This blog is suspended until further notice

He is gone

Read at Gordon's burial by his neice, Alison, on 26th October 201


You can shed tears that he is gone
or you can smile because he has lived


You can close your eyes and pray that he’ll come back
or you can open your eyes and see all he’s left.


Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him
or you can be full of the love you shared.


You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.


You can remember him and only that he’s gone
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.


You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back
or you can do what he’d want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.



David Harkins, © 1981
Silloth, Cumbria, UK

Unemployment

Paterson Walk Is A Challenge To Women

PATERSON WALK

London.

Two fashion models sit at a dressing table putting on their make-up. Fashion designer Ronald Paterson adds a downwards 'tail' to the eye make-up of one of them, Sheila Morgan. Excellent shot of the girl applying more eyeliner in the mirror and pouting.

Two other models parade briefly in a room; Ronald and Sheila enter. Ronald watches Sheila walk then beckons for some pins and adjusts Sheila's straight skirt, to make it even more narrow. Sheila walks about taking tiny steps - it's like a hobble skirt. Ronald then adjusts Sheila's posture so that she walks the Paterson way - hips and stomach out, chest in, shoulders hunched forward, chin up and eyes looking down. It looks very odd!

Poor Sheila droops about in this position looking very uncomfortable. Sheila parades Paterson-style in a suit with a large jacket. C/U of another Paterson mannequin looking on with slightly bitchy or condescending expression. Another model walks briskly about in a garish flowered halter neck dress as Paterson looks on.

New words

A very silly game played with Leo

He came up with -

Woogerblumk
Franklebleeezp
Russlebumckim
Wentherbaben
Nachtergig
Querbagteger
Flargenzoig
Carflunklebleeezle
WhoopdedoDar

I came up with -

Slimskizzer
Doozleswat
Hacksewer
Sommerloldab
Hinterkopf
Latchbeerhanger
Yabitso
Weeeeblezap

The game was drawn.

Why kids sleep with a teddy bear

This wounded land

Rich and nourished, the ground

Sleeps a while

As though to rest and plan

For the coming campaign.

Bold and cautious it begins

To thrust and jab

It's way up through the decay

Of the last offensive.

It never stops, it marches on

And on and on

Unrelenting, undaunted, untrammelled

Along on a path long since planned.

It is beaten, cut, burnt and blocked

As battles are fought

For every move a counter move

For every loss, a victory elsewhere.

Campaigns change with time

A knife becomes a plough

A cart becomes an engine

And the land remains

Wounded but unbowed.

What deserves your attention today?

The old school tie

I wrote this a few years ago. I dimly recall that the school has asked Old Boys and Girls this question as part of some branding exercise. Six years on I think I still stand by my comments.

What value has been added to your life,
your achievements, even your beliefs
by virtue of being a Cranleighan?

I have no idea.

By common consent among my brothers who also went to Cranleigh and my parents who chose it, paid for it and must have the ultimate overview, this question is almost impossible to answer. Going to a school like Cranleigh is so much a part of my development that to consider it now, years later, as a discrete element that is somehow ‘Cranleigh’ is rather like plating fog. Where do you start? What can you get hold of?

Your question is provocative and given rise to a number of interesting discussions. Form these my own conclusions follow.

Cranleigh was established for the sons of the local communication and it still retains that sense of being a ‘Surrey school’. It draws on the professions in the area and produces sound people who go on to replenish these professions. Naturally it reflects the values, beliefs and expectations of this group. Cranleigh is very very good at being very very sound. Nothing flash, nothing wild; good solid, caring, sharing and sensible, if a little conservative. As a parent this must seem a wonderful if ludicrously expensive proposition.

(Perhaps you should address this question to the parents of Old Cranleighans. They are uniquely placed to provide a balanced view of the School, its values and the end results.)

A ‘Cranleighan’ is a matter of fact – one who went to the school – yet you hint at something else, something that describes a set of characteristics that are distinctly ‘Cranleigh’ (and not Charterhouse or Christ’s Hospital or….). My brothers and I are the former but find it hard to agree on the latter. Apart from our individual experiences did we share any collective values drawn exclusively from the school? Did the School have any form of identity over and above these experiences?

As a boy within the school it seemed to stand for nothing so much as everything. It wasn’t a rugger school or an academic school or a music school or ever a religious school although it pursued each of these and many many more with comforting thoroughness. Wherever excellence was possible it was nurtured, whenever achieved it was applauded. But this process appeared ad hoc, there was never a feeling of the collective pursuit and support of excellence as a school.

With hindsight I can see that this was, partly, the results of the breath of opportunity that was presented to us. No doubt this was a way of allowing everyone to achieve, to find a role, to experiment and develop. I believe this gives rise to two characteristics found in the average Cranleighan. Firstly it encourages an admirable range of knowledge and academic/intellectual curiosity. From this comes well balanced people who can form well balanced judgements. Secondly, this very breadth dissipates focus and discipline and therefore excellence in any particular field.

In such an environment it is not hard to see why formative experiences are base on individual relationship with other boys and particular masters. The school as a collective body with an identity to which any boy could subscribe never really came into it and after serious reflection I don’t believe it ever existed.

There is a motto, but in my time no-one knew what it meant and it was never, ever, invoked, by Masters. A crest and motto suggests heritage, experience, possibly wisdom but if it’s not used, referred to or acknowledged it becomes a quirk easily ignored. Much the same can be said for the School song. It was wheeled out every so often as a bit of an oddity and not really relevant. Mottos and songs do not a school make but there are symbols whose content and use reflect the nature of the place.

