvement with them as an initial step towards winding down my responsibilities. Two other practices in the city have been quite anxious to use my services, and over the past year I have averaged out one extra session per week above my 1 1/3 sessions I still work for my old practice. This has provided useful extra income to the Pelagius coffers, though one does wonder whether I really need the extra cash. My NHS pension is handsome by most standards, and perhaps I should start getting used to living on that alone before I decide to do so in January of 2016.
At home we have have installed a new shower in our bathroom, though the workmen have had to call back on numerous occasions to put right little faults that have developed. And the power remains disappointing. If only we had a shower as good as the average gog standard unit you find in even the cheapest motel in the States. Now that would be heaven!
I have completed my autobiography and am in the process of trying to get it published. No defintive offers have emerged as yet, but I am aware that this bit of the process can be a lot harder than writing the damn thing, so I'll keep trying and try to remain patient. If all else fails I'll publish on line, but I'm giving myself most of next year to approach publishers in the UK, and perhaps in the US too. You never know your luck...
Since the death in the summer of the second of two cats we acquired in 2008, in November we got two new kittens, a boisterous ginger tom called Rufus, and a rather more reserved calico cat called Matilda. They lighten our days with their chaotic antics. The last two cats we had, obtained from a cat rescue centre, must have been traumatised somehow before they arrived there. For weeks it was only possible to entice them from their hiding place behind the fridge with the promise of food. They ended up being able to relax, though they never learned to purr. By contrast, these two purr like lawnmowers at the slightest encouragement.
One of my friends made the helpful suggestion that, rather than getting cats we should adopt a child, but they clearly don't know me as well as they thought they did. She has been a semi-pro foster mum for years and is superb at her "job", even adopting one fully. But I couldn't take the stress of that kind of commitment, and my wife feels the same. I'm too old, too screwed up and far too selfish for that to work. So the cats it is. Let's hope they live a bit longer than the last two. When we lost Leon in July it was a shattering blow, bringing back all the feelings of loss from the death of my son. It was six years ago it is true, but the pain in many ways is as strong as it ever was.
We've had some good holidays this year; in Denmark (slightly marred by a viciously spasming back) and Sweden (when it had thankfully receded somewhat), in Paris in the Spring and a couple of fun weekends in London. But not many visits to the country, where we and everyone else has been hampered by one of the wettest years since the end of the last Ice Age. For Chrissakes, when's it going to fucking stop raining? Well at least we were never flooded, like thousands of others, many of whom were sold new houses built on floodplains. The builders didn't care; the government doesn't seem to care, so I guess they''ll go on being flooded next year too.
I wish you a dryer year in 2013, and a happier one too if you too have lost someone or something precious. Hey! The world didn't end, and that can't be bad. So let's go out next year and fulfil our potential as humans. Go for it people!
Thursday, 27 December 2012
Worst Christmas ever?
The Big Day was different for us this year. We decided to take my wife's dad to church on Christmas morning, something I'm sure he must have done in an uninterrupted streak since early childhood. But the occasion was less joyeux and more les miserables. The choir outnumbered the bums on pews, and an atmosphere of doom and gloom lay heavy over the crib. Even the carol singing, tunes surely familiar to all of us, was lamentable, with my wife's and my voice clearly audible above the one or two others actually prepared to give voice. The vicar, God bless him, did his best to enliven the proceedings, but with little success. Is this how it is these days in the Protestant Church? I know church numbers have been steadily in recent years, but on Xmas Day?
Once we had given the FiL a snack ( he was looking forward to Christmas lunch with his fellow inmates at his OPH), we settled down for an afternoon and evening of dark depression. My wife was missing her late mum; I was missing my dad; we were both missing my late son and we both harboured a sort of impotent guilt about her dad, apparently happy, but who can say? in his OPH. So we hardly ate a thing (I eventually persuaded my wife to have a plate of beans on toast with little sausages wrapped in bacon plus grated cheese). I think the only thing that marginally lifted our spirits out of the gloom was watching a series of topical animated films: Raymond Briggs's marvellous "Father Christmas", "A Christmas Carol" and "The Snowman and the Snowdog" (based on Raymond Briggs's idea, but unfortunately clearly demonstrating his lack of direct involvement).
Things did not begin to improve till the arrival of Boxing Day, when we pulled ourselves together a little and went on a lengthy walk, choosing a brief window of opportunity between extended "pulses of rain" as the weather men like to say. My wife and I are similar in many ways: neither of us has the capacity to stay down for very long before we strengthen our resolve and resolutely cheer up. But my God, I'm glad it's over and we won't have to endure it for another 364 days. And for that, I give thanks to the Almighty.
Once we had given the FiL a snack ( he was looking forward to Christmas lunch with his fellow inmates at his OPH), we settled down for an afternoon and evening of dark depression. My wife was missing her late mum; I was missing my dad; we were both missing my late son and we both harboured a sort of impotent guilt about her dad, apparently happy, but who can say? in his OPH. So we hardly ate a thing (I eventually persuaded my wife to have a plate of beans on toast with little sausages wrapped in bacon plus grated cheese). I think the only thing that marginally lifted our spirits out of the gloom was watching a series of topical animated films: Raymond Briggs's marvellous "Father Christmas", "A Christmas Carol" and "The Snowman and the Snowdog" (based on Raymond Briggs's idea, but unfortunately clearly demonstrating his lack of direct involvement).
Things did not begin to improve till the arrival of Boxing Day, when we pulled ourselves together a little and went on a lengthy walk, choosing a brief window of opportunity between extended "pulses of rain" as the weather men like to say. My wife and I are similar in many ways: neither of us has the capacity to stay down for very long before we strengthen our resolve and resolutely cheer up. But my God, I'm glad it's over and we won't have to endure it for another 364 days. And for that, I give thanks to the Almighty.
Saturday, 22 December 2012
The Apocalypse: how was it for you?
Yesterday at 11.11, GMT, nothing happened. What did you expect? A mighty asteroid, a megatsunami, or perhaps a super-eruption? Get outa here. These are the stuff of life for the documentary channels, and they do actually happen- just not on cue because a few relentlessly persistent "doomsday preppers" say so.
I am now old enough to remember a number of these End-of-the-world predictions. The first was in 1975, when the Jehovah's Witnesses insisted the great Cleansing was imminent. It wasn't. The Millennium became a focal point for many doom-sayers; including as notable a luminary as Isaac Newton, who was apparently convinced it would mark the coming of Armageddon. Oops! Wrong again.
The end of the world won't come trumpeted. It will creep up on us without anyone noticing, and it will be our fault because we didn't take sufficient care of the spaceship we call home. Please God we can recognise the danger before the worst happens. Meanwhile, as we all still appear to be here, Happy Xmas!
I am now old enough to remember a number of these End-of-the-world predictions. The first was in 1975, when the Jehovah's Witnesses insisted the great Cleansing was imminent. It wasn't. The Millennium became a focal point for many doom-sayers; including as notable a luminary as Isaac Newton, who was apparently convinced it would mark the coming of Armageddon. Oops! Wrong again.
The end of the world won't come trumpeted. It will creep up on us without anyone noticing, and it will be our fault because we didn't take sufficient care of the spaceship we call home. Please God we can recognise the danger before the worst happens. Meanwhile, as we all still appear to be here, Happy Xmas!
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Danny Boyle: class act
After Danny Boyle's astonishing triumph at the opening ceremony of the London Olympics, I blogged to the effect that he should immediately be knighted for his sterling service to the nation. Now it emerges that he has stated that he would turn down such an honour if offered it. His argument is that the message of the ceremony was that the British nation is composed of a community of equals, and that it would be wrong to artificially place himself above others by accepting a knighthood.
A few years ago Benjamin Zephaniah turned down an MBE with the comment that he felt uncomfortable about accepting any title that had the word "Empire" in it, for self-evident reasons. The islands of the Caribbean, let's face it, have more reason than most to regret there ever was such a thing as a British Empire. Later I read a piece by Yasmin Alabi Brown in which she admitted that on hearing these sentiments, she now had to think carefully whether she would continue to hold onto her own gong (an MBE I think) I wonder if, like the Beatles, she gave hers back in the event. I also admired Jon Snow enormously when he turned one down on the grounds that as a journalist he had to stay objective, and that accepting an honour from the State would place him firmly in their camp.
There are lots of things wrong with the honours system in this country, from the awarding of honours to civil service hacks who have done little other than do their jobs efficiently and avoid embarrassing the government in any way, to the awarding of honours to pop stars who have caught the public ear this year, but will be forgotten the next.
But is this sour grapes? Would I turn down an honour, in the extremely unlikely event I was offered one? As someone who has professed anarchic views since his teens, it would be a tad hypocritical to say the least.Tell you what. Arrange to give me one and we'll see if I'm as good as my principles.
Finally, back to Danny Boyle. OK, he won't be a knight of the realm, but I think we can agree on one thing: after what he's achieved, he can't get arrested any more.
A few years ago Benjamin Zephaniah turned down an MBE with the comment that he felt uncomfortable about accepting any title that had the word "Empire" in it, for self-evident reasons. The islands of the Caribbean, let's face it, have more reason than most to regret there ever was such a thing as a British Empire. Later I read a piece by Yasmin Alabi Brown in which she admitted that on hearing these sentiments, she now had to think carefully whether she would continue to hold onto her own gong (an MBE I think) I wonder if, like the Beatles, she gave hers back in the event. I also admired Jon Snow enormously when he turned one down on the grounds that as a journalist he had to stay objective, and that accepting an honour from the State would place him firmly in their camp.
There are lots of things wrong with the honours system in this country, from the awarding of honours to civil service hacks who have done little other than do their jobs efficiently and avoid embarrassing the government in any way, to the awarding of honours to pop stars who have caught the public ear this year, but will be forgotten the next.
But is this sour grapes? Would I turn down an honour, in the extremely unlikely event I was offered one? As someone who has professed anarchic views since his teens, it would be a tad hypocritical to say the least.Tell you what. Arrange to give me one and we'll see if I'm as good as my principles.
Finally, back to Danny Boyle. OK, he won't be a knight of the realm, but I think we can agree on one thing: after what he's achieved, he can't get arrested any more.
Saturday, 15 December 2012
Got everything ready for the end of the world? (sorry, I mean, Christmas)
According to the Discovery channel, the world will end next Friday. Apparently that's when the 5000 year Mayan calendar runs out, so those rumours of the Apocalypse must be right, right? Wrong. We don't even know they meant that they believed the world was going to end then. I've got a calendar which predicts (accurately this time) solar eclipses up until the year 3000. Will future seers look at that and infer the world is going to end in the year 3001? Only if they're idiots.
As the redoubtable Mitch Benn said on "The Now Show" last night, if the Mayans were so good at predicting the future, how come there are no Mayans around now? Clearly they didn't see all those droughts, pestilences and Conquistadors coming. And neither can we. We don't know what's coming next, and indeed, that's half the fun of living: we just have to wait and see what happens. We can anticipate to some extent, which is why we're advised to get a pension sorted while we're young, just in case we live long enough to need one. Otherwise it's all a bit of a lottery.
The Mayans may have chosen this years winter solstice to finish their calendar for a less apocalyptic, but nonetheless important reason. It marks a very special astronomical event, and one that the Mayans must have had extraordinary skill to be aware of: the day marks the alignment of the galactic core with the sunrise on the winter solstice. This only occurs once every 26,000 years, and to predict it the Mayans must have been aware of the phenomenon of the precession of the equinoxes, that is to say the wobble in the Earth's axis. The fact that they worked this out is a huge tribute to their amazing mathematical and astronomical abilities.
As for Xmas, we've got our Christmas dinner planned already, and because a) my mum will be in London and b) my father-in-law is having his dinner at his OPH, we shall be having what we always said we would when we were free to do so: beans on toast, with grated cheese on top. That's if we're not all dead, of course.
Good luck with your festive plans.
As the redoubtable Mitch Benn said on "The Now Show" last night, if the Mayans were so good at predicting the future, how come there are no Mayans around now? Clearly they didn't see all those droughts, pestilences and Conquistadors coming. And neither can we. We don't know what's coming next, and indeed, that's half the fun of living: we just have to wait and see what happens. We can anticipate to some extent, which is why we're advised to get a pension sorted while we're young, just in case we live long enough to need one. Otherwise it's all a bit of a lottery.
The Mayans may have chosen this years winter solstice to finish their calendar for a less apocalyptic, but nonetheless important reason. It marks a very special astronomical event, and one that the Mayans must have had extraordinary skill to be aware of: the day marks the alignment of the galactic core with the sunrise on the winter solstice. This only occurs once every 26,000 years, and to predict it the Mayans must have been aware of the phenomenon of the precession of the equinoxes, that is to say the wobble in the Earth's axis. The fact that they worked this out is a huge tribute to their amazing mathematical and astronomical abilities.
As for Xmas, we've got our Christmas dinner planned already, and because a) my mum will be in London and b) my father-in-law is having his dinner at his OPH, we shall be having what we always said we would when we were free to do so: beans on toast, with grated cheese on top. That's if we're not all dead, of course.
Good luck with your festive plans.
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
Project mercury update
In my previous blog I made mention of my dawn raid on planet Mercury. I said how it had failed this time, but it turns out I was wrong.
I did see it; in the sense that I spent some time staring at the right portion of the sky, and also observing it through a pair of high quality Leitz 7x42 night-glasses.. Therefore I can say with certainty that photons steaming from the sun had bounced off its ancient, cast- iron surface and were for a number of seconds directly impinging on my retinae. Obviously it was a trifle unfortunate that my eyes were no longer sharp enough to register anything at the time. Indeed, I only know of my "siting" now because I have had a chance to study and magnify the images I captured on the ground.. Idly scanning the pictures on higher magnification, I found one little star, very faintly pink, hovering just below the crescent moon.
A brief scan of the net confirmed it was the genuine article, in precisely the correct spot according to the star charts for this morning.
It is a bit of a shame that Mercury can no longer be classified as a "naked eye object" in my case , but that is the way of things. My eyes have never been that good: I had to be fitted with a pair of specs to correct my myopia at the age of ten. But the spectacles did at least restore my vision to "normal", or average. Until 2 years ago, that is, when I realised that my latest prescription; giving me the best vision possible, was no longer good enough. It was an unpleasant moment, which I have to say caused a little spasm of consternation to run through me.
Now I've begun to get over myself about my slowly fading vision. There are worse things. And besides, I've always believed that the greatest telescope, offering the greatest images, can be found inside the mind. I can never go to the Moon. No one can ever go inside a black hole, or linger near a supernova. But in my mind I can do all this and more. Sit on a photon say, or wink at a quark. And what I can't see with my naked eye, I'll just magnify till I can.
I did see it; in the sense that I spent some time staring at the right portion of the sky, and also observing it through a pair of high quality Leitz 7x42 night-glasses.. Therefore I can say with certainty that photons steaming from the sun had bounced off its ancient, cast- iron surface and were for a number of seconds directly impinging on my retinae. Obviously it was a trifle unfortunate that my eyes were no longer sharp enough to register anything at the time. Indeed, I only know of my "siting" now because I have had a chance to study and magnify the images I captured on the ground.. Idly scanning the pictures on higher magnification, I found one little star, very faintly pink, hovering just below the crescent moon.
A brief scan of the net confirmed it was the genuine article, in precisely the correct spot according to the star charts for this morning.
It is a bit of a shame that Mercury can no longer be classified as a "naked eye object" in my case , but that is the way of things. My eyes have never been that good: I had to be fitted with a pair of specs to correct my myopia at the age of ten. But the spectacles did at least restore my vision to "normal", or average. Until 2 years ago, that is, when I realised that my latest prescription; giving me the best vision possible, was no longer good enough. It was an unpleasant moment, which I have to say caused a little spasm of consternation to run through me.
Now I've begun to get over myself about my slowly fading vision. There are worse things. And besides, I've always believed that the greatest telescope, offering the greatest images, can be found inside the mind. I can never go to the Moon. No one can ever go inside a black hole, or linger near a supernova. But in my mind I can do all this and more. Sit on a photon say, or wink at a quark. And what I can't see with my naked eye, I'll just magnify till I can.
