Somewhere over the Rainbow Nation

It's a long while since I have been to the rainbow nation in fact it's been a while that I have been out of Africa. Aberdeen to Cape Town is along flight fortunately this time it was business class and the inflight service and food were excellent ( KLM and Dutch efficiency).  As we flew over a

Africa I could feel the old urges coming back, I have often said that Africa is like malaria, once in your blood stream it's there for ever, I should coin a new term Africa Phalcifarun, the medical term for those addicted to the dark continent.

I do love England's green and pleasant land, I do feel a surge of pride when I fly over the white cliffs, Jerusalem and Land of Hope and Glory still make my blood surge, but Africa, I have a love hate relationship with the continent, a few years ago whilst writing Out of Jericho I wrote the following, the scene is set as a hostage of Palestinian descent is transported through the mangroves by his captors to the dark heart of Africa, of course it to some extent echoes my own experience, it is a passage of which I am particularly fond and it encapsulates much of my feelings about the place, it is also the segment i read on the Judie Spiers show

 Though the subliminal imagery stored up from a Palestinian childhood was hard to suppress: the images were a collection of living nightmares; it was as if some sick, twisted, malevolent mind had trawled the darkest recesses of mankind’s ancestral memory and assembled everything that is terrifying to the human psyche, then handed it out to these young men in bucketfuls. So different, Mo thought, from the intense young fanatics of Hamas and Islamic Jihad with their pristine white robes, cultivated beards, philosophies and sophistic arguments and mobile phones.  These men had stepped straight out of the soul of the continent. Creations of the id of modern humanity, un-tempered by change and the grinding progress of history.

         As Mo looked at them sitting in their modern speedboat, with their Russian-made machine guns, he felt the tendrils of history reaching out from a time when there was only Africa. For a fleeting moment, he had the briefest of glimpses past the sophistries of cultural evolution into the darkness of his own soul. The raw and brutal nature of human existence, unfettered by the comforts of revealed or imagined faith, reared up in front of him. It was as if the whole of time and creation was slipping away in to the swirling vortex of a history based on man’s persistent denial of his own mortality, and in the mouth of the vortex sat the silhouettes of these armed men, much as their ancestors had done before recorded history began.  The spears had been replaced with guns, the jungle had been poisoned, acid rain had corroded the life from the trees. But now the jungle was fighting back; these wiry black messengers from the dark heart of Africa, the Eden of humanity, were exacting Abel’s revenge. Cain had gone forth into the barren wilderness, and to keep himself warm he had raped the land, plundered the seas, sucked the black blood from the arteries of the planet, and now Eden had had enough and she was sending forth her children, because something must be done. Hezbollah, he mused, had much to learn. 

         Mo looked at them again, black figures against the sunlit green of the jungle. No wonder, he thought, Nigerian soldiers have been known to just drop their weapons and run when confronted with these jungle wraiths, these ghouls from the swamps. It was not the guns or bullets that made these men strong, nor was it the charms and amulets; it was the combination, the ramshackle collection of confused imagery that sent frightening echoes cascading round long-forgotten recesses of the human psyche.

I will never recover from Africa, how ever much I may try and fool myself I want to the fever will always be there.

"Anonymous" or Powell was right

Last night I watched again the film Anonymous. Firstly, irrespective of one's views on the subject matter it is a beautifully crafted film, the acting is fantastic, the cinematography compelling the period London and the representations of the Elizabethan court and theatre from a visual perspective beautifully researched and recreated.

