Responsibility is what awaits outside the Eden of creativity.
Nadine Gordimer
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Who Are We?
Week Sixteen: Sunday 14 – Saturday 20 January
I opened up my college email the other day and the first email I saw had a subject line that read, ‘Lecture by David Bate.’ My first reaction was, ‘F*ck, who’s set me up, and what the f*ck am I supposed to be giving a lecture on.
When I opened up the email it turns out the lecture was being given by a guy called David Bate from Winchester University in London; head of the MA Photography course, he was coming to University College Falmouth to give a lecture on the work of a famous photographer called Jeff Wall.
After the initial relief at knowing I hadn’t been set up and wouldn’t have to give a lecture after all, I couldn’t stop thinking about his name: my name! It didn’t help that I was inundated with various witty emails and text messages from people on my course regarding the email that I, and they, had received.
Bate is not the most common name in the world: it’s not the most common name in the British Isles for that matter; it is actually a Cornish name, located in the area around Padstow. So throughout my life I have never come across many other people with the surname Bate that weren’t my relations; growing up in Edinburgh all the Bate entries in the telephone directory were my family. And I have NEVER come across anyone with the same first and second name as me.
Now, there could be dozens of people called David Bate in the British Isles, and further a field for that matter, but I’ve never come across them, hard of them or, indeed, been told about them by anyone else. So it came as a real surprise to find that there is at least one other David Bate alive, well and functioning on planet earth; and he was coming to the college I attend to give a lecture!
Call it curiosity, call it vanity, call it what you want – I had to go and check the guy out and see what he looked liked, how he sounded, and how he moved, dressed and functioned. Yeah, call it vanity; because when I got to the lecture theatre where the presentation was held I got there early so I could check the guy out and, against my better judgement, I decided that he wasn’t as good looking as me, didn’t have as good a physique, voice or dress sense and couldn’t deliver a presentation with the same panache as me either.
Hey, I wasn’t putting the guy down: he was fine, good and well; just not, in my opinion, as fine, good or well as me! But what if he had been? What if he had turned out to be a Brad Pitt look-a-like, with the voice of Richard Burton, body of Thierry Henry, moves of Robbie Williams and dress sense of Bogart? Just how well would I have coped with that?
Well, I like to think well, because I’m mature, secure and balanced; but I’d be kidding myself on. So, what is it about someone with the same name as us? What’s in a name? Who are we?
I opened up my college email the other day and the first email I saw had a subject line that read, ‘Lecture by David Bate.’ My first reaction was, ‘F*ck, who’s set me up, and what the f*ck am I supposed to be giving a lecture on.
When I opened up the email it turns out the lecture was being given by a guy called David Bate from Winchester University in London; head of the MA Photography course, he was coming to University College Falmouth to give a lecture on the work of a famous photographer called Jeff Wall.
After the initial relief at knowing I hadn’t been set up and wouldn’t have to give a lecture after all, I couldn’t stop thinking about his name: my name! It didn’t help that I was inundated with various witty emails and text messages from people on my course regarding the email that I, and they, had received.
Bate is not the most common name in the world: it’s not the most common name in the British Isles for that matter; it is actually a Cornish name, located in the area around Padstow. So throughout my life I have never come across many other people with the surname Bate that weren’t my relations; growing up in Edinburgh all the Bate entries in the telephone directory were my family. And I have NEVER come across anyone with the same first and second name as me.
Now, there could be dozens of people called David Bate in the British Isles, and further a field for that matter, but I’ve never come across them, hard of them or, indeed, been told about them by anyone else. So it came as a real surprise to find that there is at least one other David Bate alive, well and functioning on planet earth; and he was coming to the college I attend to give a lecture!
Call it curiosity, call it vanity, call it what you want – I had to go and check the guy out and see what he looked liked, how he sounded, and how he moved, dressed and functioned. Yeah, call it vanity; because when I got to the lecture theatre where the presentation was held I got there early so I could check the guy out and, against my better judgement, I decided that he wasn’t as good looking as me, didn’t have as good a physique, voice or dress sense and couldn’t deliver a presentation with the same panache as me either.