Among the boys there was no sense of continuity as a school. No sense of what previous generations had endured or achieved. Honours boards remained silent records of…..what? Who was V A Cox? We knew about the headmaster (Merriman, Rhodes, Emms) but not about the Cranleighans. What were we a part of? Could they inspire us or even humble us? We would never know.

In many ways this is a very good thing. I believe it meant that the boys personalities were encouraged and not dominated. It provided comfort and confidence for pupils and parents. Boys left as themselves – five years on, bigger, brighter, better and mostly harmless – and not as a specific Cranleigh model. Nothing had been drilled into them or beaten out of them. Under the ‘give-them-enough-rope-within-reason’ philosophy of adolescent management boys were allowed to find their own level. But we were rarely pushed to achieve more.

I suspect you would like something a little bit more clear cut. Something solid, clear and presentable. A brand image, a unique selling point. After a few hours of discussion nothing like this emerged. It could be created, all the elements are there, but it just doesn’t exist now.

And that may not be such a bad thing.

© MB 1995 and 2011

Tolerance

6 am Friday morning

I make people cry

That's what they say

I don't need to try

It just happens that way

When I sit down and write

The words flow with ease

And try as I might

I don't seem to please

The gods who protect us

From the rough stuff in life

Who try to connect us

To the good not the strife.

Yet the words keep on flowing

The phrases and graces

Yet I need to keep going

Until a calm small voice says

"You have to stop now

Your damage is done

You've got to see how

The love has all gone"

I make people cry

That's what they say

I don't need to try

It just happens that way.

(c) MSB April 2011

From the garden to the gallery #2

 

(c) MSB April 2011

From the garden to the gallery #1

(C) MSB April 2011

Deserters - Oysterband (Cooking Vinyl – Cook CD 041) 1992

The recent breakthrough of Bellowhead  in the UK is yet another of those moments when the English discover that they have a vibrant, deep and long musical heritage which although not mainstream is sustained by a loyal fan base of festival and concert goers. And so I went to the library in the East Wing and dug out a mid-period disc from one of the stalwarts of the English Folk Rock world, the indefagetable Oysterband,

‘Deserters’ is as good an entry point to this world as any giving a taste of the old and new the mellow and the energetic spiced with a lyrical style that is political without being polemical. Ten of the eleven tracks on the album are self-penned with Telfer, Jones and Prosser leading the credits and only the last, ‘Bells of Rhymney’, a folk classic based on Idris Davies’s 1926 poem of the same name, is borrowed and given the full Oysterband treatment.

For those new to the Oysterband the album opens with a typical example of their style. ‘All That Way For This’ shows off John Jones’s clear and smooth vocals balanced by Ian Telfer’s energetic fiddle playing and driven along by the clean and tight rhythms of Lee and Chopper who give the band much of its unique feel. Of course, having sung the praises of the English Folk Rock oeuvre, lyrically, this opening pays homage to a faded American dream. Such is the life of a critic.

If there was any justice in the world then ‘The Deserter’ should be heard in a stadium with sixty thousand people all singing the swaying anthemic chorus. It will never happen because not only is there no justice in the world but I suspect the boys just wouldn’t want to be that far away from their audience.

Let’s move on through the fine and functional ‘Angels of the River’ to ‘We Could Leave Right Now’ which is one of those mood pieces the boys do every so often. Chopper’s insistent cello providing the edgy drive over Lee’s muted drums and lyrics that are evocative, wistful and vague. They do this; they create a musical canvass and invite you to paint your own pictures. Clever sods.

Half way through the album and ‘Elena’s Shoes’ bring us back into the quirky but firm political commentary that runs through their world like a seam of coal, sometimes thick and obvious, sometimes thin and subtle but always there. But the real action follows with ‘Granite Years’ a full-on, folk rock tub thumper with an audience participating chorus, Jones giving it all on the melodeon and Prosser finger-picking his way through the whole song. A good old pub knees up with a glorious celidh style instrumental towards the end. Are you dancing yet? Oh come on, you know you want to!

It’s tracks like ‘Granite Years’ that reveal the soul of the Oyster band and to see them live is to see a band that you know just lives for the show and the energy they can put into and get back from a room, a hall, a tent, a festival field. Over the years they’ve done their ‘unplugged’ albums and tours, they’ve toured with guests, they tour as a Celidh Band. Whatever, wherever, they just want to play.

The boys go pop for ‘Diamond for a dime’, sing of love and throw in some delicious couplets such as ‘So night falls on the station and your heart’s desire / a diamond in the darkness, a messenger of fire’ and then create another of their mood pieces in ‘Never Left’. Unusually heavy on the electric guitar Alan Prosser pulls some big chords as Jones strikes just the right level of restraint in his vocals. And then ‘Ship Sets Sail’ finishes off this section of the record before the big finish.

‘Fiddle or a Gun’ explores familiar territory for the band as they question war and loss in a foot-tapping, high tempo, fiddle filled four minutes that just begs an audience to dance. And that’s the Oyster Band for you: fun, energetic, romantic, wistful.

They leave the best until last. ‘The Bells of Rhymney’ could rightly be described as an old war horse. First loosed on the public by Pete Seeger in the late 50s and then covered by ‘everyone’ since including Bob Dylan, Cher, Jimmy Page and John Denver. It’s easy to imagine John Jones wanting to do the song a capella, in the manner of Cole Not Dole, an Oyster Band favourite, but it would have been too close to Pete Seeger’s original. With a nod to Judy Collins’ interpretation the boys have moved away from the singer-songwriter one-voice-and-guitar style and created a massive heavy sound that is as strong as the mines, the coal, and the communities that Davies was writing about and an atmosphere that is heavy with regret yet still proud and strong. Driven by Lee’s loose drum loops that create tumbling thunder underneath a pleading refrain laid down by Prosser’s guitar Oyster Band put the song right back into the Welsh valleys. This is muscular melancholy.