Anonymous is, of course fiction, it does not represent it self as has been accused as fact, though the conceit that informs it is presented as fact, or at least pushed back into the public arena. I wrote my master's thesis on Hamlet and have maintained a life long passion for the bard, who ever he was. Personally and I am prepared to nail my colours to the mast, I do not believe the grain merchant from Stratford wrote the plays. I am not about to present an academic thesis here, but I am going to revert to my Briggs Miers character type INFP and deal with instinct.  If one looks at the list of famous dissenters to the Stratford cause, there  are many actors and writers, Mark Twain , Derek Jacobi, John Gielgud to name but a few, along with Sigmund Freud. Why is this of note? Well actors, particularly actors of the calibre of Gielgud and Jacobi have an intimacy with the cannon of " Shakespeare" that is quite different from the analytical understanding of an academic.  Who ever wrote the plays had an intimate understanding of stage craft, and theatre, which is where the plays belong. Jacobi for example has performed over thirty of the plays and is an avid advocate of the Oxfordian camp. The Stratford lobby claim that the Oxford camp are driven by class snobbery,  However, whilst this may be true, in a sense it it not without validity. Ben Jonson is often held up as a foil to the Oxford camp, he was the son of a bricklayer, however what they tend to ignore, was that Ben Jonson was educated at Westminster, then probably for some period attended Cambridge, though he did not graduate, he also served as a soldier and saw active service killing a man in single combat. A varied life that informed the writings of a great playwright, he had the classical education, the military experience and through Westminster and Cambridge access to observe the country's elite. We know that he could put pen to paper, Shakespeare of Stratford had none of these advantages, son of a glove maker, married to a woman Ann Hathaway  whom we know never attended school and was illiterate, also  there is no  record of his daughter Susanna Hall ever attending school, the best we know is that she could " sign her name", one would have thought that a man who had made is fortune by the pen  and a profound knowledge of the classics would have instilled in his child  at least a rudimentary education, Shakespeare's female characters, whilst they are frequently open to criticism for being less well crafted than some of his male characters are never uneducated, they are strong, wily, insane, but never illiterate.  If the women that surrounded him were illiterate would  that not have appeared in his writings? And given the women that he seemed to like writing about were strong and articulate he would have encouraged these traits in at least his daughter. On the same token the working class characters in the plays are generally baffoonish stereo types, ( see Hamlet's Grave diggers described as clowns) if there is any evidence of class snobbery it is from the writer of the plays not the supporters of Oxford, who himself might himself have been totally incapable of writing a well drawn working class character indeed he may never even have met any where as William Shakespeare of Stratford, should have been far better at drawing middle class and working class characters. 

I recall many years ago watching a documentary where Enoch Powell spoke passionately about the case for Oxford, the great man had tears in his eyes so passionately did he feel about the injustice of the Oxford case. I had the honour of meeting him, and he has continued to inspire me to believe.

Radio Devon

On Friday I was fortunate to be invited back to appear on the Judie Spiers show on BBC Radio Devon.  I have done a lot more Radio this year but this is the first time I have ever done the same show twice. It is also my favourite.  This is not simply because they have invited me back!  All the other interviews that I have done whilst they may have nominally been about my books, have focussed almost voyeuristically on my experience as a hostage, and whilst I understand that this is of interest there is a fine line between being informative and voyeurism, a line that Judie as an interviewer never crosses.

As an interviewer it is not "hard Talk" but Judie is questioning enough to make one think, this is evidenced by the number of "um " pauses she elicited from me.  Generally  questions from interviewers are so predictable I find my self in autopilot the same question , the same response.   With Judie Spiers however I have always been pushed enough to question my self , to make myself think about the response and even some times become aware of an aspect that I had not previously considered.

My spear o' clouds unfold

Two days ago,  I drove past the remnants of Hadrian's Wall, the blood red Templar Cross on a white background, that has for centuries been known as the cross of St George appeared to my left a small corner on a discrete and rather tatty  sign  announcing Welcome to England.

 It seems strange that the English, have so little Pomp And Circumstance around entering the country. When coming the other way one is virtually hit in the face with the Scottish version,

and for years crossing the Seven Bridge has been heralded along with the need to with con the windscreen wipers, with the  blood red dragon and the  declaration "Croese i Gymru".

Saddened by this lack of national pride and assisted by the wonder of iTunes, my crossing of the border was serenaded by the wonder full ( Welsh ) voice of Delia Jones singing Jerusalem, accompanied by the BBC Philharmonic. St George and the Dragon unified in harmony, in a song derived from one of William Blake's greatest works. 

It is an interesting idea, should the Scots achieve independence, what will become of the Union Flag? What will it look like? Will the Dragon of Wales take its place in one corner of the flag of St George? Will we reintroduce the verse about the "troublesome Scots" to the National Anthem? Or will bland political correctness take hold? 

