tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900377172957577782024-03-14T03:02:07.701+00:00The Curious Adventures of Alastair ChadwinThe unhelpful and highly occasional maunderings of a writer living in the north east of EnglandAlastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-80995186121058168282013-10-04T16:19:00.000+01:002013-10-04T16:19:55.330+01:00The Octopod menace<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Anyone finding themselves upon one the
major thoroughfares of leafy suburb Jesmond the other night may have seen a
pony-tailed dark trenchcoated and becapped figure picking up small objects from the
pavement. What could it be? A performing/fine arts student working on
their latest project/happening? Well,
that would be the normal explanation for this part of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Newcastle</st1:place></st1:city>, but no, it was I.
And what was I picking up? Well,
conkers, obviously.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I have spoken of this <a href="http://thecuriousadventuresofajchadwin.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/eight-legs-bad.html" target="_blank">before</a>. Basically, I was gathering conkers because last year
I was told that they keep spiders away.
Now, I don’t know if this is true, but I certainly seemed to
have less spider activity in my flat since putting down conkers last year in
dusty corners and behind bookcases etc where the enemy foregathers. It could be coincidental but given my problematic
past relations with those malicious fly-eating arachnids (faults on their side
only) any defence against them will be utilised.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And, rather brilliantly, unlike last year, this autumn has been good
for conkers, or bad for conker gathering children, whichever, and so I have
this time been able to gather a goodly number.
A very goodly number in fact.
Perhaps a few more than I actually need.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuHNX_gpXuT5vXIDB3AhS4wwnvCbVnpLAB3cPyO3If2wF1JHKruBbJrdhOHvLT1ff3oqTfYxlqOOmLosNqHU0Bm36L00ABj6DT2Ua5ubWnxzJzzVe76yq6N2jGWUUC7Ep5kcBE88G490/s1600/conkers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuHNX_gpXuT5vXIDB3AhS4wwnvCbVnpLAB3cPyO3If2wF1JHKruBbJrdhOHvLT1ff3oqTfYxlqOOmLosNqHU0Bm36L00ABj6DT2Ua5ubWnxzJzzVe76yq6N2jGWUUC7Ep5kcBE88G490/s1600/conkers.jpg" height="145" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Never mind, the fact that I can barely move
for conkers detracts from the possibility that their presence may spare my
heart from one of those nerve-jangling octopedal forays across the carpet.</span></div>
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<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">And that's a price worth paying, surely.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-77224378411861004252013-09-14T19:02:00.000+01:002013-09-14T19:02:22.816+01:00Witchcraft, a Human Right?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Good Lord, what on Earth has happened to
the Tory party? I mean to say, they were
never a particularly pleasant grouping - a political philosophy based on fear,
greed and snobbery tends to militate against that - but they at least had a
robust toughness to them at one time.
Now they behave like, well, like over-privileged public schoolboys with an inaccurate assessment of their own intellect and competence.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I refer, of course, to the deeply
embarrassing Government response to UN representative Raquel Rolnik’s summary
of findings into her investigation of the consequences of the Governments Spare
Bedroom Under Occupancy Penalty (aka the Bedroom Tax) policy. Grant Shapps (as he’s calling himself this
week) denounced the summary as being full of lies, but that was itself a
lie. The <i>Daily Mail</i> excelled itself by
shifting from its 1930's blackshirt default setting to the 17<sup>th</sup> century
and denounced Ms Rolnik as a witch. No,
honestly. Check it out <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2418204/Raquel-Rolnik-A-dabbler-witchcraft-offered-animal-sacrifice-Marx.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The most noticeable thing about all this is
the sheer lack of dignity. Say what you
like, but </span>in the old days, the Conservatives at least could command a certain degree of
gravitas. But can you imagine Churchill
or MacMillan coming up with such stuff?