So what do we have here? Is it folk, is it rock? Is it English? Yes to all three is the simple answer but doubtless pubs and media courses will debate the finer points of such definitions for……well, forever. And while they do it doesn’t change the fact that this is a group that is hitting its stride musically, balancing its heritage and its politics and marking the start of a purple patch that ran throughout the 90s.

The Internet's "Black Holes"

Personal #3

For reasons too long and painful to recount here I found myself trying to think of the best yet briefest (and therefore, I hoped, easy to remember) advice that I could about life, the universe and everything. The need was serious, the pressure huge, the result was this:

Life rewards positive action, people reward a positive attitude. You have to meet your God half way. Take a step forward. Don't be afraid. Smile.

 That's it. Looks trite, sounds easy. It is neither.

Grace and beauty

For years I've tried to explain to anyone who will listen that sport is all about grace and beauty. Naturally I rarely get the chance to explain why this is one of Gods Universal Truths as I'm usually dismissed with that familiar "Oh dear, he's a nutter" look just before excuses are made and I'm left facing thin air.

You will be saved dear reader from any such ranting here and instead I would like to offer a few examples of grace and beauty from the glorious video diary of humanity that is YouTube.

A piano piece, arranged by the pianist, that isn't perfect but is somehow beautiful.

Another piano piece, this time written and played by Billy Joel that should surprise and delight if all you know of him is his output of pop.

A scene from the Matrix in which Lambert Wilson delivers wonderfully written lines with perfect pace, pitch and colour in a scene that rewards several viewings.

Richard Burton talking on the Dick Cavett show about mining, miners and his father. Grace incarnate.

What was so great about being at a boarding school?

I was asked this question last week. I thought a little and came up with two answers.

i) It taught me that community living needs people to just get things done for the greater good. If it's your turn to put out the bins, then put out the bins. Don't moan, just do it.

I am not sure this is well understood today.

ii) It taught me to keep an open and curious mind in all things. Boarding created so many opportunities to fill empty hours with unexpected ventures that turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. Choral singing, trips to exhibitions, learning the art of the Japanese Tea Ceremony. Not every opportunity was welcomed but virtually all of them were beneficial.

I fear that today's self-centred 'my-choice' society denies this type of forced-opportunity to learn and grow.

Having offered two answers I then made an observation that the influence of the church on the experience of boarding was, in my day, huge. Daily chapel and a visible and active Chaplain meant that, like it or not, one was exposed to and absorbed over the years a huge amount of the riutal and teachings of the Church of England. For some it put them off for life, for others it did the opposite

And then I was asked if going to a boarding school affected my relationship with my parents. My answer? Well, imagine spending a term, say Michaelmas which is 14 weeks from September to December, without seeing or hearing ones parents and living on news from one 'bluey' (areogramme) to the next. Can you imagine that not having an effect?

Diagram of the Principal High Buildings of the World

Another map!

Building Sights

Building Sights

By Mikey B.

Book Preview

But is it art?

A random walk through some images
that have made an impression on me over the years.

Click here to see all the words and pictures.

Happy New Year, Kung Hei Fat Choi,

The RABBIT

29-Jan-1903--15-Feb-1904 - Element-Water
25-Jan-1963--12-Feb-1964 - Element-Water

Ranking Order: Fourth
Hours ruled by the Rabbit: 5am to 7am
Direction of this sign: Directly East
Season and principle month: Spring - March
Fixed Element: Wood

The Rabbit is quick, clever and ambitious, but seldom finishes what he starts. He epitomizes gentleness, refinement and elegance. He prefers situations that are perfectly favorable according to his specific desires and will bypass all obstacles and persons he does not find suitable. As a result, he is rarely angry, hostile or aggressive.

The Rabbit is the happiest sign of the Zodiac -- gifted, nice to be with, discreet, refined, reserved, ambitious but not too much so, and virtuous in the bargain. Nobody ignores Rabbits, for they are good company and know how to make the best of themselves. However, Rabbits are superficial and their good qualities are superficial also.

The Rabbit is a social creature, tactful, cool, and sensitive to others. Yet this calm can become aloof, the sensitivity can be quirky and thin-skinned, and the intelligence can become dilettantish.

Rabbits seem to be born with an innate sagacity, a natural shrewdness which makes them streetwise when it comes to the affairs of the world. Intuitive and with a canny understanding, they seem to possess an ability to see things before they happen, a talent which secures them the best deals both in business and in life, while also ensuring them financial stability and security. With perfect understanding of their partners, they frequently have the advantage, and in the practice of human relations, they are unrivaled in what requires subtle negotiations. They will undertake nothing before they have weighed the pros and cons and examined the deal from every angle. Because of this, people admire the Rabbit and take him into their confidence. He shines in trade, especially in some offbeat aspect of it like antiques, which permits him to capitalize on his good taste. Politics, diplomacy and the law all offer the Rabbit equally good opportunities -- provided always that he can live the tranquil life he craves within their orbit.