As the starkly beautiful Scottish countryside gave way to the rolling green hills of England the words of Jerusalem still played in my mind. Jerusalem itself was the original Qibla for  Muslims, before the Prophet changed he direction of prayer to Mecca, it is the spiritual centre for Judaism and we ask the question 'was it [sic] builded here on England's green and pleasant land". the meeting place and in these days flash point of violence of the two oldest Semitic cultures surrounded by a gentle sea of Anglicanism, the juxtaposition of angry stone trowing children, the Wailing Wall and  the sound of leather on willow, the austerity of religious orthodoxy and the purveyors of scrumpy? What a truly intriguing idea. The more however I followed this idea, though the more involved I was in it my self and my own education, some of my ancestors brought semitic blood to these shores generations ago, I spent much of my life immersed in Moorish and Islamic culture  but I was educated in some of the oldest Anglican institutions the Country has to offer.  As these thoughts meandered around my mind the iPod had passed  through Rule Britannia and I Vow to Thee My Country  and somehow ended up on the Sex Pistols ( How English can you get?).  The thoughts continued and it occurred to me that what ever part of Britain  or at least what ever part of England we come from Blake has a valid point. our heritage our language what ever our views or affiliation has been formed by centuries of religious squabbles based around a tribal dispute in a dessert thousands of miles away, whether we like it or not the heritage of Jerusalem underpins our every utterance.  The English language as we know it has been moulded by the reformation, the King James Bible, Chaucer,  the list is interminable. When the red cross was waved by English football hooligans they were carrying a flag that was  raised to attack  the walled city, the the same red cross that marked the stretcher bearers of the Somme. 

Jerusalem has been with us, whether built or not, from long before the time of Blake.

Freedom and Democracy as long as you agree with us

I have just returned from a month at sea, a this is why the blog has been silent for a similar amount of time. The owners or charterers of the vessel on which I was, have as is not un common, Internet filters, these particular people have for some reasons decided that anything that constitutes a blog should be in accessible from the vessel. Now there may be a good technological reason of this of which I am un aware, may be reading blogs jams up the bandwidth? I can understand blocking porn and offensive material, but blogs? Even reading them?  This is not the first time I have encountered some strange blocking tactics , I was once on a vessel with fantastic internet access, but a very deliberate blocking policy, one day in abject frustration at not being able to get on to an estate agency site I tried an experiment, any site linked to the NRA was accessible,  most searches for anti-abortion movements were accessible, however,the rock band "Siouxsie and the Banshees" were blocked as " alternative religion". So it was possible to pre order guns and ammunition on line but not find out when a pop band was touring.  It probably coms as no surprise that the company in question was based in Texas,  the State that  provided a president who supported democracy as long as you elect some one we like.

I have mentioned in an earlier blog post that I do believe that the American Constitution is one of the greatest achievements of human kind, and to live under a regime where that constitution was in effect would be truly heaven on earth, unfortunately it does seem to be one of the most abused documents in the United States.  Whilst most Americans I have met will go starry eyes and slap their hands hard across the area of the thorax where the probably heavily choked cardiac arteries are to be found at the merest mention of the constitution, I doubt many of them have actually read it, or if they have read it they certainly haven't understood it.  For instance the banning of a web site on the grounds of alternative religion, seem to me to be a direct contravention of the First Amendment. OK the amendment states that Congress should not do such things, but that does imply that the principle should be universal.

Whilst reading around the subject I came across a most interesting article,which I urge all to read on the subject of Thomas Jefferson,the article points out that during the drafting of the now familiar constitution Jefferson was in fact three thousand miles away in France. something very few Americans are aware of.  In fact it is striking how little of the debt they owe to the French most Americans are aware of, the French Navy secured their seas during the War of Independence, and the  thinkers of the French enlightenment inspired their nascent constitution, which considering George Bush the " democratically" elected president's comments on the French is rather disappointing or at least shows an unparalleled level of ingratitude,  The fact that many of the cities of the south are named ofter French cities ( New Orleans?) also seems to escape many of them. Interestingly though Jefferson did leave behind him    a draft constitution that was never debated, in it he established right of land ownership for native americans, gun control, the abolition of a standing army, the abolition of the death penalty and the prohibition on elected representatives sitting a second term and the immediate emancipation of the slaves. Having read through some of it, though I admit not yet all, it has only increased my admiration for the great man, however I feel that based on my experience of working with Americans ( who to be fair do tend to hail from the southern States) most of them were they to understand what Jefferson really stood for would have thrown white sheets over their heads and formed a lynch mob.

Do look at this link and form your own pinions Jefferson

New ReviewFor ' A Woman of Africa"

The following two reviews recently appeared on Mojo Mum's web site, for which I am of course exceedingly grateful. It is interesting to note what different people take from the same book. 

"This unusual and obviously fascinating book has been read by both male and female reviewers to give you both perspectives – please read on!!!

Synopsis

In Douala, Cameroon, an African woman relates her life to a white Oil Company worker.  Her story can be seen as an experience which encompasses a range of issues that affect women in Africa today, touching upon Aids, tribal prejudice, prostitution, poverty and ignorance.  She relates, with no trace of self-pity, her life as a Biafran refugee, as a women in modern Cameroon and as an uneducated Anglophone in today’s Douala

This is an important new novel – and a fictionalised reworking of real life stories told to author Nick Roddy in Douala by Biafran refugees. Nick’s own experiences in the region also inform this novel – while writing it he was kidnapped by MEND (Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta) and held captive in the Jungle for 3 weeks. Nick still spends part of each year living and in Douala.

