Phil O'Donnell, a 35 year-old Scottish footballer, collapsed and died on the pitch at the weekend during a match between the team he played for, Motherwell, and Dundee United.
His death is tragic any way you view it: a fit and talented athlete; a husband and father to 4 young children; a young man. The manner of his death was traumatic: during a game of professional football, with his wife and children in attendance, along with just over 5000 other people.
His teammates, and the players from the opposing Dundee United team, are numb with shock. Football has been put into perspective; the famous quote from legendary Liverpool manager Bill Shankly about football being more important than life and death clearly proven to be a complete nonsense.
Tributes have been pouring in from clubs, fans and players all over the British Isles and beyond. Grown men have shed real tears. Football matches in Scotland are being postponed in his honour. Scottish newspapers and news websites have given extensive coverage to his life and given space for many managers and players to pay tribute to O'Donnell. By all accounts he was the most pleasant, kind and unassuming man you'd ever be likely to meet - famous and wealthy professional footballer or not.
I cried myself when I heard about it. I felt shock and deep sadness. My thoughts went directly to his wife and children.
Yet four other people died in Scotland at the weekend in car crashes, and another couple in violent, alcohol fuelled attacks. These people's deaths were covered in one paragraph, and outside of their nearest and dearest few people will be mourning them.
And all over the world, every second of every minute of every hour of every day, people die as a result of poverty, war, domestic violence, gang violence, traffic accidents and various other ways. Most of these people barely get a mention.
Phil O'Donnell was famous and talented. The collective outpouring of grief and commiseration is fitting and appropriate. But if only human beings could collectively care about everyone whose life is taken from them suddenly, tragically and inexplicably. If the human race could care for everyone, not just the famous and talented. If they could, wouldn't it make for a better world?
I wish Phil O'Donnell hadn't died. I wish his family and friends all the very best, now and in the future, as they attempt to come to terms with the shock and the sudden loss. And I wish his wife and children all the help, support and love they need to be able to recover and carry on with their lives. Most of all, though, I wish everyone cared for everyone else the way so many thousands of people have demonstrated they care for Phil O'Donnell.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
All About The Girl
A whole year has come and nearly gone in our new home town of Falmouth. Since Toni joined me from Botswana in March 2002 we've had three months in Edinburgh, then 18 in Algarve, before three years in Lockerbie, and now 15 months in Falmouth.Although we've not been anywhere else, apart from three trips to Scotland, one to see Hibs win the League Cup with an emphatic 5-1 victory of Kilmarnock, and one to Guildford to join Toni's and Kumali's cousins for a birth day celebration, it's been a busy and enjoyable year.
For me, my course is over. I now have an MA Professional Writing, and a book and script that I am trying to develop into something people will buy. The other highlight of the year for me has been being part of the formation and development of 'Penrhythm', a samba/reggae eclectic that was formed in February. From a group of keen beginners we have become a slick outfit that has played over a dozen gigs, including three festivals, two parades and several charity gigs for Amnesty International, Cornwall. I recommend everyone bang a drum once a week in 2008!
Toni has spent the best part of 2007 slowly continuing to regain her life and identity, watching, as we both did, her daughter ease into a full-time nursery place, make friends and take another step along the stages of separation path. As a qualified and experienced graphic designer Toni has long been interested in web design, and is now doing a weekly night class to give her a grounding in the skills and knowledge required. She also raised over £100.00 for S.O.A.P. (Save Old Age Pensioners, Bulawayo, Zimbabwe) by selling her natural, handmade soaps and donating the profits. S.O.A.P is a charitable organization, set-up to get essential groceries to pensioners in southern-Zimbabwe who have watched helpless as their hard earned pensions have become utterly worthless in the last few years.
We moved house once in Portugal and three times in Lockerbie, so it's no surprise to know we have made our first move in Falmouth. In October we moved out of the satisfactory, but dowdy house/area we found over the Internet three weeks before we made the move, into a cosy, well situated cottage we got to take our time finding and seeing for ourselves.
With the book deal/script option taking longer than I have imagined in my dreams, we are both looking for full-time work. In a place like Falmouth, and we are a bit restricted without a car, that can be a bit like Albion Rovers trying to find a goalscoring opportunity against AC Milan. But we reckon it is worth the wait. Falmouth is a great wee town to bring a child up in, and while the lack of income, for well over a year now, is a concern economically, the time it affords both Toni and I with Kumali is without doubt priceless.
Whether we had still been in lifeless Lockerbie, with me 'teaching' at the local youth abatement centre, masquerading as an FE college, or gone anywhere else, regardless of whether I'd got an MA and enhanced my belief I can earn money as a writer or not. This year has been about the girl, just as Toni and my life has been since we first discovered we were going to be parents.
Kumali has shone throughout 2007. She loves nursery, has some great friends, enjoys the beach and loves the fact that we are surrounded by cats of all colours, sizes and both sexes. Toni has had crayons, pens and paints in front of Kumali from a very early age, and Kumali has so far taken a great deal of pleasure from creating on paper. She is prolific. So much so that we have bought her a portfolio holder and she is now the main source for all the cards we send out. She also goes to an art club at the brilliant Falmouth Art Gallery every Saturday afternoon with Toni. Papa gets a chance to listen to the Hibs game live, via broadband Internet, while Kumali and Toni get the chance to get arty in all mediums. The gallery exhibit the children's work in a separate part of the gallery on a permanent basis. Kumali has had around ten of pieces of her work framed and exhibited, and was one of six children to have one piece exhibited in the main gallery amongst the main summer exhibition.
Talk about proud Papa!! It has been amazing, but then so has been and so is every day with Kumali. She is a joy and a wonder. Her talents are by no means restricted to drawing and painting; at this stage in the game they appear endless. I never thought Kumali would ever get more beautiful than she looked to me when she was newly born and swaddled in her Mama's arms. Yet she continues to look more beautiful than before with every glance I take. She is breathtakingly beautiful, and the most exquisite character I have ever come across.
And what makes her being all the more wonderful for me is the fact that I have no doubt that I learn and gain far more from her than she ever does from me. Not only am I learning things I never knew about girls, females and femininity from my young daughter, I am learning about living, growing, developing, being and having. When I'm not learning I'm laughing, as Kumali has the ability to crack me up with a smile, a look, a dance, an action or reaction. Oh, and, believe it or not, she can out-talk me - and often does!
She's like the BBC, educates, entertains and informs. It's in the Beeb's Royal Charter, it must be in Kumali's Spirit Charter. All in all, 2007 has been a good one. The greatest sadness we've encountered is the completely unnecessary and ongoing decimation of Zimbabwe and it's people. However, even that darkness, or any of the many other darknesses around the world, can't linger for long with Kumali around as it's impossible to be down hearted for long in her company.
Falmouth is good, and while sunnier climes, particularly Zimbabwe, are not yet on the horizon this is where we plan and hope to be. But, as a wise friend of mine once told me, it's not where you are that counts, it's who you're with. I know I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than with my wife and daughter.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Womenly Wise Ways
I've been reliably, and hysterically, informed, by both my wife and daughter, that the following took place in our home only a few days ago.
I was ensconced in my luxury attic conversation/study/den, music on while listening to the Hibs v Falkirk game live. Toni was downstairs cooking with Kumali.
Kumali was asked, as she often is when I am upstairs and they are downstairs, to go and tell me that food was about to be served. Kumali, as she often does, left the kitchen, wandered through the living-room and dining-room into the hall, then went two steps up from the front door to shout to me in the attic to come and eat.
I never replied. I never heard her.
A few minutes later Toni was now serving at the table and asked Kumali, "Did you tell Papa to come eat, sweetheart?"
(slightly indignant, I'm told) "Yes, I did!", replies Kumali.
"Would you go tell him again then, please?", Toni asked as she headed back into the kitchen, where music was also playing.
Kumali popped her head round the dining-room door and shouted me again to come and eat. She then waited to see if I appeared. As Toni came back from the kitchen and sat at the dining-room table, Kumali came back into the room, closed the door behind her, put her hands on her hips, drew her eyebrows in and her eyes up, then said:
"These men: they never listen to us."
Toni swears she never got it from her!
I was ensconced in my luxury attic conversation/study/den, music on while listening to the Hibs v Falkirk game live. Toni was downstairs cooking with Kumali.
Kumali was asked, as she often is when I am upstairs and they are downstairs, to go and tell me that food was about to be served. Kumali, as she often does, left the kitchen, wandered through the living-room and dining-room into the hall, then went two steps up from the front door to shout to me in the attic to come and eat.
I never replied. I never heard her.
A few minutes later Toni was now serving at the table and asked Kumali, "Did you tell Papa to come eat, sweetheart?"
(slightly indignant, I'm told) "Yes, I did!", replies Kumali.
"Would you go tell him again then, please?", Toni asked as she headed back into the kitchen, where music was also playing.
Kumali popped her head round the dining-room door and shouted me again to come and eat. She then waited to see if I appeared. As Toni came back from the kitchen and sat at the dining-room table, Kumali came back into the room, closed the door behind her, put her hands on her hips, drew her eyebrows in and her eyes up, then said:
"These men: they never listen to us."
Toni swears she never got it from her!
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Financial Recession, Emotonal Depression
Batten down the hatches, cull the livestock. Call in the debts, secure the loans. Reign in the excesses, there's a recession rolling into town!
The 'money men' are doing their best, so as not to worry us, especially just before Spendmas, not to fall over themselves as they tell us that, well, er um ... the economy's not looking as good right now, and for the foreseeable future, as they thought it would.
They've even nearly mentioned the 'r' word: recession! My dictionary describes a recession in relation to an economy as, 'a temporary falling off of business activity, less serious than a depression.' I couldn't have put it better myself, well I could of, but they wouldn't have printed it. The key words, for me, are 'temporary', 'less serious', 'depression'.
When I look around me as an inhabitant of the British Isles, I see people well dressed, well fed, well serviced, well travelled, 'well' whatever they want that life in Britain brings. They are awash with 'things', 'coisas' as they call 'things' in Portuguese. Whatever is happening, and is going to happen, economically in the British Isles, and already we are being told that banks aren't lending, houses aren't selling, companies aren't hiring and consumers aren't spending, the vast majority of people have too much of everything already. And there is lending, selling, hiring and spending activity going on. Just not as much as normal.
And isn't that what the recession is really about? It's a recession of profit for those who profit from businesses profits. A theatre company set-up in Scotland in the 70s was so named '7:84' as it was (and is) a socialist theatre company, and 7:84 represented economic statistics at the time that stated 7% of the population owned and/or controlled 74% of the wealth. If it was set-up today it would probably have to be called 5:90.
So this recession that's coming the British Isle's way, is a recession on the profits of 5% of the population who already own and/or control 90% of the wealth. And you know who'll pay, Mr and Mrs Average. Quality country, the UK!
But it's temporary, and not as bad as a depression. My dictionary defines depression as 'a natural hollow or low-lying place; a state of low mental vitality, dejection.' Seems to me, from an emotional (or spiritual) perspective, we're already in the midst of one almighty depression. A depression all the economic boom and spend, spend, spend ideology appears to have significantly contributed to.
The samba band I play in, Penrhythm, played a gig on Friday night to raise money for an orphanage in Ecuador. There were photos of the orphanage, looking like a place we'd keep cattle, and of the children, barefoot and in rags. There were messages from them, translated into English: messages of loneliness, hunger and loss. Yet their faces carried the warmth, humility and humanity that is all too absent on the faces of those who inhabit the 'developed world'.
Maybe a financial recession would be a healthy thing, if it could shake us all out of the emotional depression. And as Leonard Cohen says, 'may the lights in the land of plenty shine on the truth someday.'
The 'money men' are doing their best, so as not to worry us, especially just before Spendmas, not to fall over themselves as they tell us that, well, er um ... the economy's not looking as good right now, and for the foreseeable future, as they thought it would.
They've even nearly mentioned the 'r' word: recession! My dictionary describes a recession in relation to an economy as, 'a temporary falling off of business activity, less serious than a depression.' I couldn't have put it better myself, well I could of, but they wouldn't have printed it. The key words, for me, are 'temporary', 'less serious', 'depression'.
When I look around me as an inhabitant of the British Isles, I see people well dressed, well fed, well serviced, well travelled, 'well' whatever they want that life in Britain brings. They are awash with 'things', 'coisas' as they call 'things' in Portuguese. Whatever is happening, and is going to happen, economically in the British Isles, and already we are being told that banks aren't lending, houses aren't selling, companies aren't hiring and consumers aren't spending, the vast majority of people have too much of everything already. And there is lending, selling, hiring and spending activity going on. Just not as much as normal.
And isn't that what the recession is really about? It's a recession of profit for those who profit from businesses profits. A theatre company set-up in Scotland in the 70s was so named '7:84' as it was (and is) a socialist theatre company, and 7:84 represented economic statistics at the time that stated 7% of the population owned and/or controlled 74% of the wealth. If it was set-up today it would probably have to be called 5:90.
So this recession that's coming the British Isle's way, is a recession on the profits of 5% of the population who already own and/or control 90% of the wealth. And you know who'll pay, Mr and Mrs Average. Quality country, the UK!
But it's temporary, and not as bad as a depression. My dictionary defines depression as 'a natural hollow or low-lying place; a state of low mental vitality, dejection.' Seems to me, from an emotional (or spiritual) perspective, we're already in the midst of one almighty depression. A depression all the economic boom and spend, spend, spend ideology appears to have significantly contributed to.
The samba band I play in, Penrhythm, played a gig on Friday night to raise money for an orphanage in Ecuador. There were photos of the orphanage, looking like a place we'd keep cattle, and of the children, barefoot and in rags. There were messages from them, translated into English: messages of loneliness, hunger and loss. Yet their faces carried the warmth, humility and humanity that is all too absent on the faces of those who inhabit the 'developed world'.
Maybe a financial recession would be a healthy thing, if it could shake us all out of the emotional depression. And as Leonard Cohen says, 'may the lights in the land of plenty shine on the truth someday.'
