Nice one squirrel

We have a hazel tree in our garden, and every year as September begins, its produce attracts the attentions of the local squirrel population. Not many to be sure; natural predators in the form of cats, many cats, patrol the area in the hope of having a nice little snack. But there is one who can be seen in our garden every day. He is big, strong, and very, very quick; he doesn't look like he's about to be taken down by any stupid moggie.

Our two cats are fascinated by him and have chased him several times, but now they appear to have given up and instead maintain a watching brief. Despite this Squirrely should beware letting his guard down even for a moment. Like all cats they are possessed of infinite patience, and the slightest lapse in his concentration is all they need: then they will strike. But for the present he enjoys the run of our garden, using all the thoroughfares normally used by the neighbourhood cats and sufficiently fleet of foot to evade them. For the moment...

THE GREAT LUNAR ECLIPSE: HOW WAS IT FOR YOU?

Last night I "programmed" myself to wake at 4 am and somewhat to my surprise it worked. I looked out of my bedroom window and with my naked, decidedly poor quality eyes I could barely see a thing. When I used my high quality 7x42 night glasses though,, it all came into glorious focus: a huge, surreal, coppery orb hanging in the sky, lit only by the light filtering through the outer edges of our own atmosphere, as the Earth itself was blocking any direct sunlight falling on its surface.

As lunar eclipses occur every three or four years and each one can, unlike solar eclipses, be seen over a large area of the Earth's surface, I have seen many in my lifetime. The marvellous thing is that every one is different, depending on atmospheric conditions here on Earth. Although the dark, coppery hues of last night's eclipse are not uncommon, sometimes, as in 1975, the moon can all but disappear altogether. whereas in 1995 the moon wore a bizarre, pizza-like appearance not unlike the surface of Io. In summary, lunar eclipses are a wonderful sight, easy to see and occur relatively often even in the brief timespan of a human life. If you didn't catch this one, don't worry: the next is due in 2019 and I'm confident it won't disappoint- clouds permitting that is...

We've gotta have our nukes

Apparently, and it doesn't matter how much it's gonna cost, or even if it makes any sense. The government is pressing ahead with its plans to build the most expensive nuclear power station ever built, anywhere, the work contracted out to the Chinese and French, with you and me footing the bill, all to have "energy security" that new phrase trotted out by George Osborne et al to justify this project (they use the same spurious argument with fracking). Oh, they say, what if the Russians and Norwegians decide to turn off the stopcock- we'll be screwed, right? Not really. Sure, the Ruskies might do it, though to think the Norwegians would deny themselves the billions and billions we pay them for their gas is a bit of a stretch. Oh, and while we're on the subject of energy security, no one is going to turn off the wind any time soon, or the sun come to that. But such is the missionary zeal of a government which in many ways is just as radical as Corbyn, for some reason  they don't want to encourage sustainable forms of energy production. What is it, do they think it's all a conspiracy by the leftie/hippie faction to take over the world? It doesn't sound likely, but there must be a reason why the government is anxious to pollute and endanger the world rather than nurture it, but I haven't worked it out yet.

They're not the only ones. Yesterday on The Today Programme a former spokesman for Greenpeace actually said that he used to be anti-nuclear, but now what with global warming he's pro. Sure, nukes don't add to carbon emissions (neither does solar power, though that didn't stop this stupid government slapping a carbon tax on it), but they don't represent value for money, and their risks remain the same now as they did in the days of Three Mile Island and Chernobyl.

Wales is planning its own new nuke too, at Trawsfynydd on Anglesey. Not long ago the Japanese premier actually visited Wales and made a passionate plea for us to rethink. The Fukushima plant, he reminded us, was well protected against the possibility of a tsunami, but they never anticipated the unprecedented scale of the wave in 2011. His point being that it is impossible to fully protect such dangerous machines as nuclear power stations. Plus the fact that the waste from these plants remains dangerous for centuries, millennia in some cases. But that's a problem for our descendants, not us, right?

In summary, our current energy policy makes no sense to anyone outside a coterie inside the government and the vested interests who stand to make billions. Everyone else is going to suffer.

The problems of an unreconstructed republican

In 1977 I was lucky enough to get hold of two tickets to the Centre Court for the women's singles final between Virginia Wade and Betty Stove of the Netherlands. The Queen, unusually for her, because she has made no secret of the fact that tennis bores her, was also present for the occasion. Also present was my friend Ann Roberts, an Irishwoman from Derry ( I refuse to call that town by its ridiculous current name of "Derry/Londonderry", a pathetic term that tries to appease everyone but ends up pleasing no one) who having seen at first hand the way the gerrymandered majority protestant administration discriminated against the catholic population, denying them the best jobs, appropriating the best land and so on, was not likely to be well disposed to the figurehead of the British state. So when it came to the point where the crowd stood to sing the National Anthem, Ann remained sitting, and silent. As a gesture of solidarity to my friend, I did the same. I will never forget the level of unspoken hostility and, well, sheer hatred, that our little protest provoked. As it became clear there were two people refusing to stand and sing, people began to shoot angry glances in our direction; a crescendo of furious murmuring rose around us, until I honestly thought I and perhaps my companion also would be frogmarched outside and be beaten to bloody pulps.