Disreali? From Cameron’s
hissy-fit over <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Syria</st1:place></st1:country-region>
via Iain Duncan Smith’s crass lying and petulant attempts to blame anyone else
for the conduct of the department he’s in charge of to this, it is a sad
comedown for the party of Edmund Burke. And yes, I am conscious of the curious irony of being somewhat nostalgic, on a conservative way, about the good old days of the old Tory Party.</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Now, where did I put my ducking stool:</span></div>
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Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-10919556020030555512013-09-06T17:32:00.001+01:002013-09-06T17:32:23.752+01:00Folk Dancing - A Warning<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So it’s been a while and among the stuff
that’s been happening was a curious encounter with Morris dancers. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyR9ESdxiB2A3HokkCkVF59EJHzV5_rzxSshH3ih67eHJctE-KpxSJRH83ml3PZegElY6SdLyb4HuUjvjGn9DIxp3dhy0-J5nU-CfljTJLs39ELZZuDxgtsQcsW5HHi_Ryf7gKRApJxrU/s1600/morris-dancers-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyR9ESdxiB2A3HokkCkVF59EJHzV5_rzxSshH3ih67eHJctE-KpxSJRH83ml3PZegElY6SdLyb4HuUjvjGn9DIxp3dhy0-J5nU-CfljTJLs39ELZZuDxgtsQcsW5HHi_Ryf7gKRApJxrU/s1600/morris-dancers-15.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Now I had never held particularly strong
views on Morris dancers, unlike some. I was happy enough that they’re about on bank holidays keeping the old folkways alive
and making small children cry. It
pleased me that there is a serious schism in the Morris dancing world between
those who see it their duty to keep the moves pure and exact to those written
down a hundred and a bit years ago and those who believe that Morris dancing is
a fluid living thing that moves with the times.
Bit like those interminable arguments about grammar. And while I like folk music, a lot, I have
never been tempted to get involved with all those sticks, bells and hankies.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My attitude has hardened. Let me elucidate.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The time, a few months back, a Saturday.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The place, the pleasant if alarmingly
well-off Thames side town of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Abingdon</st1:place></st1:city>. To be precise, a pub at lunch-time. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">We were meeting people and had scouted out
places for lunch and this seemed pleasant with a cobbled courtyard and
extensive and not too, for Abingdon, expensive a menu. But when we returned, we found it filled with
Morris dancers.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It seemed that there was some get-together
going on and so every Morris dancer in the South had descended on Abingdon, and
then onto this pub for lunch. Well, we
weren’t in a hurry and were hungry and hey, they were only Morris dancers. It would be fun.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now it turns out that there are two things
we did not know about Morris dancers. The
first is that – like toddlers – they are constantly restless, always moving and,
unless gently persuaded otherwise, liable to start hitting each other with
sticks. They also have no volume control. If two Morris dancers meet for the first time
in a year, they do not shake hands or hug and talk wryly about time passing or
the snows of yesterday. No. What they do is stand at either end of a pub
lounge and shout to each other with that dispiriting heartiness. that middle
class and middle aged men with beards and pot bellies like to indulge in.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The other thing concerns the thing we all
do know about Morris dancers. They wear
bells on their trousers. But what only
becomes apparent if you are in a pub full of Morris dancers who never stop
wandering around the place, is that these bells are loud. Very loud.
Very very loud. If you would care
to think of a loud thing, they are louder.
The practical upshot of which was that every time one walked past our
table, all conversation was completely drowned out. And as aforementioned, walking around is what
Morris dancers like best after dancing, hitting each other and shouting.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">At first I was inclined to be
charitable. They’re having fun, it’s
better than loud sports commentary or those fruit machines that unexpectedly
explode into noise just as someone is finishing their story, even Morris
dancers may take their luncheon. Then I
noticed that the bells were not, as I had supposed, sewn onto their trousers
but were in fact attached to a sort of mini cricket pad which was attached to
the leg with Velcro. In other words, it
would have been a matter of a moment for the dancers to remove their bells and
so make do with shouting at each other. But
no. The bells had to stay on despite the
genuinely surprising noise level they produced.
My charity died as swiftly as it does when I see a chugger approaching.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Still, like the Ring Cycle, it had to end
some day and they departed to return to their primary task of boring adults and
scaring children, leaving us in what can only be described as suffering from serious bellshock.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And that is why I will never again gaze upon a Morris dancer with
kindness in my eye.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/LS0ZWXcD2eE" width="420"></iframe></span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-74792214861377824212013-04-06T17:14:00.000+01:002013-04-06T17:14:09.359+01:00The Morality of Political Opportunism<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">When something appalling happens there is
often a rush to find an explanation, something nice and easy that will return
life to normal. Thus the murderers of
Jamie Bulger were driven to it by watching violent horror films, as was Michael
Ryan who committed the Hungerford massacre.