Style as well as an eye for beauty are especially associated with this group whose members possess refined tastes together with artistic skills. Highly creative people, art is of particular interest to them. Because of the Rabbit's built-in acquisitive nature, many become great collectors, filling their houses with beautiful paintings and objets d'art. In whatever walk of life Rabbits find themselves, they will always be distinguished by this sense of refinement and their cultured views. Elegant both physically and intellectually, Rabbits will always stand out from the crowd either as extremely stylish dressers or because they create an individualistic fashion statement of their own.

Under the influence of the element of Water, he is meditative and empathetic, with a fragile and emotional nature, unable to bear harassment or other unpleasantness. He possesses an excellent memory and may have the ability to transmit his ideas to others on an unconscious, mental level. He tends to be subjective and his perceptions are easily distorted by emotional issues. This makes him indecisive and prone to fall in with the dictates of others.

Goodbye 2010

Piano Man

It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me
Makin' love to his tonic and gin

He says, "Son, can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes."

La la la, di da da
La la, di da da da dum

Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be

He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me."
As the smile ran away from his face
"Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place"

Oh, la la la, di da da
La la, di da da da dum

Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy
And probably will be for life

And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinkin' alone

Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you got us feeling alright

It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see
To forget about life for a while

And the piano, it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"

Oh, la la la, di da da
La la, di da da da dum

Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you got us feeling alright

Music for Life

Over the last four weeks I've been sending three tracks to a friend of mine each week in response to her saying that she 'loved all types of music'. So this was the test - what would she think of this selection of tracks from here and there.

Part I
First up an epic piece of dance music. I just LOVE this. LOVE it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZSnoaLWCVU

Next is an absolute stonker by A R Rahman (yes, the legend himself) and if you can just ignore the well oiled bodies and listen the the music and the rhythm - oh my god, that rhythm - I dare you to tell me that you dont love it. Go on, dare you......
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9dnRFyGQzg

Lastly, Praan is the wonderful song that in this vid. Written by Garry Schyman and sung by Palbasha Siddique. The text is from the Bengali poem Gitanjali ("Stream of Life"). I defy you, Tim, the kids hell even the neighbours and the postman to watch the video not smile, laugh and just feel damn good about life!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY


Part II
This weeks three for free should touch the more mellow, reflective side of the soul.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhN7SG-H-3k Achingly beautiful. Nuff said.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUZcHZEficE Steve Hackett, a man blessed by the Gods.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBfKXHoSvDM Beethoven & von Karajan: perfection.


Part III
This week’s three for free showcases humour in music.....

Tom Lehrer, The Masochism Tango http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TytGOeiW0aE The man was a bona fide genius and lyrics like “Bash in my brain and make me scream with pain, then kick me once again and say we’ll never part” are timeless.

Jake Thackray, Sister Josephine http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FE-BKrAAZGc Another forgotten genius.

And I could have gone for Weird Al Yankovitch or any one of thousands of DIY post YouTube parodies but this seems like one of the better ‘modern ones’> The Key of Awe$ome taking the piss out of Kesha’s TikTok http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7n8GqewJ2M “Wake up in the morning looking greener than Shrek, sleeping in a tub can really mess up your neck…….”


Part IV
And so to the last trio of tracks, my final three for free.

I wanted to pick tracks that I admire, that changed the way I think about music and that have stood the test of time: tracks that I can listen to forever. I also wanted to go ‘pop’ having dipped into the waters of world music, quasi-classical and humour. And so armed with a few rules, I then trust my gut and this is what I came up with.

Bowie: Young Americans http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNw1ZPzqP9Q From the moment it was first released to yesterday I simply never tire of listening to this masterpiece.

The Jam: Down In The Tube Station At Midnight http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgwYYN_f60g&feature=related Quite simply the best lyrics in any pop song ever ever ever. Nuff said. End of.

The Smiths: How Soon Is Now http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_U5HpeA_WSo with a guitar riff and rhythm that send shivers up my spine.

So no Genesis, no Oysterband, no Tubular Bells, no Beatles, no Abba, no Jackson 5, no Police, no Blue Man Group, no West Coast fusion, no Easy Listening (Matt Munro = God), no Soul, no HiNRG, no Disco, no Cantonese pop (oh yes I love MayDay)…oh my god I could fill hours with awesome music.

And that’s your lot.

Enjoy.

~

My year in status updates (thank you facebook)

Great Britain 2nd December 2010

Looks familiar? Click here
.

Pulling together

© GTB 1988 (ish), Hong Kong

© ANB 1988 (ish), Hong Kong

.

Personal #2

I wrote last year about living with depression. It was well received and I've not had the need to write about the subject again in this blog.

And then I came across this picture and it struck me as a perfect addition to my attempts to describe the depressive state.

Why so?

At first sight the subject is unremarkable. A man sits on a chair, in front of a fire, with his head in his hands. There is detail in the hands, pain and age; the room is plain and apart from a poorly realised fire the painting has little energy. It's pretty ordinary.

But then consider the artist, Vincent Willem van Gogh (1853 - 1890), brilliant, troubled, mad and a poster-boy for depressive illness. Consider the date of the painting - 1890 - the year of his death (he shot himself on July 27th) and wonder if this is another self-portrait but this time a portrait of the inner state not the outer man. And lastly, consider the title "On the Threshold of Eternity" which, for me, is a description of mental illness that echoes long and deep.

And then look at the painting again

Knowing that the artist shot himself not long afterwards, try to imagine an inner world, behind the hands and the balding pate, for which the best description is "On The Threshold of Eternity": teetering on the edge of a dark, never ending, joyless, hope-less future. Just take a moment and imagine. It becomes a painting of huge depth and terrifying, hidden, energy.