Farewell Patrick Moore
Like almost everyone with the slightest interest in the skies, Patrick Moore is an important part of my life. I have memories of him going back to the 60s, when his wit, asperity and scintillating intelligence shone as brightly as a supernova. He was always interested in what you could see with the naked eye or a pair of binoculars, making the discipline of astronomy come alive for ordinary folks without access to a powerful telescope.
I met him once, when he was on his way to Mexico to see the great Solar Eclipse of 1991, and he was every bit as good a raconteur as you might have expected- until he got onto politics, when one suddenly discovered his views were rabidly right wing.
He really only made one mistake in his professional life: when he forecast that Shoemaker-Levy 9 would be a damp squib, "like firing a peashooter at a rhinoceros", I think he said. In the event of course, the impact of that comet into Jupiter was one of the most stunning events of the 20th century. Well, no one gets it right every time.
Patrick should be remembered, not just for his popularisation of astronomy (the "David Attenborough of the skies" you might say), but for the fact that he was a foremost example of that rare breed: the Great British Eccentric. We have few enough of those as it is, and now we have lost one our greatest.
This morning, taking his last piece of advice offered in his last "The Sky at Night" programme last week, I rose before dawn to attempt a view of Mercury rising before the sun. I failed this time, but I will have another chance before too long. Patrick has had his last chance, but he won't be too worried: he's seen so much.
I met him once, when he was on his way to Mexico to see the great Solar Eclipse of 1991, and he was every bit as good a raconteur as you might have expected- until he got onto politics, when one suddenly discovered his views were rabidly right wing.
He really only made one mistake in his professional life: when he forecast that Shoemaker-Levy 9 would be a damp squib, "like firing a peashooter at a rhinoceros", I think he said. In the event of course, the impact of that comet into Jupiter was one of the most stunning events of the 20th century. Well, no one gets it right every time.
Patrick should be remembered, not just for his popularisation of astronomy (the "David Attenborough of the skies" you might say), but for the fact that he was a foremost example of that rare breed: the Great British Eccentric. We have few enough of those as it is, and now we have lost one our greatest.
This morning, taking his last piece of advice offered in his last "The Sky at Night" programme last week, I rose before dawn to attempt a view of Mercury rising before the sun. I failed this time, but I will have another chance before too long. Patrick has had his last chance, but he won't be too worried: he's seen so much.
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
Behold the new crusader castles
Nine hundred years they came to the Holy Land: bands of robber barons with their private armies, intent on dominion and plunder. They gained the high ground, and there they built their fortresses of stone, and from their redoubts they would sally forth, looting and killing at will. Profit and land were their motives; only secondary was their professed desire to free Jerusalem from the hated Musselman.
Today the castles are back. All over the West Bank you can see them: cities of whitewashed concrete huddled on the hilltops. The locals are not welcome there, unless of course they have been contracted to work, enticed by better wages than they could obtain in their home towns. And like the crusaders, the Israeli settlers are not content to stay inside their fortresses. Regularly they come down onto Palestinian land, burning their olive groves (the ones they have not already stolen and placed out of their reach behind the Great Wall) or pour oil or foul sewage water over them. The effect is the same: the locals are deprived of their means of making a living from their land, what little they have left.
Just outside Bethlehem there is a huge development, housing thousands of Israelis, and following Israel's "defeat" at the UN last week, the government, in an extraordinary fit of diplomatic pique, ordered a huge expansion of this settlement, which will effectively cut Palestine in half. Already the half-hour journey from Bethlehem to Palestine's "capital" Ramallah has turned into a 2 or even 3 hour drive, because of the continual interdiction with checkpoints and roadblocks, set by the Israelis. If the new plans are realised, the journey will become practically impossible, and Palestine will have been severed in two.
But has Israel gone too far this time? Around the world there has been categorical condemnation of its latest, vengeful move (which includes withholding $75 million of tax revenues that was due to the Palestinian Authority; money that impoverished region desperately needs). Even the UK, Israel's avowed "friend", has expressed its strong disapproval. Israel's motive is clear: they want to provoke another Intifada, or protest, a protest they can use to say to the world: Do you see what we're up against? A group of terrorists, intent on destroying the Jewish race, and one we must subdue to ensure our own survival.
This time the world may not be fooled by this strategy of lies. Perhaps the time is approaching when even the US says enough is enough, and refuses to support Israel in everything it does. And when that happens, just like South Africa, it won't be long before the injustice is exposed for what it is, and freedom returns once again to the Holy Land.
Today the castles are back. All over the West Bank you can see them: cities of whitewashed concrete huddled on the hilltops. The locals are not welcome there, unless of course they have been contracted to work, enticed by better wages than they could obtain in their home towns. And like the crusaders, the Israeli settlers are not content to stay inside their fortresses. Regularly they come down onto Palestinian land, burning their olive groves (the ones they have not already stolen and placed out of their reach behind the Great Wall) or pour oil or foul sewage water over them. The effect is the same: the locals are deprived of their means of making a living from their land, what little they have left.
Just outside Bethlehem there is a huge development, housing thousands of Israelis, and following Israel's "defeat" at the UN last week, the government, in an extraordinary fit of diplomatic pique, ordered a huge expansion of this settlement, which will effectively cut Palestine in half. Already the half-hour journey from Bethlehem to Palestine's "capital" Ramallah has turned into a 2 or even 3 hour drive, because of the continual interdiction with checkpoints and roadblocks, set by the Israelis. If the new plans are realised, the journey will become practically impossible, and Palestine will have been severed in two.
But has Israel gone too far this time? Around the world there has been categorical condemnation of its latest, vengeful move (which includes withholding $75 million of tax revenues that was due to the Palestinian Authority; money that impoverished region desperately needs). Even the UK, Israel's avowed "friend", has expressed its strong disapproval. Israel's motive is clear: they want to provoke another Intifada, or protest, a protest they can use to say to the world: Do you see what we're up against? A group of terrorists, intent on destroying the Jewish race, and one we must subdue to ensure our own survival.
This time the world may not be fooled by this strategy of lies. Perhaps the time is approaching when even the US says enough is enough, and refuses to support Israel in everything it does. And when that happens, just like South Africa, it won't be long before the injustice is exposed for what it is, and freedom returns once again to the Holy Land.
Sunday, 2 December 2012
A Weekend with the nutters
My wife and I have a problem shared with millions of people up and down the country: dealing with the Alzheimer's epidemic. The following account is typical of little dramas playing out throughout the developed world.
Yesterday I went to see my father-in-law,who is now living an OPH specialising in EMI (Elderly Mentally Infirm). He shares his new home with 30 other, more or less similarly disabled EMI cases. Some appear to be "high functioning" and can carry on apparently rational conversations, though they tend to break down on more detailed questioning. Others are much worse: one old lady wanders the rooms constantly, whimpering quietly to herself whilst hugging a grimy plastic dolly. On this occasion I could find no good reason not to walk him the 400 metres back to our house for a cup of coffee. We know he is likely to empty his bladder at any moment, and keep a careful watch on him for suspicious signs of imminent urination. But I was not in time to prevent him hawking up a gobbet of phlegm and launching it on to a rather fine Indian silk rug in our living room. Instinctively I remonstrated with him, reminding him thatit is not customary to spit on the cartpet in someone's home. And my first, rather uncharitable thought was, well, I shan't be inviting you back home again any time soon.
Then in the afternoon I received a call from my mum's carers, who found her nauseous and faint. This is a classical behaviour mode of hers every time she is worried about anything; this time I think it is her upcoming visit to London where she will spend Xmas with my brother. Or it could be the antibiotics she was given the other day for a urinary infection. Whatever. Anyway, we drove the 30 miles to her place and found an anti- nausea drug in one of her drawers and persuaded her to take it As usual it worked fairly quickly. While we were there we found that her upstairs toilet seat had broken, this despite the fact that I replaced thesame seat only a few months ago. What is she doing? One thing is for sure: she can't tell us. Although she is perhaps 2 years behind my FiL in terms of memory loss and is still (just) able to live at home independently (though requiring a care package to enable that), she is still completely unable to account for what happened five minutes ago.
The fact is that if one you lose your short term memory, your life is shattered. And throughout the world, more and more people are living long enough for this disaster to befall. It could happen to you. It could happen to me. And don't think being intelligent to start with, or doing lots of "brain training" is going to help you. All you can hope is that you stay lucky. Good luck with that.
Yesterday I went to see my father-in-law,who is now living an OPH specialising in EMI (Elderly Mentally Infirm). He shares his new home with 30 other, more or less similarly disabled EMI cases. Some appear to be "high functioning" and can carry on apparently rational conversations, though they tend to break down on more detailed questioning. Others are much worse: one old lady wanders the rooms constantly, whimpering quietly to herself whilst hugging a grimy plastic dolly. On this occasion I could find no good reason not to walk him the 400 metres back to our house for a cup of coffee. We know he is likely to empty his bladder at any moment, and keep a careful watch on him for suspicious signs of imminent urination. But I was not in time to prevent him hawking up a gobbet of phlegm and launching it on to a rather fine Indian silk rug in our living room. Instinctively I remonstrated with him, reminding him thatit is not customary to spit on the cartpet in someone's home. And my first, rather uncharitable thought was, well, I shan't be inviting you back home again any time soon.
Then in the afternoon I received a call from my mum's carers, who found her nauseous and faint. This is a classical behaviour mode of hers every time she is worried about anything; this time I think it is her upcoming visit to London where she will spend Xmas with my brother. Or it could be the antibiotics she was given the other day for a urinary infection. Whatever. Anyway, we drove the 30 miles to her place and found an anti- nausea drug in one of her drawers and persuaded her to take it As usual it worked fairly quickly. While we were there we found that her upstairs toilet seat had broken, this despite the fact that I replaced thesame seat only a few months ago. What is she doing? One thing is for sure: she can't tell us. Although she is perhaps 2 years behind my FiL in terms of memory loss and is still (just) able to live at home independently (though requiring a care package to enable that), she is still completely unable to account for what happened five minutes ago.
The fact is that if one you lose your short term memory, your life is shattered. And throughout the world, more and more people are living long enough for this disaster to befall. It could happen to you. It could happen to me. And don't think being intelligent to start with, or doing lots of "brain training" is going to help you. All you can hope is that you stay lucky. Good luck with that.
Friday, 30 November 2012
November book and film review
BOOKS
NORTH AND SOUTH, by Mrs (Elizabeth) Gaskell. An Anglican priest has a crisis of conscience, leaves his parish and takes his family from the leafy south to the dark Satanic mills of a northern town.
Mrs Gaskell was a colleague of Dickens, who regarded her as his slightly less talented kid sister. However, to be only slightly less talented than Charles Dickens is still to be very talented indeed, and in this book we see her literary skills displayed superbly. Her story of a beautiful young girl, uprooted from her origins and making her way in the unfamiliar grime and poverty of the North is as good a tale as you'll find in 19th century literature. And like Dickens, it is clear Mrs G also has an acute social sense.
THINGS FALL APART, by Chinwa Achebe. Life proceeds in a remote Nigerian village as it has for thousands of years, until the arrival of the White Man, who is determined to impose his religion and social values on the people, however unwelcome they may be.
An astounding piece of writing, the first, and perhaps the greatest of novels written in English by African writers. The reader is transported into the remote bush so vividly one can almost taste the dust and smell the woodsmoke and fragrant spices lingering in the air. A really terrific book.
THE OPTIMIST'S DAUGHTER, by Eudora Welty. An ageing judge goes to hospital for an eye operation, but there are complications, and he dies. Left behind are his young widow and his daughter. Unsurprisingly they don't get on... Eudora Welty was one of America's leading literary figures, winning many accolades including a Pulitzer Prize in a long and glittering career. She isn't that well known in Europe however, which is perhaps our loss. This tale of nostalgia and ennui has a brilliantly subtle emotional core, and is clearly drafted by a master wordsmith.
FILMS
FATA MORGANA (1969) D- Werner Herzog. A series of images depicting mirages (the alternate name for Fata Morgana) are shown, accompanied by a soundtrack of Mayan creation and destruction myths. Werner Herzog is on the shortlist for greatest living director, but unfortunately this film is lamentable. The filmed sequences are too repetitive and frankly not interesting enough, while the soundtrack was to my ears more annoying than moving. This film came as an extra to the really outstanding documentary "Lessons of Darkness"- which with its extraordinary sequences of the burning oil wells in Kuwait in 1991 is one of the most powerful anti-war tracts made in the last thirty years.This, on the other hand, you could safely do without watching.
ATTACK THE BLOCK (2011) D- Joe Cornish. Vampire aliens invade Earth, but most unwisely choose a sink estate in East London as their starting point. Sort of Shaun of the Dead meets Independence Day, but with a harder, grittier edge than either of those films,it is also extremely funny; indeed I would call it comedy of the year. See it. Without delay.
SILENT LIGHT (2008) D- Carlos Peygadas. Families living in a Mexican Mennonite community appear on the surface to live pious, exemplary lives. But deep down they are only people, with the same failings as the rest of us. A sensitive, highly accomplished piece, offering valuable insights into that flawed being known as homo sapiens.
PARTIE DE CAMPAGNE (A Day in the Country) (1936) D- Jean Renoir. Based on a short story by Maupassant. Two young women go on a picnic in the countryside outside Paris, where they meet two attractive young men. They pair off and one couple falls desperately in love. However, years later we find the girl in question has not married the love of her life...
This begins so well one feels one is witnessing a masterpiece. But Renoir fled to the US before it was finished, and the ending was cobbled together by other hands. The result is a terribly unsatisfactory ending. A great shame.
WHERE DO WE GO NOW? (2011) D- Nadine Labaki. The women of an Arab village, where Muslims and Christians are in a constant state of conflict go to extraordinary lengths to keep them from fighting, even to the point of hiring a crew of Ukrainian hookers to keep them diverted. It's a clever idea, but the execution is disappointing. The style is uncertain, as if they didn't know quite how to play it.
IN TIME (2011) D- Andrew Niccoll. They say time is money, and in a future world, time has become currency. Everyone is allotted 25 years; after that we have to pay up or die. A plot idea reminiscent of "Logan's Run" this film has the look and feel of "Inception", and actually has several good things about it, though I remain unconvinced by Justin Timberlake in the lead role. His co-star Amanda Seyfried looks delectable however.
WILD ORCHID (1989) D- Zalman King. A pretty lawyer becomes caught up in the web of a lecherous billionaire. A truly appalling piece of crap, with Mickey Rourke as the tycoon enjoying himself hugely at our expense, and all round abysmally bad acting, writing and direction. In particular, Jacqueline Bisset is forced (please tell me she was forced) into one of the worst cameo performances ever seen on screen.
BODY HEAT (1981) D- Lawrence Kasdan. A down at heel lawyer (William Hurt) falls for a beautiful, but married woman (Kathleen Turner) and events take a dark turn when she suggests he murders her hubbie. A remake of "The Postman Always Rings Twice" or is it "Double Indemnity"? but in the event only a pale copy of either of those 40s classics.
SKYFALL (20120 D- Sam Mendes. An ageing James Bond is forcibly retired, but you can't keep a good man down... You might have anticipated something special with a Bond movie made by the golden boy of British cinema, and it does turn out to be a different, and superior offering from any of the Bonds in the last 30-odd years. The plot is tight, and there is a lot of good characterisation. (though I could have done without Javier Bardem's absurd haircut) And at least we've got rid of John Cleese playing "Q". My best moment: when someone sums up Bond's character by saying "Rebellious, anti-authoritarian personality due to childhood trauma" and I thought, that could be me they're talking about...
FIVE BROKEN CAMERAS P-D- Ermad Burnat. Since the segregation wall was built across their land in 2005, a village in the West Bank has held a non-violent protest at the wall every week. And an amateur film maker has been there at every one, chronicling the action. And in that time, five of his cameras have been destroyed by the army. A deeply moving document, heartbreaking actually, which vividly demonstrates the oppression and persecution enacted by an inhuman Israeli occupation force against a group of peace-loving people who are determined only to live their own lives free of harassment. Brilliant.
MYSTIC RIVER (2003) D- Clint Eastwood. An ex-con's teenage daughter is found murdered, and, mad with grief, he will stop at nothing to find the culprit. From his days as Rowdy Yates in "Waggon Train" in the 1950s, through the Sergio Leone years as the Man With No Name, Clint has gradually grown in stature until he has now reached the status of one of Hollywood's finest film makers. And here he has perhaps approached his zenith in a sensitively made and superbly acted tail of childhood lost and pointless revenge. As the two principle protagonists, Sean Penn and Tim Robbins both received well deserved Oscars for their splendid performances.