Hey, I wasn’t putting the guy down: he was fine, good and well; just not, in my opinion, as fine, good or well as me! But what if he had been? What if he had turned out to be a Brad Pitt look-a-like, with the voice of Richard Burton, body of Thierry Henry, moves of Robbie Williams and dress sense of Bogart? Just how well would I have coped with that?
Well, I like to think well, because I’m mature, secure and balanced; but I’d be kidding myself on. So, what is it about someone with the same name as us? What’s in a name? Who are we?
Quote of the Week # 12
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Safely through the world we go.
William Blake
And when this we rightly know,
Safely through the world we go.
William Blake
Good And Bad In Everyone
Week Fifteen: Sunday 7 – Saturday 13 January
I caught a headline in a ‘broadsheet’ newspaper the other day about the rise of racism in Europe. I checked out the subheading and then drifted over the first few paragraphs. I got the jist of the article: I didn’t need, or want, to read any further.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s important to know about these sorts of things; but is it really ‘new’s? Is it a rise in racism, or is it just an age-old problem raising its ugly head again because it is expedient or politic to do so at this particular time?
I don’t have much time for ‘news’papers these days anyway, whether they are tabloids or broadsheets; they’re all pretty much full of slanted, jaundiced, agendaised spin and spiel. If you don’t believe me, buy a copy of Private Eye some time and check out what doesn’t get into the papers on a regular basis. If you’re still not convinced, read Noam Chomsky’s ‘Manufacturing Consent’.
Sure, you get the odd good article, the odd good feature and the odd good opinion piece in both tabloid and broadsheet newspapers; there’s a fair amount of decent writing too. But, over the piece, they’re really only good for passing a wet, cold Sunday, checking the football results, or, not that this happens anymore in today’s polystyrene world, wrapping fish and chips up in.
However, although I didn’t read the article in any depth, and the racism thing is nothing new, in the world never mind just in Europe, I did ponder the issue and find it popping up in my head throughout that day. Especially as my lovely wife is a mixed race African, with a touch of Jewish blood, and my daughter is a right old bag of liquorice allsorts.
What is it with human beings and, well, other human beings? Why is so much time, energy, effort and money spent on the pursuit of hating other people? On a macro level it’s because they are from a different race, or country, or have a different colour of skin or language of way of life; on a micro level it is because they support a different football team, go to a different school, have different colour hair or big, small, fat, thin, whatever.
Is it all not just a complete waste of all that time, energy, effort and money? I don’t think anyone or anything could convince me otherwise. Who cares so much about all this shit? Who are these sad, deluded individuals walking planet earth spewing out all this hatred, bigotry and suspicion all in the name of ignorance and insecurity?
I need to know what purpose any of it, one tiny iota of it, serves? Nothing constructive or meaningful: nothing purposeful or creative; nothing worthwhile or positive. So why? Beats the shit out of me.
No doubt various groups have a whole list of rhetoric to support it. No doubt various, so called, educated, academic, intellectual groups have a whole list of scientific and sociological reasons to explain it. To me, it’s all bullshit: these people ALL need to look within, not without, and take one huge f*cking reality check. Life’s too short, too precious, and too good to waste.
No matter what creed, colour, religion, sex, nationality, et cetera that there is out there, none are perfect and none are pure. There is good and bad in everyone. Best to rejoice in the good and work to eradicate, or at least control, the bad.
I caught a headline in a ‘broadsheet’ newspaper the other day about the rise of racism in Europe. I checked out the subheading and then drifted over the first few paragraphs. I got the jist of the article: I didn’t need, or want, to read any further.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s important to know about these sorts of things; but is it really ‘new’s? Is it a rise in racism, or is it just an age-old problem raising its ugly head again because it is expedient or politic to do so at this particular time?