I hope you can begin to see why I stopped in my tracks the moment I saw this for the first time, just half an hour ago.

Hawaii Sun

Written at home in 1984 while sitting in front a picture of a young woman on the beach in Hawaii. Rediscovered earlier today at the back of a folder. It's very clunky and a bit 'first-draft-y' but reproduced here as originally penned.


You'd be fine as a classical allusion
Fine as a creature of myth
Lovely, perhaps, in an ancient saga.
Yet you sit there now, it's no illusion
Real and here. Surely....you're a myth?

You'd be great as the painter's sitting
perfect as the herione of old
Ideal, i think, as the femme fatale.
Yet you sit there now, just.....waiting.

You'd be very welcome as my next partner
"Would you care to dance?"
You dance, you would, so beautifully.
Yes do, sit down, just to recover.
Real and here. Please don't grow old.

You were so dazzling as a bride
So wonderful as a wife
So good, I know, in all you did.
Yet I sit here now, with no illusion
Real and here. Knowing my myth grew old.


(c) msb 1984


Oh yes, reader, a few years later I married her.

Pitcure of the Year #3

From The Daily Telegraph on 28th October 2010



A near replica image to the one we grew up wth on the cover of the Just So Stories.




If you want to read the Elephant's Child then it is, of course, available here.

Sleeve Notes for 19 essential tunes

Notes: We open with The Beautiful South and (1) Everybody's Talkin', a sensitive remake of the wonderful Harry Nilsson original. The song found fame in the soundtrack for the Oscar winning ‘Midnight Cowboy’ with Dustin Hoffman and a young Jon Voight (now best known as Angelina Jolie’s dad!). I love Paul Heaton’s voice on this track, so simple and clear. I saw him and The Housemartins at a college gig in Durham way back when. (2) I Can’t Decide by the fabulous Scissor Sisters. I suspect that secretly every guy wants to be Jake Shears. Sooooooo cool. Anyway, this was the soundtrack to an epic Dr Who episode (not cool!) in which David Tennant and John Simm (ok got my cool points back) acted each other off the screen. For me it makes perfect sense to follow a 21^st century New York gay-straight cabaret act with Glenn Campbell, but then my mind isn’t wired like other people, and the words to (3) Wichita Lineman are achingly sweet. Written by prolific Jimmy Webb the song is deceptively hard to sing and Webb was convinced Campbell was the one to do it justice. Campbell wasn’t. In the end Campbell agreed and his is the definitive version. And just for “And I need you more than want you” this song is worth it. (4) Michael Caine by the nutty boys Madness is one of those songs that Madness did in their later days that had great lyrics, stunning production values and lovely harmonies. Perfect. And yes, it really is Michael Caine speaking. When I first heard (5) Shine I thought it was some 60s tribute act rather than a rebooted Take That. Gary Barlow is a genuine song writing genius and Mark Owen isn’t just a pretty face, he can carry a song too. Great pop. And then we come to the Beach Boys and (6) Good Vibrations, for many the ultimate pop song. Described as a symphony is 3 minutes, it certainly changed pop as it and the albums created at the same time drove The Beatles to raise their game and ultimately record Sergeant Pepper. Brian Wilson, writer/singer/producer: genius. No really. He is. A genius. Mad too. (7) I Think We’re Alone Now (Girls Aloud) is just bubble-gum pop. I actually prefer the original version sung by Tiffany but this is so infectious and over the top that, hey, why not. Slap it on! And it provides the perfect warm up to (8) Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire. Composed by AR Rahman, a Bollywood legend, and sung by The Pussycat Dolls and AR Rahman himself. I defy anyone not to get caught up in the breathlessness of the song and the lyrics aren’t bad either:I can feel you / Rushing through my veins / There's an notion in my heart / I will never be the same. Yes!!! Matt Monroe’s (9) On Days Like These is sung over the opening titles of The Italian Job. You don’t need to see that clip to love the song but it helps. Remember YouTube is your friend. And then we bounce back to another crooner, the very tattooed and talented Mr Robbie Williams whose (10) Feel is the best evocation of Depression in song that I have come across. A screaming cry of help from somewhere deep inside a troubled mind. This is my ultimate karaoke song. ELO’s (11) Mr Blue Sky is a bit cheesy but I was there when it came out and I remember the impact it had, especially the last instrumental section which isn’t here and is rarely heard. And so we come to Robert Miles and (12) Children. It’s horribly catchy and timeless. It came out about a gazillion years ago, well ok 1995, and has been released in loads of different mixes, and has never been far from those must-have, essential, club anthem compilations that have, somehow, become cool over the past 20 years. How did this happen? Anyway, Robert Miles is Italian. His real name is Roberto Concina. So there. Coldplay’s (13) Viva la Vida is too recent for me to have anything to say other than it’s another bl***y catchy tune from Chris Martin and the boys. And he’s married to Gwyneth Paltrow. I hate him. I suppose I should hate Blondie but they too write perfect pop. In the same vein as Atomic, (14) Maria has that driving, insistent bass-line and soaring vocals that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And the lyrics, oh those lovely lovely lyrics “My heart beats like a subway train……” mmmmmmmmmmm. [Just a take a moment to praise Debbie Harry and Chris Stein.] For many good reasons Maria should be followed by The Jam and Down in a Tubestation at Midnight but not this time. Moby and (15) Extreme Ways is another film tie-in. The toon closes each of the three Bourne films and somehow catches the edgy, Euro-sensibilities of the films. It’s not bombastic American schlock, its more knowing, more subtle, more doubtful, more……..cool. (16) Never Can Say Goodbye (Communards) is just a rattling good tune, delivered with such joy that it’s impossible not to like. It sounds like they’re having a ball; reminds me of Erasure too and all that glorious camp Hi-NRG stuff. And I love, just love Richard Cole’s piano playing throughout and the contrast between Jimmy Sommerville (high) and Sara Morris (low) is another makes-you-smile-thing. Oh come on, you know you were singing along too! (17) Praan is a wonderful song that is featured on the YouTube-Hit "Where the Hell is Matt" and was written by Garry Schyman and sung by young Palbasha Siddique. The text is from the Bengali poem Gitanjali ("Stream of Life"). I defy anyone to watch the video with this song and not smile, laugh and just feel damn good about life! I’ve known about (18) How Soon Is Now? for ages but only through the guitar riff by Johnny Marr which was used to spine-tingling effect by Pepe jeans in a series of cinema ads in the 80s/90s. And then I came across the full version just a few years ago. It’s The Smiths! Well, well. Who’d have thought? And then the final track, something a little modern but still a bit off beat. (19) Human by The Killers just seemed to be my soundtrack for 2009. It was playing everywhere. And I love the fact that the lyric is debated, misquoted and possibly based on a note from Hunter S Thompson. Brandon Flowers, the singer, said this was Johnny Cash meets The Pet Shop Boys and that’s good enough for me.