THE PASSENGER (1975) D- Michaelangelo Antonioni. Somewhere in the Western Desert, a journalist meets a gun-runner. When the latter dies of natural causes, the journo (Jack Nicholson) decides for reasons that are never made clear, to adopt his identity. He even sells arms as his adopted role demands, but when he doesn't deliver things get a bit nasty. Some have described this as Antonioni's best film, and certainly it has a strange, dreamy quality which produces a rather hypnotic effect. Maria Schneider (you remember her in "Last Tango in Paris") is also strong as the girl Nicholson randomly hooks up with. Excellent, thoughtful stuff.
NORTH AND SOUTH, by Mrs (Elizabeth) Gaskell. An Anglican priest has a crisis of conscience, leaves his parish and takes his family from the leafy south to the dark Satanic mills of a northern town.
Mrs Gaskell was a colleague of Dickens, who regarded her as his slightly less talented kid sister. However, to be only slightly less talented than Charles Dickens is still to be very talented indeed, and in this book we see her literary skills displayed superbly. Her story of a beautiful young girl, uprooted from her origins and making her way in the unfamiliar grime and poverty of the North is as good a tale as you'll find in 19th century literature. And like Dickens, it is clear Mrs G also has an acute social sense.
THINGS FALL APART, by Chinwa Achebe. Life proceeds in a remote Nigerian village as it has for thousands of years, until the arrival of the White Man, who is determined to impose his religion and social values on the people, however unwelcome they may be.
An astounding piece of writing, the first, and perhaps the greatest of novels written in English by African writers. The reader is transported into the remote bush so vividly one can almost taste the dust and smell the woodsmoke and fragrant spices lingering in the air. A really terrific book.
THE OPTIMIST'S DAUGHTER, by Eudora Welty. An ageing judge goes to hospital for an eye operation, but there are complications, and he dies. Left behind are his young widow and his daughter. Unsurprisingly they don't get on... Eudora Welty was one of America's leading literary figures, winning many accolades including a Pulitzer Prize in a long and glittering career. She isn't that well known in Europe however, which is perhaps our loss. This tale of nostalgia and ennui has a brilliantly subtle emotional core, and is clearly drafted by a master wordsmith.
FILMS
FATA MORGANA (1969) D- Werner Herzog. A series of images depicting mirages (the alternate name for Fata Morgana) are shown, accompanied by a soundtrack of Mayan creation and destruction myths. Werner Herzog is on the shortlist for greatest living director, but unfortunately this film is lamentable. The filmed sequences are too repetitive and frankly not interesting enough, while the soundtrack was to my ears more annoying than moving. This film came as an extra to the really outstanding documentary "Lessons of Darkness"- which with its extraordinary sequences of the burning oil wells in Kuwait in 1991 is one of the most powerful anti-war tracts made in the last thirty years.This, on the other hand, you could safely do without watching.
ATTACK THE BLOCK (2011) D- Joe Cornish. Vampire aliens invade Earth, but most unwisely choose a sink estate in East London as their starting point. Sort of Shaun of the Dead meets Independence Day, but with a harder, grittier edge than either of those films,it is also extremely funny; indeed I would call it comedy of the year. See it. Without delay.
SILENT LIGHT (2008) D- Carlos Peygadas. Families living in a Mexican Mennonite community appear on the surface to live pious, exemplary lives. But deep down they are only people, with the same failings as the rest of us. A sensitive, highly accomplished piece, offering valuable insights into that flawed being known as homo sapiens.
PARTIE DE CAMPAGNE (A Day in the Country) (1936) D- Jean Renoir. Based on a short story by Maupassant. Two young women go on a picnic in the countryside outside Paris, where they meet two attractive young men. They pair off and one couple falls desperately in love. However, years later we find the girl in question has not married the love of her life...
This begins so well one feels one is witnessing a masterpiece. But Renoir fled to the US before it was finished, and the ending was cobbled together by other hands. The result is a terribly unsatisfactory ending. A great shame.
WHERE DO WE GO NOW? (2011) D- Nadine Labaki. The women of an Arab village, where Muslims and Christians are in a constant state of conflict go to extraordinary lengths to keep them from fighting, even to the point of hiring a crew of Ukrainian hookers to keep them diverted. It's a clever idea, but the execution is disappointing. The style is uncertain, as if they didn't know quite how to play it.
IN TIME (2011) D- Andrew Niccoll. They say time is money, and in a future world, time has become currency. Everyone is allotted 25 years; after that we have to pay up or die. A plot idea reminiscent of "Logan's Run" this film has the look and feel of "Inception", and actually has several good things about it, though I remain unconvinced by Justin Timberlake in the lead role. His co-star Amanda Seyfried looks delectable however.
WILD ORCHID (1989) D- Zalman King. A pretty lawyer becomes caught up in the web of a lecherous billionaire. A truly appalling piece of crap, with Mickey Rourke as the tycoon enjoying himself hugely at our expense, and all round abysmally bad acting, writing and direction. In particular, Jacqueline Bisset is forced (please tell me she was forced) into one of the worst cameo performances ever seen on screen.
BODY HEAT (1981) D- Lawrence Kasdan. A down at heel lawyer (William Hurt) falls for a beautiful, but married woman (Kathleen Turner) and events take a dark turn when she suggests he murders her hubbie. A remake of "The Postman Always Rings Twice" or is it "Double Indemnity"? but in the event only a pale copy of either of those 40s classics.
SKYFALL (20120 D- Sam Mendes. An ageing James Bond is forcibly retired, but you can't keep a good man down... You might have anticipated something special with a Bond movie made by the golden boy of British cinema, and it does turn out to be a different, and superior offering from any of the Bonds in the last 30-odd years. The plot is tight, and there is a lot of good characterisation. (though I could have done without Javier Bardem's absurd haircut) And at least we've got rid of John Cleese playing "Q". My best moment: when someone sums up Bond's character by saying "Rebellious, anti-authoritarian personality due to childhood trauma" and I thought, that could be me they're talking about...
FIVE BROKEN CAMERAS P-D- Ermad Burnat. Since the segregation wall was built across their land in 2005, a village in the West Bank has held a non-violent protest at the wall every week. And an amateur film maker has been there at every one, chronicling the action. And in that time, five of his cameras have been destroyed by the army. A deeply moving document, heartbreaking actually, which vividly demonstrates the oppression and persecution enacted by an inhuman Israeli occupation force against a group of peace-loving people who are determined only to live their own lives free of harassment. Brilliant.
MYSTIC RIVER (2003) D- Clint Eastwood. An ex-con's teenage daughter is found murdered, and, mad with grief, he will stop at nothing to find the culprit. From his days as Rowdy Yates in "Waggon Train" in the 1950s, through the Sergio Leone years as the Man With No Name, Clint has gradually grown in stature until he has now reached the status of one of Hollywood's finest film makers. And here he has perhaps approached his zenith in a sensitively made and superbly acted tail of childhood lost and pointless revenge. As the two principle protagonists, Sean Penn and Tim Robbins both received well deserved Oscars for their splendid performances.
THE PASSENGER (1975) D- Michaelangelo Antonioni. Somewhere in the Western Desert, a journalist meets a gun-runner. When the latter dies of natural causes, the journo (Jack Nicholson) decides for reasons that are never made clear, to adopt his identity. He even sells arms as his adopted role demands, but when he doesn't deliver things get a bit nasty. Some have described this as Antonioni's best film, and certainly it has a strange, dreamy quality which produces a rather hypnotic effect. Maria Schneider (you remember her in "Last Tango in Paris") is also strong as the girl Nicholson randomly hooks up with. Excellent, thoughtful stuff.
Wednesday, 28 November 2012
On press freedom
I selected the pseudonym "Pelagius" in tribute to the notable "opponent of St Augustine" who was executed by the early church for the heresy of suggesting that it was not necessary to require the services of a "middle man" ie a priest, in order to have direct communion with God. Naturally this was anathema to the church, so he was killed for it. Ever since the name Pelagius has become synonymous with freedom of speech and individuality.
Hence I have deep reservations about any formal vetting of the press. But freedom of speech has its limits. As Oliver Wendel Holmes said, freedom of speech does not extend to shouting fire in a crowded theatre. And there should be other limits too. When the McCanns lost their daughter Maddie, they experienced one of the worst tragedies known to a human being. I should know: I lost my own son 6 years ago and the pain and suffering from that event endure as brightly today as it did then. But even my tragedy pales besides the abduction of a child. Even so, the Daily and Sunday Express thought nothing of conducting a serious and extended campaign suggesting that the parents were responsible for the death of their child- this despite any real evidence coming to light whatsoever. The McCanns eventually had their day in court, and were handsomely compensated for the disgraceful libel they had suffered. But the McCanns are both doctors, and therefore able to mount an expensive campaign to win justice.
My view is that a special "Assistance Board" should be established to help people who have suffered at the hands of the media to get their "redress". Grants could be made to pay for the best lawyers around, which is fair enough. The press, with its very deep pockets, can afford the best, so why not the "victims"? We don't need any press regulation, but we are entitled to fight back if our reputations are trashed in the media, and a compassionate state should put the machinery in place to enable everyone to do just that, should it ever become necessary
Hence I have deep reservations about any formal vetting of the press. But freedom of speech has its limits. As Oliver Wendel Holmes said, freedom of speech does not extend to shouting fire in a crowded theatre. And there should be other limits too. When the McCanns lost their daughter Maddie, they experienced one of the worst tragedies known to a human being. I should know: I lost my own son 6 years ago and the pain and suffering from that event endure as brightly today as it did then. But even my tragedy pales besides the abduction of a child. Even so, the Daily and Sunday Express thought nothing of conducting a serious and extended campaign suggesting that the parents were responsible for the death of their child- this despite any real evidence coming to light whatsoever. The McCanns eventually had their day in court, and were handsomely compensated for the disgraceful libel they had suffered. But the McCanns are both doctors, and therefore able to mount an expensive campaign to win justice.
My view is that a special "Assistance Board" should be established to help people who have suffered at the hands of the media to get their "redress". Grants could be made to pay for the best lawyers around, which is fair enough. The press, with its very deep pockets, can afford the best, so why not the "victims"? We don't need any press regulation, but we are entitled to fight back if our reputations are trashed in the media, and a compassionate state should put the machinery in place to enable everyone to do just that, should it ever become necessary
Sunday, 25 November 2012
In praise of Star Trek
I was watching re-runs of the first series of "Star Trek: The Next Generation" the other day (OK, I grant that that is a little bogus, not to say sad) when I came across an episode called "Where No One has Gone Before". In it a character appears who has "special knowledge" of the Enterprise's warp drive. To the humans aboard he appears to be a rather weak-looking, vulnerable humanoid life form, but nonetheless he (with the assistance of Wesley Crusher, the teenage ensign who does a line in the worst jumpers in the known galaxy) is able to save the ship from disaster, while taking it "beyond warp 10", and therefore covering every furthest point in the Universe simultaneously).
There is another episode in the original (captain Kirk/Mr Spock) series where they encounter a race that can manipulate reality and which Spock pronounces as " as far ahead of humankind as we are above the amoeba".
For us to achieve this level of complexity , how far must our "civilisation" have to go to reach a similar level? A million years? A billion? Is it even conceivable we could last that long, given our precarious state currently? It's an open question. But let us look at the age of the Universe. Currently aged at 13.7 billion years, within 1 billion years of its creation, the early galaxies had already formed,with many stars with Earth-like planets orbiting them. The latest research is now indicating that Earth-like planets, floating in a Goldilocks zone where water can exist in its liquid state, probably litter all galaxies and in a profusion than wasn't believed possible just a few years ago. It is perfectly possible that there are life forms out there that have been in existence, and evolving, not for just 3 billion years like here, but at least twice as long.
Can you imagine what they might have achieved with that sort of head start? Travel between the stars might be elementary for them; indeed, they might be able to manipulate all the laws of nature to their own advantage. In other words, they would be so far ahead of us they would be indistinguishable from what we might call God. If they have lasted that long, they might have found it necessary to relocate, as their home star eventually died and they needed to find another. They might not even need a planet by that stage of their evolution, having no corporeal existence at all, but simply existing as unimaginable whorls of energy. They could certainly travel here, though I'm sure they would have some non-interference policy, like the "Prime Directive" so beloved by Star Fleet.
At present there are restrictions laid down by the laws of physics; we can't go faster than light, we can't travel in time and so on. But that's only at the level we currently understand how the Universe works. But one day, if we can avoid destroying the only home we have in the meantime, these little obstructions may be overcome. Can we make it? I think we can.
What's all this got to do with Star Trek? Just that it helped open my mind, and many others, to the possibilities of the infinite. And let's face it, you can't say that about most TV programmes.
There is another episode in the original (captain Kirk/Mr Spock) series where they encounter a race that can manipulate reality and which Spock pronounces as " as far ahead of humankind as we are above the amoeba".
For us to achieve this level of complexity , how far must our "civilisation" have to go to reach a similar level? A million years? A billion? Is it even conceivable we could last that long, given our precarious state currently? It's an open question. But let us look at the age of the Universe. Currently aged at 13.7 billion years, within 1 billion years of its creation, the early galaxies had already formed,with many stars with Earth-like planets orbiting them. The latest research is now indicating that Earth-like planets, floating in a Goldilocks zone where water can exist in its liquid state, probably litter all galaxies and in a profusion than wasn't believed possible just a few years ago. It is perfectly possible that there are life forms out there that have been in existence, and evolving, not for just 3 billion years like here, but at least twice as long.
Can you imagine what they might have achieved with that sort of head start? Travel between the stars might be elementary for them; indeed, they might be able to manipulate all the laws of nature to their own advantage. In other words, they would be so far ahead of us they would be indistinguishable from what we might call God. If they have lasted that long, they might have found it necessary to relocate, as their home star eventually died and they needed to find another. They might not even need a planet by that stage of their evolution, having no corporeal existence at all, but simply existing as unimaginable whorls of energy. They could certainly travel here, though I'm sure they would have some non-interference policy, like the "Prime Directive" so beloved by Star Fleet.
At present there are restrictions laid down by the laws of physics; we can't go faster than light, we can't travel in time and so on. But that's only at the level we currently understand how the Universe works. But one day, if we can avoid destroying the only home we have in the meantime, these little obstructions may be overcome. Can we make it? I think we can.
What's all this got to do with Star Trek? Just that it helped open my mind, and many others, to the possibilities of the infinite. And let's face it, you can't say that about most TV programmes.
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
Growth is good, or so we're told
There are certain givens out there, universal truths if you like, which seem to be accepted without debate: "Terrorism is bad" is an excellent example, but perhaps an even better one is the belief that "Growth is good". It must be, surely, after all if there isn't any, then we're in a recession and that's bad, right? But the idea of the whole world "growing" is untenable. The Earth is only so large and has a finite amount of resources, so we can't all keep growing. If one section of the world grows, it usually means another part of it pays for it.
Even at home the "growth is good" idea is about to cause some big problems for all of us. David Cameron recently announced that, in the furtherance of growth, the government is to relax planning laws to enable development to proceed untrammelled by awkward little considerations like the environment or the views of local people who might be affected by said development. What lies ahead is not a pretty prospect. How long is it before all the green space, excepting perhaps the mountainous areas that are too expensive to bother developing, are carpeted by industrial parks, out-of-town hypermarket complexes or golf courses?
This is the way out of the recession apparently. Growth is the altar at which we shall sacrifice everything that is important to our national well being. Sure some people will get a lot richer, mainly those who are already wealthy, but never mind. As long as the economy grows, we're all right, right? Actually no. The world needs to husband its resources with great care lest we destroy our own habitat. Animals in the wild do not shit in their own lairs, but that's exactly what the human race does when it worships the false god of growth.
Even at home the "growth is good" idea is about to cause some big problems for all of us. David Cameron recently announced that, in the furtherance of growth, the government is to relax planning laws to enable development to proceed untrammelled by awkward little considerations like the environment or the views of local people who might be affected by said development. What lies ahead is not a pretty prospect. How long is it before all the green space, excepting perhaps the mountainous areas that are too expensive to bother developing, are carpeted by industrial parks, out-of-town hypermarket complexes or golf courses?