Fortunately the moment passed and we all settled down to watch the thrilling events of that day unfold. Naturally we were ostracised by our fellow tennis fans,which didn't matter as English people who don't know each other rarely speak anyway. But the reaction that our actions brought about bit deeply into my consciousness. Something not wholly dissimilar happened to JC last week when he refused to sing the words of our National Anthem. The right wing media were on him in a flash; even his own colleagues had to draw him aside and warn him not to repeat such an unpatriotic act before the eyes of the world. I feel for him. Jeremy Corbyn comes from a lifetime's commitment to republicanism, and old habits die hard. But change he must, if he is to have any chance of taking the Labour Party to success in 2020. It's all very well to stand on the fringes of mainstream politics and hold views like his, but now he finds himself close to the heart of power: a member of the Privy Council and potential Prime Minister. Jeremy is going to have to learn the subtle art of compromise. My only fear is that he may have to compromise too much, and thereby lose the support of the very people who voted him into power in the first place. Suddenly the nation is saying things like "maybe nationalising the railways isn't such a bad idea after all" and even "do we really need that Trident thing in the world we now inhabit?".

So, Jeremy, in some areas the nation may want you to moderate your views. But not too much. We want you to change the face of British politics. We want you and your team to make this country a fairer place to live in, where the super-rich are taxed according their vast wealth and the poorest are helped out of the poverty trap. We believe you can do it, so don't shrink from your gargantuan task, even if you might have to mouth the words of God Save the Queen every now and then.

Speaking of Ashley Madison...

"Life is short. Have an affair" is Ashley Madison's tagline And it seems millions of people (mostly men, I  understand) have signed up, in total confidence as they thought, to get their rocks off in a completely no-strings-attached way. Imagine their mortification then, when hackers broke in and outed the whole damn miserable lot of them.

There's nothing wrong with having an affair, is there? AM subscribers might ask. The answer is, unfortunately for them, yes there is. Way back in the 80's, a male friend and I subscribed to this adage:
Once you stick your thing in, it gets complicated.
It doesn't say exactly that in the Bible, but that book's proscription of extra-marital sex does go to the same issue, as does contemporary law, which sees it as sufficiently serious to be grounds for divorce.

Put it another way, carnal relations between two people are always complicated, because sex is never just physical; it involves a whole range of powerful emotions, not only to those notoriously emotional beings called women, but to men as well. So, men, beware sticking your thing in: it gets complicated straight away, whatever Ashley Madison might want you to believe. Sex without feelings is no more than masturbation or paying for a hooker. Any other kind of sex is a big deal, and should only be engaged in with great care and sensitivity regarding one's own feelings and the feelings of any prospective partner.

"Ashley Madison", I forget the real name of the website's owner, would want you think otherwise, but then he would, wouldn't he? He's made millions out of selling a dangerous myth, though I am pleased to report that those profits may have taken a bit of a hit in recent weeks. Good.

Sexual harassment: a bit of a minefield for old gits like me

Charlotte Proudman (sic) was deeply offended when a fellow lawyer, granted, twice her age, complimented her on her on her "stunning" profile picture on the site Linkedin. She shot back with a broadside indicating that she found the comment "unacceptable and misogynistic". But although I have always tried to treat women as different but equal, and that part of me approved of her disapproval, another part of me felt a trace of sympathy towards the older (and perhaps rather pathetic) man.

Look at Ms Proudman's picture, especially her fringe.  Has she not applied some sort of perming device to it? Why? Presumably to enhance her attractiveness. In which case, I find myself thinking that if she has gone to some trouble to make her face look more pretty and appealing, why is she then offended when someone says they find it so?

OK, OK. I know I could be seen as missing the point here, that as La Proudman is using Linkedin as a forum for business contact, she doesn't want it to be used as some sort of Ashley Madison thing. But here's what worries me. Can we now take it that men can no longer say to work colleagues things like "you look nice today", or "I like that dress"? I rather think we can. I remember an incident a few years ago when my practice nurse came rushing in from the car having been caught in a cloudburst. I said:
"You look unusually attractive today, what is it?"
Her response was that maybe it was because her hair was wet. To which I said "Oh right, that's probably it." And that was the way it was left. No lawsuits for sexual harassment; no offence intended, none taken. I fear those days are long gone. If I tried a line like that today I'd either find myself in court, or handing over substantial damages out of it to avoid public exposure as a sexist brute.