I don’t have much time for ‘news’papers these days anyway, whether they are tabloids or broadsheets; they’re all pretty much full of slanted, jaundiced, agendaised spin and spiel. If you don’t believe me, buy a copy of Private Eye some time and check out what doesn’t get into the papers on a regular basis. If you’re still not convinced, read Noam Chomsky’s ‘Manufacturing Consent’.
Sure, you get the odd good article, the odd good feature and the odd good opinion piece in both tabloid and broadsheet newspapers; there’s a fair amount of decent writing too. But, over the piece, they’re really only good for passing a wet, cold Sunday, checking the football results, or, not that this happens anymore in today’s polystyrene world, wrapping fish and chips up in.
However, although I didn’t read the article in any depth, and the racism thing is nothing new, in the world never mind just in Europe, I did ponder the issue and find it popping up in my head throughout that day. Especially as my lovely wife is a mixed race African, with a touch of Jewish blood, and my daughter is a right old bag of liquorice allsorts.
What is it with human beings and, well, other human beings? Why is so much time, energy, effort and money spent on the pursuit of hating other people? On a macro level it’s because they are from a different race, or country, or have a different colour of skin or language of way of life; on a micro level it is because they support a different football team, go to a different school, have different colour hair or big, small, fat, thin, whatever.
Is it all not just a complete waste of all that time, energy, effort and money? I don’t think anyone or anything could convince me otherwise. Who cares so much about all this shit? Who are these sad, deluded individuals walking planet earth spewing out all this hatred, bigotry and suspicion all in the name of ignorance and insecurity?
I need to know what purpose any of it, one tiny iota of it, serves? Nothing constructive or meaningful: nothing purposeful or creative; nothing worthwhile or positive. So why? Beats the shit out of me.
No doubt various groups have a whole list of rhetoric to support it. No doubt various, so called, educated, academic, intellectual groups have a whole list of scientific and sociological reasons to explain it. To me, it’s all bullshit: these people ALL need to look within, not without, and take one huge f*cking reality check. Life’s too short, too precious, and too good to waste.
No matter what creed, colour, religion, sex, nationality, et cetera that there is out there, none are perfect and none are pure. There is good and bad in everyone. Best to rejoice in the good and work to eradicate, or at least control, the bad.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Quote Of The Week – # 11
It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance,
It’s the dream afraid of waking that never takes a chance,
It’s the one who won’t be taken who cannot seem to give,
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live.
The Rose
It’s the dream afraid of waking that never takes a chance,
It’s the one who won’t be taken who cannot seem to give,
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live.
The Rose
What’s Bugging Us?
Week Fourteen: Sunday 31 December – Saturday 6 January
What a week it’s been: what a welcome to the 'New Year'; our first family Christmas, and now new year, in Falmouth Cornwall. All three of us have had a fantastic start to 2007, and two thirds of us have subsequently fallen down the other side and seen the ying and yang of the balance of life.
Hogmanay was celebrated with style and panache, and a healthy amount of fun and laughter. One of the ladies on my course, another former teacher, and her partner, still a teacher, moved to Cornwall in September last year from Brighton. They have become good friends in a short space of time, as so many on the course have, and hosted a marvellous evening of classic fancy dress, mixed with PlayStation at its best, to see in the new year.
They live in a little hamlet, just outside Falmouth; we were picked up in the town centre and driven to a beautiful, sprawling by our cramped, yet homely, comparison, renovated large stone barn. It was a real ‘wow’ moment as the car pulled up; a wee dream home tucked away in the country. Indoors it was tastefully refurbished; spacious and natural, with lots of wood and stone. Twenty or so virtual strangers found there way to the remotely located house, and showed up in various forms of fancy dress and guise; and we had a ball.
Lots of early chat to find out more about these ‘new’ people, a few cerebral party games, and then what I’d been eagerly waiting for, having heard so much about it: SingStar or SongStar! Completely new to me: now I’m hooked.