This is the way out of the recession apparently. Growth is the altar at which we shall sacrifice everything that is important to our national well being. Sure some people will get a lot richer, mainly those who are already wealthy, but never mind. As long as the economy grows, we're all right, right? Actually no. The world needs to husband its resources with great care lest we destroy our own habitat. Animals in the wild do not shit in their own lairs, but that's exactly what the human race does when it worships the false god of growth.
Friday, 16 November 2012
Gaza kicks off again, not many dead (yet)
Apparently one of the first things Obama did having secured victory in the US election was to phone Mahmoud Abbas, head of the Palestinian Authority and beg him not to embarrass everyone by going for observer status at the UN again. Get real!It was thrown out last time, and it's doomed this time too. This is not the best way forward, he probably said; what you need to do is to start negotiating with the Israelis.
I imagine Abbas's response was something like: "Have you tried negotiating with them? They won't budge an inch on anything." And Barack would only need to look at the Wikileaks documents of secret "negotiations"between the 2 sides to realise that Abbas is right. Despite many far-reaching concessions from the Palestinian side, the Israeli team completely failed to alter their position on anything substantive. And of course they can rest secure in the knowledge that they will receive Obama's support in pretty much anything they do, whether it's espanding the already illegal settlements (they are planning to open a university at one of them soon), or responding to a rocket attack by destroying whole appartment blocks full of families.
Last week the Israelis "responded" to the launching of rockets into southern Israel by pounding Gaza with air strikes. Little has been said of a previous event where Israeli soldiers opened fire during a demonstration and killed a small child. Today we hear the rocket attacks, and their completely disproportionate counter-strikes from the Israelis have entered a new cycle.
The last time this happened, the Israelis levelled extensive areas in Gaza and killed at least ten times as many people as they lost. You may feel the Israelis have a right to defend themselves against these rocket attacks, but what of the Palestinian right to defend themselves? The fact remains that the Israeli government is running an Apartheid regime, with the Palestinians playing the role of the blacks, and the Israelis the role of the white South Africans. The whole world thought that was wrong and eventually the pressure told and that appalling regime collapsed. But with America's stalwart support the Israelis think they are safe to behave however they please, and with Obama's recent victory they are going about proving just that.
I realise Hamas does not exactly hold the moral high ground either. No organisation, be it "terrorist" or state (like Iran) is going to get very far by insisting the Israelis be simply pitched into the sea, or "go and live in Alaska" as Iran's premier said they should not long ago. The Israelis are there for the long haul: get used to it. And I don't believe in the 2 state solution either. An independent Palestinian state could not operate autonomously. What the Palestinians need is to be granted full human rights and civil liberties identical to those enjoyed by the Israeli people; only then can the process of living in harmony begin. It seems an awfully long way off right now, but it's the only way.
I imagine Abbas's response was something like: "Have you tried negotiating with them? They won't budge an inch on anything." And Barack would only need to look at the Wikileaks documents of secret "negotiations"between the 2 sides to realise that Abbas is right. Despite many far-reaching concessions from the Palestinian side, the Israeli team completely failed to alter their position on anything substantive. And of course they can rest secure in the knowledge that they will receive Obama's support in pretty much anything they do, whether it's espanding the already illegal settlements (they are planning to open a university at one of them soon), or responding to a rocket attack by destroying whole appartment blocks full of families.
Last week the Israelis "responded" to the launching of rockets into southern Israel by pounding Gaza with air strikes. Little has been said of a previous event where Israeli soldiers opened fire during a demonstration and killed a small child. Today we hear the rocket attacks, and their completely disproportionate counter-strikes from the Israelis have entered a new cycle.
The last time this happened, the Israelis levelled extensive areas in Gaza and killed at least ten times as many people as they lost. You may feel the Israelis have a right to defend themselves against these rocket attacks, but what of the Palestinian right to defend themselves? The fact remains that the Israeli government is running an Apartheid regime, with the Palestinians playing the role of the blacks, and the Israelis the role of the white South Africans. The whole world thought that was wrong and eventually the pressure told and that appalling regime collapsed. But with America's stalwart support the Israelis think they are safe to behave however they please, and with Obama's recent victory they are going about proving just that.
I realise Hamas does not exactly hold the moral high ground either. No organisation, be it "terrorist" or state (like Iran) is going to get very far by insisting the Israelis be simply pitched into the sea, or "go and live in Alaska" as Iran's premier said they should not long ago. The Israelis are there for the long haul: get used to it. And I don't believe in the 2 state solution either. An independent Palestinian state could not operate autonomously. What the Palestinians need is to be granted full human rights and civil liberties identical to those enjoyed by the Israeli people; only then can the process of living in harmony begin. It seems an awfully long way off right now, but it's the only way.
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
A tricky removal
Not long ago my father-in-law lost his struggle to live at home and was admitted to an old people's home specialising in "EMI" (Elderly Mentally Infirm). It is hard to put yourself in his place and see the transition from his perspective. But we can be sure it will be registered as a change, and therefore a stressful event in his mind, even though outwardly he seems to show little sign of disturbance. But what is he really feeling on the inside? It's impossible for us to identify with his plight, though we can try
For us too it heen a traumatic time. It has been heartbreaking to witness his loss of independence, that thing which all of us aspire to so dearly. And now his house is empty, we are faced with the task of gradually getting it into condition for its sale. This morning I took on the task of clearing the old pots and pans from his kitchen. It proved much more difficult than I had anticipated. What seemed to be a straightforward job of bagging up the now useless utensils, turned into a kind of nightmarish journey of ennui and nostalgia. The origins of that word, of course. come from a Greek word having to do with pain. And painful it was. In fact, at one point it became too much for me. I found his old shoe-cleaning box, complete with brushes and polishes of all kinds, everything neatly packed into a plastic box and tucked in a conveniently accessible place under the kitchen sink.
Other items were also redolent of a more capable past, but I was more easiy able to dispatch these to the waiting black sacks, three of which I eventually filled with ironware of all descriptions, weighing more than 10 kg in total.
But I just couldn't bring myself to throw that cleaning kit away, so intensely personal to him as it was. So it lies there still, in a handy place right under the kitchen sink, ready to shine shoes at any moment, but destined never to do so again.
For us too it heen a traumatic time. It has been heartbreaking to witness his loss of independence, that thing which all of us aspire to so dearly. And now his house is empty, we are faced with the task of gradually getting it into condition for its sale. This morning I took on the task of clearing the old pots and pans from his kitchen. It proved much more difficult than I had anticipated. What seemed to be a straightforward job of bagging up the now useless utensils, turned into a kind of nightmarish journey of ennui and nostalgia. The origins of that word, of course. come from a Greek word having to do with pain. And painful it was. In fact, at one point it became too much for me. I found his old shoe-cleaning box, complete with brushes and polishes of all kinds, everything neatly packed into a plastic box and tucked in a conveniently accessible place under the kitchen sink.
Other items were also redolent of a more capable past, but I was more easiy able to dispatch these to the waiting black sacks, three of which I eventually filled with ironware of all descriptions, weighing more than 10 kg in total.
But I just couldn't bring myself to throw that cleaning kit away, so intensely personal to him as it was. So it lies there still, in a handy place right under the kitchen sink, ready to shine shoes at any moment, but destined never to do so again.
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
A bad week for capitalism, and it's only Tuesday
It isn't often you find Tories excoriating huge international brands for doing what they were designed to do, ie making a lot of money, but it happened yesterday, when executives from the British arms of three of the world's biggest companies were interrogated by a parliamentary committee.
It seems the 3 companies, Google, Amazon and Starbucks have all been using some very creative accounting techniques (and quite legally apparently) to make it look like they were hardly making any money at all out of their British operations. Odd, that. What are they then, charities, only in Britain to provide a useful service to the public? I thinknottle. These companies make millions of pounds out of their British franchises, and yet they're paying tax like someone on the minimum wage. They say this is legal? OK, so change the fucking law then. I for one am fed up with these people ripping off the British public through clever little legal loopholes..
Then only this morning we hear that the price of gas is being carefully manipulated in order to maximise profits to the dealers, another activity which is perfectly legal, but morally bankrupt.
In China this week, a new set of leaders will be presented to the people. The people, of course, will have had no say in deciding who is to rule them. All they can hope is that there will be steady improvement in their civil rights and freedoms. If they are realistic they will accept that any progress will probably be very slow indeed.
China now is in a very similar position to where the UK was at the beginning of the 19th century. Their industrial revolution has set in big time, and a few masters are reaping the benefits in undreamed of wealth and power. But just like Britain in those early days, that wealth is being created by the sweat of millions who have sold their souls to the company store, and for a pathetically cheap price. Oh, we are so much more civilised than that now, aren't we? Er, no, we are not, and for evidence may I refer you to my opening paragraphs. Our capitalism is certainly more sophisticated than the Chinese variety, but it's just as wrong.
It seems the 3 companies, Google, Amazon and Starbucks have all been using some very creative accounting techniques (and quite legally apparently) to make it look like they were hardly making any money at all out of their British operations. Odd, that. What are they then, charities, only in Britain to provide a useful service to the public? I thinknottle. These companies make millions of pounds out of their British franchises, and yet they're paying tax like someone on the minimum wage. They say this is legal? OK, so change the fucking law then. I for one am fed up with these people ripping off the British public through clever little legal loopholes..
Then only this morning we hear that the price of gas is being carefully manipulated in order to maximise profits to the dealers, another activity which is perfectly legal, but morally bankrupt.
In China this week, a new set of leaders will be presented to the people. The people, of course, will have had no say in deciding who is to rule them. All they can hope is that there will be steady improvement in their civil rights and freedoms. If they are realistic they will accept that any progress will probably be very slow indeed.
China now is in a very similar position to where the UK was at the beginning of the 19th century. Their industrial revolution has set in big time, and a few masters are reaping the benefits in undreamed of wealth and power. But just like Britain in those early days, that wealth is being created by the sweat of millions who have sold their souls to the company store, and for a pathetically cheap price. Oh, we are so much more civilised than that now, aren't we? Er, no, we are not, and for evidence may I refer you to my opening paragraphs. Our capitalism is certainly more sophisticated than the Chinese variety, but it's just as wrong.
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Obama wins, now ever' lil thing's gonna be all right
You wish. It is true that the world is suddenly a slightly safer place this morning than if the other guy had won. But the problems faced around the world in terms of human rights abuses and especially "religious" intolerance continue just as before.
Watching "The Wright Stuff" on the TV this morning (that's right: I do have too much time on my hands) the estimable Yasmin Alibi Brown reminded us of Britain's hypocrisy in selling arms to Saudi Arabia despite their disgraceful record on human rights, especially their treatment of women. They showed a clip of Cameron defending his position, saying that nations around the world had a right to defend themselves, and that it was legitimate to sell them the means to do just that. But Matthew Wright, God bless, wondered how he squared his own support of gay marriage with the fact that homosexuality is a capital offence in that awful country.
Our defence industry supports 300,000 jobs; indeed, we remain one of the world's biggest arms producers. What of all those jobs if we were to start getting all moral about who we sold our arms to? Yasmin was ready for this. The same argument was used in the early 19th century to justify slavery, upon which thousands of jobs depended. But eventually it was decided that they might be better employed in less heinous occupations, and slavery was abolished.
The world changes agonisingly slowly at times, but it does change. And I suspect that the fewer republicans there are in the White House over the next few decades, the better the world, and America, will be. Well done Barack! You're not the greatest, but you are definitely a big improvement on Mr Mitt!
Watching "The Wright Stuff" on the TV this morning (that's right: I do have too much time on my hands) the estimable Yasmin Alibi Brown reminded us of Britain's hypocrisy in selling arms to Saudi Arabia despite their disgraceful record on human rights, especially their treatment of women. They showed a clip of Cameron defending his position, saying that nations around the world had a right to defend themselves, and that it was legitimate to sell them the means to do just that. But Matthew Wright, God bless, wondered how he squared his own support of gay marriage with the fact that homosexuality is a capital offence in that awful country.
Our defence industry supports 300,000 jobs; indeed, we remain one of the world's biggest arms producers. What of all those jobs if we were to start getting all moral about who we sold our arms to? Yasmin was ready for this. The same argument was used in the early 19th century to justify slavery, upon which thousands of jobs depended. But eventually it was decided that they might be better employed in less heinous occupations, and slavery was abolished.
The world changes agonisingly slowly at times, but it does change. And I suspect that the fewer republicans there are in the White House over the next few decades, the better the world, and America, will be. Well done Barack! You're not the greatest, but you are definitely a big improvement on Mr Mitt!
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
Which ever candidate they vote for, the president gets in
Today millions of Americans vote to choose their next president. But what choice do they really have? Both candidates are agreed on many key issues, ensuring there will be no real change (the big buzz word in America these days). In the "mid-east" for instance, both parties have once again thrown their weight behind Israel, which doesn't bode well for the Palestinian people, who are under the yoke of an apartheid regime. (By the way, if you think that's an exaggeration, remember that a recent poll there supported the idea of Israelis and Palestinians using separate roads! And I think you can guess who would get to ride the dual carriageways and who would be left to bump along dirt tracks)
And neither party has had anything to say about gun control, the greatest shame of that great nation, because the slightest suggestion that guns should be even slightly harder to obtain would lose them millions of votes from voters who are locked into a pioneer mentality that was actually out of date more than a century ago. Similarly there has been no debate about capital punishment or the fact that the US locks up a bigger percentage of its citizens than any other "democratic country", and that a worryingly disproportionate amount of them are from ethnic minorities. Don't go there, they have been told by their advisers: it's electoral suicide. Hence in reality, very little changes.
When Obama won in 2008, it emerged that his campaign, estimated to cost over $76 million, was the most expensive in history. Mitt Romney, a man who himself is worth over $200 million and pays tax at less than 13% (significantly less than the average American), as well as believing in a made-up religion (actually I suppose all religions are made up really), has learnt from this and spent even more on his campaign this time around. Obama's supporters have had to invest a similar amount (some estimates put the price paid as high as £1 billion) just to keep up.
And what do we hear them say? The same, meaningless little flash-phrases, over and over again until like some Pavlovian dog the electorate heads towards the food bowl that suits them best. Romney accuses Obama of presiding over the world financial crash, but as I remember it it had happened by the time Obama took the oath of allegiance. And as for him not fulfilling his electoral promises, it's not surprising since every change Obama tried to make was opposed every inch of the way by a congress determined to thwart his every initiative. In his turn Obama points the finger at the GOP for helping create the crash, though it is plain that democratic party supporters were equally implicated in what was one of the biggest displays of greed the world has ever seen.
So, good luck America, you enjoy your day of so-called "democracy". Just one thing, a word to the wise, as it were: whoever wins, please don't invade Iran. The American public is easily conned (as are the rest of us), and it might do wonders for your approval ratings at home, but I fancy it might go down rather less well with the rest of the world...
And neither party has had anything to say about gun control, the greatest shame of that great nation, because the slightest suggestion that guns should be even slightly harder to obtain would lose them millions of votes from voters who are locked into a pioneer mentality that was actually out of date more than a century ago. Similarly there has been no debate about capital punishment or the fact that the US locks up a bigger percentage of its citizens than any other "democratic country", and that a worryingly disproportionate amount of them are from ethnic minorities. Don't go there, they have been told by their advisers: it's electoral suicide. Hence in reality, very little changes.
When Obama won in 2008, it emerged that his campaign, estimated to cost over $76 million, was the most expensive in history. Mitt Romney, a man who himself is worth over $200 million and pays tax at less than 13% (significantly less than the average American), as well as believing in a made-up religion (actually I suppose all religions are made up really), has learnt from this and spent even more on his campaign this time around. Obama's supporters have had to invest a similar amount (some estimates put the price paid as high as £1 billion) just to keep up.
And what do we hear them say? The same, meaningless little flash-phrases, over and over again until like some Pavlovian dog the electorate heads towards the food bowl that suits them best. Romney accuses Obama of presiding over the world financial crash, but as I remember it it had happened by the time Obama took the oath of allegiance. And as for him not fulfilling his electoral promises, it's not surprising since every change Obama tried to make was opposed every inch of the way by a congress determined to thwart his every initiative. In his turn Obama points the finger at the GOP for helping create the crash, though it is plain that democratic party supporters were equally implicated in what was one of the biggest displays of greed the world has ever seen.