Do you consider yourself to be a feminist?

One of the joys of social media are the accidental meetings one has when two worlds meet. My interest in politics and Twitter led me to follow an energetic Twitterer whose politics was entertaining, first, and feminist, second. Over time it became clear that she was/is an anti-feminist feminist and cast her net broader than usual in exploring attitudes. Recently she asked 'any men following [in the Twitter sense] me' to answer five questions about feminism. here are the questions and my answers.

Q1: Do you consider yourself to be a feminist?
No.

If so, why? If not, why not?
As far as I am concerned the term is gender specific. It describes a political/social outlook taken by women.

From my point of view I would have to be described as pro-common sense/anti-prejudice, or some such horrible and clunky phrasing.

Q2. Look at this list of speakers for a forthcoming Feminism In London conference.
http://www.feminisminlondon.org.uk/p_speakers10.ikml As you can see there are no men speakers scheduled. Would this put you off attending such an event? If not, please elaborate.
The gender of the speakers wouldn’t be the issue. My concern would be about the perceived gender exclusivity of an event like this. I sense a virtual sign up on events like this that says “MEN – KEEP OUT”. Turning up would be a mistake. I mean, we’re all rapists, wife beaters and ne’er do wells aren’t we?

Are there any issues you would like to see discussed at feminist events that are not represented here? What are they?
I wouldn’t want to alter this specific programme but the topic that I would be interested in at some point would be “Feminism: change and achievement across two generations”. Something that acknowledges that so much has been done and sets out the vision for the future. What’s next?

Q3. Do you have any other comments on how you perceive feminism to be at the moment? Especially from the perspective of being a man?
There’s a part of me that says “Feminism? Is that still going on?” and I wonder what the struggle is about these days. I’ve grown up with 40 years of bra-burning, abortion-campaigning, glass ceilings, super-women, contraception debates and the social education of rape and I wonder….what battles remain? How will feminists know when they’ve won?

The language is pertinent. Battles, victory; feminism comes over as a crusade, a channelled anger of confused victim and hero worship.

In some ways the Feminist struggle seems to me to have been overtaken in relevance and energy by the LGBT movements. This summer’s Pride events in London and Europe are celebrations, happy places not nasty snarling angry corrals of inverted prejudice.

But there’s also a part of me that says “It’s cool. Feminism, it’s like a club. It can do what it wants as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. Live and let live.” I mean, feminism is just the political wing of the Women’s Institute, isn’t it?

So what do I really think?

I think the world is tired. Or maybe that’s just me. Tired of everyone wanting to be special, to be treated differently; tired of demands for this and that with no sense of ‘give’ to go along with the ‘take’. Tired of every little issue being a ‘crisis’ or a ‘tragedy’, of every slight being a ‘contravention of Human Rights’. Come on. There are real disasters, tragedies and injustices in this world, usually far far from our shores. And closer to home we have so much to do to get the fundamentals right: basic literacy, basic health, decent general education. For all.

Feminism is fine. (I’ll wear that T-shirt). But it’s exclusive. And I don’t want to live in a world divided. I want to live in world connected. An inclusive world. A world of respect, common-sense and pragmatism.

Enough already.

Q4. Where do you live? (e.g. UK, Ireland, USA etc)
UK

Q5. What is your ethnic origin?
White British, apparently. Although culturally I’m European with a heavy dose of South-East Asian thrown in for good measure.

I’m straight. White. No physical handicaps. Married, middle-aged and mortgaged. Privately educated. Radio 4 listener, Times reader. Oh dear, there’s no hope for me is there?

Thanks again. All responses will be kept completely anonymous. I will send you any articles that this leads to.

An angel cries as beauty dies

Beauty
I lay in bed and beauty sleeps, a rest that feels like velvet, and all around the wonderous song, of angels in the shadows.

Let beauty sleep her dreams so sweet, her heart a mystery for me, she loves her nymph, she seeks her now.

I saw beauty rest as we fled, our fears she overcame, and with a sigh and sign of life, she dies to rise again.

An angel cries as beauty dies, the earth moans long and deep, for beauty loved and beauty lived, and now our beauty sleeps. Amen.


Angels
There are times when everything is still and clear, times when your heart is full and an angel caresses your soul.