Monday, December 03, 2007
Christmas Crackers
Commercial television is becoming a major no-no for me right now. It's not much of a burden as there is little on these 'shopping' channels that takes my fancy. They rarely produce a programme that I'd like to watch, unlike the BBC who come up with the odd beauty that compels me. The latest being 'Long Way Down', which I loved.
But I digress.
What pisses me off about the commercial channels at this time of year is the harder than normal sell before, during and after programmes because Christmas is coming. There's no 'ba humbug' about it, either.
I've no problem with Christmas per se. It's the 'we will tell you how Christmas should be, what you should think, how you should behave and what you should do' that bugs the shit out of me.
Even if you avoid the telly, there's no escape. Shops, especially supermarkets, are full of it. I object to being told how to have a great Christmas. Especially as it mainly revolves around spending money, buying things and indulging in excesses of excess.
Why is Christmas time so good when you eat and drink far too much and give and recieve gifts that have all the imagination of sixties architecture?
Does anyone remember, or care, what Christmas is supposed to be about? And with religion on the wane in the western world, why does everyone celebrate Christmas with so much gusto anyway? Sure Christmas can be a great time, but so can any day of the week for me.
In days gone by what made Christmas special was that you ate food you wouldn't normally eat, got treats you wouldn't normally get, got gifts of things you had wanted for ages, and watched programmes and films you hadn't seen before on telly. In today's world of instant gratification for all, regardless of whether you can afford it or not due to credit, Christmas has lost its special appeal. At least in my eyes.
Worst of all I object to being told what to do and how to do it. The media and commercial frenzy that convinces people how Christmas is and should be sickens me.
How I wish I could afford to take my family and myself somewhere where they've never heard of Christmas this Christmas. And NO 'ba humbug' about it!
But I digress.
What pisses me off about the commercial channels at this time of year is the harder than normal sell before, during and after programmes because Christmas is coming. There's no 'ba humbug' about it, either.
I've no problem with Christmas per se. It's the 'we will tell you how Christmas should be, what you should think, how you should behave and what you should do' that bugs the shit out of me.
Even if you avoid the telly, there's no escape. Shops, especially supermarkets, are full of it. I object to being told how to have a great Christmas. Especially as it mainly revolves around spending money, buying things and indulging in excesses of excess.
Why is Christmas time so good when you eat and drink far too much and give and recieve gifts that have all the imagination of sixties architecture?
Does anyone remember, or care, what Christmas is supposed to be about? And with religion on the wane in the western world, why does everyone celebrate Christmas with so much gusto anyway? Sure Christmas can be a great time, but so can any day of the week for me.
In days gone by what made Christmas special was that you ate food you wouldn't normally eat, got treats you wouldn't normally get, got gifts of things you had wanted for ages, and watched programmes and films you hadn't seen before on telly. In today's world of instant gratification for all, regardless of whether you can afford it or not due to credit, Christmas has lost its special appeal. At least in my eyes.
Worst of all I object to being told what to do and how to do it. The media and commercial frenzy that convinces people how Christmas is and should be sickens me.
How I wish I could afford to take my family and myself somewhere where they've never heard of Christmas this Christmas. And NO 'ba humbug' about it!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Who Said Scottish Guys Aren't Romantic?
Not my own work, but touching none the same!
A Scottish Love Poem
A' coorse ah love ye darlin'
Ye're a bloody tap notch burd.
An' when ah say ye're gorgeous
Ah mean iv'ry single word.
So yer bum is oan the big side
Ah don't mind a bit o flab.
It means that whin ah'm ready
There's somethin' therr tae grab.
So yer belly isny flat nae merr
Ah tell ye, ah don't cerr.
So long as when ah cuddle ye
I cin get mah erms roon' therr.
Nae wummin wha is your age
Hiz nice roon' perky breasts.
They jist gave in tae gravity
Bit ah know ye did yer best.
Ah'm tellin ye the truth noo
Ah nivir tell ye lies.
Ah think its very sexy
Thit ye've goat dimples oan yer thighs.
Ah swerr oan mah grannies grave noo
The moment thit we met.
Ah thocht ye wiz as guid as
Ah wiz ivir goanie get.
Nae maitter whit ye look like
Ah'll aywiz love ye dear.
Noo shut up while the fitba's oan
An' fetch 'es anither beer.
A Scottish Love Poem
A' coorse ah love ye darlin'
Ye're a bloody tap notch burd.
An' when ah say ye're gorgeous
Ah mean iv'ry single word.
So yer bum is oan the big side
Ah don't mind a bit o flab.
It means that whin ah'm ready
There's somethin' therr tae grab.
So yer belly isny flat nae merr
Ah tell ye, ah don't cerr.
So long as when ah cuddle ye
I cin get mah erms roon' therr.
Nae wummin wha is your age
Hiz nice roon' perky breasts.
They jist gave in tae gravity
Bit ah know ye did yer best.
Ah'm tellin ye the truth noo
Ah nivir tell ye lies.
Ah think its very sexy
Thit ye've goat dimples oan yer thighs.
Ah swerr oan mah grannies grave noo
The moment thit we met.
Ah thocht ye wiz as guid as
Ah wiz ivir goanie get.
Nae maitter whit ye look like
Ah'll aywiz love ye dear.
Noo shut up while the fitba's oan
An' fetch 'es anither beer.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I Love George Clooney
Well how can you not, right? A blind person could see that he is handsome, suave and debonair. But that's not why I love him. Like any actor he's made his share of naff movies, but he is a very talented and versatile actor with great screen presence. But that's not why I love him, either.
I love George Clooney because he is intelligent, dignified and humble. The guy is smart, rich, successfull and lusted over. Yet, he just doesn't appear to take himself too seriously. Oh, and he has got involved with, backed financially and starred in some top, top films recently. That's why I love George Clooney.
He makes the type of films I love to watch. Okay Ocean's Thirteen was awful. So bad that, while Ocean's Twelve was bearable, it partly tarnished the memory of Ocean's Eleven, which was a great film for sheer slick, classy entertainment. But films like Good Night, and Good Luck and Syriana are the sort of films that get my juices flowing. I could watch them like others watch soaps, or in real time like a 24 hour 'reality' tv show.
I haven't seen his 2006 film The Good German, although I'd like to. But last night I went to see the most recent George Clooney film that I know about, Michael Clayton. I loved it. Everything about it. The characters, the story, the script, the dialogue, the action, the acting, the directing, the music, the whole production. I'd go as far as to say it is the best film I have ever seen. It has everything I've ever wanted to see in a film.
I want to go and see it again, I'd go tonight if it were possible. Man, I just love George Clooney.
I love George Clooney because he is intelligent, dignified and humble. The guy is smart, rich, successfull and lusted over. Yet, he just doesn't appear to take himself too seriously. Oh, and he has got involved with, backed financially and starred in some top, top films recently. That's why I love George Clooney.
He makes the type of films I love to watch. Okay Ocean's Thirteen was awful. So bad that, while Ocean's Twelve was bearable, it partly tarnished the memory of Ocean's Eleven, which was a great film for sheer slick, classy entertainment. But films like Good Night, and Good Luck and Syriana are the sort of films that get my juices flowing. I could watch them like others watch soaps, or in real time like a 24 hour 'reality' tv show.
I haven't seen his 2006 film The Good German, although I'd like to. But last night I went to see the most recent George Clooney film that I know about, Michael Clayton. I loved it. Everything about it. The characters, the story, the script, the dialogue, the action, the acting, the directing, the music, the whole production. I'd go as far as to say it is the best film I have ever seen. It has everything I've ever wanted to see in a film.
I want to go and see it again, I'd go tonight if it were possible. Man, I just love George Clooney.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Where I'm Coming From
I'm not the greatest fan of 'technology', per se. Yes I enjoy the Internet, especially email, and I do wonder how I managed before I had a mobile phone, so useful has it become. So I'm not against 'technology'. Let's just say I don't necessarily equate it to 'progress' and I'm not convinced, overall, that it is actually a 'good thing' for humankind.
That said, I do believe that every action has an equal and opposite reaction; that nothing is inherently good or bad. It is how we perceive it, and use it, that determines its worth and value.
And one good thing about 'technology', in my humble opinion, is that you can now get your DNA taken. Now it may come to pass in a few years time that the whole DNA thing was anything from a big scam to an unprovable scientific theory that was never properly challenged at the time. But for now its legitimate, as far as I understand.
For £150.00 you can explore your genetic roots through DNA company Oxford Ancestors. Skint as I am, my order's already in. For the past few years I have been intrigued to know 'where I come from', not just my immediate ancestors, but my very origin. I find that a fascinating insight that could lead to a new awareness. I hope it is legitimate: ever the sceptic, I will study the feedback with a critical eye.
First I have to wait for the swab sample package to arrive so I can take a sample of my DNA from a scraping inside my cheek and post it off!
Do you know where I'm coming from? Hopefully I'll have a better idea soon.
That said, I do believe that every action has an equal and opposite reaction; that nothing is inherently good or bad. It is how we perceive it, and use it, that determines its worth and value.
And one good thing about 'technology', in my humble opinion, is that you can now get your DNA taken. Now it may come to pass in a few years time that the whole DNA thing was anything from a big scam to an unprovable scientific theory that was never properly challenged at the time. But for now its legitimate, as far as I understand.
For £150.00 you can explore your genetic roots through DNA company Oxford Ancestors. Skint as I am, my order's already in. For the past few years I have been intrigued to know 'where I come from', not just my immediate ancestors, but my very origin. I find that a fascinating insight that could lead to a new awareness. I hope it is legitimate: ever the sceptic, I will study the feedback with a critical eye.
First I have to wait for the swab sample package to arrive so I can take a sample of my DNA from a scraping inside my cheek and post it off!
Do you know where I'm coming from? Hopefully I'll have a better idea soon.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Hhmmm ...
I don't watch much television, but the new house we (Toni, Kumali and I) have moved into has an aerial so I have been dipping my toe into the great opiate of the masses. I watched the news the other day. The headline/leading story was about an English guy called Lewis Hamilton not winning the Grand Prix! News? Just. Headline news? Just not right.
Toni makes soap, beautiful it is. She recently heard about an organisation called S.O.A.P. set up in Zimbabwe to help feed starving old people. S.O.A.P = Starving Old Age Pensioners. They asked for people to find ways to contribute to their funds to enable them to go on feeding pensioners in Zimbabwe who are literally starving to death. Toni decided to make soap for S.O.A.P. She sent a short letter with an order form explaining what she was doing to everyone she knows in the British Isles, including lots of self-exiled Zimbabweans. Lots of people have bought the soap, helping to raise money to send to S.O.A.P., except for all the Zimbabweans! Can anyone help Zimbabwe if Zimbabweans don't appear willing to?
Cornwall is a lovely place to live. The rugged coastline, less stressed pace of life, better than average British weather, et cetera. Penrhythm, the samba/reggae band I'm in, did a free gig to launch the re-opening of the Body Shop in Truro. The Body Shop support awareness about issues of domestic violence. I found out from their literature that Cornwall has a higher than average statistical rate of domestic violence. Not so less stressed for some women!
Toni makes soap, beautiful it is. She recently heard about an organisation called S.O.A.P. set up in Zimbabwe to help feed starving old people. S.O.A.P = Starving Old Age Pensioners. They asked for people to find ways to contribute to their funds to enable them to go on feeding pensioners in Zimbabwe who are literally starving to death. Toni decided to make soap for S.O.A.P. She sent a short letter with an order form explaining what she was doing to everyone she knows in the British Isles, including lots of self-exiled Zimbabweans. Lots of people have bought the soap, helping to raise money to send to S.O.A.P., except for all the Zimbabweans! Can anyone help Zimbabwe if Zimbabweans don't appear willing to?
Cornwall is a lovely place to live. The rugged coastline, less stressed pace of life, better than average British weather, et cetera. Penrhythm, the samba/reggae band I'm in, did a free gig to launch the re-opening of the Body Shop in Truro. The Body Shop support awareness about issues of domestic violence. I found out from their literature that Cornwall has a higher than average statistical rate of domestic violence. Not so less stressed for some women!
Monday, October 15, 2007
Wonder Ear Full
Some say there is something in the air down here, and a few of the stories that I have heard attached to the core of that belief has caused my eyes and jaw to feel as if they were popping and dropping cartoon style: but that's another story.
Anyway, I think it's more to do with there being something in the people down here.
My brother, Dominic, who until three months ago had lived and worked in Newquay for three years, is down visiting from Edinburgh, where he now lives, along with his long time friend, Larry, who is like a brother to me, also.
Now Kumali loves her Uncle Dominic and her Uncle Wah-wah, as Larry is called, as well her cousin Josef, Dominic's young son. On the Saturday night Kumali was adamant that she wanted to paint everyones nails and toes: she has recently been allowed to paint hers, Toni's and my hand and toe nails all by herself. The experience and result was hilarious, taking it as we did as just another creative art session for Kumali.
I convinced Kumali, as she is a child who can be reasoned with, or bargained with at best, that she could do it in the morning after break fast. I assumed, as children can be forgetful, especially overnight when dream time kicks in. This morning, after breakfast, it was me who had forgotten my promise, and Kumali calmly announced after the last mouthful of Shreddies had been swallowed, that it was time to paint Wah-wah, Dominic and Papa's nails.
Larry wasn't even awake at this point, and none of us had eaten, washed or dressed. I again reasoned with her to wait till we had. Again she agreed, and patiently got us up and directed us to the kitchen. And as our last mouthfuls were finished, with Toni, catching up on some sleep upstairs after being up twice in the night for Kumali, only disturbed once, to get the lilac and pale blue nail varnish, she had the floor.
We dually had our finger and toe nails painted alternate shades of lilac and pale blue, although I managed to avoid my fingernails being done: somehow! To top it off we got sparkle in the light love heart sticker earrings, one on each ear. I swear if we hadn't had a prearranged trip, that Kumali was fully informed of, she would have had us in Toni's dresses before the day was out.