So, good luck America, you enjoy your day of so-called "democracy". Just one thing, a word to the wise, as it were: whoever wins, please don't invade Iran. The American public is easily conned (as are the rest of us), and it might do wonders for your approval ratings at home, but I fancy it might go down rather less well with the rest of the world...
Friday, 2 November 2012
Comments on my blog
I don't get many comments on my blog; I expect people to read it, maybe go hmm, and then move on to other areas of their doubtless busy lives.. But comments, though they are scarce, are always most welcome.
Unfortunately, hitherto I have been negligent in looking at my comments and have only just remedied the situation this evening after a long interval. I published all of them, including an incomprehensible one from "Patrick", a delightful affirmation from " Jackie" and a vituperative bombast, the likes of which I might myself have been proud. This too was hard to understand, though Beowulf may be a trifle less enamoured of the concept of the European Union than I am.
As it happens, dear Beowulf, I wrote another blog on this very subject only recently. In it I pointed out how this is one of those unusual issues that can unite thinkers from both the far right and the radical left: where are you on the spectrum, I wonder?
I'll try to be more vigilant checking my comments from now on, so please leave em whenever the mood strikes: I promise I'll publish all of them
Unfortunately, hitherto I have been negligent in looking at my comments and have only just remedied the situation this evening after a long interval. I published all of them, including an incomprehensible one from "Patrick", a delightful affirmation from " Jackie" and a vituperative bombast, the likes of which I might myself have been proud. This too was hard to understand, though Beowulf may be a trifle less enamoured of the concept of the European Union than I am.
As it happens, dear Beowulf, I wrote another blog on this very subject only recently. In it I pointed out how this is one of those unusual issues that can unite thinkers from both the far right and the radical left: where are you on the spectrum, I wonder?
I'll try to be more vigilant checking my comments from now on, so please leave em whenever the mood strikes: I promise I'll publish all of them
Thursday, 1 November 2012
October book and film review
BOOKS
B. TRAVEN- THE LIFE BEHIND THE LEGENDS, by Karl S. Guthrie. B Traven, the author of many international best sellers including "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" and "The Death Ship" was an enigma throughout his life, which was exactly how he wanted it. He assumed many aliases and in other diverse ways disguised his true identity until he was finally tracked down in the autumn of his years, hiding in total obscurity in Mexico city. Why? Turns out B Traven was originally Ret Marut, an anarchist agitator in post WW1 Germany who was arrested by the authorities and (according to legend at least) was within 15 minutes of being executed when he managed to escape from his guards. He disappeared, and a new incarnation appeared in Mexico, writing books that have since captured the imagination of the world with their humanity and strongly libertarian bent. A fascinating read.
A FINE NIGHT FOR DYING, by Jack Higgins. A man is found drowned off the coast of southern England. Later evidence shows him to have been murdered. Enter our hero, a sort of James Bond figure, to sort out the mystery and bring the guilty to justice. Higgins's writing is very simple, but he is a highly talented story- teller, and ones attention is gripped from the outset. Unusually for me, I read it in a single sitting.
FILMS
BUTLEY (1973), D- Harold Pinter (from the play by Simon Gray). A bisexual university lecturer's life begins to unravel over the course of a day. Very stagy, as we might expect from a film adaptation of a play, but still effective, down in large part to the strong performance of the eponymous lead, played by Alan Bates. Intriguing and subtle stuff.
THE LUCKY TEXAN (1932) D-Robert W Bradbury. A young man (a very youthful John Wayne) and his grizzled associate (Gabby Hayes) nearly get cheated out of their gold mine, but come through heroically at the last. Notable for its 3 way chase between horses, a train and a car, this film rattles along like a galloping stallion. Watchable.
NINE QUEENS (2000) D- Fabian Bielinsky An experienced conman takes on a junior assistant to effect the theft of some valuable stamps. But just who is being conned? Fascinating Argentinian offering that keeps one guessing until the final frame.
X MEN 2 (2003) D- Bryan Singer (aka X2) Professor Xavier and his mutant cohort fight against the forces that would exterminate them. I like the X Men franchise, but somehow seem to have missed the 2nd in the series, which is shown on the television much less often than the others (why I'm not sure). It is graced, as are the others, by some very fine actors (Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen inter alia) as well as clever plotting and special effects. Give 'em a try. All of 'em.
WILD STRAWBERRIES (1957) D- Ingmar Bergman. An eminent old physician is being honoured by his old university, and decides to drive across southern Sweden to receive it in person. On the way, he undergoes a strange and magical journey into his youthful origins. I have seen this film before, just once, nearly 50 years ago and all I could remember of it was that it was brilliant. So I include it in this list, even though I usually confine myself to films I have seen for the first time. Brilliant it definitely is, as our hero finds himself mystically transported in time to his childhood and teenage years in a series of cameo experiences, not all of which are pleasant. But would that we could have such experiences ourselves... One of Bergman's greatest films.
OSS:117: CAIRO, NEST OF SPIES (2006) D- Michel Hazanavicius. A secret agent is brought in to make peace in the Middle East (no big task there then) and somehow, by sheer elan, he manages it! Highly enjoyable spoof on the James Bond brand, funny; well acted (especially by Jean Dujardin, you'll remember him in "The Artist") and despite its apparent naivete, very knowing. Excellent.
B. TRAVEN- THE LIFE BEHIND THE LEGENDS, by Karl S. Guthrie. B Traven, the author of many international best sellers including "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" and "The Death Ship" was an enigma throughout his life, which was exactly how he wanted it. He assumed many aliases and in other diverse ways disguised his true identity until he was finally tracked down in the autumn of his years, hiding in total obscurity in Mexico city. Why? Turns out B Traven was originally Ret Marut, an anarchist agitator in post WW1 Germany who was arrested by the authorities and (according to legend at least) was within 15 minutes of being executed when he managed to escape from his guards. He disappeared, and a new incarnation appeared in Mexico, writing books that have since captured the imagination of the world with their humanity and strongly libertarian bent. A fascinating read.
A FINE NIGHT FOR DYING, by Jack Higgins. A man is found drowned off the coast of southern England. Later evidence shows him to have been murdered. Enter our hero, a sort of James Bond figure, to sort out the mystery and bring the guilty to justice. Higgins's writing is very simple, but he is a highly talented story- teller, and ones attention is gripped from the outset. Unusually for me, I read it in a single sitting.
FILMS
BUTLEY (1973), D- Harold Pinter (from the play by Simon Gray). A bisexual university lecturer's life begins to unravel over the course of a day. Very stagy, as we might expect from a film adaptation of a play, but still effective, down in large part to the strong performance of the eponymous lead, played by Alan Bates. Intriguing and subtle stuff.
THE LUCKY TEXAN (1932) D-Robert W Bradbury. A young man (a very youthful John Wayne) and his grizzled associate (Gabby Hayes) nearly get cheated out of their gold mine, but come through heroically at the last. Notable for its 3 way chase between horses, a train and a car, this film rattles along like a galloping stallion. Watchable.
NINE QUEENS (2000) D- Fabian Bielinsky An experienced conman takes on a junior assistant to effect the theft of some valuable stamps. But just who is being conned? Fascinating Argentinian offering that keeps one guessing until the final frame.
X MEN 2 (2003) D- Bryan Singer (aka X2) Professor Xavier and his mutant cohort fight against the forces that would exterminate them. I like the X Men franchise, but somehow seem to have missed the 2nd in the series, which is shown on the television much less often than the others (why I'm not sure). It is graced, as are the others, by some very fine actors (Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen inter alia) as well as clever plotting and special effects. Give 'em a try. All of 'em.
WILD STRAWBERRIES (1957) D- Ingmar Bergman. An eminent old physician is being honoured by his old university, and decides to drive across southern Sweden to receive it in person. On the way, he undergoes a strange and magical journey into his youthful origins. I have seen this film before, just once, nearly 50 years ago and all I could remember of it was that it was brilliant. So I include it in this list, even though I usually confine myself to films I have seen for the first time. Brilliant it definitely is, as our hero finds himself mystically transported in time to his childhood and teenage years in a series of cameo experiences, not all of which are pleasant. But would that we could have such experiences ourselves... One of Bergman's greatest films.
OSS:117: CAIRO, NEST OF SPIES (2006) D- Michel Hazanavicius. A secret agent is brought in to make peace in the Middle East (no big task there then) and somehow, by sheer elan, he manages it! Highly enjoyable spoof on the James Bond brand, funny; well acted (especially by Jean Dujardin, you'll remember him in "The Artist") and despite its apparent naivete, very knowing. Excellent.
Saturday, 27 October 2012
The re-writing of history
History, they say, is written by the winning side. And in the Islamic world at the moment, the winning side appears to be the Wahabi strain. We all doubtless remember the disgraceful act in the 1990s when the Taliban dynamited the famous reclining Buddhas in the Bamyan province of Afghanistan. Now we hear the Wahabiites are now destroying ancient shrines to Mohamed, peace be on him, in Saudi Arabia itself. Anxious, on the face of it, to avoid the sin of idolatry, some observers have interpreted these latest rounds of historical vandalism in an even darker way.
It seems the Wahabis (they're the ones who'd rather die, or at least murder) before they see their women get any education) really want to distance the faithful from the teachings of the prophet himself, as the peaceful, tolerant teachings he gave are inimical to the modern, hate filled rhetoric they peddle
This is like Christian priests advising their parishioners to forget the Sermon on the Mount or even that Christ died for our sins.
My view: these men are as evil as the Nazis or the Japanese militarists who started WW2. And like them, if the world is to move forward, they must be crushed. I fear there is no other option. They'd crush us if they got the chance.
It seems the Wahabis (they're the ones who'd rather die, or at least murder) before they see their women get any education) really want to distance the faithful from the teachings of the prophet himself, as the peaceful, tolerant teachings he gave are inimical to the modern, hate filled rhetoric they peddle
This is like Christian priests advising their parishioners to forget the Sermon on the Mount or even that Christ died for our sins.
My view: these men are as evil as the Nazis or the Japanese militarists who started WW2. And like them, if the world is to move forward, they must be crushed. I fear there is no other option. They'd crush us if they got the chance.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
The evil blonde wiith the cold dead eyes
Did you watch Panorama last night? Phew, what a stink is coming from the corridors of the BBC right now! Seems like there are 2 stock answers from people who were around at the time: either "I didn't know", or "I did know, but no one would have believed me if I'd told them".The former group included Derek Chinnery, who even then had a powerful position as head of Radio 1. Then there was Paul Gambaccini, who knew but felt there was no point taking it further, what with the blond one's clout at the time.
GK Chesterton once said "The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there".Don't they just. So differently, in fact, that Blondy's perversions were laughed off as what we might today call "laddishness". The BBC was very good for him, and he was very good for them. The prestige of both was greatly enhanced by their relationship; so much so that the Beeb dared not kill their golden goose, whatever terrible stories of abuse may have emerged, albeit only on the rumour mill.
I know times were different back then. I was there. But as I recall, what he was doing was considered a serious crime even in the medieval days of the 70s, and paedophiles were as hated then as they are now. So don't give me any guff about it being "a different era". Very senior people could have given him a warning: the next time we hear the slightest bad thing about you, you're out of here, and then followed through, whatever the embarrassment to themselves. They would have won the moral high ground, and avoided the shitstorm they are now doing their best to shelter from.
Personally I never bought into the Savile thing. He never seemed really to buy into the pop music culture, and I thought "Jim'll Fix it" positively creepy. Now we know why he was so keen on working with young people. I tell you, it makes you want to heave...
GK Chesterton once said "The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there".Don't they just. So differently, in fact, that Blondy's perversions were laughed off as what we might today call "laddishness". The BBC was very good for him, and he was very good for them. The prestige of both was greatly enhanced by their relationship; so much so that the Beeb dared not kill their golden goose, whatever terrible stories of abuse may have emerged, albeit only on the rumour mill.
I know times were different back then. I was there. But as I recall, what he was doing was considered a serious crime even in the medieval days of the 70s, and paedophiles were as hated then as they are now. So don't give me any guff about it being "a different era". Very senior people could have given him a warning: the next time we hear the slightest bad thing about you, you're out of here, and then followed through, whatever the embarrassment to themselves. They would have won the moral high ground, and avoided the shitstorm they are now doing their best to shelter from.
Personally I never bought into the Savile thing. He never seemed really to buy into the pop music culture, and I thought "Jim'll Fix it" positively creepy. Now we know why he was so keen on working with young people. I tell you, it makes you want to heave...
Sunday, 21 October 2012
Reunion blues
Last night's school reunion was a game of two halves. My juggling show was a fiasco, as the venue had such a low ceiling I was unable to perform many of the tricks which I had been preparing for the night. The end result I prefer not to describe in any detail.
On the upside, I had an amazing conversation with someone who bullied me at school. Some years ago I objected to the organiser that he had circulated my home address and telephone number amongst all the other attendees, and that at least one of those had bullied me in my youth. The organiser then passed on this information to the bully himself. He was not present at the previous reunion 2 years ago, but he was there last night and I took my courage in both hands and approached him. I'm glad I did. It emerged that he was mortified at my accusations, having considered himself my friend, and it is fair to say that the relationship between bully and bullied is often a complex one. When I looked into his face last night, I could see nothing but warmth and almost love in his eyes, and something changed in me. I told him that although some whatever had gone down between us long ago, my predominant feeling towards him now was one of affection, and we parted as the firmest of friends. You're OK, Rory!
Just one though: I won't be going to any more reunions...
On the upside, I had an amazing conversation with someone who bullied me at school. Some years ago I objected to the organiser that he had circulated my home address and telephone number amongst all the other attendees, and that at least one of those had bullied me in my youth. The organiser then passed on this information to the bully himself. He was not present at the previous reunion 2 years ago, but he was there last night and I took my courage in both hands and approached him. I'm glad I did. It emerged that he was mortified at my accusations, having considered himself my friend, and it is fair to say that the relationship between bully and bullied is often a complex one. When I looked into his face last night, I could see nothing but warmth and almost love in his eyes, and something changed in me. I told him that although some whatever had gone down between us long ago, my predominant feeling towards him now was one of affection, and we parted as the firmest of friends. You're OK, Rory!
Just one though: I won't be going to any more reunions...
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
Punching above our weight
If you look a map of the world, and see see our tiny island floating in the north Atlantic Ocean just off the coast of western Europe, it is hard to understand why we enjoy such a high status in the world as a whole. We are one of the richest countries on the planet, and one of the most influential. We have a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, we have a lot of clout in the middle east, our sovereign is head of state of a number of other powerful, independent countries and our multinational companies have a truly global reach.
In particular, we are a member of that small, select group of countries with nuclear weapons, a group which by the way, does not wish to see any other countries achieve the same status. But I find myself asking, what's it all about? The answer is, of course, history. We still dine out on the fabulous riches amassed (stolen is another word for it) when the British Empire was the biggest the world has ever seen, and the hangover from that is that we still like to think of ourselves as a major player on the world stage.
I visited Denmark and Sweden this summer, two advanced, highly civilised cultures which do not have nuclear weapons and have no prospect of a seat on the Security Council. They do have very sophisticated welfare schemes and embrace the idea of working together as communities and with other nations for their mutual benefit. But for some reason we still aspire to be more than that, hence our desire to retain WMDs in huge quantities, not to act as a deterrent against a threat that no longer exists (if it ever did), but to assert our status as a "world power", whatever that is. Yet Denmark and Sweden seem to manage perfectly well without this exalted status, as do countless other countries around the globe. Meanwhile our funds bleed away financing the Trident submarine, which the PM only today has stated will continue into the foreseeable future. Why for God's sake, when there are so many other more useful things we could be spending our money on?
In particular, we are a member of that small, select group of countries with nuclear weapons, a group which by the way, does not wish to see any other countries achieve the same status. But I find myself asking, what's it all about? The answer is, of course, history. We still dine out on the fabulous riches amassed (stolen is another word for it) when the British Empire was the biggest the world has ever seen, and the hangover from that is that we still like to think of ourselves as a major player on the world stage.