Rapes are caused by the victim wearing short skirts and tight tops and
entering dangerous situations. Muggings
by being in that part of town at that time of night. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And a father kills his children because of
the welfare state.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiudopjukGRHxGGSSFu-e2UhV1F6F7U9_k0zra3eTthTvlPSpSet9pQL-I06HoWyNzotsGJgPIUzA5ZACmNjzcXnkzJcNjTaqyX8bqbUNDh6CxpulrvfbDTndjoFWua0m4lBB_FNK6Uibk/s1600/daily+mail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiudopjukGRHxGGSSFu-e2UhV1F6F7U9_k0zra3eTthTvlPSpSet9pQL-I06HoWyNzotsGJgPIUzA5ZACmNjzcXnkzJcNjTaqyX8bqbUNDh6CxpulrvfbDTndjoFWua0m4lBB_FNK6Uibk/s1600/daily+mail.jpg" height="320" width="236" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I have never been so pleased that I have
never voted conservative or bought a copy of <i>The Daily Mail</i> or so ashamed of being English as I have been this
week what with first the <i>Mail</i>, then
closely after the Chancellor and the Prime Minister, stating and hinting that
the reason Mick Philpott killed six of his children is because of the welfare
state. Let us be clear about this. This is what they have said. They have maintained that those children are
dead and died horrifically because of child benefit. They are, of course, wrong. Those children are dead because an evil man
set fire to their home as part of a custody dispute. To use this as an argument against the
welfare state is like using the Fred West murders as an argument against cowboy
builders*.</span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*And if you find that essay into black humour
inappropriate, then kindly consider the inappropriateness of using dead
children as political ammunition<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I note that some commentators are trying to
distance themselves from this. They are
trying to claim that these killings highlight, in some way, issues about
welfare payments. But that is not what
was said. <i>The Daily Mail</i> stated and Osborne and Cameron hinted that there is
a causal link between these deaths and the benefits system. Do you get child benefit? Then you’re a danger to your children. What they have said is as simple as that. Do they believe it? Apparently not. But they said it and therefore they can only have done so to shore up a political argument.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Think about it. Consider it.
Be appalled at what has happened to us.
This dreadful tragedy occurs and the reaction is to use it as a way to
popularise a controversial political policy.
Then wonder at the moral corruption that allows it. It is truly despicable. Those who looked to use the bombing of the <st1:placename w:st="on">Twin</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Towers</st1:placetype>
as an opportunity to criticise the foreign policy of the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> were
rightly excoriated. So must those who do
the same with this case.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It is sad that the right wing of this
country has fallen into such moral depravity as to use the killing of children
to make cheap political points but it is the case and anyone right of centre
has the burden upon them to reverse this.
If you buy <i>The Daily Mail</i> you
are complicit. If you intend to vote
Tory and have not contacted your MP/local party to complain about this
behaviour you are complicit.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And may God forgive you.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-57345750996095700382013-03-09T14:23:00.001+00:002013-03-09T14:23:22.757+00:00Fighting Back: the Newcastle Labour Party Way<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So back to the Civic Centre to view
Newcastle’s Labour led council debate the budget which will, <i>inter alia</i>, close
down a number of branch libraries and a couple of respite care homes, Newcastle
City Pool and Turkish Baths. As you may
remember, I attended a previous meeting as recounted <a href="http://thecuriousadventuresofajchadwin.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/think-locally-act-noisily.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Unable to get into the public gallery this
time, I watched from the Banqueting Hall where a video link had been
established. This did actually have its
advantages. The camera not only showed
the person speaking but the one behind them as well and so we were cheered by
the sight of a tory councillor apparently spending the entire evening when not
actually speaking engrossed in a book. A
labour councillor at one point seemed to receive what was, from his expression,
disconcertingly odd news by text. But
that is by-the-by.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So what did we learn this time? Well, the labour councillors are still
blaming everyone else for all this but at least this time they are angry at what
the Government wants them to do. They
are very angry. They are incandescent
with fury. They are so angry that they
are going to…</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">…do exactly what they’ve been told to and a
bit more.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This is a new approach to defiance that had
not previously occurred to me. It would
certainly have made the film <i>300</i> shorter (and world history probably somewhat different)
if Leonidas and his Spartans had defied Xerxes and the Persian horde by
escorting them into <st1:country-region w:st="on">Greece</st1:country-region>,
possibly waiting for them at <st1:place w:st="on">Thermopylae</st1:place>
holding up a little sign reading ‘Xerxes/Persians’.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQ4IoNIRtOUU_3OVG6Q_dJg04ssjZwm6N9CoNvSOJqY9lYJl2mfXWnvmije7QpjSoxAgb6bEPjk-Z3iFlW6k6YAhwM0Aip4lrMIaiPwOIM3Lu5XiWSYUqeyMLsBwunvDDJlKisSEKd4w/s1600/I-didn-t-come-into-politi-009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQ4IoNIRtOUU_3OVG6Q_dJg04ssjZwm6N9CoNvSOJqY9lYJl2mfXWnvmije7QpjSoxAgb6bEPjk-Z3iFlW6k6YAhwM0Aip4lrMIaiPwOIM3Lu5XiWSYUqeyMLsBwunvDDJlKisSEKd4w/s1600/I-didn-t-come-into-politi-009.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">NB That last picture is of Councillor Nick
Forbes, the council leader. The joke
doesn’t really work if you don’t know that.*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*nor if its not actually funny. Yes all right, pedants<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">When the labour councillors were not being
angry, they were being sad. One was so
sad she was dressed in black, because she was in mourning for what she had to
do you see, as she explained to us. In
fact she was so sad that she burst into tears.