Being a pleasant autumn day, mild and cosy, rather than warm, I wore sandals and admit to being both aware and proud of my shiny toe nails. I was also aware of Dom and Larry's hands, but I quickly got used to it all, and forgot all about the 'earrings' we all had, as you don't, after all, look at peoples ears much when you talk to them. We drove to Gweek, where Holifair was, the second festival Penrhythm played, as Toni and I liked the place.
We wandered round the boat yard, played Pooh sticks over the bridge on the main street, devoid of cars, that Gweek river runs under, and wandered around enjoying a bit of nature. Ultimately, inevitably, we found a cafe and ordered some food and drinks. Our host was charming, hospitable and accommodating.
Time caught up with us, and we had to dash back to Falmouth as I was being picked up at 5.30pm for five-a-side football. (Yes, at 43, I'm back playing, outdoors, for an hour and a half every Sunday night: I'm loving it, but my hamstrings are tighter than ...) I just had time to change into my footie kit, as there are no changing facilities where the pitch is, before Keith arrived to whisk me away: wishing I hadn't had that plate of chips!
I've been going for four weeks now, and everyone, all of them Cornish born and bred or incomers of twenty plus years, was as friendly and welcoming as usual.
It wasn't till I got home I realised I still had my earrings on. Oh how they must have sparkled under the spotlights we play under, now it's getting darker earlier. None of the other seven guys said a word or made me feel at anytime that they were looking at me funny. I texted Keith to explain my discovery: he texted back, "I did wonder ...
Anyway, I think it's more to do with there being something in the people down here.
My brother, Dominic, who until three months ago had lived and worked in Newquay for three years, is down visiting from Edinburgh, where he now lives, along with his long time friend, Larry, who is like a brother to me, also.
Now Kumali loves her Uncle Dominic and her Uncle Wah-wah, as Larry is called, as well her cousin Josef, Dominic's young son. On the Saturday night Kumali was adamant that she wanted to paint everyones nails and toes: she has recently been allowed to paint hers, Toni's and my hand and toe nails all by herself. The experience and result was hilarious, taking it as we did as just another creative art session for Kumali.
I convinced Kumali, as she is a child who can be reasoned with, or bargained with at best, that she could do it in the morning after break fast. I assumed, as children can be forgetful, especially overnight when dream time kicks in. This morning, after breakfast, it was me who had forgotten my promise, and Kumali calmly announced after the last mouthful of Shreddies had been swallowed, that it was time to paint Wah-wah, Dominic and Papa's nails.
Larry wasn't even awake at this point, and none of us had eaten, washed or dressed. I again reasoned with her to wait till we had. Again she agreed, and patiently got us up and directed us to the kitchen. And as our last mouthfuls were finished, with Toni, catching up on some sleep upstairs after being up twice in the night for Kumali, only disturbed once, to get the lilac and pale blue nail varnish, she had the floor.
We dually had our finger and toe nails painted alternate shades of lilac and pale blue, although I managed to avoid my fingernails being done: somehow! To top it off we got sparkle in the light love heart sticker earrings, one on each ear. I swear if we hadn't had a prearranged trip, that Kumali was fully informed of, she would have had us in Toni's dresses before the day was out.
Being a pleasant autumn day, mild and cosy, rather than warm, I wore sandals and admit to being both aware and proud of my shiny toe nails. I was also aware of Dom and Larry's hands, but I quickly got used to it all, and forgot all about the 'earrings' we all had, as you don't, after all, look at peoples ears much when you talk to them. We drove to Gweek, where Holifair was, the second festival Penrhythm played, as Toni and I liked the place.
We wandered round the boat yard, played Pooh sticks over the bridge on the main street, devoid of cars, that Gweek river runs under, and wandered around enjoying a bit of nature. Ultimately, inevitably, we found a cafe and ordered some food and drinks. Our host was charming, hospitable and accommodating.
Time caught up with us, and we had to dash back to Falmouth as I was being picked up at 5.30pm for five-a-side football. (Yes, at 43, I'm back playing, outdoors, for an hour and a half every Sunday night: I'm loving it, but my hamstrings are tighter than ...) I just had time to change into my footie kit, as there are no changing facilities where the pitch is, before Keith arrived to whisk me away: wishing I hadn't had that plate of chips!
I've been going for four weeks now, and everyone, all of them Cornish born and bred or incomers of twenty plus years, was as friendly and welcoming as usual.
It wasn't till I got home I realised I still had my earrings on. Oh how they must have sparkled under the spotlights we play under, now it's getting darker earlier. None of the other seven guys said a word or made me feel at anytime that they were looking at me funny. I texted Keith to explain my discovery: he texted back, "I did wonder ...
Monday, October 08, 2007
Still Afloat In Falmouth
Week Fifty:- two: Sunday 23 – Saturday 30 September
One year one. One good year on.
Found a 'family home' to rent: modern, comfortable and tastefully decorated. Also only five minutes from town.
Both Toni and I are sure Falmouth is as good a place to be right now as any. We also believe there are a lot worse places to bring a child up.
Yeah, as we move into our ninth address since we married just over five years ago, it looks like we are going stay for while: maybe even settle.
Vive la Falmouth!
One year one. One good year on.
Found a 'family home' to rent: modern, comfortable and tastefully decorated. Also only five minutes from town.
Both Toni and I are sure Falmouth is as good a place to be right now as any. We also believe there are a lot worse places to bring a child up.
Yeah, as we move into our ninth address since we married just over five years ago, it looks like we are going stay for while: maybe even settle.
Vive la Falmouth!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Grease IS the Word
Week Fifty:- one: Sunday 16 – Saturday 22 September
Nearly one whole year since my wife, my daughter and I wrapped up our life in Lockerbie, Scotland and headed for the warmer, wetter, sea shaped climate of Falmouth, Cornwall, and we find ourselves packing up to move to a cosier, more modern, and centrally based, house ... and getting into the 'Amazon video rental by post' that we've been getting into to.
You build up a 'rental list' and they send them to you as they become available, although one at a time, such is our 'meek' rental agreement. As the winter nights fast approach, autumn seems to be flying, not tumbling, by, we look forward to delights such as 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks', 'Mary Poppins', 'The Sound of Music', '101 Dalmatians' ... I could go on!
The other day 'Grease' arrived, that much loved classic that Toni and I first saw thirty odd years ago, and have watched several time since. But not for a good few years. Aside from enjoying the whole thing all over again, two things struck me.
I never realised just how 'moralistic' Grease is: so many great vignettes about growing up, being the right person, being true to yourself, making the post of yourself, compromising, et cetera.
Just after Sandy has met up with Danny again, and has run off after telling him she wishes she had never met him, because he acted all cool in front of his friends, the character (who becomes the beauty school dropout) puts her arm round Sandy and says, "The only man a girl can always depend on his her father."
I paused the dvd, rewound, nudged Kumali, pointed at the tv, cleared my throat, said, "Hey, sweetheart, listen up to this bit", turned up the volume, then pressed play!
Nearly one whole year since my wife, my daughter and I wrapped up our life in Lockerbie, Scotland and headed for the warmer, wetter, sea shaped climate of Falmouth, Cornwall, and we find ourselves packing up to move to a cosier, more modern, and centrally based, house ... and getting into the 'Amazon video rental by post' that we've been getting into to.
You build up a 'rental list' and they send them to you as they become available, although one at a time, such is our 'meek' rental agreement. As the winter nights fast approach, autumn seems to be flying, not tumbling, by, we look forward to delights such as 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks', 'Mary Poppins', 'The Sound of Music', '101 Dalmatians' ... I could go on!
The other day 'Grease' arrived, that much loved classic that Toni and I first saw thirty odd years ago, and have watched several time since. But not for a good few years. Aside from enjoying the whole thing all over again, two things struck me.
I never realised just how 'moralistic' Grease is: so many great vignettes about growing up, being the right person, being true to yourself, making the post of yourself, compromising, et cetera.
Just after Sandy has met up with Danny again, and has run off after telling him she wishes she had never met him, because he acted all cool in front of his friends, the character (who becomes the beauty school dropout) puts her arm round Sandy and says, "The only man a girl can always depend on his her father."
I paused the dvd, rewound, nudged Kumali, pointed at the tv, cleared my throat, said, "Hey, sweetheart, listen up to this bit", turned up the volume, then pressed play!
Monday, September 17, 2007
Brown Beggars Belief
Week Fifty: Sunday 9 – Saturday 15 September
What, I wonder, do rank and file Labour supporters make of Gordon Brown's self-confessed love of Margaret Thatcher, his recent meeting with her and his decision to have a portrait of her commissioned and hung in 10 Downing Street?
No matter the denial from socialist supporters, and it must have been acute, when the Labour party became New Labour what they really meant was Conservative. I remember talking to many Labour supporters who tried to articulate and convince, mainly themselves, that this was not the case: Labour was Labour, the party of the people, and always would be.
After the illegal, devastating and deliberate war in Iraq even the most blind among Labour's support began to admit that Tony Blair was Tory Blur, or Tony B(loody)-liar. But they reassured themselves that they'd get him out of power, get a new leader, a Labour man.
Enter Gordon Brown: as 'red' a socialist as you could get, if you looked back over his Labour career. A man of the people, if you believed the pr.
New Labour is a machine, its leader a figurehead, not a policy shaper or decision maker. Gordon Brown is as right wing as Blair. Power, influence, historical immortality for the ego is what drives the Blairs and Browns of this world. Maybe they just never felt loved enough by their parents.
Thatcher, depending on your point of view, was the most vile, unacceptable and damaging leader Britain has ever had. She's the one who boldly told the nation that there was no such thing as society. Britain became a selfish, greed culture: loads of money and everyone for themselves. Me, I think she was more evil than Hitler.
Now New Labour's new leader wants to celebrate, and no doubt emulate, her. Hang her, not her portrait, in number 10; hang Brown alongside her for wounding us all with his admiration for her.
Of course, it will never happen. But be afraid, be very afraid of Broon and his fellow carpetbaggers.
What, I wonder, do rank and file Labour supporters make of Gordon Brown's self-confessed love of Margaret Thatcher, his recent meeting with her and his decision to have a portrait of her commissioned and hung in 10 Downing Street?
No matter the denial from socialist supporters, and it must have been acute, when the Labour party became New Labour what they really meant was Conservative. I remember talking to many Labour supporters who tried to articulate and convince, mainly themselves, that this was not the case: Labour was Labour, the party of the people, and always would be.
After the illegal, devastating and deliberate war in Iraq even the most blind among Labour's support began to admit that Tony Blair was Tory Blur, or Tony B(loody)-liar. But they reassured themselves that they'd get him out of power, get a new leader, a Labour man.
Enter Gordon Brown: as 'red' a socialist as you could get, if you looked back over his Labour career. A man of the people, if you believed the pr.
New Labour is a machine, its leader a figurehead, not a policy shaper or decision maker. Gordon Brown is as right wing as Blair. Power, influence, historical immortality for the ego is what drives the Blairs and Browns of this world. Maybe they just never felt loved enough by their parents.
Thatcher, depending on your point of view, was the most vile, unacceptable and damaging leader Britain has ever had. She's the one who boldly told the nation that there was no such thing as society. Britain became a selfish, greed culture: loads of money and everyone for themselves. Me, I think she was more evil than Hitler.
Now New Labour's new leader wants to celebrate, and no doubt emulate, her. Hang her, not her portrait, in number 10; hang Brown alongside her for wounding us all with his admiration for her.
Of course, it will never happen. But be afraid, be very afraid of Broon and his fellow carpetbaggers.
MA No More, Student No More, Escape From Real World No More
Week Forty – nine: Sunday 2 – Saturday 8 September
Well, the course work has been handed in: two copies of 30 000 carefully crafted words. The holiday to Spain never happened, mopping about the house became boring, now it is time to face the facts.
The main fact is I need a job! It has been a great year being a student. Not having to work is a pleasure, particularly in the world today when so many jobs seem as appealing as acute sunburn.
Ideally I get my book published, starting a long and successful career as a writer of creative non-fiction, and start getting screenwriting commissions.
The reality is I will have to get a full-time job of some description, take any and every writing job that comes my way and push non-fiction and screenwriting in my own spare time.
Sob, sob … poor me! Well, hardly. A break would be helpful, I’ll keep the dream alive, but now is the time to get on with things!
Well, the course work has been handed in: two copies of 30 000 carefully crafted words. The holiday to Spain never happened, mopping about the house became boring, now it is time to face the facts.
The main fact is I need a job! It has been a great year being a student. Not having to work is a pleasure, particularly in the world today when so many jobs seem as appealing as acute sunburn.
Ideally I get my book published, starting a long and successful career as a writer of creative non-fiction, and start getting screenwriting commissions.
The reality is I will have to get a full-time job of some description, take any and every writing job that comes my way and push non-fiction and screenwriting in my own spare time.
Sob, sob … poor me! Well, hardly. A break would be helpful, I’ll keep the dream alive, but now is the time to get on with things!
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Flying in the face of Cornishness
Week Forty – eight: Sunday 26 August – Saturday 1 September
Below is a copy of an email I sent to the Cornish paper the West Briton, on Tuesday 4 September, my 43rd birth day. I'm hoping they will publish it next week as an article, accompianed by the suitably sad photo their photographer took of Toni, Kumali and I.
"I moved to Cornwall from Scotland in October last year with my wife and three year-old daughter, originally for one year to study for a post-graduate qualification at University College Falmouth.
Cornish people are so friendly, relaxed and accommodating, and have made us feel so welcome, that we very quickly decided that we would like to settle in Falmouth after my course finished on 31 August.
Before getting down to the realities of life, like finding full-time employment again, we decided to treat ourselves to a family holiday in Spain. It was to be our first holiday abroad as a family, and was to coincide with my birthday. We booked the holiday nearly six months ago in order to secure cheap flights, and have been slowly but surely getting more and more excited about going.