I visited Denmark and Sweden this summer, two advanced, highly civilised cultures which do not have nuclear weapons and have no prospect of a seat on the Security Council. They do have very sophisticated welfare schemes and embrace the idea of working together as communities and with other nations for their mutual benefit. But for some reason we still aspire to be more than that, hence our desire to retain WMDs in huge quantities, not to act as a deterrent against a threat that no longer exists (if it ever did), but to assert our status as a "world power", whatever that is. Yet Denmark and Sweden seem to manage perfectly well without this exalted status, as do countless other countries around the globe. Meanwhile our funds bleed away financing the Trident submarine, which the PM only today has stated will continue into the foreseeable future. Why for God's sake, when there are so many other more useful things we could be spending our money on?
Sunday, 14 October 2012
Pelagius wins Nobel Prize!
That's right. So did you, if you're one of the 350 million nationals of the 27 states that make up the European Union.
Now I'm generally a fan of Alfred Nobel's great institution. His intention was to divert the attention of the world away from the grim reality of how he and his family were able to become fabulously wealthy, and in that he was largely successful. People today think of the prize first, and many I suspect know little of the "dark side" of the Nobel legacy. As a final gesture of caution, Nobel decreed that the Peace Prize should be decided and awarded in a country other than the Sweden where his massive fortune had been amassed.
The Peace Prize has been accused of political bias over the years, and not without reason. In 2009 the award went to Barack Obama who, only months into his presidency, had not really had time to contribute anything to world peace. And in 1973 they awarded the prize to Henry Kissinger, a supreme irony considering that on his own admission, he always favoured a military option when he thought it would work quickly, and only took on the role of being America's mouthpiece at the Paris Peace Talks when he knew America was losing the war in Vietnam
This latest award is apparently in tribute to the fact that Europe has avoided war (if you leave out Yugoslavia) for a longer period than it has seen since the Norman conquests, and that the formation of the EU was partly responsible. There is something in this claim, but as far as the UK is concerned, plenty of people would dearly like the whole thing to be torn down. In fact the EU and our membership of it is one of those rare cases where people from the far right and the far left come together as one, though for very different reasons. The right sees it as a demon intent on sucking the life-blood of individual freedom out of us, whereas the left sees it as a despicable capitalist's club, enabling the supersate to dominate the lives of its subjects.
But when you visit Europe, somehow the objections seem to melt away. You see the way countries co-operate with one another as a matter of common sense and mutual self interest. And then you wonder: what the hell is wrong with us that we don't want to be part of this, and want to make it work?
Now I'm generally a fan of Alfred Nobel's great institution. His intention was to divert the attention of the world away from the grim reality of how he and his family were able to become fabulously wealthy, and in that he was largely successful. People today think of the prize first, and many I suspect know little of the "dark side" of the Nobel legacy. As a final gesture of caution, Nobel decreed that the Peace Prize should be decided and awarded in a country other than the Sweden where his massive fortune had been amassed.
The Peace Prize has been accused of political bias over the years, and not without reason. In 2009 the award went to Barack Obama who, only months into his presidency, had not really had time to contribute anything to world peace. And in 1973 they awarded the prize to Henry Kissinger, a supreme irony considering that on his own admission, he always favoured a military option when he thought it would work quickly, and only took on the role of being America's mouthpiece at the Paris Peace Talks when he knew America was losing the war in Vietnam
This latest award is apparently in tribute to the fact that Europe has avoided war (if you leave out Yugoslavia) for a longer period than it has seen since the Norman conquests, and that the formation of the EU was partly responsible. There is something in this claim, but as far as the UK is concerned, plenty of people would dearly like the whole thing to be torn down. In fact the EU and our membership of it is one of those rare cases where people from the far right and the far left come together as one, though for very different reasons. The right sees it as a demon intent on sucking the life-blood of individual freedom out of us, whereas the left sees it as a despicable capitalist's club, enabling the supersate to dominate the lives of its subjects.
But when you visit Europe, somehow the objections seem to melt away. You see the way countries co-operate with one another as a matter of common sense and mutual self interest. And then you wonder: what the hell is wrong with us that we don't want to be part of this, and want to make it work?
Saturday, 13 October 2012
Think we've just had a bad run of summers? Think again
As my "followers" will know, I have an interest in weather, and as a member of the Royal Meteorological Society I receive their monthly journal "Weather". An editorial in this month's edition made rather sober reading. I quote a small section from an article entitled "Arctic sea ice minimum":
"...NASA have reported that the Arctic has lost more ice this season than at any time since satellite records began in 1979. Experts have noticed a steady decline in Arctic ice over the last 30 years and that the rate of decline is accelerating... Increasing amounts of Arctic open water allow bigger waves to be generated and hence the production of larger and more frequent storms. The reduction will not only affect wildlife, but may also affect the jet stream, resulting in wetter and windier summers in the UK, a trend which is only likely to increase..."
I had a patient see me last week who, with 4 of his colleagues, was sent to Brussels (by air) for a 90 minute business meeting. I asked him if it couldn't have been done via video-conferencing, and he replied that his boss "liked the face to face touch". It is this sort of behaviour which is contributing directly to the grim scenario painted above. So next time you curse the lousy summers in Britain, and you buy into this sort of culture, remember: you're part of the problem.
"...NASA have reported that the Arctic has lost more ice this season than at any time since satellite records began in 1979. Experts have noticed a steady decline in Arctic ice over the last 30 years and that the rate of decline is accelerating... Increasing amounts of Arctic open water allow bigger waves to be generated and hence the production of larger and more frequent storms. The reduction will not only affect wildlife, but may also affect the jet stream, resulting in wetter and windier summers in the UK, a trend which is only likely to increase..."
I had a patient see me last week who, with 4 of his colleagues, was sent to Brussels (by air) for a 90 minute business meeting. I asked him if it couldn't have been done via video-conferencing, and he replied that his boss "liked the face to face touch". It is this sort of behaviour which is contributing directly to the grim scenario painted above. So next time you curse the lousy summers in Britain, and you buy into this sort of culture, remember: you're part of the problem.
Wednesday, 10 October 2012
Never mind money being the root of all evil: try religion
Yesterday an incredibly courageous 14 year old girl was shot twice in the head and neck for promoting education for Pakistani females. The Taliban were perfectly happy to confirm their complicity, even going as far as to say their imams had instructed them that it was OK to exterminate anyone promoting this sin against the teachings of Mohamed, peace be upon him. But Big M's teachings are open to many interpretations, and Muslims around the world rose as one to condemn this disgraceful act perpetrated by a bunch of murderous scum.
Religious intolerance is not confined to Islam, nor is it new. St Paul , that noted misogynist, made his feelings about women plain in several of his epistles, and there are still millions of Christians today who think women priests represent the personification of evil. In Nigeria Christian churches are being firebombed, while in America, their "freedom of speech" laws allow pastor Terry Jones to disseminate a film which insults every Muslim. And in Israel, the "Chosen People" seem to think it's OK to turn Palestine into a ghetto..
20 years ago a beaten and bloody Rodney King asked the World "Why can't we all just get along?" Well Rodney, I think you have at least part of your answer....
Religious intolerance is not confined to Islam, nor is it new. St Paul , that noted misogynist, made his feelings about women plain in several of his epistles, and there are still millions of Christians today who think women priests represent the personification of evil. In Nigeria Christian churches are being firebombed, while in America, their "freedom of speech" laws allow pastor Terry Jones to disseminate a film which insults every Muslim. And in Israel, the "Chosen People" seem to think it's OK to turn Palestine into a ghetto..
20 years ago a beaten and bloody Rodney King asked the World "Why can't we all just get along?" Well Rodney, I think you have at least part of your answer....
Sunday, 7 October 2012
The jungle encroaches
On Friday afternoon I was walking the half mile to my local body shop, where they were removing the large "W" that had been carved onto my car bonnet recently. The route took me along a narrow path. At the end of the path 2 cyclists approached, intent on barrelling past me. There was not room for them to do this without my pressing myself flat against one of the walls, so I actually stepped into the path of the leading cyclist and with a "Whoa!" stopped him by placing my hands on both his shoulders.
Perhaps predictably he exploded into what seemed almost murderous rage, screaming at me barely coherently.
"What the fuck are you playing at?" he demanded
I wasn't too keen to enter into an explanation, along the lines of his selfish behaviour endangering another citizen, so I said nothing.
"I ought to smash you right between the eyes!" he yelled, before leaving me to my own, rather unsettled devices. As an esprit d'esaclier I could have said:
"Actually, between the eyes would be fine; they're fucked anyway, but could you avoid the teeth? I've just spent a lot of money on those."
Probably wouldn't have helped much. Witty put-downs don't work with selfish monsters like this psychopath, whose world clearly left no room for the consideration of others.
Where I live in the inner city, the jungle is very close.
Perhaps predictably he exploded into what seemed almost murderous rage, screaming at me barely coherently.
"What the fuck are you playing at?" he demanded
I wasn't too keen to enter into an explanation, along the lines of his selfish behaviour endangering another citizen, so I said nothing.
"I ought to smash you right between the eyes!" he yelled, before leaving me to my own, rather unsettled devices. As an esprit d'esaclier I could have said:
"Actually, between the eyes would be fine; they're fucked anyway, but could you avoid the teeth? I've just spent a lot of money on those."
Probably wouldn't have helped much. Witty put-downs don't work with selfish monsters like this psychopath, whose world clearly left no room for the consideration of others.
Where I live in the inner city, the jungle is very close.
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Stop press: Crown Jewels stolen
We only acquired Sky Sports recently, and this was our first chance to watch the Ryder Cup on television. What can I say? Only that it was one of the most remarkable sporting events I have ever witnessed.
When the two sides finished Day 2 with the Americans leading 10-6, anyone with any arithmetic knowledge could see that of the 12 remaining singles matches to be played on the Sunday, we would have to win 2 matches to their 1 for us to secure a victory, a tall order even for this supremely talented European side. But all hope was not lost. Saturday evening witnessed Ian Poulter holing the equivalent of five consecutive birdie putts to win his foursomes match, an incredible display of skill and fortitude that at least left us the ghost of a chance.
And as Sunday wore on, almost as if in some wish-fulfilment fantasy, more and more of the leader board began to go blue, indicating European victories. How could this be? Lee Westwood, whose putting skills often desert him on the big occasions, won. Sergio Garcia, another talented player but one also who can blow up towards the close, also won. Even the new kid, Martin Kaymer, refused to be over-awed by the hugeness of the day, sank a wonderful putt to claim his victory. And then finally, a resurgent Tiger Woods, who has astonishingly clawed his way back to number 2 in the world, failed to hole a five foot putt that would at least have given the US the consolation of a halved match. His opponent, the Italian Molinari, still had a four foot putt of his own to seal the win, but Woods, in a magnanimous gesture reminiscent of Jack Nicklaus's famous concession to allow Europe to halve the match nearly thirty years before, conceded the putt, giving outright victory to the European side.
In the event, it seems even the American's "thirteenth player", the highly partisan crowd (some of whom could be heard to shout things like "put it in the water!" as a European player teed off) were of no assistance.
All in all, an immensely satisfying piece of sporting television. But I couldn't help feeling a slight twinge of regret that the majority of people who might have wanted to watch it themselves were denied this honour because they had not, like us, paid the Murdoch shilling. Some years ago, a list of sporting "Crown Jewels" were laid down: the FA Cup final, Wimbledon, the Grand National and I think the Boat Race. These had to be shown on terrestrial television so as to be accessible to all. What a pity they didn't extend it to this great event.
When the two sides finished Day 2 with the Americans leading 10-6, anyone with any arithmetic knowledge could see that of the 12 remaining singles matches to be played on the Sunday, we would have to win 2 matches to their 1 for us to secure a victory, a tall order even for this supremely talented European side. But all hope was not lost. Saturday evening witnessed Ian Poulter holing the equivalent of five consecutive birdie putts to win his foursomes match, an incredible display of skill and fortitude that at least left us the ghost of a chance.
And as Sunday wore on, almost as if in some wish-fulfilment fantasy, more and more of the leader board began to go blue, indicating European victories. How could this be? Lee Westwood, whose putting skills often desert him on the big occasions, won. Sergio Garcia, another talented player but one also who can blow up towards the close, also won. Even the new kid, Martin Kaymer, refused to be over-awed by the hugeness of the day, sank a wonderful putt to claim his victory. And then finally, a resurgent Tiger Woods, who has astonishingly clawed his way back to number 2 in the world, failed to hole a five foot putt that would at least have given the US the consolation of a halved match. His opponent, the Italian Molinari, still had a four foot putt of his own to seal the win, but Woods, in a magnanimous gesture reminiscent of Jack Nicklaus's famous concession to allow Europe to halve the match nearly thirty years before, conceded the putt, giving outright victory to the European side.
In the event, it seems even the American's "thirteenth player", the highly partisan crowd (some of whom could be heard to shout things like "put it in the water!" as a European player teed off) were of no assistance.
All in all, an immensely satisfying piece of sporting television. But I couldn't help feeling a slight twinge of regret that the majority of people who might have wanted to watch it themselves were denied this honour because they had not, like us, paid the Murdoch shilling. Some years ago, a list of sporting "Crown Jewels" were laid down: the FA Cup final, Wimbledon, the Grand National and I think the Boat Race. These had to be shown on terrestrial television so as to be accessible to all. What a pity they didn't extend it to this great event.
September book and film review
BOOK
THE SECRET AGENT, by Joseph Conrad. In the dark, foggy streets of Edwardian London, anarchists plot a dramatic strike against the forces of reaction. But even the best-laid plans... Perhaps Conrad's greatest book, certainly his best shorter novel, containing within its pages some of the most perfectly realised characters in 20th century fiction. From the oily foreign dignitary importuning the outrage, to Stevie, the strange boy who would now be placed somewhere on the autistic spectrum, his his brooding uncle who hides a terrible secret behind the doors of his seedy bookshop, to the society princess who is entranced by the anarchist's revolutionary rhetoric, everything comes together in a climax which still shocks profoundly 100 years after it was written. A classic.
FILMS
COLOMBIANA (2011) D-Oliver Megaton (sic). A young girl witnesses her parent's murder at the hands of drug lords, and swears revenge. Along the way to achieving her goal, like the bad cops in Magnum Force, she wipes out all the other bad guys she can find. What did I just say? I said we were getting fed up with assassin movies, but here comes yet another. Give it a rest, Hollywood and find another theme, will you?
JOHNNY ENGLISH REBORN (2011) D- Oliver Parker. Johnny is brought out of forced retirement by MI7 to bring down an evil genius. Or something like that. The plot here is less important than Rowan Atkinson himself, who reprises his role, this time with a black sidekick and no Natalie Imbruglia (shame). Rosamund Pyke and Gillian Anderson support well, but there aren't as many belly laughs this time. Pity.
TO BE OR NOT TO BE (1942) D- Ernst Lubitsch. Just as the Wehrmacht is about to invade Poland in 1939, a theatre group, with the help of a British spy, escape the holocaust. Slight problem: he's fallen for the female lead, who happens to be married. An absolutely stunning movie at amny levels, full of laughs, thrills and not a little erotic undertow, this is one of the finest things to come out of Hollywood in the war years. Wow!
LOVE ME TONIGHT (1932) D- Reuben Mamoulian. A tailor, cheated out of his fees by a nobleman, goes to collect his debt and is mistaken for one himself. Hilarity ensues... Maurice Chevalier's finest moment, parodying himself as he always did, but bringing it off with superb elan. The movie was surprisingly advanced for its day, with many innovatory devices in cinematography and some truly outrageous dialogue, which proved too much for many censors in the US, who slashed some of the funniest lines from the script. Stupid, screwed-up yanks...
RIO (2011) D- Carlos Sandana. A rare blue parrot is abducted from the Amazon rain forest, rescued, then taken back to Brazil to mate with the only other member of its species. But rare parrots are money in the bank, and the baddies are out to get him back, dead or alive. A dazzling piece of animation (computer graphics are taken to a new level here), but, and this has to be crucial for a film based in the land of Samba, the music is rather pedestrian and dull. Even the dialogue lacks the sparkle we might have hoped for. Disappointing.