Now I’m sure the gesture was well-meant and that the tears were genuine,
but the harsh fact is that in politics gestures and tears are meaningless
without action.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It was not all bad news. The two respite care centres in Heaton have
apparently been saved and that is brilliant, no question. Unfortunately, at least
two councillors (including Forbes) decided to sneer at us who had been
campaigning for the libraries for, as they hinted heavily, putting our luvvie
interests and hobbies over the plight of desperate children and their carers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now as someone who has extensive personal
knowledge of the importance of respite care I could start announcing loudly how
upset I am, how insulting such insinuations are to me, how callous etc
etc. I could even start crying. But I won’t. I just sigh and wish for an opportunity to
tell these two councillors that the reason politicians are held in contempt is
because they behave contemptibly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The debate lasted for over four hours and
labour councillor after labour councillor stood up to denounce the Coalition
and, occasionally, us. Then, at twenty
to eleven on Wednesday the 6<sup>th</sup> of March 2013 the budget proposals
were approved in their entirety and a labour council settled back to do the
Government’s work for it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Actually, I lied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I really could weep.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-35630097140529164052013-02-16T16:53:00.000+00:002013-02-16T16:53:22.631+00:00The Wearisome Writer<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #363636; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 14px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Terry ‘dreary’ Deary is in the <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2013/feb/13/libraries-horrible-histories-terry-deary?INTCMP=SRCH" target="_blank">news </a>at the
moment having made a number of remarkably stupid comments about libraries. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGh0149PjbQQAOl9mzTmQTQVM0e0Wzgf2suN6lUOWO9dFRoM0l1ILe7BwynPC-K-ygsLSqLZkk6t8fyOYgmU0F6Ua7GbqycH_WHk_67eQ2pWNI466S4BywS_Tkn3VrpUdjQytK65m2Wk/s1600/deary1_1472558c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGh0149PjbQQAOl9mzTmQTQVM0e0Wzgf2suN6lUOWO9dFRoM0l1ILe7BwynPC-K-ygsLSqLZkk6t8fyOYgmU0F6Ua7GbqycH_WHk_67eQ2pWNI466S4BywS_Tkn3VrpUdjQytK65m2Wk/s1600/deary1_1472558c.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">He’s now in a sulk because he’s been called
on them and seems to be backtracking a bit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve had my eye on that one for a while,
ever since I discovered that he’s a Shakespeare sceptic – he reckons Will was
too lower class to be a good playwright and thinks the plays were written by
Christopher Marlowe after faking his own murder because that is so much more probable. It’s all there in <i>The Slimy Stuarts</i> volume of the Horrible Histories. My distaste for him deepened when I found out
that when he was invited to open a local museum, he gracelessly gave a speech