You know what? I'm glad I'm retired.

Welcome to Dismaland, home of irony

Yesterday, after we had spent three hours in Banksy's Dismaland, my wife described it as "a nice day out". Her remark might be considered trite, but it was totally in keeping with the sense of irony that pervaded every brick of this unique institution.

Inside the walls of this former art deco lido which used to go under the not unironic name of The Tropicana, the "fun" begins as soon as you pay the £3 fee for entry. Carefully trained staff adopt a permanently dismal expression as they guide you in. And once inside you will find all the usual attractions of a funfair: Ferris Wheel, obviously bent shooting galleries, even a paddling pool where, for £1 you can guide miniature boats full of beautifully crafted migrants round and round in circles, running over others who are already in the water. What fun! Further inside an armoured police van with water-cannon fountain languishes in a pool, while over there is a bell-tent housing a collection of radical banners going back nearly a century of activism. Then there is a gallery housing examples of subversive art from some of the world's leading artists, including a novel creation by Damien Hurst, where a large beach ball hovers precariously over a base where a hundred vicious knives point upwards, waiting to burst it. Finally, at the far end of the site is the "library", featuring what was for me the focal point of the whole exposition, a copy of The ABC of Communist Anarchism, by the Russian/American activist Alexander Berkman, whose works are virtually sacred tests for anarchists the world over. In these hallowed pages you will find his demands for individual freedom and responsibility, plus the assertion that when free individuals come together in mutual consent there is almost nothing they cannot achieve.

This is the beating heart of Dismaland; it is what provides the reason underlying all of Banksy's work, and the people present seemed to recognise this instinctively. The demographic was mainly middle class/liberal, but there was none of the posing and commercialism that has marred Glastonbury in recent years, now the corporate dollar has taken over, and we can find Alexa Chung wandering around the fields in £800 designer boots. Here people are much more knowing, ready to take on board the tenets of anarchism, because we can now see, with the spasms of the refugee crisis swirling around Europe, the horrible shit the capitalist system has landed us in.

I urge any follower of this blog to beg, borrow, steal, or simply do as we did and queue up on the day and have a grand day out at one of the most amazing spectacles this correspondent has ever witnessed.

August 2015 book and film review

BOOKS

BUDDENBROOKS, by Thomas Mann
It is 1825, and the Buddenbrook family is carrying all before it. Not actually noble, but wealthy, respected and influential in the northern German city that has been their home for 200 years, their grain trading firm seems to turn a healthy profit with a minimum of effort. But slowly, very slowly, cracks begin to appear in their facade of respectability. They want to marry off their daughter to a man of apparently unimpeachable credentials and despite her objections they have their way. It is the first in a series of small, but important mistakes which, a couple of generations down the line, will threaten to tear the family apart.

Thomas Mann's debut novel is based in part on his own family, who lived in the city of Lubeck where the book is based, and even though this is never made specific, some family members raised furious objections when the book was published.  Nobody else did. It was quickly hailed as a masterpiece of characterisation and plot construction and now, nearly one hundred years later, is among the pantheon of great novels written in the 20th century. We find ourselves deep inside this family, with its traditions of restraint and piety conflicting with other strains of licentiousness and excess. We could label this hypocrisy, or accept the less comfortable thought that this is the nature of all families, distinguished or not. We find ourselves in these pages, and this is sometimes uncomfortable. But it is what makes this novel great, that and the fact that despite its length (nearly 800 pages) it is delightfully easy to read. To summarise, sheer genius.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SUPER-TRAMP, by W.H. Davies.
At the close of the 19th century, a young man from Newport, South Wales decides there must be more to life than this provincial backwater and sets sail for America for a life of adventure, and along the way maybe collect material for the book he senses is in him. He leads the life of a hobo, riding the rails and learning the subtle art of begging. After a couple of years bumming around the US and Canada he returns home, not to Newport (wise move), but London, where he continues to lead the life of a homeless man, peddling pins, darning needles and boot-laces, "gridling" which is singing in the street (not too well, as he learns, otherwise people will not take pity on him), or "downrighting"- actually stopping people in the street or on their doorsteps and asking for a copper or two, this last behaviour being particularly distasteful to him, but needs must when you are destitute.

He also starts sending samples of his writing, poems, essays, to various publishers. Ar first he has no luck and is about to abandon the whole project when a handwritten copy of his autobiography finds itself in the hands of no less a figure than George Bernard Shaw. GBS is so taken with the content and style of what he has before him that he recommends it to a publisher. The rest is history. Since the book's publication in 1907 it has never been out of print and is now recognised as one of the most original and skilled autobiographies ever written. And it's true: Davies covers the extraordinary exploits of survival under the most difficult circumstances with an unaffected, matter-of-fact style which is highly alluring, even to our modern, sophisticated tastes, such as when in Canada he falls from a train he is trying to mount and falls under it, losing a foot. As GBS points out in his introduction, most people would put special emphasis on this life-changing event, but Davies simply chronicles the facts in his usual, imperturbable style before moving on to his next adventure.