Your angel can lift you, protect you, inspire you and fill your dreams. He can create a lifetime in a moment and show you wonder beyond words.

Do you speak to your angel?


Gasping
I am filled by a feeling by so strong
That I am breathless
Gasping
In wonder at this danger that brings
Joy and terror in one smile.

It cocoons, it spins, it lifts
My spirit as I see nothing more than a flash of teeth
And his eyes, so beautiful
And dark
That I want to cry.

Cry with joy, fear, surprise, terror
That such a feeling will vanish without
Fulfilment.
How can he be so right, so unspeakably right?
And still leave me breathless, gasping.


Darkness
The line between love and madness is such a delicate trace across the heart. Where they join, where one becomes the other, the two are inseparable, indistinguishable. Both leave me giddy, disorientated, unsure of what is right and wrong, or good and bad, blinkered, selfish and obsessed. I know the madness so well that I fear these feelings and what they might become. I fear another journey into darkness. Yet it might be love, it might be joy, it might a bright light that distracts and dazzles and forces me to look away. Or it might not be. I walk the edge. I know the darkness so well it's familiarity is almost comforting and there is fear in the new, the untried, the unknown. From darkness to the light, a single step, a hesitation, a fear. I am so afraid.

(c) Annabel Hamilton-Smith 2010

Has it come to this?

Section in WHSmith.......

Let Me Go

Read at Ken's funeral 19th July 2010

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little, but not for long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that once we shared
Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone.
It's all part of the master plan
A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick at heart
Go the friends we know.
Laugh at all the things we used to do
Miss me, but let me go.

When I am dead my dearest
Sing no sad songs for me
Plant thou no roses at my head
Nor shady cypress tree

Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet
And if thou wilt remember
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not fear the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain;

And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

Christina Rosetti

Some common sense: Laura Robson’s growing pains...

Laura Robson went out in the first round after playing some terrific stuff against the women’s No 4 seed, Jelena Jankovic, at Wimbledon. She then went out in the semi-finals of the girls’ singles, losing in straight sets to Sachie Ishizu, of Japan.

She got into a right strop about it too, bouncing her rackets about and stamping and slamming the door and refusing to tidy her room — so much so that he mother was heard to call out: “Grow up, Laura.” I’m not convinced she needs to.

She’s 16. Like most 16 year-olds, 16 is not her age but her average. Sometimes she is 21, sometimes she is 11. That’s what quite a lot of being 16 is all about: and that rule counts double for a teenager in the public eye. She has a right to be a child, to be a teenager, then to be a precocious adult, just as life takes her. We call it “growing up”.

I wish her luck: when she’s good, she’s very, very good. And anyway, I’m reminded of the advice Goran Ivanisevic gave to a young Croatian player: “Keep smashing those rackets.”

Simon Barnes, The Times
5th July 2010

A last supper

I had dinner with my uncle, Ken, on Tuesday 29th June. The next day, Wednesday, he was taken to hospital. On Thursday 1st July he died. I am convinced he died of a broken heart.

I had seen Ken a few times already this year. He had of course been to my-Father-his-Brother's funeral where he was inconsolable with grief. I'd visited him for lunch a month later and he seemed distanced from the world. Then he threw a splendid lunch for his 80th birthday inviting his large family - children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren - and his sister-in-law, neice and nephews (my mother, sister and brothers). His eldest son, Nick, gave a moving toast and spoke warmly about the need to treasure relationships. And then he invited me to dinner when he was staying at a holiday cottage near Maidstone.

Ken looked good. For a man in such poor health he looked good. Clear eyed, alert, fresh. He had apparently had a sleep in the afternoon to ensure he would be ok for the evening. At 80, with polio and a medical history that would keep a seminar of doctors going for a week, he was still defying those who had said he would never make it past 40.

We talked about everything. His first wife, Lesley, Malawi, Nigeria, the European Commission, matters of politics and history, Cambridge, wine, opera, my-Father-his-Brother........looking back on it now it's hard not to think that he was running through a life that he had dubbed a 'Rough Passage' when titling his two volumes of memoirs.

When I left, he smiled and said 'That was fun, we must do it again soon'.

And that's how I left him and that's how I'll remember him. Fun, garrulous, knowledgeable, generous in word and deed.

A broken heart? I think so. For a man who defied medical opinion for so long to give in to a mere physcial ailment is unthinkable. He seemed almost indestructable. So it had to be something else. The family he grew up in had gone, the family he leaves is secure. His sprirt, the will to fight again and again, realised that there was nothing more to give. His time had come.

Rest in peace Ken. And say hello to my-Father-your-Brother.

A joke

Q. What is the difference between erotic and kinky?

A. Erotic is what you do with a feather.......kinky is what you do with the whole chicken!

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Football, rebooted

How the game should be -

10 players a side

No designated goalkeeper

45 minutes each way, no injury time.

Only one player from each team allowed in the six-yard box.

Any definding team player in the six-yard box can handle the ball.

No offside.

10 yard penalty for any backchat to the referee.

10 minute Sin Bin after three fouls.

2 substitutes per team. Rolling substitutions.

3 points for a goal scored from outside the area, 2 points from inside and 1 point from inside the six-yard box. 'Goal points' to be used instead of goal difference.

(C) MSB

Pic of the Year #2

The Future of Dating

Eulogy

Geoffrey Thomas Barnes

18th August 1932 – 11th February 2010

~

Thank you Norman for your kind and elegant words. You, Janet and so many others have been steadfast friends.