about how boring museums are.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It is of course because of the <i>Horrible Histories</i> that Deary’s pathetic
pronouncements are news. I have read a
good few of them and, apart from the Shakespeare scepticism, liked them. I enjoy the TV series as well – not least
because Deary’s involvement is restricted to an occasional cameo. However, there is a forgotten figure in all
this. One who I think is a major factor
in the success of the books. That is the
illustrator. He’s called Martin Brown</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ43t67RaJi74uTLGehkgsQT1JxQz7nanm-wmHV6yfim4JSa1J8w_sLTpEpGz81wq1hYTNKwtChSw_xFWFcOiTT8N4mlRjoQB3zvtXTgo6FwK11Pzkm_nopaHjvTEM7UDSQf4Lh8KEFg0/s1600/m-brown_photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ43t67RaJi74uTLGehkgsQT1JxQz7nanm-wmHV6yfim4JSa1J8w_sLTpEpGz81wq1hYTNKwtChSw_xFWFcOiTT8N4mlRjoQB3zvtXTgo6FwK11Pzkm_nopaHjvTEM7UDSQf4Lh8KEFg0/s1600/m-brown_photo.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
and the books would not work nearly as well without his contributions.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgrN8hatvoWBrFQPwbkRCyicm5ttW-T8WffRWMpPreEiWTPcQj7pIa1CTdvVE_SjmQJEgqrDwX6Wu7eA5pp4tJjEhMii8F7YCvUuiAIhZU1R3fHGxPN3B3h1ufoj1u7MyrV-qLK95r70/s1600/horrible_histories___viking_by_lizzib7292-d4vw4ee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgrN8hatvoWBrFQPwbkRCyicm5ttW-T8WffRWMpPreEiWTPcQj7pIa1CTdvVE_SjmQJEgqrDwX6Wu7eA5pp4tJjEhMii8F7YCvUuiAIhZU1R3fHGxPN3B3h1ufoj1u7MyrV-qLK95r70/s1600/horrible_histories___viking_by_lizzib7292-d4vw4ee.jpg" height="292" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4JOR9SeF4aNwWVUUxZHh6os82ZD3xl5BRO_AQ7sT-23aDJKy3TibPBMY9ALJhebJCph1qTa8cZ6o57eCCqZ8mQ-C5AtpmBdwt_C1nZzl0hlfr56laRriJaj3dZXgEYogPvBX9ETpsZo/s1600/ResizedImage600313-horrible-histories.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4JOR9SeF4aNwWVUUxZHh6os82ZD3xl5BRO_AQ7sT-23aDJKy3TibPBMY9ALJhebJCph1qTa8cZ6o57eCCqZ8mQ-C5AtpmBdwt_C1nZzl0hlfr56laRriJaj3dZXgEYogPvBX9ETpsZo/s1600/ResizedImage600313-horrible-histories.jpg" height="166" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4UFXr2TWvK1jM6F03MZkGEPxrAU83wO2anKwf2Sn-EJ0Bz_UOTI5078WNmJG_I3Ug7MtnoyCnYMlUv-EY_moy6fhxSCmqomFxHh-ZX09n6baD9wVj_lRk6pM9dIZAghqFOwE-BP_0W4/s1600/Bathcover_queen_1988682i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4UFXr2TWvK1jM6F03MZkGEPxrAU83wO2anKwf2Sn-EJ0Bz_UOTI5078WNmJG_I3Ug7MtnoyCnYMlUv-EY_moy6fhxSCmqomFxHh-ZX09n6baD9wVj_lRk6pM9dIZAghqFOwE-BP_0W4/s1600/Bathcover_queen_1988682i.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I do hope he gets a percentage of the
royalties.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So, boo to Deary who stands revealed as the
little bore we all avoid in the pub and here’s to Martin Brown and the makers,
writers and performers of the TV series.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Let’s finish on a song:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/l4x0K2Y7kPw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-88994744262755487242013-02-08T17:42:00.000+00:002013-02-08T17:42:36.806+00:00Think locally, act noisily<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Well that, unlike a Steven Poliakoff
television series, was interesting. A
couple of nights ago I found myself at a council meeting for the first time.