JANE EYRE (2011) D- Gary Fukanaga. A young orphan has troubled beginnings, but ends up marrying well. One of Britain's best loved stories has been filmed several times; notably with Orson Welles playing Mr Rochester, but this new version also has much to recommend it. The producers have resisted the temptation of vamping it up to a 21st century audience, and have allowed the story to develop in a way Charlotte herself might have approved.. The result is an absorbing piece of cinema story-telling, free of slickness and pretension.
VALENTINO (1977) D- Ken Russell. A two-bit dancer/gigolo is spotted plying his trade in a seedy New York nightclub. The rest, as they say, is history. And a very bad movie. Apparently even Ken didn't like the result, complaining publicly at the premier: "What idiot directed this?" What idiot indeed... Russell is one of those film makers who can't help making interesting films, even when they're awful, like this one. Here the film is (almost) saved by the dancing of Rudolph Nureyev, who plays the eponymous megastar, and whose every movement is a perfection of style and grace.
LILIES OF THE FIELD (1963) D- Ralph Nelson. A laid-back itinerant with building skills is persuaded by a group of nuns to build a church. His engaging personality eventually wins over all his detractors, which are not few, because he's black for starters.... A sweet, lyrical film; we'd say it had the "feelgood" factor today, with a strong performance from its lead, Sydney Poitier, who has never looked more gorgeous. Ralph Nelson went on to make much darker films, like Soldier Blue, but this is perhaps his best work.
THE SECRET AGENT, by Joseph Conrad. In the dark, foggy streets of Edwardian London, anarchists plot a dramatic strike against the forces of reaction. But even the best-laid plans... Perhaps Conrad's greatest book, certainly his best shorter novel, containing within its pages some of the most perfectly realised characters in 20th century fiction. From the oily foreign dignitary importuning the outrage, to Stevie, the strange boy who would now be placed somewhere on the autistic spectrum, his his brooding uncle who hides a terrible secret behind the doors of his seedy bookshop, to the society princess who is entranced by the anarchist's revolutionary rhetoric, everything comes together in a climax which still shocks profoundly 100 years after it was written. A classic.
FILMS
COLOMBIANA (2011) D-Oliver Megaton (sic). A young girl witnesses her parent's murder at the hands of drug lords, and swears revenge. Along the way to achieving her goal, like the bad cops in Magnum Force, she wipes out all the other bad guys she can find. What did I just say? I said we were getting fed up with assassin movies, but here comes yet another. Give it a rest, Hollywood and find another theme, will you?
JOHNNY ENGLISH REBORN (2011) D- Oliver Parker. Johnny is brought out of forced retirement by MI7 to bring down an evil genius. Or something like that. The plot here is less important than Rowan Atkinson himself, who reprises his role, this time with a black sidekick and no Natalie Imbruglia (shame). Rosamund Pyke and Gillian Anderson support well, but there aren't as many belly laughs this time. Pity.
TO BE OR NOT TO BE (1942) D- Ernst Lubitsch. Just as the Wehrmacht is about to invade Poland in 1939, a theatre group, with the help of a British spy, escape the holocaust. Slight problem: he's fallen for the female lead, who happens to be married. An absolutely stunning movie at amny levels, full of laughs, thrills and not a little erotic undertow, this is one of the finest things to come out of Hollywood in the war years. Wow!
LOVE ME TONIGHT (1932) D- Reuben Mamoulian. A tailor, cheated out of his fees by a nobleman, goes to collect his debt and is mistaken for one himself. Hilarity ensues... Maurice Chevalier's finest moment, parodying himself as he always did, but bringing it off with superb elan. The movie was surprisingly advanced for its day, with many innovatory devices in cinematography and some truly outrageous dialogue, which proved too much for many censors in the US, who slashed some of the funniest lines from the script. Stupid, screwed-up yanks...
RIO (2011) D- Carlos Sandana. A rare blue parrot is abducted from the Amazon rain forest, rescued, then taken back to Brazil to mate with the only other member of its species. But rare parrots are money in the bank, and the baddies are out to get him back, dead or alive. A dazzling piece of animation (computer graphics are taken to a new level here), but, and this has to be crucial for a film based in the land of Samba, the music is rather pedestrian and dull. Even the dialogue lacks the sparkle we might have hoped for. Disappointing.
JANE EYRE (2011) D- Gary Fukanaga. A young orphan has troubled beginnings, but ends up marrying well. One of Britain's best loved stories has been filmed several times; notably with Orson Welles playing Mr Rochester, but this new version also has much to recommend it. The producers have resisted the temptation of vamping it up to a 21st century audience, and have allowed the story to develop in a way Charlotte herself might have approved.. The result is an absorbing piece of cinema story-telling, free of slickness and pretension.
VALENTINO (1977) D- Ken Russell. A two-bit dancer/gigolo is spotted plying his trade in a seedy New York nightclub. The rest, as they say, is history. And a very bad movie. Apparently even Ken didn't like the result, complaining publicly at the premier: "What idiot directed this?" What idiot indeed... Russell is one of those film makers who can't help making interesting films, even when they're awful, like this one. Here the film is (almost) saved by the dancing of Rudolph Nureyev, who plays the eponymous megastar, and whose every movement is a perfection of style and grace.
LILIES OF THE FIELD (1963) D- Ralph Nelson. A laid-back itinerant with building skills is persuaded by a group of nuns to build a church. His engaging personality eventually wins over all his detractors, which are not few, because he's black for starters.... A sweet, lyrical film; we'd say it had the "feelgood" factor today, with a strong performance from its lead, Sydney Poitier, who has never looked more gorgeous. Ralph Nelson went on to make much darker films, like Soldier Blue, but this is perhaps his best work.
Saturday, 29 September 2012
The price of conflict
In the last few days details have begun to emerge of the terrible cost of the civil war in Syria. As many as 20.000 civilians have been killed in the fifteen or so months since protests began there in the Arab Spring of 2011.
Like father, like son, you might say. Mr Assad pere killed just as many in and around Homs in the 1980s, when the Muslim Brotherhood stood up to him. Today much of Homs in is in smoking ruins again.
When we visited Syria in 2008 we marvelled at the amazing Roman city of Palmyra, in the heart of the desert, close to the Iraqi border. We spent an extraordinary afternoon wandering over the Krac de Chevalier, one of the greatest Crusader Castles remaining in the Holy Land. And we shopped in the Byzantine souks of Aleppo, Syria's second city. Today we hear that all these priceless sites of antiquity have been badly damaged in the recent fighting.
Last night, I watched again Werner Herzog's remarkable film "Lessons of Darkness", where he was allowed access to Kuwait in the aftermath of the first Gulf War. Its images, strangely beautiful despite their horror, of the burning oil wells and huge lakes containing millions of barrels of oil, transfixed just as much as they did when I saw the film nearly twenty years ago. The scenes resembled some terrible natural catastrophe; I had to keep reminding myself that this unprecedented act of ecological vandalism was in fact the work of one man.
Last night, I watched again Werner Herzog's remarkable film "Lessons of Darkness", where he was allowed access to Kuwait in the aftermath of the first Gulf War. Its images, strangely beautiful despite their horror, of the burning oil wells and huge lakes containing millions of barrels of oil, transfixed just as much as they did when I saw the film nearly twenty years ago. The scenes resembled some terrible natural catastrophe; I had to keep reminding myself that this unprecedented act of ecological vandalism was in fact the work of one man.
Not that we should be too shocked by all this destruction. In the second Iraq war, American troops placed a major military base right on top of some unique Mesopotamian ruins, destroying them completely. Yeah, they might have commented. War sucks, right? Especially for the losers. Which, when our history is destroyed in the process, means all of us.
Sunday, 23 September 2012
GREETINGS, PLEBS.
So. Andrew Mitchell, government chief whip and member of the cabinet was a little miffed at being asked by the police to use a side entrance to leave Downing Street, rather than the wider gate that was also available. Frustrated at not getting his own way, he accused the police officers guarding the gate of being "fucking plebs" and heaven knows what other vile mouthed expletives.
So. Andrew Mitchell, government chief whip and member of the cabinet was a little miffed at being asked by the police to use a side entrance to leave Downing Street, rather than the wider gate that was also available. Frustrated at not getting his own way, he accused the police officers guarding the gate of being "fucking plebs" and heaven knows what other vile mouthed expletives.
Who's the real pleb here? The term, which I can't remember using since I was a schoolboy, refers to the "plebeian" class of Romans: Roman citizens, but of distinctly lower rank than the patrician class of nobility, the land-owning class of elite players that ran the Empire. Of course that great "civilisation" was predicated on a culture of slavery and murderous brutality. Perhaps, as so many Tories do behind closed doors, Mr Mitchell longs for a society based on these values, and when angry and frustrated, out pours the true value system that lurks just below the surface of that obnoxious character.
There are patricians around today, and they are a rare race indeed: Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, Tim Berners-Lee, Steven Hawking, Jessica Ennis, Chris Hoy. These people are qualified to look down on the rest of mundane humanity from their pantheon of excellence, though I somehow doubt that they would. A horrible little twerp like Andrew Mitchell is not. You know who the real pleb here is, Andrew? You.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
Look out badgers: they're after you
So. At last it has happened. The government has finally bowed to their natural allies, the landowners, and agreed to a cull of 70% of the badger population over the next 5 years. Last night on Channel 4 news one of these obnoxious types was put against Brian May (who bears a curious resemblence to a badger himself) and had the gall to quote the results of a atudy to support his position, the conclusion of which was that there was NO good eveidence that reducing the badger population has any effect on the incidence of bovine TB in cattle.
My first thought was, why don't they immunise cattle against TB, the same way as is done with humans; why couldn't that be tried before exterminating a wonderful wild animal, one of the last larger wild animals left in Britain. Then Brian produced the same argument. But no, the government gives the green light to a bunch of bloodthirsty killers who will probably relish the slaughter they are about to undertake.
These men are dangerous, and should be stopped. If not, what will they want to exterminate next? other feral creatures in our countyside: squirrels, otters, foxes, birds? If the farmers thought they could increase their profits in this way, you can be sure they would. And it wouldn't be long before our "green and pleasanr land" would be strerilised of all life other than profitable cash crops.
LEAVE THE BADGERS ALONE!
Friday, 14 September 2012
Oh God what have I done now?
2 years ago I attended the 40 year reunion of my old high school. A few people did little acts, music mainly, and as I had just come back from Palestine where I did my juggling show, I kind of wished I'd shown them a few tricks.
And tonight, when an old friend persuades me to come to another on 20th October, I rashly offered to put on a 3 minute demonstration of prestidigitation.
Wah! No, I'm going to be gentle with myself and only show skills that are withing my comfort zone, but I should be able to do a bit with balls, 1,2,3 and finally 4 for a brief period. Then I'll top it off with some ball spinning. I'll use my big yellow one, which is quite easy to use and looks beautiful in the air.
I have resolved to do 20 hours of practice between now and the date in hand- which is precisely six weeks away tomorrow. So I'll have to keep up a steady half-hour minimum every day, giving myself one day off per week. That's quite gentle really, and will, I think, be easily enough for purpose.
I'm getting excited already!
And tonight, when an old friend persuades me to come to another on 20th October, I rashly offered to put on a 3 minute demonstration of prestidigitation.
Wah! No, I'm going to be gentle with myself and only show skills that are withing my comfort zone, but I should be able to do a bit with balls, 1,2,3 and finally 4 for a brief period. Then I'll top it off with some ball spinning. I'll use my big yellow one, which is quite easy to use and looks beautiful in the air.
I have resolved to do 20 hours of practice between now and the date in hand- which is precisely six weeks away tomorrow. So I'll have to keep up a steady half-hour minimum every day, giving myself one day off per week. That's quite gentle really, and will, I think, be easily enough for purpose.
I'm getting excited already!
Thursday, 13 September 2012
the truth: an endangered species
COMMENT
Yesterday the full, awful reality of what happened at Hillsborough 23 years ago came to light; indicating an astonishing catalogue of deceit on behalf of, not only the police but also the ambulance service.
Some years ago a brilliant drama-doc shown on ITV gave us the heads-up on what reality happened- how the police basically lost control of a crowd situation and panicked. And how the victims, many of them in a parlous state, but still alive, were simply lined up in a gym, denied access to any medical intervention and basically left to die. Yesterday we heard that as many as 41 people died in this way, people who should have been alive today. The doctoring (as a doctor I have never been comfortable about that term) of reports by the police to make them appear in a more favourable light is one of the most disgraceful scandals to have been perpetrated by the British state since the Amritsar massacre, and make no mistake: this WAS a massacre of the young and innocent.
I heard someone on Sky News this morning say something about "surely this couldn't happen today". Who are they kidding? Of course it could. But we'll have to wait at least 23 years to find out how they're screwing us right now- and then they'll still be saying: "surely this couldn't happen today".
Yesterday the full, awful reality of what happened at Hillsborough 23 years ago came to light; indicating an astonishing catalogue of deceit on behalf of, not only the police but also the ambulance service.
Some years ago a brilliant drama-doc shown on ITV gave us the heads-up on what reality happened- how the police basically lost control of a crowd situation and panicked. And how the victims, many of them in a parlous state, but still alive, were simply lined up in a gym, denied access to any medical intervention and basically left to die. Yesterday we heard that as many as 41 people died in this way, people who should have been alive today. The doctoring (as a doctor I have never been comfortable about that term) of reports by the police to make them appear in a more favourable light is one of the most disgraceful scandals to have been perpetrated by the British state since the Amritsar massacre, and make no mistake: this WAS a massacre of the young and innocent.
I heard someone on Sky News this morning say something about "surely this couldn't happen today". Who are they kidding? Of course it could. But we'll have to wait at least 23 years to find out how they're screwing us right now- and then they'll still be saying: "surely this couldn't happen today".
Tuesday, 11 September 2012
Talk about an Olympic bounce
At last! I have waited my entire life to see a Brit win a tennis Grand Slam tournament, but throughout that time British tennis has, with a few notable exceptions in the women's game languished in the doldrums. Even today, our Davis Cup team lurks among the lowest ranked countries in the world.
But last night all that changed. Andy Murray came through against Novak Djokavic in what was apparently (I admit it, I didn't stay up half the night to watch it, something I may regret to my dying day) an epic struggle. Murray having secured a 2 sets to love lead, saw that lead nullified by a ferociously determined opponent, then came through in a final set of truly heroic stature.
But, you might say, he did beat Djoki in the Olympic final, but I say that was very different. The Olympic final was fought out over three brief sets, and with a crowd delirious with Olympic fever. How could he lose? But the US Open is another matter entirely. All Murray's gold medal proved was that he COULD beat his Serbian friend.
But Andy, you and I know there is one final goal for you, one goal for which the nation has yearned since my own father was a young man: winning Wimbledon itself. Murray has said he likes the surface at Flushing Meadows, which implies he is not totally at home on the grassy sward of the Centre Court. But the mark of a truly great player is the ability to adapt to all surfaces. And somehow, for me to be able to die a truly contented man, he must adapt too. By his stunning victory last night, Andy has shown himself to be the greatest British player of the modern era. But Andy, we need just one more big win- and you know where we need it to happen.
But last night all that changed. Andy Murray came through against Novak Djokavic in what was apparently (I admit it, I didn't stay up half the night to watch it, something I may regret to my dying day) an epic struggle. Murray having secured a 2 sets to love lead, saw that lead nullified by a ferociously determined opponent, then came through in a final set of truly heroic stature.
But, you might say, he did beat Djoki in the Olympic final, but I say that was very different. The Olympic final was fought out over three brief sets, and with a crowd delirious with Olympic fever. How could he lose? But the US Open is another matter entirely. All Murray's gold medal proved was that he COULD beat his Serbian friend.
But Andy, you and I know there is one final goal for you, one goal for which the nation has yearned since my own father was a young man: winning Wimbledon itself. Murray has said he likes the surface at Flushing Meadows, which implies he is not totally at home on the grassy sward of the Centre Court. But the mark of a truly great player is the ability to adapt to all surfaces. And somehow, for me to be able to die a truly contented man, he must adapt too. By his stunning victory last night, Andy has shown himself to be the greatest British player of the modern era. But Andy, we need just one more big win- and you know where we need it to happen.