We were due to leave yesterday, 3 September, and set out at 7.30am on our carefully planned public transport route: buses from Falmouth to Truro, Truro to Newquay, and Newquay to Newquay Airport, where we would fly to Gatwick before flying on to Barcelona.
Unfortunately the bus on the last leg of our journey did not get us to the airport ten minutes before check-in closed, as timetabled, but arrived just as check-in was closing. We rushed to the check-in desk, waited for the man in front of us to be checked-in, and were then told, “Dispatch closed four minutes ago. You can fly, but we can’t take your luggage.”
My response was, “But we’ve been here for at least two minutes, can’t you rush as through? We’re meeting a connecting flight to take us to Barcelona. We’re sorry we’re late, the bus was late. Please.”
The reply was, “It’s not our fault. Dispatch is closed. If you want to fly we can still check you in, but you’ll have to leave your luggage.”
Not wanting to waste any more time, I asked, “Can I please speak to your manager or supervisor?”
A couple of minutes later a man ambled down some steps and told me, “Dispatch closed eight minutes ago. You won’t be able to fly with your luggage.”
I pleaded, “But we were only two, three at the most, minutes late. If we’d just been checked in straight away, we’d be on the plane already. I accept we are to blame as we are late, but we were only two or three minutes late. It is a small airport and small plane. Is there nothing you can do?”
The reply, “It’s not our fault.”
That’s when, in frustration, anger and upset, I raised my voice. That’s when I was told I would be removed by airport security if I didn’t leave immediately.
So with my daughter in tears, we left the airport and made the three hour, three bus journey back to our home in Falmouth. Six hundred pounds in air fares and a visa (my wife does not have a British passport) wasted and a first family holiday abroad gone: all because of two to three minutes, and the most unhelpful, unsympathetic and unwilling officious staff I have ever encountered.
As Cornwall continues to expand, develop and grow economically, I hope our experience at Newquay Airport is not a reflection of the sign of the times and an indication of what to expect more often in the future.
Be warned any and all of you who intend to fly from Newquay Airport."
Below is a copy of an email I sent to the Cornish paper the West Briton, on Tuesday 4 September, my 43rd birth day. I'm hoping they will publish it next week as an article, accompianed by the suitably sad photo their photographer took of Toni, Kumali and I.
"I moved to Cornwall from Scotland in October last year with my wife and three year-old daughter, originally for one year to study for a post-graduate qualification at University College Falmouth.
Cornish people are so friendly, relaxed and accommodating, and have made us feel so welcome, that we very quickly decided that we would like to settle in Falmouth after my course finished on 31 August.
Before getting down to the realities of life, like finding full-time employment again, we decided to treat ourselves to a family holiday in Spain. It was to be our first holiday abroad as a family, and was to coincide with my birthday. We booked the holiday nearly six months ago in order to secure cheap flights, and have been slowly but surely getting more and more excited about going.
We were due to leave yesterday, 3 September, and set out at 7.30am on our carefully planned public transport route: buses from Falmouth to Truro, Truro to Newquay, and Newquay to Newquay Airport, where we would fly to Gatwick before flying on to Barcelona.
Unfortunately the bus on the last leg of our journey did not get us to the airport ten minutes before check-in closed, as timetabled, but arrived just as check-in was closing. We rushed to the check-in desk, waited for the man in front of us to be checked-in, and were then told, “Dispatch closed four minutes ago. You can fly, but we can’t take your luggage.”
My response was, “But we’ve been here for at least two minutes, can’t you rush as through? We’re meeting a connecting flight to take us to Barcelona. We’re sorry we’re late, the bus was late. Please.”
The reply was, “It’s not our fault. Dispatch is closed. If you want to fly we can still check you in, but you’ll have to leave your luggage.”
Not wanting to waste any more time, I asked, “Can I please speak to your manager or supervisor?”
A couple of minutes later a man ambled down some steps and told me, “Dispatch closed eight minutes ago. You won’t be able to fly with your luggage.”
I pleaded, “But we were only two, three at the most, minutes late. If we’d just been checked in straight away, we’d be on the plane already. I accept we are to blame as we are late, but we were only two or three minutes late. It is a small airport and small plane. Is there nothing you can do?”
The reply, “It’s not our fault.”
That’s when, in frustration, anger and upset, I raised my voice. That’s when I was told I would be removed by airport security if I didn’t leave immediately.
So with my daughter in tears, we left the airport and made the three hour, three bus journey back to our home in Falmouth. Six hundred pounds in air fares and a visa (my wife does not have a British passport) wasted and a first family holiday abroad gone: all because of two to three minutes, and the most unhelpful, unsympathetic and unwilling officious staff I have ever encountered.
As Cornwall continues to expand, develop and grow economically, I hope our experience at Newquay Airport is not a reflection of the sign of the times and an indication of what to expect more often in the future.
Be warned any and all of you who intend to fly from Newquay Airport."
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
PLEASE Mr President
Week Forty – seven: Sunday 19 – Saturday 25 August
Just as two new friends departed from my life last week, so an old friend re-entered after a six-year absence. The ebb and flow that is life.
Mike is a guy I know from my days in Zimbabwe. His partner, Ulla, is also a Zimbabwean, as is my wife. So inevitably the conversation got round to the complete and utter carnage of a country and its people that is currently the state Zimbabwe finds itself in.
I'm coming at it from an outsiders point of you, as someone who lived and worked there as a traveller passing through for a few months. Yes, I believe President Robert Mugabe is mad in the extreme and is single handily responsible for the viscous disregard of the people of Zimbabwe over the last twenty odd years. A disregard that has seen the country plunge like an out of control roller coaster into 4500% inflation, (and rising) 85% unemployment (and rising), acute food shortages, little or no fuel, and all the rest of the many depressing statistics that add up to untold and unimaginable suffering for millions of people.
Mike was born and brought up in northern Zimbabwe, a white guy, with privileges. Toni, my wife, was born and brought up in south-west Zimbabwe, a coloured (too white to be black, and too black to be white), she knew her place. Yet life was not without pleasure, with two educated, working parents and a country that could and would reward independent endeavour. Ulla was born and brought up in south-east Zimbabwe, a black woman from a family with diplomatic connections.
I learned a lot, and heard deep, diverse and differing arguments about the reasons for Zimbabwe's decline, Mugabe's role, African politics, tribal differences and what's needed for the future.
Reconfiguring all of the countries borders in Africa, so they take cognisance of the indigenous rural peoples, not just of, as they did, the colonisers looting requirements, may be a complete non-starter today. And many other possibilities, options and outcomes may never come about either. But one thing is for sure. Mugabe is destroying, if he hasn't already destroyed, Zimbabwe, economically, socially, politically, psychologically and spiritually. If someone doesn't stop him soon, and prevent anyone from doing the same ever again, it will be too late.
Too late for eleven million people, the economically fortunate, because they were able to leave, already part of a global diaspora. Too late for a country blessed with some of the most beautiful, breathtaking and bountiful nature and wildlife. Too late to convince this saddened soul that the human race, as a collective, has any hope of securng its own future.
Just as two new friends departed from my life last week, so an old friend re-entered after a six-year absence. The ebb and flow that is life.Mike is a guy I know from my days in Zimbabwe. His partner, Ulla, is also a Zimbabwean, as is my wife. So inevitably the conversation got round to the complete and utter carnage of a country and its people that is currently the state Zimbabwe finds itself in.
I'm coming at it from an outsiders point of you, as someone who lived and worked there as a traveller passing through for a few months. Yes, I believe President Robert Mugabe is mad in the extreme and is single handily responsible for the viscous disregard of the people of Zimbabwe over the last twenty odd years. A disregard that has seen the country plunge like an out of control roller coaster into 4500% inflation, (and rising) 85% unemployment (and rising), acute food shortages, little or no fuel, and all the rest of the many depressing statistics that add up to untold and unimaginable suffering for millions of people.
Mike was born and brought up in northern Zimbabwe, a white guy, with privileges. Toni, my wife, was born and brought up in south-west Zimbabwe, a coloured (too white to be black, and too black to be white), she knew her place. Yet life was not without pleasure, with two educated, working parents and a country that could and would reward independent endeavour. Ulla was born and brought up in south-east Zimbabwe, a black woman from a family with diplomatic connections.
I learned a lot, and heard deep, diverse and differing arguments about the reasons for Zimbabwe's decline, Mugabe's role, African politics, tribal differences and what's needed for the future.
Reconfiguring all of the countries borders in Africa, so they take cognisance of the indigenous rural peoples, not just of, as they did, the colonisers looting requirements, may be a complete non-starter today. And many other possibilities, options and outcomes may never come about either. But one thing is for sure. Mugabe is destroying, if he hasn't already destroyed, Zimbabwe, economically, socially, politically, psychologically and spiritually. If someone doesn't stop him soon, and prevent anyone from doing the same ever again, it will be too late.
Too late for eleven million people, the economically fortunate, because they were able to leave, already part of a global diaspora. Too late for a country blessed with some of the most beautiful, breathtaking and bountiful nature and wildlife. Too late to convince this saddened soul that the human race, as a collective, has any hope of securng its own future.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Fond Farewells
Week Forty – six: Sunday 12 – Saturday 18 August
I’m not good when it comes to saying goodbye. At the best of times I put it off as long as possible, but when it comes to saying cheerio to people I have come to know and love, and may not see again, I am not at my best.
I like to be around to see them off, not just say goodbye at some point in the last few days before they go, but physically be there when they depart. I always feel sad, a little empty. Or I did, until recently.
Dave and Sarah are an Aussie/Irish combination who came to Falmouth around the same time as my family and me, last October. They ended up in a house that Tim, a fellow writing student, also moved into. Hence I got to know them, first meeting them at a fancy dress Hogmanay (New year’s eve) party.
They set-up a samba club shortly after, an informal gathering where those interested could have some fun and learn some samba rhythms under the expert and enthusiastic guidance of Sarah, ably supported by Dave.
Before long there were fifteen willing students, myself amongst them, and a first gig as the eclectic mix of locals, incomers and foreigners began to gel into something resembling a band. Festival performances followed, along with a host of birth day appearances and a jamming session with a samba band all the way from Ireland.
Through it all I, and Toni and Kumali, got to know Sarah and Dave as people and as friends and found ourselves enriched by their presence, conversation and humour. They left last week, back to Eire, their time in Falmouth complete, and we three were all sorry to see them go.
But I consoled myself with the knowledge that I was lucky to have spent any time at all getting to know two true free spirits, with an attitude to life and living that was as spot on as it was refreshing to be around. I comforted myself with the knowledge that two people with a light such as theirs need to move on constantly, so they can shine their magic on others.
And so it was a fond farewell, and I’m sure I, and my wife and daughter, will see them again someday. County Leitrim is a calling …
I’m not good when it comes to saying goodbye. At the best of times I put it off as long as possible, but when it comes to saying cheerio to people I have come to know and love, and may not see again, I am not at my best.
I like to be around to see them off, not just say goodbye at some point in the last few days before they go, but physically be there when they depart. I always feel sad, a little empty. Or I did, until recently.
Dave and Sarah are an Aussie/Irish combination who came to Falmouth around the same time as my family and me, last October. They ended up in a house that Tim, a fellow writing student, also moved into. Hence I got to know them, first meeting them at a fancy dress Hogmanay (New year’s eve) party.
They set-up a samba club shortly after, an informal gathering where those interested could have some fun and learn some samba rhythms under the expert and enthusiastic guidance of Sarah, ably supported by Dave.
Before long there were fifteen willing students, myself amongst them, and a first gig as the eclectic mix of locals, incomers and foreigners began to gel into something resembling a band. Festival performances followed, along with a host of birth day appearances and a jamming session with a samba band all the way from Ireland.
Through it all I, and Toni and Kumali, got to know Sarah and Dave as people and as friends and found ourselves enriched by their presence, conversation and humour. They left last week, back to Eire, their time in Falmouth complete, and we three were all sorry to see them go.
But I consoled myself with the knowledge that I was lucky to have spent any time at all getting to know two true free spirits, with an attitude to life and living that was as spot on as it was refreshing to be around. I comforted myself with the knowledge that two people with a light such as theirs need to move on constantly, so they can shine their magic on others.
And so it was a fond farewell, and I’m sure I, and my wife and daughter, will see them again someday. County Leitrim is a calling …
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Festival Fraternity
Week Forty – five: Sunday 5 – Saturday 11 August
Another lovely weekend was spent at a festival, this time Holifair, in Gweek, just outside Falmouth. The samba band, that still has no official name, I play with had a couple of gigs, one on the Saturday night and one on the Sunday afternoon, so off we all trooped.
I didn't stay over this time, came and went by car both days, and brought Toni and Kumali with me on the Sunday. With lots of ecologically and spiritually minded people running the fair, manning food, entertainment and healing stalls, singing, performing and attending, the atmosphere was lovely from the minute you entered.
Festivals are great places to spend a couple of days, communing with nature, at best, and, at worst, gentle, peaceful people. It is a fabulous environment for a young child, too. With lots of children, who don't all look like their parents shop at Tesco/Gap/Next, et cetera, running around, pumping out their never ending energy, Kumali was in her element. Although not always engaging with the new found friends, she was always soaking up their vibes nonetheless.
And there were friendly faces for Toni and I. Not just because most people had a smile on their face; many were recognisable from the Falmouth music and arts scene and from the Faery Festival we played out back in June.
I do like a festival ... although I'm a bit long in the tooth for roughing it and staying up all night partying!!
Another lovely weekend was spent at a festival, this time Holifair, in Gweek, just outside Falmouth. The samba band, that still has no official name, I play with had a couple of gigs, one on the Saturday night and one on the Sunday afternoon, so off we all trooped.