For why? Well, a public petition against
the library closures here in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Newcastle</st1:place></st1:city>
had gathered over 2, 500 signatures thereby automatically triggering a debate
in the chamber. Now as a signatory of
that and specific library petitions and as someone who, as my facebook friends
are glumly aware, is keen on keeping libraries open, I thought I might attend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It turned out I was not alone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now, it has often been pointed out that
Newcastle Civic Centre bears a certain resemblance to a James Bond Villain Lair
from the ‘60s</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUS_1qZdoUbRrhzSRQeGiBsLpiB7VdVjCxJfiSjA-c_8vH6Hd6ysjVa7rTrMYLDjjM2KKzUiruFKO9qfbPtyTvkEaBDI-47S9e7ZvS-BW_iZkWIGONR25jAJKMKNAn_u1TKBZsST_i4wk/s1600/civ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUS_1qZdoUbRrhzSRQeGiBsLpiB7VdVjCxJfiSjA-c_8vH6Hd6ysjVa7rTrMYLDjjM2KKzUiruFKO9qfbPtyTvkEaBDI-47S9e7ZvS-BW_iZkWIGONR25jAJKMKNAn_u1TKBZsST_i4wk/s1600/civ.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">and I will not argue with that. However, while James Bond Villain Lairs
always seem to have plenty of space for minions, tanks of piranhas, rockets
and, on one occasion, two nuclear submarines, the Newcastle Council Chamber has
a surprisingly small public gallery. Say
fitting about fifty to sixty people. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This turned out to be awkward as rather
more turned up. Say about one hundred.*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*<i>And before anyone starts saying ‘that’s not
very many’, may I point out that this was at 6 o’clock on a bitterly cold
February evening and was also more than the original architects had ever
planned for<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Well, by virtue of being near the front, I
got in but about forty to fifty people were left in the stairwell. I offered to stand leaning against the wall
but was firmly told by an official that I could not. I asked why but answer came there none. It was also apparent that there were empty
seats at the back of the chamber, on the same level as the councillors. At first we were told that they were for the
disabled only until it was pointed out that there were abled people sitting
there as well. We were then told that it
was a Health & Safety issue which does rather raise the question that if
there is a strict H&S limit on the number of people allowed on the chamber
floor, why has seating been provided for an unsafe number?
Mayhaps the council decides its postings by dint of musical chairs and
so need a few maneuverable seats for the purpose?
I would not like to ask.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So it was, by the time the first of the
public petitions were due to be debated, many of the people who wanted to hear
could not get in. One chap voiced his
objections strongly, pointing out that there were forty people who couldn’t get
in. The Mayor, who was chairing the
meeting, told him to be quiet. He
objected again and was again told to be quiet.
Now other members of the public began to shout queries about why
couldn’t people use the chairs downstairs and despite being the Mayor telling
us <i>very</i> firmly that this was not
acceptable, the shouts continued.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So she ordered that the public gallery be
cleared.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Nothing happened.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So she ordered it again. Again, no one moved. The couple of officials who were on the scene
looked unhappy and I found myself trying to remember passive resistance
techniques. Sadly my dreams of being the
new Rosa Parks were dashed when the Mayor then announced that the meeting was
adjourned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then I booed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I booed the Lord Mayor of the City of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Newcastle upon Tyne</st1:place></st1:city>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For someone brought up on Trumpton, I’m still having difficulty processing this. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65tdEbxWP9-ixPHcrb5uERp8VDF9j5-nc9k3ErInfv-5d0zSl5aaP31BMOt3z0NMN4mUebA-qg7IOZPwbdvIkz-GSnXmiLXs_q-yKTL0lHyN5ixyOU4aLHcCXrR3fOxp8Fod9G7RoorM/s1600/minstrelband.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65tdEbxWP9-ixPHcrb5uERp8VDF9j5-nc9k3ErInfv-5d0zSl5aaP31BMOt3z0NMN4mUebA-qg7IOZPwbdvIkz-GSnXmiLXs_q-yKTL0lHyN5ixyOU4aLHcCXrR3fOxp8Fod9G7RoorM/s1600/minstrelband.jpg" height="249" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">In my defence though, I doubt the Mayor of
Trumpton would have handled the meeting with such maladroitness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Anyway, after about ten minutes, the
meeting was opened again with a few people allowed to sit in the mysteriously
unnecessary chairs on the chamber floor.
The Mayor gave us in the gallery a breathtakingly patronising and
condescending ticking off for our appalling behaviour earlier. We were naughty naughty members of the public
and she was not going to put up with our shenanigans. If I hadn’t still been in middle class culture shock
for the boo, I’d have been tempted to make one of those sarcastic ‘whooo’
noises that teenagers do. The chap who
started it all off continued shouting that there were still people who could
not get in and why could we not move to the banqueting hall which, apparently,
has plenty of space. He was told to shut
up, then ignored and was finally persuaded away by an official.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Finally we got to the public petitions, the
reason for the debate, the reason why the debate was happening and why so many
people had turned up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">There were (and I can’t get hold of any
official details of the meeting so forgive me if I’ve got this wrong) five of
them. Now, each one had to get a minimum
of 2, 500 signatures to spark the debate.