All I can say is, for me, it’s the singing equivalent of being in a motor racing booth in an arcade, your mate sat next to you, both of you taking part in the same race in front of you. What a game, what a ball!
We stayed the night as a family, and our daughter saw in her third new year, as she approaches her third birthday, with a rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne (a first for several present). Then it was off to bed for her and Mama: leaving Papa to party; it took two days for me to recover.
Just as I was getting back ‘into the groove’ I got hit by a nasty stomach bug and was laid low again. I managed to avoid sickness, but elsewhere I was definitely experiencing discomfort. No sooner had I spent two days dealing with that, while trying to function as a husband and father too, than our daughter came home from nursery complaining of having a sore tummy.
She doesn’t know the meaning of the word complain, so we took notice: before long she got her first experience in projectile vomit; it was prolonged and mixed with lots of retching when there was nothing to bring up. An introduction to the very same kind of backside that I’d had, every time she sipped any fluid, then followed for several hours.
It was a long night for all of us, not least for our wee trooper who was experiencing the most uncomfortable dis-ease she has yet encountered.
We all eventually got some proper sleep around 7.00am: she was up by 11.00am and ready to play; after the past 20 hours she had had?! She just hates to be ill and out of sorts. But she was tired and dehydrated. At one point in the night we had called the NHS out of hours service and my wife spoke to a doctor: we were that concerned. The advice was to see it out and keep trying to get fluid down, even if it came straight back up.
It was tough going till the early hours, mainly because of the sheer worrying without showing it and frustration at not being able to just take it all away. She never cried once, barely whimpered, and by morning she was up for having fun. What a child!
She faded fast enough though, was still prone to a bit of stomach action, and nothing solid to speak of elsewhere; and she was shattered, physically and emotionally. We managed to convince her that she was a bit ‘poohie’ and needed a bath and fresh pyjamas (not that we had much left that was clean after the number of changes during the night – I am talking PROJECTILE!). Then, eventually, she settled down with the worst hopefully behind her and, believe it or not, a little milk: rice milk maybe, but a little milk nonetheless; and no reaction.
So it’s been quite a first week of 2007 for my daughter and myself. My wife, her mother, our lover, has aided and tended to us with her customary grace, good will and love.
I’m back to ‘school’ and my daughter and I go our separate ways a little, till the next holiday. It’s been such a treat, such a gift that money couldn’t come close to, far less buy, to have a month to spend each and everyday with my wife and with my daughter.
Maybe that’s what’s really bugging me and her; it’s time to stop chilling out each and every day, playing and having fun. My wife must have escaped the bug because she’s politely delighted that I’m going to be out of the house more, and she can have her home back to manage properly.
Happy new year to any, and all, of you.
What a week it’s been: what a welcome to the 'New Year'; our first family Christmas, and now new year, in Falmouth Cornwall. All three of us have had a fantastic start to 2007, and two thirds of us have subsequently fallen down the other side and seen the ying and yang of the balance of life.
Hogmanay was celebrated with style and panache, and a healthy amount of fun and laughter. One of the ladies on my course, another former teacher, and her partner, still a teacher, moved to Cornwall in September last year from Brighton. They have become good friends in a short space of time, as so many on the course have, and hosted a marvellous evening of classic fancy dress, mixed with PlayStation at its best, to see in the new year.
They live in a little hamlet, just outside Falmouth; we were picked up in the town centre and driven to a beautiful, sprawling by our cramped, yet homely, comparison, renovated large stone barn. It was a real ‘wow’ moment as the car pulled up; a wee dream home tucked away in the country. Indoors it was tastefully refurbished; spacious and natural, with lots of wood and stone. Twenty or so virtual strangers found there way to the remotely located house, and showed up in various forms of fancy dress and guise; and we had a ball.
Lots of early chat to find out more about these ‘new’ people, a few cerebral party games, and then what I’d been eagerly waiting for, having heard so much about it: SingStar or SongStar! Completely new to me: now I’m hooked.