I didn't stay over this time, came and went by car both days, and brought Toni and Kumali with me on the Sunday. With lots of ecologically and spiritually minded people running the fair, manning food, entertainment and healing stalls, singing, performing and attending, the atmosphere was lovely from the minute you entered.
Festivals are great places to spend a couple of days, communing with nature, at best, and, at worst, gentle, peaceful people. It is a fabulous environment for a young child, too. With lots of children, who don't all look like their parents shop at Tesco/Gap/Next, et cetera, running around, pumping out their never ending energy, Kumali was in her element. Although not always engaging with the new found friends, she was always soaking up their vibes nonetheless.
And there were friendly faces for Toni and I. Not just because most people had a smile on their face; many were recognisable from the Falmouth music and arts scene and from the Faery Festival we played out back in June.
I do like a festival ... although I'm a bit long in the tooth for roughing it and staying up all night partying!!
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Always Shining Wisdom
Week Forty – four: Sunday 29 July – Saturday 4 August
What's in a name? More than most people think, I imagine. Certainly it was important to me to know that the name my Zimbabwean wife wanted for our daughter, Kumali, had a meaning to it that was translatable into English. Kumalo was the family name of the reputed first king of Zimbabwe, from the Ndebele tribe, an off shoot of the Zulu. By changing the 'o' to an 'i' Toni created a lovely girl's name, and one that held its meaning: 'spirit protector'.
Recently we met a Japanese woman who explained how all Japanese names are broken down by there syllables, each syllable an actual word. The lady who told us this is called Amiko, Am-ik-o: Am = pretty, ik = little, and o= girl. So Amiko translates literally as 'pretty-little-girl'. That's a lovely name we told her; no it's not, she replied, as lots of baby girls in Japan are named Amiko!
Ku-ma-li she told us literally translates as 'always-shining-wisdom'. Now that's cool. If we are what we believe, and Kumali believes she is Kumali, then she is not only a spirit protector, but always shining wisdom as well.
That is more than enough for any father ... but, I can't help wondering what her name translates as in other languages?
What's in a name? More than most people think, I imagine. Certainly it was important to me to know that the name my Zimbabwean wife wanted for our daughter, Kumali, had a meaning to it that was translatable into English. Kumalo was the family name of the reputed first king of Zimbabwe, from the Ndebele tribe, an off shoot of the Zulu. By changing the 'o' to an 'i' Toni created a lovely girl's name, and one that held its meaning: 'spirit protector'.
Recently we met a Japanese woman who explained how all Japanese names are broken down by there syllables, each syllable an actual word. The lady who told us this is called Amiko, Am-ik-o: Am = pretty, ik = little, and o= girl. So Amiko translates literally as 'pretty-little-girl'. That's a lovely name we told her; no it's not, she replied, as lots of baby girls in Japan are named Amiko!
Ku-ma-li she told us literally translates as 'always-shining-wisdom'. Now that's cool. If we are what we believe, and Kumali believes she is Kumali, then she is not only a spirit protector, but always shining wisdom as well.
That is more than enough for any father ... but, I can't help wondering what her name translates as in other languages?
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Golden Brown
Week Forty – three: Sunday 22 July – Saturday 28 JulyWhenever I feel the need to have a moan and a whine about my lot in life, whenever I am focusing on what I don't have instead of being thankful for what I do have, I only have to glance in my wife's direction to regain a sense of perspective.
Just over five years ago I took my then bride to be away from her family in Zimbabwe and the life she had created as an economic migrant in Botswana. Since then, as she has watched her country of birth collapse into terminal decline, and worried about the family and friends left behind trying to feed themselves, as we have made a life for ourselves thousands of miles away, she has never grumbled or complained once.
My wife is a private, reserved person; most content in company she knows well and trusts enough to be able to be herself around. But she has limited opportunities to be around such company, family and old friends, these days.
So nothing could have made me happier than to see her this weekend in the company of three of her cousins who she grew up with back in the halcyon days of Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. Like her, they have all fled Zimbabwe recently and set about establishing new lives in the British Isles. One of them was celebrating her fortieth birth day last weekend: Toni, Kumali and I joined the celebrations.
It was a good old party African style: lots of good food sizzling on the barbecue; drink in free flow; lots of good music blaring from the sound system; lots of beautiful looking brown people, adults and children. Toni had so much fun and happiness being with her three cousins, June (the birth day girl), Lyndsey and Leazel. Kumali had just as much of the same with her cousins, Toni's cousin's children. And me? I just rejoiced watching the two ladies and loves of my life having such a good time. Amen to that.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
If You Do Nothing Else # 3
Check out a guitarist called Andy Mckee: one talented and cool guy.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Ddn4MGaS3N4
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=dt1fB62cGbo
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Ddn4MGaS3N4
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=dt1fB62cGbo
Pace Maker
Week Forty – two: Sunday 15 July – Saturday 21 July
'Life is not everything, is not everything ...', so goes the song with the title I can't remember. True, but quality of life is pretty dam important. Would you rather live to be 150, confined to a wheelchair with someone wiping your arse, et al, for the last 60 of them, or live to 80 and have a full, active, self determined time right up to the second you unexpectedly passed away?
My 87 year-old mother has just had a pacemaker fitted. She didn't want it. Devout Catholic that she is, part of her looks forward to the day she can sit with Jesus Christ and/or the Lord God Almighty and shoot the breeze. Why would she want something that was going to prolong her life on planet earth?
But, the doctor pointed out, it will actually reduce your life expectancy by some margin or another. What it will do is improve you standard of life while you are alive. So she had it fitted. Within a week she was up and about, making the most of the new found energy, drive and release she had. For years, being the classic suffering martyr, she had fought through life by the force of sheer will power. Now she realises she was battling against an irregular heartbeat that could leave her body confused, exhausted and playing catch-up.
At the other end of the spectrum, my three and a bit year old daughter lives her life as if the faeres fit a brand new, state of the art pacemaker to her heart every night when she is asleep. Just starting out in this life, or coming towards the final chapters, we all need to set the right pace, make the pace right for us and others around us.
But we all need to remember, it's a long journey, but a short trip; we need to pace ourselves so we don't meet our maker ahead of schedule.
'Life is not everything, is not everything ...', so goes the song with the title I can't remember. True, but quality of life is pretty dam important. Would you rather live to be 150, confined to a wheelchair with someone wiping your arse, et al, for the last 60 of them, or live to 80 and have a full, active, self determined time right up to the second you unexpectedly passed away?
My 87 year-old mother has just had a pacemaker fitted. She didn't want it. Devout Catholic that she is, part of her looks forward to the day she can sit with Jesus Christ and/or the Lord God Almighty and shoot the breeze. Why would she want something that was going to prolong her life on planet earth?
But, the doctor pointed out, it will actually reduce your life expectancy by some margin or another. What it will do is improve you standard of life while you are alive. So she had it fitted. Within a week she was up and about, making the most of the new found energy, drive and release she had. For years, being the classic suffering martyr, she had fought through life by the force of sheer will power. Now she realises she was battling against an irregular heartbeat that could leave her body confused, exhausted and playing catch-up.
At the other end of the spectrum, my three and a bit year old daughter lives her life as if the faeres fit a brand new, state of the art pacemaker to her heart every night when she is asleep. Just starting out in this life, or coming towards the final chapters, we all need to set the right pace, make the pace right for us and others around us.
But we all need to remember, it's a long journey, but a short trip; we need to pace ourselves so we don't meet our maker ahead of schedule.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Quote of the Week # 34
Take a dog's attitude to life.
Whatever you come across, if you can't eat it or screw it, piss on it and walk away.
Unattributed.
Whatever you come across, if you can't eat it or screw it, piss on it and walk away.
Unattributed.
Make-up Mayhem
Week Forty - one: Sunday 8 July – Saturday 14 July
It's game over for me.
A wise lecturer by the name of Derrek Hines mentioned at the start of the MA Professional Writing course that girls suss sexuality and other issues of importance by about the age of three. Boys, he added, on the other hand get a rough handle on such matters by the time they are thirty - if they are lucky. I had to agree, based on my own experiences with my now three and a half year old daughter. Not a problem; one of the main reasons I am pleased to have a daughter and not a son.
Last week Auntie Sharon came to visit from Scotland. While Mama Bate wears very limited make-up, preferring the natural look and having had herself caked in make-up for years while she was a semi-professional model, Auntie Sharon is a thoroughly modern woman on the make-up front. Each morning was a ritual of application and refinement of a seemingly never ending range of beauty and skin care products.
My little three going on thirty year old watched Sharon's every move, soaked it all in, as she does everything, and before long was getting Sharon to apply a little of everything on her. Everything being: blusher, mascara, nail varnish, lip stick, eye shadow, foundation, and so it goes on. Now whether by accident or design, Sharon left a couple of items of make-up behind when her visit was over. Knowing Sharon as I have for over twenty years, it was more accident than design - I think!
Anyway, Kumali covered herself, me, her Mama, and a couple of her dolls in all that Sharon had left behind, thank God it wasn't a waxing kit, mimicking what she could remember from her daily observations. And now she talks about make-up all the time, asking if she can buy some of her own!
I'm afraid, very afraid!
It's game over for me.
A wise lecturer by the name of Derrek Hines mentioned at the start of the MA Professional Writing course that girls suss sexuality and other issues of importance by about the age of three. Boys, he added, on the other hand get a rough handle on such matters by the time they are thirty - if they are lucky. I had to agree, based on my own experiences with my now three and a half year old daughter. Not a problem; one of the main reasons I am pleased to have a daughter and not a son.
Last week Auntie Sharon came to visit from Scotland. While Mama Bate wears very limited make-up, preferring the natural look and having had herself caked in make-up for years while she was a semi-professional model, Auntie Sharon is a thoroughly modern woman on the make-up front. Each morning was a ritual of application and refinement of a seemingly never ending range of beauty and skin care products.
My little three going on thirty year old watched Sharon's every move, soaked it all in, as she does everything, and before long was getting Sharon to apply a little of everything on her. Everything being: blusher, mascara, nail varnish, lip stick, eye shadow, foundation, and so it goes on. Now whether by accident or design, Sharon left a couple of items of make-up behind when her visit was over. Knowing Sharon as I have for over twenty years, it was more accident than design - I think!
Anyway, Kumali covered herself, me, her Mama, and a couple of her dolls in all that Sharon had left behind, thank God it wasn't a waxing kit, mimicking what she could remember from her daily observations. And now she talks about make-up all the time, asking if she can buy some of her own!
I'm afraid, very afraid!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Life Is ... Fun In The Family Fold
Week Forty: Sunday 1 July – Saturday 7 July
If an interesting, although mildly disturbing, four days were taken up attending the Cheltenham International Screenwriting Festival at the beginning of the week, the time away only served, as always, to make my return to Falmouth, and my wife and daughter, all the more rewarding.
I met up with an old and dear friend from Scotland at Truro Rail Station on the way back from the 'writers frenzy', travelling with Frea, a fellow weary wanderer, keen to get back to the fold. She had already had a couple of glasses of wine by the time we met; by the time we ate dinner with my wife and daughter, brother Dominic and his son Josef, cleared up, said goodnight and then stayed up till four in the morning reminiscing, Sharon and I had demolished four bottles of a rather fine rioja!
No time for hangovers, or lie ins, when you have a lively and alert three year-old daughter in the house. Kumali woke me nice and early, wanting to go downstairs and do the same to Sharon: so much fun having visitors stay over! And so the rest of the week, from Friday through Sunday, was spent, in between writing, getting reacquainted with the wonderful wife and beautiful daughter I continually count my blessings for having in my life.
On the Friday evening Toni, Kumali, Sharon and I attended the private viewing/opening of the latest art exhibition to be displayed at the excellent Falmouth Arts Gallery. One of the many pictures Kumali has created, and had displayed, during her time at the FAG children's art club was chosen to be hung along with five other lucky and talented youngsters work - within the main exhibition. It was a major thrill to see Kumali's mixed media collage, 'Full Moon', proudly framed and displayed, complete with an information card mounted underneath. A photographer from one of the local papers took her picture beside her masterpiece, and we all basked in the joy of the creative environment and praise being heaped on Kumali for her creativity.
Sunday was spent at Praa Sands Beach, some twenty miles down the coast. Jenny, our ever lovely 'big-girl' sitter, and friend and fellow student, celebrated her birth day with lunch in the local restaurant, along with her delightful partner, Kai, and some of their Norwegian friends. Among the many other fellow students who trapsed along, some with their older children,Emily, was one, and brought her three year old son Jack, who knows Kumali from nursery. Emily's dad's jazz band were also playing; as we tucked in to roast beef or lamb or pork, with all the trimmings, Tony and his jazz buddies, no one under 60, strummed away and the young bucks boogied together on the dance floor. That was followed by a brisk walk on the beach, kicking balls, digging holes and paddling in the water, to work off lunch - then ice-cream!
From those who pass their children over to others to look after from virtually the moment they are born, to those who carry the unresolved pain and hurt of their own childhoods/lives into their children's, there's a lot of parents, and children, missing out on the many good things that come from being a family. Love, attention, support, guidance, love, nurturing, nourishing, love, security, fun, love, love, love.
If an interesting, although mildly disturbing, four days were taken up attending the Cheltenham International Screenwriting Festival at the beginning of the week, the time away only served, as always, to make my return to Falmouth, and my wife and daughter, all the more rewarding.
I met up with an old and dear friend from Scotland at Truro Rail Station on the way back from the 'writers frenzy', travelling with Frea, a fellow weary wanderer, keen to get back to the fold. She had already had a couple of glasses of wine by the time we met; by the time we ate dinner with my wife and daughter, brother Dominic and his son Josef, cleared up, said goodnight and then stayed up till four in the morning reminiscing, Sharon and I had demolished four bottles of a rather fine rioja!
No time for hangovers, or lie ins, when you have a lively and alert three year-old daughter in the house. Kumali woke me nice and early, wanting to go downstairs and do the same to Sharon: so much fun having visitors stay over! And so the rest of the week, from Friday through Sunday, was spent, in between writing, getting reacquainted with the wonderful wife and beautiful daughter I continually count my blessings for having in my life.