So, that means an absolute minimum of 12, 500 signatures. Even if you allow for a massive amount of
duplicate signatures and casual signatures (‘yeah sure mate I’ll sign’) that is
a lot of people. Did it not occur to
anyone that a fair number of those signatories might turn up for the debate? By the reaction of the Mayor and councillors,
apparently not.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Anyway, each petition was presented and
debated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It’s all the government’s fault.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">That was all we got from the Labour
councillors who spoke. Well, apart from
a severe finger-wagging from one councillor,* who seemed to be in charge of
setting the budget, at those of us who signed the libraries petition for
allegedly not reading it properly. The
implication seemed to be that we were the hopelessly naïve dupes of someone or
other. Way to ensure my vote Councillor!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*<i>as stated I can’t get official details of
the meeting and I don’t want to get her name wrong so I won’t give what I heard
it as<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I don’t know if council leader Nick Forbes,
the T Dan Smith <i>de nos jours</i>, was
present. If he was, he didn’t
speak. I have read several interviews
with him where he bemoans that his hands are tied, that he hates what he has to
do but it is all because of the massive and disproportionate cut in the central
government grant and until that meeting, I had a fair amount of sympathy for
that position.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Not now.
While it would be unfair to say that the labour councillors present were
revelling in the cuts, it is fair and accurate to say that they showed not one
jot of regret or unhappiness at what they are planning. At no point did anyone say anything along the
lines of ‘we hate having to do this, but our hands are tied’, instead fingers
were pointed at the opposition councillors, at the government, at us who had
signed the petitions, but never at themselves. I had not thought that my contempt for the Labour Party could go any lower after the invasion of Iraq, but the Newcastle Labour Party managed it. Those who acknowledged the presence of the public at all did so tetchily or fearfully. The rest kept their backs firmly against us. I do not know what they believe their role to be, but it certainly does not seem to involve fighting for the interests of the people of Newcastle. This city is under a second appalling attack by a foul Tory-led administration, and they are rolling over and letting it happen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">They may want to be seen as martyrs but
they in fact collaborators.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And finally, because this is by far the
longest blog I’ve ever written (I am happy to go into more details of what was
said etc, ask in the comments if you're interested, I made notes), always remember this catechism:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We could afford the Olympics: we can afford
libraries and respite homes</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We could afford the Royal Jubilee: we can
afford respite homes and libraries</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We could afford a Royal Wedding and we can afford a Royal Christening: we can afford respite homes and libraries</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We can afford Trident: we can afford
libraries and respite homes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We can afford to become militarily involved in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mali</st1:place></st1:country-region>: we can afford libraries and respite homes</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and all together now</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>We can afford a tax cut for top
earners: we can most certainly afford respite homes and libraries!</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This is not an economic issue, it is a
political one.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-75058301273688634102013-01-31T17:29:00.001+00:002013-01-31T17:29:46.389+00:00The First Supper<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Here’s a first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">As the more alert
of you will be aware, last Friday was Burns’ Night and that was a good thing,
not least because for the first time I gave a Burns’ Night Supper. If you’re not aware of this tradition, and
it’s one that I suspect Burns himself would have mercilessly mocked, it consists
of Scottish people dining on haggis, neeps and tatties (swede and potatoes)
while someone recites Burns poetry and someone else plays bagpipes unless
forcibly restrained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Actually I quite
like the sound of bagpipes. Or a
solitary bagpipe to be precise. Mass
pipe bands, less so. My late father who
delighted in his Scottish heritage would occasionally give me a record of the
Argyll Regiment Pipe Band or some such and this put me off that particular
musical niche for life. Though with the
glorious lack of taste that only a small child can muster, I did adore Scotch
on the Rocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2jX_Rp8_A1Y" width="420"></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But these days, I
prefer the solitary pipe, preferably lamenting something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 19px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/N7Ow_nSEhaQ" width="420"></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">So, at the request
of an Eastern European of my acquaintance who is interested in the ethnography
of her adopted country, I put together a rather scratch Burns Night
Supper.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I gave the <i>Selkirk Grace</i>* and
poured out some whisky while some cove in a kilt recited an appropriate
poem.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">We missed out on the </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">appallingly</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> winsome sounding ‘Toast to the Lassies’ and ‘The Lassies Reply’ though I did
find a youtube clip of an arch middle aged gentlemen giving the toast but as he
was so remarkably fat** I was obliged to drown him out with a rousing chorus of
‘Who Ate All the Haggis’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*<i>Some have meat but cannae eat<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">And some have none but want it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">But we have meat and we can eat,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">So may the Lord be thankit<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">**And I’ll never be asked to pose for a
campaign about the dangers of over-dieting<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And then it
settled to an evening of Corries and Silly Wizard CDs interspersed with a blast
of Paul McCartney’s <i>Mull of Kintyre</i> which my dining companion had adored as a
six year old. I refer you to my above
comments about music appreciation among the under-10s. This led to quite a lot more whisky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And so it ended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What did I
learn? That obtaining a haggis in
central <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Newcastle</st1:city></st1:place>
is surprisingly hard given we’re only about 100 miles away from the
border. I mean, I know the Scots
besieged the city but that was coming on for four and a half centuries ago and
there is such a thing as holding a grudge for too long. I learned that it is possible to steam a
haggis, boil potatoes and then suedes when only one ring on your cooker
works. You boil the veg in the boiling
water that’s steaming the haggis of course.