One point. This book has two introductions, one by GBS himself, and the other by the eminent Welsh man of letters Trevor Fishlock. But neither of these figures seems troubled by the pretty overt racism expressed in its pages. Davies, doubtless conveying views that were standard for his time, describes black people as lazy, shiftless, dishonest brutes who would as soon murder you as give you a light for your cigarette. I can see why GBS might have forborne to mention this in 1907, but Trevor? I think you should at least have given us the heads up...

FILMS

INTO THE STORM (2014) D- Steven Quale. A bunch of high school kids try to get the ultimate footage of an approaching tornado but get caught up in its vortex and vanish into the storm. Meanwhile a professional crew of storm chasers see that a tornado swarm is on the way and, again, place themselves in harm's way to get the definitive "inside a tornado" shot. What follows is a visually stunning roller-coaster of a film which is unfortunately spoiled by instantly forgettable characters and a lack-lustre screenplay. I understand there is a new term describing this sort of film: "disaster porn", and in a way it's hard to argue the aptness of this as far as this movie is concerned. The only character I can easily call to mind a week after watching it is Pete, an unscrupulous film maker (played by Matt Walsh, who is so good as Mike in Veep) who is quite happy to risk his own life and other's to get the footage he wants.

One can't help comparing it with the 1995 movie Twister, which follows a similar path, but whose characters played by Bill Paxton, Helen Hunt and others are so much more authentic. Whatever. If you're into disaster porn, this movie is definitely for you

THE JUDGE (2014) D- David Dobkin. A slick lawyer (Robert Downey Jr) is used to helping mobsters beat the rap when he is called to his family home where his father, a respected jurist, is himself on trial for murder. Bob would be just as happy to leave his defence to a local defender until he realises he simply isn't up to the job. He fires the lawyer and does the job himself. Only problem? The judge (Robert Duvall) fell out with his son years ago and won't give him the time of day. With a ferocious prosecutor (Billy Bob Thornton) determined to go for the death penalty, something's got to give. But as Bob learns more about the case he discovers two crucial facts: one, that his dad may be developing Alzheimer'a and two, maybe he really did do it...

With a stellar cast which includes Vera Farmiga and the excellent Vince D'Onofrio and a solid, if somewhat predictable script this film does grab the attention and hold it, and does demonstrate, inter alia,  that Robert Downey Jr doesn't necessarily need a suit offering him super powers to turn in a good screen performance.

GONE TOO FAR! (2013) D- Destiny Ekaragha. A teenage lad born in the UK but with Nigerian antecedants has his well-sorted life turned upside down when his brother travels from the old country to live with him on an outer London estate. When cultures collide...
Based on a play, this film has more cliches than a sack of Mills and Boon novels, which spoil what is essentially a very good idea. It does, however, highlight a strange form of racism of which I was not previously aware: the hatred shown by some members of the Jamaican community towards African natives, who they blame for colluding in the slave trade. Talk about finding it difficult to let go of the past...

WHEN A WOMAN ASCENDS THE STAIRS (1960) D- Mikio Naruse. Keiko (a wonderful Hideko Takamine) is a widow approaching 30 who keeps the wolf from the door by working as a hostess in Tokyo's Ginza. Then she decides she can do better by opening her own bar, but for that she needs money, and so she must butter up some of her better-off customers to finance her project. But she soon discovers that these clients want rather more return on their investment than a healthy dividend...

Japanese culture is impenetrable to people not from there, and there are few opportunities for us to get a genuine insight. One is the famous novel The Makioka Sisters (see my media review for June), another is by watching Japanese films. Tokyo Story and Tampopo are great examples, and this is another. Told with great delicacy and sensitivity, this a wonderful story of a woman's struggle in a man's world, a film about strength and weakness, despair and hope. Brilliant.

TWO DAYS, ONE NIGHT (2014) D- Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne. A young French woman ( Marion Cotillard) returns to work after a breakdown to find her boss has organised a ballot among her co-workers: they must choose: receive a 1000 euro bonus or reinstate her and lose the bonus. Perhaps understandably they vote with their pockets, but then she collars her boss who reluctantly agrees to hold a new ballot, this time a secret one, when the weekend is over.

She is now faced with the daunting task of tracking down all 14 of her colleagues over the course of a weekend and trying persuade them to change their minds and vote for her reinstatement, even though this will mean they will have to wave good-bye to a substantial lump of badly needed cash.
One can only imagine the scale of her task, exposing herself to the risk of shame, rejection and humiliation. Yet Cotillard portrays magnificently the complex range of emotions necessary to bring this dramatic story to life.
A truly insightful modern fable.