Publisher:  Troubador, March 2011

Reviewers:  Lindsey Phillipson and Gerry O’Donnell

Lindsey:

“I am an African woman…That is all there is to it and that is my tragedy.”

“A Woman of Africa.”  What can I say?  For 24 hours this novel has kept me spellbound and like Africa, where the book is based, the narrator has taken me on a journey; sometimes which is as dark as the continent itself, somewhere where I would not have ventured before.

The premise of the novel revolves around a researcher who is struggling to write a paper on the social status of African women.  He goes in to a large fish restaurant and his prayers are answered when the owner of the restaurant, a Nigerian woman, offers to tell him her life story.  Thus the tale begins…

The woman recounts her life from her humble beginnings as “an uncultured girl from the ghetto” right up to her present circumstances.  But what follows from this is more than mere autobiography.   The story of her life is remarkable.  Indeed, the events which she relates at times can make for harrowing reading. Yet even in the bleakest parts of her account, the narration is a testament to her courage, self-belief and defiance against the poverty, adversity and abuse which she invariably comes across.

“To be touched by Africa is to become sadder and wiser.”  I certainly was after reading this wonderful book.  Roddy writes powerfully and his novel captures both the beauty and the horror in which this modern day African woman lives.  Although the woman of Africa is finally redeemed, nonetheless, she encounters many “stampeding elephants” during her journey.  I thoroughly enjoyed this beautiful tome and would not hesitate to read more of this author’s work.

Gerry:

There are many good things about this book.  The tone is conversational, so it is easy to read; there are only a few major characters, so they are easily brought to life; the story has a narrow focus, so it is easy to follow.  There are pleasures in the writing, too.  ‘A sigh of relief escaped his mouth like steam from a pressure valve’ is apt, as is ‘He stretched like a bored cat,’ and a hairdressing salon ‘had chemicals that would send your average Palestinian bomber into rhapsodies.’  The face of a friend with a problem reveals he is ‘crawling through the embers of some private purgatory.’  All of them are nice lines.

Our heroine may have spent her life in a poor and obscure African village, but she is by no means uninformed about world affairs. She says she doesn’t know why Monica Lewinski had to go all the way up to President Clinton when she herself found the local chief of police was usually high enough. This anecdote, although well-enough written and no doubt true, reveals a somewhat crude sense of humour.  But, given the nature of her profession, that is hardly surprising  The list of the hurdles she has to overcome to bring up her illegitimate daughter shows great strength of character, and this is exactly what Roddy most admires about African women:  Their spiritual strength and forbearance, the tolerance they show in the face of adversity and injustice.

There is something interesting on almost every page.

Woman of Africa is full of revelations, at least to this reader.  Physically attractive children of either sex were worth considerable more than ugly ones, she tells us, so African parents deliberately scarred their children to prevent them being taken away by slavers. Accordingly, as slavery still exists in a few countries today, the scarring practice may also still exist.

An easy and entertaining read."

Velo Dramatic

I, like anyone who is interested in cycling, have been following the Armstrong implosion with fascination and a variety of mixed emotions.  On one hand the sheer force of the man's personality and drive,  the way he attacked cancer as ruthlessly as he attacked a stage and it turns out any one who crossed him inspire simultaneously admiration and disgust. Which probably says more about us than it does him. Can aggression and ambition be tempered with humility and compassion?  Is it like trying to flip a coin and expect both heads and tails to show, or is it more like the coin landing against all odds perfectly on edge?  I have absolutely no idea what the answer is, but it has made me look at many aspects of my own life and wonder at my actions motivation s and my own morality. Armstrong clearly believes he has done no wrong, he has structured his own moral frame work that justifies his actions, in his world view what he did was right, it's just that his world view is substantially different from most other peoples, ( there is an argument that this is in fact sociopathic). I look back at timesI have lived through, one example springs to mind, many years ago as a serving Police officer I was involved in a multiple arrest of a group who were armed with a variety of weapons, it erupted into violence, and t here was a moment when I was literally fighting for my life, procedure, reasons for arrest, had all vanished the survival instinct had taken over, failure could have resulted in my death or at least serious injury.  What interests me though with hind sight is what happened to me during that moment, I had to win, and if I am completely honest, I enjoyed it. That is in itself frightening, The opponents were violent criminals who belonged away from society, of that there is no question, the actions of myself and the other officers involved were taken as a whole morally acceptable by the standards of our society, and the courts upheld this and imprisoned the offenders for numerous offences. But morally, even if my actions ( lets be legalistic about this)  my Actus rea were entirely legal and moral, at the out sent my mind; mens era was also at  a state entirely acceptable to society ( and me), but what happened when the adrenalin and endorphins started to trigger pleasure responses in my brain? There was a point when my mens rea was definitely not what was required by society even if my actions were. Siegfried Sassoon  describes something similar when he talks about becoming a "Happy Warrior".