I am here to say a few words on behalf of the Family. It is truly a daunting task. How can one possibly do justice in a few short minutes to a life so richly lived?

For my mother, Nita, Geoff was a deeply loved husband of 47 years. Her best friend and constant companion as between them they brought up 4 children in interesting, some would say challenging, situations.

For Ken, Geoff, just two years younger, was the best of brothers. And it was mutual. Ken and Geoff were very close. Despite lives often spent on different continents they had an obvious care, concern and fondness for each other. They had a strong deep bond that was forged early, tempered in adversity and solid to the end.

Our thoughts are with you Ken.

And for his children, and in recent years, his grandchildren, growing up with Daddy, Grandpa, was never dull. Geoff had a range of talents and interests that left us exhausted and inspired.

He was an artist. He drew, he painted. With a camera in his hands he took wonderful photos, especially of people. He loved the endless variations of the human face.

He was an author. He left us with two volumes of memoirs and was co-author of the account of an expedition to Lake Tana in Ethiopia.

He was an explorer, with an unquenchable love of the outdoors. A co-founder of the Cambridge University Explorers' and Travellers' Club. And our childhood memories are studded with long long walks and mad journeys up very very big hills or even the odd mountain.

He sailed. He loved the sea and the boats that sailed upon it. He had two himself, Gravel Rash in Sarawak and Mulu here in England. He felt the rhythm of the oceans deeply. From his father’s first voyage to Malaya in 1920 to his return from Hong Kong in 1990, great sea voyages were a defining part of his life. He loved nothing better than the lonely sea and the sky.

He was multi-lingual and our lives have been enriched by a Malay and Iban lexicon with words like barang, baju, minum, makan, ulu and orang dropped into conversation like some arcane code designed to confuse, or test, prospective daughters-in-law.

He was intensely practical. A penknife and a piece of wood kept him happy for days. A rope and a stick - hours of distraction. In many ways he was a Boy Scout who never really grew up. To this day I know that with a handkerchief, a penknife and a length of string I can solve almost any problem.

Artist, author, explorer, sailor, linguist. And I’ve only just scratched the surface. I’ve not mentioned his sporting life, his collection of stones, the walking sticks, mad hobbies that possessed him for months. Or the pets – his beloved dog Gus, a Gibbon called Lulu, a Slow Lorris, a hornbill, a dikdik, and assorted other dogs and cats.

These are just a few thoughts, a few memories. There are thousands more, for many of us, a lifetime’s worth.

Memories are shadowy creatures that comfort, shift and tease but in the end they fade.

So let us look forward as well as back.

Geoff has left us with a legacy as well as great memories. A legacy that each of us carries.

As a father he set us all an incredible example. The personal values and the standards he upheld have provided us with a firm anchor as we navigate our lives. Those values and standards are echoed daily, we hope, in the standards we set for our own children.

Integrity, honesty, fairness, a conviction about what is right. And just as important - a sense of fun and the absurd. This was the heart and soul of the man. This was his gift to us. This is his legacy.

At the bottom of the recipe for what he knew to be The Best Fudge In The World is the following note:

"This recipe was used by my Mother in Malaya in the 1930’s. She sent it to me in Sarawak in 1957, when I was District Officer, Lawas. I was not very successful at my first attempt. I included some Benedictine and gave some to teetotal Borneo Evangelical Missionaries who lived across the river. They liked it."

Geoff had absolutely nothing against the missionaries. It was just his very great sense of mischievous fun.

In fact throughout his life his Faith was a constant, although very private, source of strength.

Lastly, Geoff was a man of service. Service was such an important word for him. To serve is honourable; selfless acts can be their own reward. It is a lesson often forgotten.

Service to one’s country, to a people, to friends, to family. All were beneficiaries of Geoff’s energy, imagination, sense of purpose and - in the true, original and broadest sense - charity.

Today we must cherish our memories of Geoff, of course, but we should also look ahead with confidence and a smile knowing that his legacy of service, integrity, charity and fun will serve us well.

Geoff walks with us still and for a long long time to come.

Terima kasih, Tuan.

Terima kasih.

~

Words read by Michael Barnes at the Church of St Peter & St Paul, Ewhurst
Memories, words and inspiration provided by Andrew, Julia & Robin Barnes

~

March 8th 2010

~

Umbilical

This was written by Garry Fisher, twitter name @himupnorth, and posted on his blog on 7th Feb 2010

Eighteen, a boy and yet a man the same
Embark you must on new experience
So tall and wonderful you fast became
And now I face an enforced estrangement

As you leave to find new worlds of learning
I too must learn a lesson yet ignored
That hands of time relentlessly turning
Mete out an ever elongated cord

It's just damned hard, for you were my first born
First fed, first weaned, first schooled, first everything
But now, my love, the lines are all redrawn
And independence seems so alluring

And so you go, but here still reminding
The love, the bond, the cord twixt us binding

Tonight I was talking with a friend about the fast approaching reality that her oldest son would be going off to university in autumn, god and grades willing. Later, talking about blogs, I was challenged to write a sonnet. It's a verse form which has fallen out of favour and is challenging to conform to. But as I said, I like a challenge. So, as promised, a sonnet about the aforementioned friend, but inspired by a son heading out into the world.

Picture of the year, so far

Taken by Clark Little - please visit his website and enjoy his work.

The 2000s in magazine covers

Great Britain 11:50 7th January 2010

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Hello 2010

Found this morning in my tweetstream and, yes I know it's very 'Athena poster-ish', and yes it's a bit soppy but hey, it struck a chord.

A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words.



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