All I can say is, for me, it’s the singing equivalent of being in a motor racing booth in an arcade, your mate sat next to you, both of you taking part in the same race in front of you. What a game, what a ball!
We stayed the night as a family, and our daughter saw in her third new year, as she approaches her third birthday, with a rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne (a first for several present). Then it was off to bed for her and Mama: leaving Papa to party; it took two days for me to recover.
Just as I was getting back ‘into the groove’ I got hit by a nasty stomach bug and was laid low again. I managed to avoid sickness, but elsewhere I was definitely experiencing discomfort. No sooner had I spent two days dealing with that, while trying to function as a husband and father too, than our daughter came home from nursery complaining of having a sore tummy.
She doesn’t know the meaning of the word complain, so we took notice: before long she got her first experience in projectile vomit; it was prolonged and mixed with lots of retching when there was nothing to bring up. An introduction to the very same kind of backside that I’d had, every time she sipped any fluid, then followed for several hours.
It was a long night for all of us, not least for our wee trooper who was experiencing the most uncomfortable dis-ease she has yet encountered.
We all eventually got some proper sleep around 7.00am: she was up by 11.00am and ready to play; after the past 20 hours she had had?! She just hates to be ill and out of sorts. But she was tired and dehydrated. At one point in the night we had called the NHS out of hours service and my wife spoke to a doctor: we were that concerned. The advice was to see it out and keep trying to get fluid down, even if it came straight back up.
It was tough going till the early hours, mainly because of the sheer worrying without showing it and frustration at not being able to just take it all away. She never cried once, barely whimpered, and by morning she was up for having fun. What a child!
She faded fast enough though, was still prone to a bit of stomach action, and nothing solid to speak of elsewhere; and she was shattered, physically and emotionally. We managed to convince her that she was a bit ‘poohie’ and needed a bath and fresh pyjamas (not that we had much left that was clean after the number of changes during the night – I am talking PROJECTILE!). Then, eventually, she settled down with the worst hopefully behind her and, believe it or not, a little milk: rice milk maybe, but a little milk nonetheless; and no reaction.
So it’s been quite a first week of 2007 for my daughter and myself. My wife, her mother, our lover, has aided and tended to us with her customary grace, good will and love.
I’m back to ‘school’ and my daughter and I go our separate ways a little, till the next holiday. It’s been such a treat, such a gift that money couldn’t come close to, far less buy, to have a month to spend each and everyday with my wife and with my daughter.
Maybe that’s what’s really bugging me and her; it’s time to stop chilling out each and every day, playing and having fun. My wife must have escaped the bug because she’s politely delighted that I’m going to be out of the house more, and she can have her home back to manage properly.
Happy new year to any, and all, of you.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Quote Of The Week – # 10
A man with outward courage dares to die; a man with inward courage dares to live.
Lao Tzu, c600BCE+
Lao Tzu, c600BCE+
We'll Share A Cup Of Kindness Yet
Week Thirteen: Sunday 24 December – Saturday 30 December
Well, a very happy new year to anyone who may be reading this blog. If you've got nothing better to do with your life than trawl through blogs at new year, then, let's face it, you need all the breaks going!
Dark clouds hang over human existence, as far as I am concerend; I can hear the distant drums when the world quietens down enough.
But, I'm staying on the positive side. Every year, at new year, throughout the world, people sing Robert Burns' song, Auld Lang Syne. There is a line in the song, poem really, that says;
Well, a very happy new year to anyone who may be reading this blog. If you've got nothing better to do with your life than trawl through blogs at new year, then, let's face it, you need all the breaks going!
Dark clouds hang over human existence, as far as I am concerend; I can hear the distant drums when the world quietens down enough.
But, I'm staying on the positive side. Every year, at new year, throughout the world, people sing Robert Burns' song, Auld Lang Syne. There is a line in the song, poem really, that says;
We'll share a cup of kindness yet.
Well, I'm holding out hope that the people of the world will one day soon share a cup of kindness with all other living things.
Peace, love and plantery respect!
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