The world wanted Lance Armstrong and he gave the world what the world wanted. To do this he cheated lied and mercilessly destroyed other people.  The world does not want this. This is a dilemma that society faces all the time, we want Saddam Hussein deposed but we don't want top see the twisted bodies of children killed by weapons paid for with our taxes, we want to live n a crime  free society but we do not want the Police to achieve this in the most practical manner, intact we want a police force that is so squeaky clean it is emasculated.   Basically we want our fantasy world, our heroes our military our police to be effective but we do not want the truth.  I recently saw an old documentary  about the SAS assault ion the Iranian embassy, the SAS soldiers involved were clearly very brave professional men, but it was also quite clear that they enjoyed the killing. They were killing bad guys ( from our perspective)  but they enjoyed their job none the less. Does that make it wrong? Should they be contrite? Personally I think not. How does this relate to Armstrong? Well I read a post on the blog  Velo Dramatic which linked Mitt Romney to Armstrong and it was that post that inspired the train of thought that lead to this one. In Arm strings mind, life is clearly a battlefield it is a win at all costs universe that surrounds him,  the haunting lyrics to the famous MASH theme sums it up perfectly;

The Game of Life is hard to play

I'm gonna lose it any way

The losing card I'll someday lay

So this is all I have to say

The only way to win is cheat

We all see the world through our own moral filters, Armstrong through his, it just happens that for most people there is a rough overlap or continuity between those moral filters Armstrong's was different. We might have lauded him on the battle field. According to most of us he was wrong the real question is now are we any better?

Look at the web site Velo Dramitic www.velodramatic.com it is a beautiful collection of photographs and a stimulating blog

Same Shaper, Same goal different issues

6'4" JP Snubb

7'2" JP

Some times getting wet is essential in the grand scheme of sanity preservation, my new board arrived and the imps of Poseidon of course decided that the surf should instantly be removed, probably till the day after I next go off shore, when it will absolutely rage, and I will miss the swell,  well I will miss it from a surfing perspective, I will catch most of it bouncing round on a DSV some where west of Shetland.  Any way this is my 3rd board from JP the previous two have been fantastic and done exactly what they were designed for. This Snubb, was brought for the sloppy lifeless days though today was a bit to weak even for the wide planning surface. The water was some what chillier than I have been used to in Africa, though from the feel of it a little more oomph in the wave and it should be the board to keep me whet when all else fails. Despite not having got a lot of water time recently I make an effort to train most days, core strength upper body cycling running, but the heavy wet suit did make me feel some what  sluggish , better waves and I would have happily paddled more and could probably have got away with a slightly lighter suit but on the other hand it makes for a good work out

6'4JP T4

The T4 is still stuck in storage in West Africa, looking for ward to being reunited with one of the best boards I have ever owned,

Tarmac Addiction

There may be, to some people,a trend developing here, addiction, amnesia, escapism, Coffee, bikes, salt water, an addictive personality emerging, whether it be the need to fill my body with caffeine cycle till my lungs are fit to erupt or my ultimate escape of Salt water amnesia be that on a surfboard,open water swimming or that other guilty pleasure in which I used to indulge a lot spear fishing ( apneas). Now apnea ( breath holding) is associated by many people with some rather bizarre "personal activities" favoured it seems by rock stars and politicians, this is not what I am talking about. though the grey edges of surfing free diving and personal apnea have been delicately explored in Tim Winton's beautiful book " Breath". I  am for the moment tied for various reasons to the east coast of Scotland, a place of appalling weather and truly breathtaking scenery. I surf when I can, though when I left Africa last time in some what of a precipitous hurry, I could only bring one board with me, I chose to bring the most recent and least surfed board in my quiver a 7'2 JP board built for the fast braking waves of Africa, and totally in appropriate for here, I am waiting for some one to be able to bring back my other board and I will soon be ordering a nes board from JP. However I digress, the weather has been awful the surf blwn out and the roads treacherous, but I have been creepig back on to the tarmac. I had planned to use my Trek in rough weather but, temptation.... well Oscar Wilde put it better than any one so why reinvent the wheel " I can resist anything EXCEPT temptation" the Wyndymilla has been out, as I mentioned in my last post. Yesterday she was out again I went hunting hills to climb around Aberdeen,  as usual the dry roads lured me out and ten minutes into my ride they laughed in my face and the heavens opened, but we were out and the addiction was back, I dodged traffic climbed hills and worked hard in the headwinds my lungs gulped at the cold damp air as I crested climbs, and the bike positively danced.