On the Friday evening Toni, Kumali, Sharon and I attended the private viewing/opening of the latest art exhibition to be displayed at the excellent Falmouth Arts Gallery. One of the many pictures Kumali has created, and had displayed, during her time at the FAG children's art club was chosen to be hung along with five other lucky and talented youngsters work - within the main exhibition. It was a major thrill to see Kumali's mixed media collage, 'Full Moon', proudly framed and displayed, complete with an information card mounted underneath. A photographer from one of the local papers took her picture beside her masterpiece, and we all basked in the joy of the creative environment and praise being heaped on Kumali for her creativity.
Sunday was spent at Praa Sands Beach, some twenty miles down the coast. Jenny, our ever lovely 'big-girl' sitter, and friend and fellow student, celebrated her birth day with lunch in the local restaurant, along with her delightful partner, Kai, and some of their Norwegian friends. Among the many other fellow students who trapsed along, some with their older children,Emily, was one, and brought her three year old son Jack, who knows Kumali from nursery. Emily's dad's jazz band were also playing; as we tucked in to roast beef or lamb or pork, with all the trimmings, Tony and his jazz buddies, no one under 60, strummed away and the young bucks boogied together on the dance floor. That was followed by a brisk walk on the beach, kicking balls, digging holes and paddling in the water, to work off lunch - then ice-cream!
From those who pass their children over to others to look after from virtually the moment they are born, to those who carry the unresolved pain and hurt of their own childhoods/lives into their children's, there's a lot of parents, and children, missing out on the many good things that come from being a family. Love, attention, support, guidance, love, nurturing, nourishing, love, security, fun, love, love, love.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Give Me Space
Week Thirty – nine: Sunday 24 – Saturday 30 June
Can’t think, struck dumb,
Inspiration won’t come.
Rotten ink, bad pen,
God bless you, amen.
Can’t think, struck dumb,
Inspiration won’t come.
Rotten ink, bad pen,
God bless you, amen.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Over Indulgence in Faery Land
Week Thirty – eight: Sunday 17 – Saturday 23 June"Something tells me, I'm into something good" were the words from the song whose title I can't remember ("Woke-up this morning feeling fine, there's someone special on my mind. Last night I met a girl, and her name is Sue ...") that I found myself involuntarily singing over the weekend. I was floating around the 3 Wishes Faery Fest at Colliford Lake Park, Bodmin, Cornwall, with Toni, Kumali, my samba drumming mates, and a whole collection of other happy, positive, friendly and relaxed people.
Penrhythm, the name of the samba/reggae eclectic that I play with, were invited to the Fest to liven up the crowds on the Friday and Saturday with some primal, tribal beats, under the pseudonym of 'Goblin Drummers'. We rocked, as usual, thanks, as always, to the teaching, guidance and conductoring of our leader and inspiration Sarah Ballantine. Many people came up to us on the Sunday to tell us they thought we provided the best musical performance of the weekend. Not difficult, given some of the stuff was pretty torturous, but a compliment none the less. And we have been invited to play another festival on the back of our efforts.
In between rehearsals and performances we were free to take in the other bands and singers, and dance and jive along, indulge in the various treats and delights for sale, and being passed around, and generally wander about looking at the stalls, playing on the slides, communing with nature and chatting to lots and lots of relaxed, mellow people with welcome smiles and ready laughs aplenty.
I haven't indulged in the pleasures of camping for over ten years. It was the perfect environment for Kumali, free to run around with all the other little girls dressed as fairies, with painted faces, wings, wands and other appropriate apparel. It was a perfect environment for Toni too, a woman who doesn't do words, who does atmosphere, because the ambiance all weekend was never less than warm, loving and open. And it was, of course, a perfect environment for me as well, because I am, I have come to learn, nothing more than a pagan, pixie, goblin, naturist.
The lovely and talented Frea, who is also on the writing course, was there with her equally lovely and talented partner, Andy, and various members of Frea's various families were also there, meaning I got to meet some of her wonderful family: dad, Jack; step-mum, Mary (who beautifully painted Kumali and my faces with butterfly designs); brothers Ja (who made a fantastic veggie curry) and Jimmy; and little sister, the inimitable Flora.
Frea, who is usually a relatively upbeat and positive person, spent six years living in Glastonbury so her tolerance for all the more powder puffy side shows that were going on at every turn was low, and, at times, her cynicism was palpable. On the Saturday I was all for staying for a month. When I mentioned the fact, Frea's eyes automatically rolled upwards, trying to touch her eyebrows, which were also raised, then, just as quickly, the expression was gone, she smiled, shook her head and was off, with her jaunty, unique gait taking her to the bar.
By the Sunday night, and a whole day of listening to well intentioned, but grossly deluded and awfully self-indulgent, bands as the rain drizzled down, I was ready to leave. I wandered round all the many faces I had struck up a rapore with, instantly bonded with, shared laughs and stories with, and said my goodbyes. Very genuine and lovely people, never met a bad 'un in three days. Faery land is a fabulous place to go ... but just maybe not permanently!
http://www.3wishesfaeryfest.co.uk/
Monday, June 18, 2007
Quote of the Week # 33
My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind.
Albert Einstein
Albert Einstein
Einstein A Go Go
Week Thirty – seven: Sunday 10 – Saturday 16 June
A friend, lovable, reliable Larry, had been down visiting from Scotland. He also had a Catholic upbringing, and the conversation turned to God and religion at one point. Not, I hope, because we are hung up and forever damned by our inculcation from birth till rebellious teen hood. No, while there are some shackles of Catholicism we may never shake free of - are there many/any Catholic reared men who can masturbate with a complete lack of guilt? - this conversation revolved around a newspaper article.
The newspaper article revolved around excerpts from the diaries of Albert Einstein, giving an insight into how he felt about God and religion. These are some of the things he had to say.
Asked at a dinner party (don't know if that is relevant) whether he was religious, he replied: "Yes, you can call it that. Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible laws and connections, there remains something subtle, intangible, and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in fact, religious."
On another occasion, asked whether or not he believed in God, he said: "I am not an atheist. I don't think I can call myself a pantheist. The problem involved in the question is too vast for our limited minds...That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being towards God. We see the universe marvellously arranged and obeying certain laws, but only dimly understand these laws."
He composed a personal creed at one point, its main tenet being: "The most beautiful emotion we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder or stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead, a snuffed out candle. To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is something that our minds cannot grasp, whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly: this is religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only, I am a devoutly religious man."
He gave atheists a harder time than he gave believers, on the basis that: "What separates me from most so-called-atheists is a feeling of utter humility towards the unattainable secrets of the harmony of the cosmos."
So say all of us. Amen.
A friend, lovable, reliable Larry, had been down visiting from Scotland. He also had a Catholic upbringing, and the conversation turned to God and religion at one point. Not, I hope, because we are hung up and forever damned by our inculcation from birth till rebellious teen hood. No, while there are some shackles of Catholicism we may never shake free of - are there many/any Catholic reared men who can masturbate with a complete lack of guilt? - this conversation revolved around a newspaper article.
The newspaper article revolved around excerpts from the diaries of Albert Einstein, giving an insight into how he felt about God and religion. These are some of the things he had to say.
Asked at a dinner party (don't know if that is relevant) whether he was religious, he replied: "Yes, you can call it that. Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible laws and connections, there remains something subtle, intangible, and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in fact, religious."
On another occasion, asked whether or not he believed in God, he said: "I am not an atheist. I don't think I can call myself a pantheist. The problem involved in the question is too vast for our limited minds...That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being towards God. We see the universe marvellously arranged and obeying certain laws, but only dimly understand these laws."
He composed a personal creed at one point, its main tenet being: "The most beautiful emotion we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder or stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead, a snuffed out candle. To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is something that our minds cannot grasp, whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly: this is religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only, I am a devoutly religious man."
He gave atheists a harder time than he gave believers, on the basis that: "What separates me from most so-called-atheists is a feeling of utter humility towards the unattainable secrets of the harmony of the cosmos."
So say all of us. Amen.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Summer Lovin
Week Thirty – six: Sunday 3 – Saturday 9 June
What a week ... of beautiful weather. Classic summer days: bright, piercing, blue skies and blazing, bathing, sun. Life always feels, and is, so much better when it is warm and sunny.
I've a restless spirit, if not soul, and haven't laid down real roots anywhere over the last decade or more. Thoughts have filtered through my mind, on and off, over the last few months under the the theme of 'where next.' A few, glorious, hours spent on Gyllyingvase Beach last week with my wife and daughter, watching Kumali revel in, and with, the sea and amuse herself endlessly with, and in, the sand, acted as a clear, calm, comforting epiphany.
Falmouth specifically, Cornwall generally, isn't just as good a place as any to live, it's as good as, and a lot better than, most. And for a youngster, it offers a delightful privilege to grow with a readily available, always tangible, connection to a rugged and more raw natural environment.
Yes, it rains a lot in winter, but that's helps to make it green and lush in spring and summer. It's a trade off. It can be chilly, too, but it never gets overly cold. Yet in the summer, when the sky is clear and blue and the sun is hot and strong, the lesser weather days are distant memories. That's a more than favourable trade off.
Standing at the waters edge, working up the courage to dive in before lock-forward Joe Weir rugby tackled me in again, I watched Kumali so blissfully happy to be by the sea-side. At the same time a group of fifteen, or more, young teenage boys and girls came rushing into the water. It looked like a regular after school activity. It looked like they were all having a great time. Beats sitting on a park bench, or in front of msn, I guess.
It looks like it makes sense for Toni, Kumali and little old restless me to think about going nowhere else, for the time being anyway.
What a week ... of beautiful weather. Classic summer days: bright, piercing, blue skies and blazing, bathing, sun. Life always feels, and is, so much better when it is warm and sunny.
I've a restless spirit, if not soul, and haven't laid down real roots anywhere over the last decade or more. Thoughts have filtered through my mind, on and off, over the last few months under the the theme of 'where next.' A few, glorious, hours spent on Gyllyingvase Beach last week with my wife and daughter, watching Kumali revel in, and with, the sea and amuse herself endlessly with, and in, the sand, acted as a clear, calm, comforting epiphany.
Falmouth specifically, Cornwall generally, isn't just as good a place as any to live, it's as good as, and a lot better than, most. And for a youngster, it offers a delightful privilege to grow with a readily available, always tangible, connection to a rugged and more raw natural environment.
Yes, it rains a lot in winter, but that's helps to make it green and lush in spring and summer. It's a trade off. It can be chilly, too, but it never gets overly cold. Yet in the summer, when the sky is clear and blue and the sun is hot and strong, the lesser weather days are distant memories. That's a more than favourable trade off.
Standing at the waters edge, working up the courage to dive in before lock-forward Joe Weir rugby tackled me in again, I watched Kumali so blissfully happy to be by the sea-side. At the same time a group of fifteen, or more, young teenage boys and girls came rushing into the water. It looked like a regular after school activity. It looked like they were all having a great time. Beats sitting on a park bench, or in front of msn, I guess.
It looks like it makes sense for Toni, Kumali and little old restless me to think about going nowhere else, for the time being anyway.
If You Do Nothing Else # 3
Watch ...
Before Sunrise, and the sequel Before Sunset.
Little plot, little action, little drama: lots of class. Two quality films.
Before Sunrise, and the sequel Before Sunset.
Little plot, little action, little drama: lots of class. Two quality films.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Quote of the Week # 32
The earth provides enough for everyone's need, but not for everyone's greed.
Mahatma Gandhi
Mahatma Gandhi
Green Means Stop
Week Thirty – five: Sunday 27 May – Saturday 2 June
Planet earth is warming up. Depending on who you listen to and/or what you choose to believe, the human race is either solely responsible or nothing to do with it all. Well, what do I know? Not much, and that lessens every time I learn some more; the more I know the more I know there is to know.
One thing I am fairly sure of is that the numbers of humans on planet earth has quadrupled, from roughly one and a half billion to six billion, in around 250 years. That's four times as many people generating heat. Add to that the fact that a hefty percentage of us now generate far more heat than humans ever have before and it is hard to escape the fact that the human race is contributing heavily to the rising temperatures.
Who wants to slow down? Lots of people, it appears. But who wants to give up the cars, the central heating, the factory manufactured goods, the availability of goods from around the world, the air travel, the electrical gadgets, et cetera? Few, if any.
So what's going to happen? Again, what do I know? But as more land is concreted over, as more of the earth's natural habitat is removed, as more other living species disappear, as more and more people desire the capitalist dream, hasn't something got to give sometime?
And what is the return for what is perceived as increased prosperity? Does more and more money and consumer goods make you any happier? Are people more, or less, depressed than in times gone by? Are people more, or less, dysfunctional than in times gone by?
There is an uneasy feeling in the western world that all is not what we say it is; we have become prisoners of the money myth. Charles Handy, the world renowned management guru, said that, not me. And he said it ten years ago. Are we getting more deeply imprisoned, or are we freer? A constant theme of D.H Lawrence's novels was the way in which the hard, mechanistic world of the industrial west was sucking the life out of the human race. Are we just having it sucked out of us even faster, or is less being sucked out of us?
Whether we are damaging the planet or not, is the life that exists for most of us really the life we would choose to lead? Slow down, you move too fast, got to make the morning last. So said Simon and Garfunkel.
A friend of mine has been a taxi driver in Edinburgh for over 25 years. He's a friendly guy who loves to chat to his passengers. Over the last few years, he tells me, he hears more and more from professionals that he collects from airports, train stations, hotels, et cetera, about how unhappy they are with their jobs. The pressures, the hours, the demands, the stress, the constant travel. They want simpler lives. But they're on the gravy train, in the rat race, on the hamsters wheel, and they're afraid to get off or out. Their salaries and perks are great, on paper. But when you work out the hours they are forced to work, it doesn't look so great.