Saturday, 8 September 2012
The wrong Betty
My mum was up at her golf club the other day, where she enjoys the honour of being the "mother of the club" being the oldest living member.
There unfolded a strange tale. She overheard one member informing another of the death of "Betty". Horrified, she immediately assumed it was her old friend, another esteemed life-long member. She went home and straight way phoned her best friend to tell her of Betty's demise. The friend, dumbstruck in her turn, lost time in sending a letter of condolence to the family.
And then the truth emerged: Betty had died, but was another Betty, a much younger and more recent member.
Hearing the chaos caused by this little misunderstanding, I took it upon myself to ring the friend myself and attempt to apologise on my mum's behalf. Obviously I had some very heavy weaponry; severe Alzheimer's being the most effective. Fortunately it was soon apparent that after a very nasty little interim, she had taken it in good heart, and accepted that the story, bizarre as it was, at least had a happy ending. Except for the other Betty of course.
She said at one point that she realised there was something fishy about my mum's account when she arrived at the golf club, "And the flag wasn't at half-mast. "They'd have done that for our Betty", she said proudly.
There unfolded a strange tale. She overheard one member informing another of the death of "Betty". Horrified, she immediately assumed it was her old friend, another esteemed life-long member. She went home and straight way phoned her best friend to tell her of Betty's demise. The friend, dumbstruck in her turn, lost time in sending a letter of condolence to the family.
And then the truth emerged: Betty had died, but was another Betty, a much younger and more recent member.
Hearing the chaos caused by this little misunderstanding, I took it upon myself to ring the friend myself and attempt to apologise on my mum's behalf. Obviously I had some very heavy weaponry; severe Alzheimer's being the most effective. Fortunately it was soon apparent that after a very nasty little interim, she had taken it in good heart, and accepted that the story, bizarre as it was, at least had a happy ending. Except for the other Betty of course.
She said at one point that she realised there was something fishy about my mum's account when she arrived at the golf club, "And the flag wasn't at half-mast. "They'd have done that for our Betty", she said proudly.
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Oscar: you can come out of the shame closet now
PARALYMPIC DISPATCH
Last night Oscar Pistorius, having convincingly won his heat to secure his place in the T43 100 metres race, had the grace to draw back from his ungracious remarks of a couple of days previous. I applaud his new found humility and wish him all the best for tonight's final. Where he will up against our boy, Jonny Peacock, who has the distinct advantage of having one more leg than him. As we have seen, in the 100 metres, which is classically known as a power discipline, having one real leg to push away from the blocks offers a tremendous advantage over the short distance, an advantage which is absorbed in the longer events, where as we saw in the 200 metres, victory and 2nd place went to double amputees, because then balance is more important than simple power.
It has been said that in future the categories of T44 (single amputee) and T43 (double amputee) should be separated at the sprint events, and I'm sure this will have happened by the time Rio comes around. I'm not blaming the organisers for this: the entire area of disabled sport is so new everyone is still learning. Including, it would seem, Oscar himself...
Last night Oscar Pistorius, having convincingly won his heat to secure his place in the T43 100 metres race, had the grace to draw back from his ungracious remarks of a couple of days previous. I applaud his new found humility and wish him all the best for tonight's final. Where he will up against our boy, Jonny Peacock, who has the distinct advantage of having one more leg than him. As we have seen, in the 100 metres, which is classically known as a power discipline, having one real leg to push away from the blocks offers a tremendous advantage over the short distance, an advantage which is absorbed in the longer events, where as we saw in the 200 metres, victory and 2nd place went to double amputees, because then balance is more important than simple power.
It has been said that in future the categories of T44 (single amputee) and T43 (double amputee) should be separated at the sprint events, and I'm sure this will have happened by the time Rio comes around. I'm not blaming the organisers for this: the entire area of disabled sport is so new everyone is still learning. Including, it would seem, Oscar himself...
Tuesday, 4 September 2012
Oscar Pistorius: go to your room and think about what you've done.
PARALYMPICS DISPATCH
Oscar needs to go to the shame closet (he'll find Phillips Odowu and the tennis player Nalbandian in there; they can commiserate about how their failures aren't their fault) and try to recover from the humiliating experience of being overwhelmed by the bitterness of defeat and lashing out in blind rage as a direct result. By blaming other workmen's tools, he showed that he is no longer the Paralympic poster boy, but only a bad loser. I've always loathed them, ever since I was playing cards at school when someone lost a hand, and then pushed the table over and ran off with the pack.
Even by the following morning he was recanting a little, regretting the TIMING of his remarks (which couldn't have been worse), but he's still got a ways to go. My advice: swallow your discomfort into a tight little ball, apologise properly, then go away and get a pair of prostheses like that Brazilian guy's. And then fucking shut up.
Oscar needs to go to the shame closet (he'll find Phillips Odowu and the tennis player Nalbandian in there; they can commiserate about how their failures aren't their fault) and try to recover from the humiliating experience of being overwhelmed by the bitterness of defeat and lashing out in blind rage as a direct result. By blaming other workmen's tools, he showed that he is no longer the Paralympic poster boy, but only a bad loser. I've always loathed them, ever since I was playing cards at school when someone lost a hand, and then pushed the table over and ran off with the pack.
Even by the following morning he was recanting a little, regretting the TIMING of his remarks (which couldn't have been worse), but he's still got a ways to go. My advice: swallow your discomfort into a tight little ball, apologise properly, then go away and get a pair of prostheses like that Brazilian guy's. And then fucking shut up.
Sunday, 2 September 2012
The anatomy of a walk in the mountains
Yesterday the wife and I took a walk in the western Brecon Beacons, and courtesy of the "Runtastic" app, I am able to supply the exact 411 on how it went:
Total distance: 7.6 km
Time: 1 hr 48 minutes (not counting a 2 minute break half way up (only needed by me resulting from my COPD affected lungs) and a five minute break at the summit)
vertical ascent: 405 metres.
A mountaineering guide issued by the British Alpine club in the 1930s suggested that it was reasonable to add an extra half-hour to the journey for every 1000 feet of ascent, which makes our transit time quite good, I think. The pitch was steady and unrelenting, going into a series of steep steps at one point, setting my poor lungs on fire, if only briefly. But it gave us a good cardio workout, and in a much pleasanter atmosphere than your average, sweaty, testosterone rich gym.
PARALYMPIC DISPATCH
We are thoroughly enjoying the games, despite an interminable opening ceremony in which it took far too long to bring in all the athletes, making a potentially exciting showcase almost tedious. But perhaps our expectations were too high following Danny Boyle's triumph (though not the closing ceremony, which was an awful mish-mash of inclusiins had no real direction or thrust).
But once the games proper started, we could enjoy, with the rest of the nation, the wonderful feast of athletics, demonstrating what we should already know: that the competitors, regardless of their disabilities, are elite performers at the peak of their abilities and producing competition of the highest standard.
I note also it is now politically acceptable to regard the men and women as sexy (which some of them definitely are) and that other formerly forbidden areas are now up for discussion, as we have seen in Adam Hill's excellent "Last Leg" programme on channel 4, with its highly entertaining section "IsitOKto?..." spot, where people send in questions like: "IsitOK to ask how an athlete with no arms wipes their arse?"
The answer: it is OK to ask, though no one was quite sure what the answer was!
Total distance: 7.6 km
Time: 1 hr 48 minutes (not counting a 2 minute break half way up (only needed by me resulting from my COPD affected lungs) and a five minute break at the summit)
vertical ascent: 405 metres.
A mountaineering guide issued by the British Alpine club in the 1930s suggested that it was reasonable to add an extra half-hour to the journey for every 1000 feet of ascent, which makes our transit time quite good, I think. The pitch was steady and unrelenting, going into a series of steep steps at one point, setting my poor lungs on fire, if only briefly. But it gave us a good cardio workout, and in a much pleasanter atmosphere than your average, sweaty, testosterone rich gym.
PARALYMPIC DISPATCH
We are thoroughly enjoying the games, despite an interminable opening ceremony in which it took far too long to bring in all the athletes, making a potentially exciting showcase almost tedious. But perhaps our expectations were too high following Danny Boyle's triumph (though not the closing ceremony, which was an awful mish-mash of inclusiins had no real direction or thrust).
But once the games proper started, we could enjoy, with the rest of the nation, the wonderful feast of athletics, demonstrating what we should already know: that the competitors, regardless of their disabilities, are elite performers at the peak of their abilities and producing competition of the highest standard.
I note also it is now politically acceptable to regard the men and women as sexy (which some of them definitely are) and that other formerly forbidden areas are now up for discussion, as we have seen in Adam Hill's excellent "Last Leg" programme on channel 4, with its highly entertaining section "IsitOKto?..." spot, where people send in questions like: "IsitOK to ask how an athlete with no arms wipes their arse?"
The answer: it is OK to ask, though no one was quite sure what the answer was!
Thursday, 30 August 2012
August book and film review
BOOKS
THE LAUGHING POLICEMAN, by Maj Stowell and Per Waloo. A bus veers off the road in central Stockholm. There are 8 people on board- and they've all been shot dead with a sub-machine gun. This is the 4th in the famous "Martin Beck" series, which set a new standard in gritty, but understated realism in police matters. There are more famous Swedish writers out there now, Nenning Mankel for instance, but I'm sure he would acknowledge a huge debt to his predecessors. Mankel's most notable writing trick, that of injecting a little domestic dimension into the narrative, has been lifted straight from these 10 books, where we are allowed brief, tantalising insights into the home life of the detectives tasked with solving hideous crimes against the person. If you like a crime thriller, you can't afford to ignore these classics of the genre.
THE DUKE'S CHILDREN, by Anthony Trollope. The last of the 6 "Palliser" novels, where the Duke of Omnium, having just lost his devoted wife, is given little time to grieve by his errant children. The youngest loses a fortune at the card table, while the elder son and his sister both want to marry commoners. Unthinkable! Trollope's books were, like Dickens, the soaps of their day, and they read as such, every chapter has a fresh crisis to be negotiated, every page is a marvel of prose writing. I read the first in the series ("Phineas Finn") last year, and I have negligently skipped to the last one this year. Maybe I'll find myself needing to fill in the gaps before too long.
FILMS
APOLLO 18 (2011) D- Gonzalo Lopez Gallego. NASA sends up another craft to the Moon, but in secret- why? The crew soon find out, to their horror... Shot in a grainy, jerky style reminiscent of "The Blair Witch Project", it has some powerful moments, but ultimately fails to engage us fully. But some of the shots of the astronauts on the lunar surface look remarkably authentic.
PUSS IN BOOTS (2011) D- Chris Miller. The further adventures of the character we grew to love in the Shrek movies. Shame then, that it lacks the skill of writing and direction that made those films great fun. This, I'm afraid, is just annoying. Don't bother.
AJAMI (2009) W-D-Scandar Copti and Yaron Shani. Ajami is an Arab town in Israel, and within its city limits, Arabs, Jews and Christians live out their complicated lives as best they can under those strange circumstances. A man is shot during a dispute over money and honour, and thereafter, in "Rashomon" style, the story is retold from several different perspectives. Splendid attempt at showing the in-built conflicts inherent in a place where 3 cultures collide.
HOWARD'S END (1992) D-Merchant/Ivory. A middle class family on its uppers become entangled with rich, upper class neighbours. By chance a working class couple also become involved in the skein of events. E.M. Forster was fascinated by the inner workings of class in early 20th century Britain, and the Merchant/ Ivory team does more than justice to the great man's book. The film is beautifully photographed: several shots look like paintings from Renoir or Pisarro, and the calibre of acting involved is extremely high. Recommended.
KILLERS (2011) D- Robert Lutekik. A very good-looking young assassin (hired by the CIA) is on mission in Nice when he falls for an even younger American beauty. Things get confused, you know... Oh dear, how many more assassin movies do we have to sit through before Hollywood is done with this wholly improbable genre? Ketherine Heigl (you may remember her as the ditsy doc in "Grey's Anatomy". You don't? Neither do I) is certainly decorative enough, and Ashton Kutcher puts on display much of what Demi must have found so attractive about him, but really. Enough with the hit man movies already! We're bored!
A SEPARATION (2011) D- Asgar Farhadi. An Iranian mum obtains, after great difficulty, a visa to enter the US and wants to go, but her husband's dad has Alzheimer's, and he doesn't feel he can leave him in the lurch. Hence the title of the film, which chronicles the tricky process of separation in an Islamic state controlled through Sharia law. A deeply moving and honestly made movie of life in Iran in the 21st century, which draws us in to its strange, faceless world and poses the question: is our system really any better? Film of the month, and possibly of the whole year. Terrific.
THE LAUGHING POLICEMAN, by Maj Stowell and Per Waloo. A bus veers off the road in central Stockholm. There are 8 people on board- and they've all been shot dead with a sub-machine gun. This is the 4th in the famous "Martin Beck" series, which set a new standard in gritty, but understated realism in police matters. There are more famous Swedish writers out there now, Nenning Mankel for instance, but I'm sure he would acknowledge a huge debt to his predecessors. Mankel's most notable writing trick, that of injecting a little domestic dimension into the narrative, has been lifted straight from these 10 books, where we are allowed brief, tantalising insights into the home life of the detectives tasked with solving hideous crimes against the person. If you like a crime thriller, you can't afford to ignore these classics of the genre.
THE DUKE'S CHILDREN, by Anthony Trollope. The last of the 6 "Palliser" novels, where the Duke of Omnium, having just lost his devoted wife, is given little time to grieve by his errant children. The youngest loses a fortune at the card table, while the elder son and his sister both want to marry commoners. Unthinkable! Trollope's books were, like Dickens, the soaps of their day, and they read as such, every chapter has a fresh crisis to be negotiated, every page is a marvel of prose writing. I read the first in the series ("Phineas Finn") last year, and I have negligently skipped to the last one this year. Maybe I'll find myself needing to fill in the gaps before too long.
FILMS
APOLLO 18 (2011) D- Gonzalo Lopez Gallego. NASA sends up another craft to the Moon, but in secret- why? The crew soon find out, to their horror... Shot in a grainy, jerky style reminiscent of "The Blair Witch Project", it has some powerful moments, but ultimately fails to engage us fully. But some of the shots of the astronauts on the lunar surface look remarkably authentic.
PUSS IN BOOTS (2011) D- Chris Miller. The further adventures of the character we grew to love in the Shrek movies. Shame then, that it lacks the skill of writing and direction that made those films great fun. This, I'm afraid, is just annoying. Don't bother.
AJAMI (2009) W-D-Scandar Copti and Yaron Shani. Ajami is an Arab town in Israel, and within its city limits, Arabs, Jews and Christians live out their complicated lives as best they can under those strange circumstances. A man is shot during a dispute over money and honour, and thereafter, in "Rashomon" style, the story is retold from several different perspectives. Splendid attempt at showing the in-built conflicts inherent in a place where 3 cultures collide.
HOWARD'S END (1992) D-Merchant/Ivory. A middle class family on its uppers become entangled with rich, upper class neighbours. By chance a working class couple also become involved in the skein of events. E.M. Forster was fascinated by the inner workings of class in early 20th century Britain, and the Merchant/ Ivory team does more than justice to the great man's book. The film is beautifully photographed: several shots look like paintings from Renoir or Pisarro, and the calibre of acting involved is extremely high. Recommended.
KILLERS (2011) D- Robert Lutekik. A very good-looking young assassin (hired by the CIA) is on mission in Nice when he falls for an even younger American beauty. Things get confused, you know... Oh dear, how many more assassin movies do we have to sit through before Hollywood is done with this wholly improbable genre? Ketherine Heigl (you may remember her as the ditsy doc in "Grey's Anatomy". You don't? Neither do I) is certainly decorative enough, and Ashton Kutcher puts on display much of what Demi must have found so attractive about him, but really. Enough with the hit man movies already! We're bored!
A SEPARATION (2011) D- Asgar Farhadi. An Iranian mum obtains, after great difficulty, a visa to enter the US and wants to go, but her husband's dad has Alzheimer's, and he doesn't feel he can leave him in the lurch. Hence the title of the film, which chronicles the tricky process of separation in an Islamic state controlled through Sharia law. A deeply moving and honestly made movie of life in Iran in the 21st century, which draws us in to its strange, faceless world and poses the question: is our system really any better? Film of the month, and possibly of the whole year. Terrific.
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