Post ride nutrition

I returned home cold wet and happy, and then because I am sick and twisted like that ,ran through a Kettle bell work out : endorphins! another addiction, Rapha top in in the machine ( luxury  another  obsession) bike washed, myself washed, I sat down to an obsessively prepared coffee. now perhaps it's not what Team Sky use in their carefully managed diets, but it was good.  It  was about doing, not dreaming. Life is too short to dream

"Wavelength" a step in the right direction

I read many years ago in one of the very early issues of the now defunct "Atlantic Surfer" magazine  a short story spread over two issues " Legacy, the prospect of Surf Time and Space" by Neil Watson, the story was illustrated in grainy black and  grey slightly floral line drawings, and I knew I wanted to write. The next issue had a story about Indonesia which I recently learnt was inspired by one of my favourite books, The Heart Of Darkness. Atlantic Surfer did not last long and I had ( I was about eleven years old at the time) spent all my pocket money on a years subscription when it went belly up, I was heart broken, but Neil Watson's Stories Alex Williams's Photography and the general enthusiasm of that magazine changed my life, I need to surf, to travel and to write, I even had some early experimentation with surf photography, I had wonderful Minolta with me in Morocco, but in those days ( pre-digital) film was prohibitively expensive.

As a post grad ( I was at Bristol) I met Alex Dick Read ( now editor of Surfer's Path) and a long  haired walking stereo type of an Australian surfer from Noosa, pot smoking, itinerant, and an amazing raconteur named  Danny Caine. Danny  was a few years older than the rest of us and was returning to education after a few years reaching English and Surfing in Japan, and had spent time living in a cave near Margaret River, had lived and worked in Indonesia. Danny was to became something of a role model for me, though he was tragically recently killed in a plane crash, whist herding sheep in Western Australia. Inspired by these encounters both human and printed I made my way to Morocco, planed trip 1 month  actual duration 5 years.

it all seems  distant past, as I sit in a frozen Aberdeen writing this, paddling out in Fresh water West or Aberystwyth  in the depth of Welsh winter with marigolds instead of gloves back then seemed so easy, even when the surf was just a rampage of white water without a face or peak in sight, it was a ritual.

Now I have with me a big wave board  for Africa ( made by JP in Wales)  which I brought back because it was the newest board I had, I left my other JP board behind and am still waiting for some one to transport it back. A fanatics quad that should be ideal for the local conditions.

Any way at long last, over 30 years after reading Neil's stories that I have finally achieved a two page spread in a UK surf Magazine WAVELENGTH,  but thanks to Danny, Bez Newton and many others the story it tells is true.

to go to Wavelength Mag CLICK HERE!

Good bye to all that....

At school I studied sciences. I know this for a fact, because it was on the curriculum, Chemistry, Physics and Biology, and at that early age when I was still at Highgate I had yet to develop the art of truancy so it is a simple mathematical premiss that I attended science lessons.  That is if we take the number of time tabled lessons as X and I bunked a number that was  < X  the remaining figure must be a positive integer and thus it can be shown that I must have   studied science. However the paradox exists that I do not remember anything of them except and extremely boring lesson about ticker timer trolleys ( which with the advantage of adult hindsight I know was about velocity and acceleration and there for part of  a physics syllabus. The lesson was I believe taught by a master who has subsequently had books written about him and been honoured for his services to Highgate school, The only thing I remember was a friend of mind tattooing himself in the lesson. At junior school we were taught combined sciences quite well (I still remember  some of the lessons) by a man who is now serving time as a convicted Peadeophile.  I  must have been exposed at some point to chemistry and biology at Highgate senior school,  however the events have been completely effaced from my memory. I do recall a geography master who managed to render a subject that I actually found interesting into something nor far short on mental cruelty.