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I think we need some balance.
Planet earth is warming up. Depending on who you listen to and/or what you choose to believe, the human race is either solely responsible or nothing to do with it all. Well, what do I know? Not much, and that lessens every time I learn some more; the more I know the more I know there is to know.
One thing I am fairly sure of is that the numbers of humans on planet earth has quadrupled, from roughly one and a half billion to six billion, in around 250 years. That's four times as many people generating heat. Add to that the fact that a hefty percentage of us now generate far more heat than humans ever have before and it is hard to escape the fact that the human race is contributing heavily to the rising temperatures.
Who wants to slow down? Lots of people, it appears. But who wants to give up the cars, the central heating, the factory manufactured goods, the availability of goods from around the world, the air travel, the electrical gadgets, et cetera? Few, if any.
So what's going to happen? Again, what do I know? But as more land is concreted over, as more of the earth's natural habitat is removed, as more other living species disappear, as more and more people desire the capitalist dream, hasn't something got to give sometime?
And what is the return for what is perceived as increased prosperity? Does more and more money and consumer goods make you any happier? Are people more, or less, depressed than in times gone by? Are people more, or less, dysfunctional than in times gone by?
There is an uneasy feeling in the western world that all is not what we say it is; we have become prisoners of the money myth. Charles Handy, the world renowned management guru, said that, not me. And he said it ten years ago. Are we getting more deeply imprisoned, or are we freer? A constant theme of D.H Lawrence's novels was the way in which the hard, mechanistic world of the industrial west was sucking the life out of the human race. Are we just having it sucked out of us even faster, or is less being sucked out of us?
Whether we are damaging the planet or not, is the life that exists for most of us really the life we would choose to lead? Slow down, you move too fast, got to make the morning last. So said Simon and Garfunkel.
A friend of mine has been a taxi driver in Edinburgh for over 25 years. He's a friendly guy who loves to chat to his passengers. Over the last few years, he tells me, he hears more and more from professionals that he collects from airports, train stations, hotels, et cetera, about how unhappy they are with their jobs. The pressures, the hours, the demands, the stress, the constant travel. They want simpler lives. But they're on the gravy train, in the rat race, on the hamsters wheel, and they're afraid to get off or out. Their salaries and perks are great, on paper. But when you work out the hours they are forced to work, it doesn't look so great.
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I think we need some balance.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Quote of the Week # 31
The greatest mistake – giving up
The greatest crippler – fear
The greatest handicap – ego
The most potent force – positive
The greatest thought – love
The greatest victory – victory over the self.
Source unknown.
The greatest crippler – fear
The greatest handicap – ego
The most potent force – positive
The greatest thought – love
The greatest victory – victory over the self.
Source unknown.
Keep The Faith
Week Thirty – four: Sunday 20 – Saturday 26 May
The course I am studying has reached the ‘crucial’ point: the MA proposals have been presented to a panel of peers and tutors; supervisors have been appointed; teaching is finished.
We are now on our own, more or less, to sit down and write our novel, script, non-fiction book, or whatever. It suddenly feels like quite a daunting task.
Daunting tasks can lead to all sorts of displacement behaviour to avoid the daunting task in hand. But like a taxi driver who will only make money if they are in the driver’s seat of their cab with the ‘FOR HIRE’ sign lit, I will only produce my major piece of work if I sit on my desk chair in front of my switched on computer and start to write.
The presentations took place on Monday; the party afterwards went on until early Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday slipped by unproductively; Friday was taken up with some filming. Now it is Saturday already.
Time to get focused, disciplined and on with the job!
The course I am studying has reached the ‘crucial’ point: the MA proposals have been presented to a panel of peers and tutors; supervisors have been appointed; teaching is finished.
We are now on our own, more or less, to sit down and write our novel, script, non-fiction book, or whatever. It suddenly feels like quite a daunting task.
Daunting tasks can lead to all sorts of displacement behaviour to avoid the daunting task in hand. But like a taxi driver who will only make money if they are in the driver’s seat of their cab with the ‘FOR HIRE’ sign lit, I will only produce my major piece of work if I sit on my desk chair in front of my switched on computer and start to write.
The presentations took place on Monday; the party afterwards went on until early Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday slipped by unproductively; Friday was taken up with some filming. Now it is Saturday already.
Time to get focused, disciplined and on with the job!
Quote of the Week # 30
One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel all right.
Bob Marley, ‘One Love’
Bob Marley, ‘One Love’
Love IS All You Need
Week Thirty – three: Sunday 13 – Saturday 19 May
I’m not the biggest fan of The Beatles; that’s not to say I’m not a fan, just not the biggest fan. However, their song, ‘All You Need is Love’, is a classic in my view. It is right up there with Bob Marley’s, ‘One Love’, as an anthem for life and living. There are many other songs that have the importance of love as their theme, but you catch my drift, don’t you?
Love is always in existence, somewhere, somehow; even for those in horrible circumstances who may not feel the existence of love. Me, I am blessed: no doubt about that.
My wife and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary on the 17 May and I took the opportunity to tell my wife one more time how much I love her and how much I appreciate, value and respect her love for me.
We are all guilty of complacency. It would appear to be one of the many afflictions of the human psyche. It is my aim to never get complacent about the love I am bathed in by my wife – and my daughter.
When you feel loved, know you are loved, receive love, and exist in a loving environment, it is equally as humbling as it is enriching. For the last five years that is the very environment that I have existed in. You can’t beat it. And what you give out comes back to you; I reciprocate the love my wife gives me, and vice versa. It is, I believe, what is known as a ‘virtuous cycle’.
As if I wasn’t fortunate enough to share my life with, and be loved by, a warm, intelligent, graceful, creative, calm, positive and loving, not to mention extremely beautiful, women, I also have the greatest love of all: the unconditional, unrequited love that exists between my daughter and me.
No human can stay alive without clean air and water, and some sustenance (but a lot less than the amount most of us shovel down our throats). It is hard, although not impossible, to live without a home and some recourse to finances. But love is all we really need.
Love is the beginning, the middle and the end.
I’m not the biggest fan of The Beatles; that’s not to say I’m not a fan, just not the biggest fan. However, their song, ‘All You Need is Love’, is a classic in my view. It is right up there with Bob Marley’s, ‘One Love’, as an anthem for life and living. There are many other songs that have the importance of love as their theme, but you catch my drift, don’t you?
Love is always in existence, somewhere, somehow; even for those in horrible circumstances who may not feel the existence of love. Me, I am blessed: no doubt about that.
My wife and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary on the 17 May and I took the opportunity to tell my wife one more time how much I love her and how much I appreciate, value and respect her love for me.
We are all guilty of complacency. It would appear to be one of the many afflictions of the human psyche. It is my aim to never get complacent about the love I am bathed in by my wife – and my daughter.
When you feel loved, know you are loved, receive love, and exist in a loving environment, it is equally as humbling as it is enriching. For the last five years that is the very environment that I have existed in. You can’t beat it. And what you give out comes back to you; I reciprocate the love my wife gives me, and vice versa. It is, I believe, what is known as a ‘virtuous cycle’.
As if I wasn’t fortunate enough to share my life with, and be loved by, a warm, intelligent, graceful, creative, calm, positive and loving, not to mention extremely beautiful, women, I also have the greatest love of all: the unconditional, unrequited love that exists between my daughter and me.
No human can stay alive without clean air and water, and some sustenance (but a lot less than the amount most of us shovel down our throats). It is hard, although not impossible, to live without a home and some recourse to finances. But love is all we really need.
Love is the beginning, the middle and the end.
Quote of the Week # 29
He that will not apply new remedies must expect new evils; for time is the greatest innovator.
Francis Bacon, 1561-1626
Francis Bacon, 1561-1626
Back In The Working World
Week Thirty – two: Sunday 6 – Saturday 12 May
Took my wife and daughter up to Edinburgh for a week; I had a week of freelance work, and we three had a chance to catch up with family and friends. You know your place when you contact people to say you are coming up and they all immediately ask, “Are Toni and Kumali coming too?”
So while I jumped back into the working world Toni and Kumali spent their days meeting up with various people. A constant stream of tea and cake, lunch, then more tea and cake, and my beautiful daughter being fussed over and complimented on her beauty, grace and abilities.
It wasn’t so bad being back at work; I guess I have worked enough over the last twenty-five or so years for it not to be so much of a shock to the system. It has been a pleasure and a treat to be a full-time student again, and the nine to five routine does easily drop away; but work is not so strange as to be unmanageable.
The work involved managing the media campaign for a national event to encourage adults who are not normally associated with learning to return to learning. It is a worthwhile event to be involved with; the opportunity to effect real, positive change in people’s lives is high and that makes it great to be involved with.
I have also been doing this work every year for the last nine years; I normally fit back into the rhythm of the work easily enough.
What was most interesting about being back in Scotland was the fact that the elections had just taken place and the Scottish voting public made it clear they have had enough of New Labour. With proportional representation at local level Labour lost control of several local authorities; nationally the Scottish Nationalist Party won most seats, leaving them as the party to form the new government.
It is clear that the Scottish media are not keen on an SNP government; the fourth estate fearing the break-up of the union. There is no sense in any of that, in my humble opinion. Great Britain is a misnomer; it is not a country, it is four countries. Surely a nation state is entitled to run its own affairs? An independent Scotland doesn’t have to mean anything negative in relation to the historical links with England, and/or Wales and Ireland for that matter.
How much difference does any mainstream political party actually make? I read a quote from green campaigner Jonathan Porritt over twenty years ago. He said, “Political parties are like cars on a motorway; they might all be going at different speeds, but they are all going in the same direction.”
Say no more!
Took my wife and daughter up to Edinburgh for a week; I had a week of freelance work, and we three had a chance to catch up with family and friends. You know your place when you contact people to say you are coming up and they all immediately ask, “Are Toni and Kumali coming too?”
So while I jumped back into the working world Toni and Kumali spent their days meeting up with various people. A constant stream of tea and cake, lunch, then more tea and cake, and my beautiful daughter being fussed over and complimented on her beauty, grace and abilities.
It wasn’t so bad being back at work; I guess I have worked enough over the last twenty-five or so years for it not to be so much of a shock to the system. It has been a pleasure and a treat to be a full-time student again, and the nine to five routine does easily drop away; but work is not so strange as to be unmanageable.
The work involved managing the media campaign for a national event to encourage adults who are not normally associated with learning to return to learning. It is a worthwhile event to be involved with; the opportunity to effect real, positive change in people’s lives is high and that makes it great to be involved with.
I have also been doing this work every year for the last nine years; I normally fit back into the rhythm of the work easily enough.
What was most interesting about being back in Scotland was the fact that the elections had just taken place and the Scottish voting public made it clear they have had enough of New Labour. With proportional representation at local level Labour lost control of several local authorities; nationally the Scottish Nationalist Party won most seats, leaving them as the party to form the new government.
It is clear that the Scottish media are not keen on an SNP government; the fourth estate fearing the break-up of the union. There is no sense in any of that, in my humble opinion. Great Britain is a misnomer; it is not a country, it is four countries. Surely a nation state is entitled to run its own affairs? An independent Scotland doesn’t have to mean anything negative in relation to the historical links with England, and/or Wales and Ireland for that matter.
How much difference does any mainstream political party actually make? I read a quote from green campaigner Jonathan Porritt over twenty years ago. He said, “Political parties are like cars on a motorway; they might all be going at different speeds, but they are all going in the same direction.”
Say no more!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Quote of the Week # 28
Christians have only one spouse; this is known as monotony.
One eight year old boy's response among a group of children being asked about what they know about religion.
One eight year old boy's response among a group of children being asked about what they know about religion.
Gallery Girl
Week Thirty – one: Sunday 29 April – Saturday 5 MayI stood there, almost in a trance. My mouth open at first, then forming into a huge smile. My eyes wide, almost popping from their sockets.
I stared and stared; my smile constant and strong, the feeling of joy and happiness floating through me. Chuckles and giggles flowed through my smiling mouth.
The feeling was magical.
And that was just the first picture. I remembered my wife told me that there were five of my daughter's pictures on display. Five. The multi-award winning Falmouth Arts Gallery have a parent and child club on a Saturday afternoon. My wife and daughter go along. Every so often the pictures that the children produce are framed and exhibited, just like any exhibition.
I wandered round and round, making a point of looking at the other art work of the other children, but really only interest in observing and absorbing my daughter's work. Five framed pieces of my three year-old daughter's art work, on display in an art gallery.
What a genius idea. I don't know for sure what it does for the children, although I can't imagine it is anything less than positive, but it works for this parent. It made me feel so happy, so impressed by my daughter's talent (not that I wasn't anyway), and proud too, I guess.
I went straight home, collected my wife and daughter and went straight back to the gallery with them. The three of us wandered around smiling, nodding and pointing in approval.
My daughter, on display in a bone fida art gallery; they've even got a Picasso in there!
Monday, April 30, 2007
Quote of the Week # 27
Age is a question of mind over matter; if you don't mind, it doesn't matter.
Leroy Paige
Leroy Paige
Mellowed By Massage
My good (what an understatement) lady wife and I have a little Monday afternoon tryst that we have, until now, kept a secret. We go to the Adult Education Centre and get a full body massage from someone coming to the end of their holistic massage course.
One full hour, sweet almond oil, muscles being manipulated, tweaked, stretched, rubbed and indulged. Joy, bliss, happiness. All for £5.00 because they are still students. Double joy, bliss, happiness.
We have come to really enjoy our Monday afternoon; hardly surprising. We meet beforehand, not for coffee or anything; we don't want a fresh dose of toxins in our body just when we are about to have existing ones squeezed out. No, we just meet early and walk up the road hand in hand. That in itself is a bit of a wee treat, as since becoming parents just over three years ago we haven't had much 'our' time together.
After the massage we walk slowly, floatily, down the road and discuss how relaxed, tension free and sleepy we feel. The massage sessions coincide time wise very nicely with collection time for our wee shining star; so we head for nursery, look at all the lovely things she has made, painted, drawn that day, and then trot off down the road having fun and being a happy family.
To all those people out there who careers mean something to, who feel they need a job as it gives them identity and purpose - good on you, go for it and all the best to you. I hope you make it to the top of whatever profession it is you want to make it to the top to.
Me: I just want to be with my wife and daughter; no career aspirations, no need to be up at six and in the office for seven, a ten hour day in front of me. I want to be there as my daughter grows up; minute by minute, hour by hour. And I want to share the experience with my wife.
Reality swoops from a far and smacks my head as it passes. What about money? It shouts as it heads up, ready to turn and swoop again. But I'm waiting for it. Yeah, I haven't worked out how to live without cash. I'm aware it takes more than hanging with your wife and daughter to make a life.
But they are my life; they bring me so much happiness, contentment and fulfillment. I'm not looking for anything more. Where there is a will, there is a way. Need to find a way to earn money and spend lots of time with my wife and daughter ... and get a massage once a week too!
One full hour, sweet almond oil, muscles being manipulated, tweaked, stretched, rubbed and indulged. Joy, bliss, happiness. All for £5.00 because they are still students. Double joy, bliss, happiness.
We have come to really enjoy our Monday afternoon; hardly surprising. We meet beforehand, not for coffee or anything; we don't want a fresh dose of toxins in our body just when we are about to have existing ones squeezed out. No, we just meet early and walk up the road hand in hand. That in itself is a bit of a wee treat, as since becoming parents just over three years ago we haven't had much 'our' time together.
After the massage we walk slowly, floatily, down the road and discuss how relaxed, tension free and sleepy we feel. The massage sessions coincide time wise very nicely with collection time for our wee shining star; so we head for nursery, look at all the lovely things she has made, painted, drawn that day, and then trot off down the road having fun and being a happy family.
To all those people out there who careers mean something to, who feel they need a job as it gives them identity and purpose - good on you, go for it and all the best to you. I hope you make it to the top of whatever profession it is you want to make it to the top to.
Me: I just want to be with my wife and daughter; no career aspirations, no need to be up at six and in the office for seven, a ten hour day in front of me. I want to be there as my daughter grows up; minute by minute, hour by hour. And I want to share the experience with my wife.
Reality swoops from a far and smacks my head as it passes. What about money? It shouts as it heads up, ready to turn and swoop again. But I'm waiting for it. Yeah, I haven't worked out how to live without cash. I'm aware it takes more than hanging with your wife and daughter to make a life.
But they are my life; they bring me so much happiness, contentment and fulfillment. I'm not looking for anything more. Where there is a will, there is a way. Need to find a way to earn money and spend lots of time with my wife and daughter ... and get a massage once a week too!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Quote of the Week # 26
Go bang your drum, real or imagined, and wake yourself and the world up to the fact that you are alive and real.
David M N Bate
David M N Bate
Bangers & Mash
Week Twenty-nine: Sunday 15 – Saturday 21 April
"Oh, and if anyone asks, we’re called ‘Mangers & Mash."
That was the last words from our 'leader' before we stepped out of our rehearsal room in a nearby shop, crossed the concourse, climbed the steps and entered the ‘Double Trouble – Dub Ska & Reggae’ gig.
The room was full and our arrival was being anticipated. We took our places in front of the dj box, then, poised and primed, we waited for the signal from said leader – then we were off. Fifteen people banging various drums, bells and tambour-drums, as well as shaking some serious shakers, to some sort of samba reggae rhythm.
Most of us only starting playing a drum a couple of months ago, when we first joined the newly started practice sessions. We’d had a mini-gig: walking along Falmouth High Street, in the pouring rain; the support act for Falmouth women’s acknowledgement of International Woman’s Day. This was a real gig: part of a bona-fide dj night; place packed with young people, mainly under 25. Safe to say there was a few nerves on the night.
The venue was excellent. Jubilee Wharf in Penryn; fifteen minutes walk from our house. Based near the harbour, a still busy and working harbour, Jubilee Wharf is an eco centre, with shops, flats a café and a functions room. The whole place is a tasteful intrusion on the landscape, and includes four small wind turbines to generate energy to power the whole place. They don’t look any more obtrusive than the multitude of various sized masts that jut out from the boats.
So the place has a good vibe; sustainable, environmental, earthy, natural. The audience were a bit like that too. And they loved us. We bashed out our two numbers, for about ten minutes each, as the crowd danced round about us; finishing with a massive crescendo - and loads of cheering and clapping.
As we wandered back out to let the djs carry on the night, strangers came up to us to shake our hands, pat our backs, ask when we our next gig is, and one person even asked if we had a cd!
Who wouldn't be a rock star?
"Oh, and if anyone asks, we’re called ‘Mangers & Mash."
That was the last words from our 'leader' before we stepped out of our rehearsal room in a nearby shop, crossed the concourse, climbed the steps and entered the ‘Double Trouble – Dub Ska & Reggae’ gig.
The room was full and our arrival was being anticipated. We took our places in front of the dj box, then, poised and primed, we waited for the signal from said leader – then we were off. Fifteen people banging various drums, bells and tambour-drums, as well as shaking some serious shakers, to some sort of samba reggae rhythm.
Most of us only starting playing a drum a couple of months ago, when we first joined the newly started practice sessions. We’d had a mini-gig: walking along Falmouth High Street, in the pouring rain; the support act for Falmouth women’s acknowledgement of International Woman’s Day. This was a real gig: part of a bona-fide dj night; place packed with young people, mainly under 25. Safe to say there was a few nerves on the night.
The venue was excellent. Jubilee Wharf in Penryn; fifteen minutes walk from our house. Based near the harbour, a still busy and working harbour, Jubilee Wharf is an eco centre, with shops, flats a café and a functions room. The whole place is a tasteful intrusion on the landscape, and includes four small wind turbines to generate energy to power the whole place. They don’t look any more obtrusive than the multitude of various sized masts that jut out from the boats.
So the place has a good vibe; sustainable, environmental, earthy, natural. The audience were a bit like that too. And they loved us. We bashed out our two numbers, for about ten minutes each, as the crowd danced round about us; finishing with a massive crescendo - and loads of cheering and clapping.
As we wandered back out to let the djs carry on the night, strangers came up to us to shake our hands, pat our backs, ask when we our next gig is, and one person even asked if we had a cd!
Who wouldn't be a rock star?
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
If You Do Nothing Else # 1
Watch this –
The Corporation (2004).
Winner of 24 International Awards and 10 Audience Awards, including the Sundance Film Festival. Contributions from Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, Michael Moore, et al.
It’s a bit chewy, and you need to pay attention, but well worth watching. Afterwards ask yourself two questions: how does that make me feel, and what am I going to do about it?
The Corporation (2004).
Winner of 24 International Awards and 10 Audience Awards, including the Sundance Film Festival. Contributions from Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, Michael Moore, et al.
It’s a bit chewy, and you need to pay attention, but well worth watching. Afterwards ask yourself two questions: how does that make me feel, and what am I going to do about it?
Quote of the Week # 25
If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children.
Mahatma Gandh
Mahatma Gandh
Bedtime Delights
Week Twenty-eight: Sunday 8 – Saturday 14 April
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Thank you. I love you, too,” I whispered back.
With that, she stretched out her arm, wrapped her hand round my neck and gently pulled my head towards hers, puckering her lips for a gentle kiss as she guided me.
She then nuzzled my head into her neck and shoulder. “You lie there and I’ll stroke your hair,” she added, patting my back reassuringly a couple of times.
And therein lies the latest delightful ritual that has unfolded in the never- ending discovery of joy and wonder that is the relationship I have with my three year-old daughter.
This wonderful display of my daughter’s caring and nurturing side came after she had already read me a story; well told me a story, as she doesn’t actually read. She does though, like so many children, have her favourite books and she has had them read to her while she follows the pictures countless times.
Equipped with enough awareness of her familiarity of one of her books, ‘Gotcha’, she boldly offered to read it to me when I came to lie down beside her and read to her before she went to sleep.
With a combination of rote, the occasional personal embellishment and mumbo-jumbo made up words to fill in the blanks, she did a fine job of taking me through the story of the little girl who was starting at a new school and struggling to make new friends.
Page by page, her narrative flowed beautifully; she even, occasionally, aping the staff from nursery, I think, propped the book up and widened the viewing angle, asking as she did, “Can you see alright from there?”
How precious children are; from conception to the first crucial five years of their - life and beyond. How magical. What a gift. What gems. And so do we not have an obligation to polish them and make them shine, always?
Nature v nurture? A healthy mix of both, I’m sure. But, while we can’t do much to determine the nature that a newborn child brings into the world with them, we can do everything in our power to determine the nature of the nurturing they receive.
A product of our environment? I think so, more so than anything else. I’m advocating a nurturing, caring, loving, patient, creative, positive environment for all children, all the time.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Thank you. I love you, too,” I whispered back.
With that, she stretched out her arm, wrapped her hand round my neck and gently pulled my head towards hers, puckering her lips for a gentle kiss as she guided me.
She then nuzzled my head into her neck and shoulder. “You lie there and I’ll stroke your hair,” she added, patting my back reassuringly a couple of times.
And therein lies the latest delightful ritual that has unfolded in the never- ending discovery of joy and wonder that is the relationship I have with my three year-old daughter.
This wonderful display of my daughter’s caring and nurturing side came after she had already read me a story; well told me a story, as she doesn’t actually read. She does though, like so many children, have her favourite books and she has had them read to her while she follows the pictures countless times.
Equipped with enough awareness of her familiarity of one of her books, ‘Gotcha’, she boldly offered to read it to me when I came to lie down beside her and read to her before she went to sleep.
With a combination of rote, the occasional personal embellishment and mumbo-jumbo made up words to fill in the blanks, she did a fine job of taking me through the story of the little girl who was starting at a new school and struggling to make new friends.
Page by page, her narrative flowed beautifully; she even, occasionally, aping the staff from nursery, I think, propped the book up and widened the viewing angle, asking as she did, “Can you see alright from there?”
How precious children are; from conception to the first crucial five years of their - life and beyond. How magical. What a gift. What gems. And so do we not have an obligation to polish them and make them shine, always?
Nature v nurture? A healthy mix of both, I’m sure. But, while we can’t do much to determine the nature that a newborn child brings into the world with them, we can do everything in our power to determine the nature of the nurturing they receive.
A product of our environment? I think so, more so than anything else. I’m advocating a nurturing, caring, loving, patient, creative, positive environment for all children, all the time.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Quote of the Week # 24
There is no nourishment like happiness - it's an elixir. There is no sickness like sorrow - it's a poison. The experience of true happiness cures the sickness of sorrow. A cheerful face goes a long way towards making everything better!
www.thoughtfortoday.org.uk
www.thoughtfortoday.org.uk
What Did I Want To Say Again?
Week Twenty-seven: Sunday 1 – Saturday 7 April
What a week. Radio workshop Monday - Wednesday; editing and production for the course's online writers website on Thursday. Lack of sleep due to a restless night-time daughter. It's all functional, and functioning, with a tired mind and trapped flow.
I find myself losing sight of what it is I wanted to write in the first place. No, not a 'script' or a 'novel' or a 'feature'; more what it is that I want to say. What's my message? Every writer writes because they have something they want to say. That can be morose, vacuous, manipulative, misleading, meaningless or any other negative connotation: but they all have something to say.
It helps, in my humble opinion, if what you want to say has the potential to contribute positively to the greater good by making people think, feel, engage, laugh, learn, change, improve, et cetera. But whatever it is you want to say as a writer, and for whatever reason, you need to know what it is.
At times you get so bunged up with commercialism, professionalism, competitivism; with angles, opportunities, trends, and with careers and money. You get so bunged up with all that that you forget what it is you want to say. You forget about the messages you want to impart, the lessons you've learned, the experiences you've had: the story you want to tell.
It doesn't take much to lose sight, to stop being focused, to be out of your zone; lack of sleep and a full-on week where you don't get any work you need to get done done, does it for me!
Easter weekend was a chance to reconnect. Lovely sunny weather, a trip to the beach with my wife and daughter to play and relax. A roast beef and potatoes dinner. Easter eggs and new story books for my daughter. It doesn't take much to remind me that, yeah we all need to make a living, yeah I have aspirations as a writer based on a strong desire to say something meaningful, my greatest achievement in life is the life I share with my wife and daughter.
What a week. Radio workshop Monday - Wednesday; editing and production for the course's online writers website on Thursday. Lack of sleep due to a restless night-time daughter. It's all functional, and functioning, with a tired mind and trapped flow.
I find myself losing sight of what it is I wanted to write in the first place. No, not a 'script' or a 'novel' or a 'feature'; more what it is that I want to say. What's my message? Every writer writes because they have something they want to say. That can be morose, vacuous, manipulative, misleading, meaningless or any other negative connotation: but they all have something to say.
It helps, in my humble opinion, if what you want to say has the potential to contribute positively to the greater good by making people think, feel, engage, laugh, learn, change, improve, et cetera. But whatever it is you want to say as a writer, and for whatever reason, you need to know what it is.
At times you get so bunged up with commercialism, professionalism, competitivism; with angles, opportunities, trends, and with careers and money. You get so bunged up with all that that you forget what it is you want to say. You forget about the messages you want to impart, the lessons you've learned, the experiences you've had: the story you want to tell.
It doesn't take much to lose sight, to stop being focused, to be out of your zone; lack of sleep and a full-on week where you don't get any work you need to get done done, does it for me!
Easter weekend was a chance to reconnect. Lovely sunny weather, a trip to the beach with my wife and daughter to play and relax. A roast beef and potatoes dinner. Easter eggs and new story books for my daughter. It doesn't take much to remind me that, yeah we all need to make a living, yeah I have aspirations as a writer based on a strong desire to say something meaningful, my greatest achievement in life is the life I share with my wife and daughter.
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