I do recall however English, History and Latin both lessons and masters with some fondness,   They mus have also achieved something because I went on to achieve a masters degree in  English. Ironically though the branch of literary criticism that most inspired me with Deconstructionism, and existentialist school lead by Derrida that sees language in almost mathematical terms, equations formulas, equal and opposite reactions. The only thing I learnt about maths at Highgate was the a certain master, and ex county cricket player ( who incidentally Phil Tuffnel quotes as being his inspiration) was a deadly shot with a board duster,  he never tactually taught me any maths. In fact the only remark I can actually remember from him was being told I spent too much time in the swimming pool.

When I discovered post structuralism I loved it,  absence and presence, being and otherness all represented in terms of Venn diagrams ( Mr Venn a fellow Highgate alumni, though one must wonder what the school did to him that he devoted his life to drawing overlapping circles).

I also do recall two RE masters, one of whom was extremely entertaining and vaulted over doors and appeared to have single handedly won the Korean war the other developed in me a life long interest in Atheism and Islam quite and achievement for and Anglican priest.

My happiest memories of Highgate are the swimming pool, the school swimming Coach was a gifted coach who actually understood children, a talent that seems to have ostracised him from other masters.

Recently I had to fill in some forms and one of the questions related to the house I had been in at Highgate, it took me over a week to remember, I did recall that my house Master had been Welsh, wore grey suits and had a problem with is knee. I also recall the incident where I forgot to turn up to a house water polo match and was asked by and angry house captain weather or not I actually read the house notice board and his horror when I explained that  I did not actually l know where it was ( I had only been at the school two years at this time so I think that was really quite reasonable), I also recall being beaten for telling the truth when asked weather I did not care if the house won or lost, which considering the fact that  I could not remember the name of the house is ,I suppose, not surprising.

I also recall being given detention when a French master instead of teaching us French decided to take us to watch a school tennis match,  later he angrily asked me if I thought Tennis was boring, I replied in the honest affirmative and was rewarded with a detention.

Obviously honesty and integrity were prised at Highgate. Given the above  and the fact that I went on to study English Lit and Fine Art it is interesting, as my career has been based around violence and science. I have been a police officer, ( violence and psychology) and a diver, ( Biology and Physics) and worked my way up the Oil and Gas industry to fairly high operational positions in sub sea engineering.

But what can be deduced from all this? Well If you want your son to grow up an over educated violent dysfunctional who rejects everything he has ever learnt has no concept of team spirit and knows that the inevitable consequences of honesty are  various form s of punishment both physical and mental , torture and deprivation of liberty, nothing, absolutely nothing beats a good Public School education. 

But then I suppose it should be remembered that that was exactly what the Public School system was designed to create, but we had an Empire then and these talent would have found an outlet.

Live and Learn- Out Of Jericho reviewed

The following review of Out Of Jericho appeared on the "Mojo mums" website, some faire criticisms, for which I accept full responsibility . I was pleased with the review in general.   My comments are below the review. 

Out of Jericho  follows the lives of several people and covers events that happen all over the world, ranging from Nigeria, Israel, Palestine, London and Paris. It starts with a family having their home demolished to make way for a new road in one part of the world, and simultaneously, thousands of miles away, a young girl clutching a decapitated teddy bear is rescued from cross-fire. Throughout the book we see how these lives are changed and how they are brought together.

I wouldn’t have picked this book up had it not been sent to me, I had never heard of the author and the cover and title gave me the impression that it was going to be like Bravo Two Zero, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The story is both violent (the flaying of a rogue terrorist who doesn’t follow the brief) and touching (a gentile child who is defeated by a Jewish boy then reprimands his father for telling the Jewish boy to go back where he came from) , once I got round to reading it I couldn’t put it down. Nick Roddy humanises the characters that we are used to seeing in the media as two dimensional, either as terrorists or victims, here his gives both sides three dimensions and we hear the thoughts and feelings of them all.

I liken this book to The Color Purple, it begins with separation and ends with reunification, highlighting some of the struggles that people in countries involved in conflict are subjected to.  At the same time showing that a lot of the time, their day to day concerns can be very similar to our own. The only let down for me was that the book fizzled out rather than going out with a bang, but I imagine this was the authors intention, as it does leave the characters’ fates to the readers imagination.

Mark, the reviewer makes two points, firstly the cover, I chose the cover picture after a long struggle , and I totally agree with him, it does look a bit "Bravo Two Zero", the first cover suggested by the publishers was basically an archaeological type photograph f the walls of Jericho, which I felt missed the point completely, I was concerned that this cover might alienate some people,  and it seems that it has, but I also want the cover to have an artistic integrity with the book, idea of perceptions being over turned, the child snipper on the front cover occurs at the start and end of the book in two completely different scenarios defying expectations and closing a circle.

As for the book "fizzling out"; the reviewer is right, there is no bang at the end, and it was intentional, but I accept that some people may find this disappointing. A final bang would have over shadowed the other bangs and explosions to which the characters are exposed, and one of the themes I hoped to get across was the inevitable cycle of history. I wanted the book to be a snap shot across time, I think the closest  work I can think of that attempts the same thing would be the film " Crash".

I did intend that the book would show though that, despite the inevitable crushing Hardyesque nature of the plot that for some there would be the possibility of hope, but that the human condition will continue in its own relentless manner.  I also want to show that people do ultimately make their own choices and that in a world where the boundaries between good and evil can some times appear blurred to both onlookers and those involved, acts of heroism can be found in the most unusual places and are as much an inherent part of human nature as the horror.

The original review is available click here

“If you paid the hit-man don’t cry at the funeral” and other well known music hall numbers

I think that it was one of Lewis Carol’s creature characters that earnestly pontificated on the problem that “If you don’t mean what you say then at least you should say what you mean”. In Carol’s time it was a clever little play on words, but it was brought back to me by in issue that I wrote about in one of the posts that was deleted from this blog.

I was asked by a departmental head to observe and document the behavior of an employee who was filling a safety critical role and was believed to be suffering ( by the company) from dementia.  Obviously whilst tragic this type of condition is not compatible with a safety critical function.

Eventually evidence was gathered and the employee was removed, in fact dementia was not the issue ,Johnny Walker was.  However what I found most disconcerting was the manner in which the same people so publicly lamented the outcome, using American talk show euphemisms like “ share”.  “ We can not share with you at this moment”.  I want to look at that sentence, “ WE” the use of the first person plural depersonalizes, the statement, the corporate plural takes responsibility away from the speaker, English has a perfectly good word “tell”,  the use of the word “share”  introduces a level of complicity, it draws in the listener, enticing them with the carrot of ceasing to be “you” and becoming part of “we” or us.

I think in my original post I made a comparison with the large Sicilian families, who would  turn up and publicly weep over graves of rivals for whom they had arranged the cause of the funeral, a premature shuffling off of this mortal coil.

Another of the posts to which objection was taken was one entitled “ Why can’t the English ….” This is of course a partial quote from George Bernard Shaw, or more specifically from the better known reworking of Pygmalion “My Fair Lady” , the entirety of the quite of course being “ Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak, this verbal class distinction by now should be antique”. In this post I recounted how the employees were required to attend a briefing from the MD which was broadcast on large TV screens. In brief I made reference to the body language of the attendees and in so doing a comparison ( simile is not a common tool in Oil and Gas) by  reference to Asimov’s “I Robot”. I then went on to tell of how after leaving this particular gathering I remarked to a passing coworker that the event reminded me of “Big Brother” my coworker’s response was along the lines of “ I wonder who will be ejected next”. Now it was only when I had reached the relative sanctuary of my office that I realized that my coworker had been referring to a popular TV series. He had completely missed the reference to George Orwell’s ‘1984’ and the gathering around the screens to listen to the pronouncements of Big Brother.

During my penultimate interview with HR before finally departing the fold I was told I had compared the employees to robots. The irony of the whole episode is that HR too had missed the point it was an article about the state of modern education, where ‘Big Brother’, and ‘I Robot’ are better known in the screen incarnations than in the literary form from which they emanated.  The irony is bitter. That they saw as an attack on them selves a social critique of the dumbing down of the modern world, and in fact de facto proved the point. Nietzsche was wrong It is not God who is dead it is literature, or perhaps  we should say Balaat ( the goddess of Byblos and writers) is dead.

I would like to quote again one of my favorite Shakespearian scholars, the context is different, the consequence identical:

“As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see "the River Tiber foaming with much blood". That tragic and intractable phenomenon which we watch with horror on the other side of the Atlantic but which there is interwoven with the history and existence of the States itself, is coming upon us here by our own volition and our own neglect.”

Powell was talking about the degradation of culture through immigration,  however the same could be said of the cultural colonization or intellectual immigration through the portals of cyberspace, and in the end we, like Powell shall need to travel back in time to see the future;

“no Arts; no Letters; no Society; and which is worst of all, continuall feare, and danger of violent death; And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short."

I am not suggesting Hobbes Powell and Nietzsche be on the reading list of oil company executives, I am suggesting that if we are to have a future they should be on everyone’s reading lists. Turn of the free view TV and get down the free libraries, whilst we still have them.