I found out that Burns really should not be recited in an English accent
and finally, according to the radio the next day, I found out that I probably
got the grace wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Still, the haggis
was nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-86011197700630750082012-12-22T16:41:00.000+00:002012-12-22T16:55:58.076+00:00A Christmas Tale<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
A Christmas tale for you:</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">A CHRISTMAS PRESENT<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>AND so it was, that Christmas Eve, that he
was visited by three spirits.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> The
first showed him his past. Showed him how happy he had been before
disappointment and circumstance had soured him.
Showed him how many of those who had clustered about his childhood and
young adulthood had made his life the easy and content one it had been. Showed him how misfortune had been arbitrary
and his bitterness unfounded. Showed him
that his success was the result of all those who had helped him along his way
and how he was linked with all those he had shared his youthful years with, how
he had not stood aloof and alone above them all. Showed him how much he owed their kindness.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> The
second spirit showed him the present.
Showered him with images of small and great kindnesses from high to
low. Showed his loathed wastrel
relatives and cheating employees as human figures, not the simplistic caricatures
that he had moulded of them in his mind.
This spirit foretold of the death of a child and showed him the orphans
his people had created, the mewling miserable Want and the vicious spitting
Ignorance.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> The
third spoke not a single word, but took him forwards and showed him a lonely
death, unmourned by any who knew him with squabbles over his inheritance and
finally a neglected grave in a municipal cemetery, it’s green gravel slimy and
noisome, the name on the stone almost, but not quite, illegible.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>AND then he woke up.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> And
it was Christmas Morning! He had not
missed it. The spirits had done their work
in one night. And he rejoiced and
promised to mend his ways. And he turned
on his computer and searched for a site that could deliver a prize goose that
very day.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> There
wasn’t one.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> And
the good will chilled within him. And he
reminded himself that these were hard times.
He spoke to himself to the need to be realistic, to face up to the mess
the last lot had left and of the unfortunate fact that hard times required hard
policy. And he realised that throwing
money at a problem solves nothing and it was time that people stood on their
own feet. The memory of those who had
helped him to his success faded to be replaced by his comforting assurance that
his wealth was solely down to his own hard work.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> And
still the good will chilled within him as he considered the fecklessness of
those who had children they could not afford.
He rehearsed half remembered rows with his relatives, and recast them
with himself as the misunderstood but nobly realistic hero. He wondered when other peoples’ want and
ignorance had become his problem.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> And
the good will finally bled away as he considered the inevitability of his end
and he told himself that while he might not be remembered with affection, he
would be remembered with respect.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> And
so chilled had his good will become that it spread to his heart and froze it so
that it never could beat again. Not
once.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>CHRISTMAS, as a rule, is not observed in
Hell. For sure some of the demons might
put on paper hats, but their intention is more satirical than festive. Presents are not swapped and good wishes, for
rather obvious reasons, are not offered.
That would make a mockery of the whole thing.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> So
it was, on his obsidian throne, Lucifer Morningstar sat and pondered. Once the most beloved of the angels, before
his rebellion and fall, he often became melancholy at this time of year. But then he would shake out his leathern
wings, give an arrogant flick to his left horn, making it ting, and continue ruling in Hell.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> This
Christmas, however, seemed different. He
was finding it difficult to shake off his heavy inertia and get on with the torturing
and punishing of the damnéd souls. It
all seemed so pointless.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> And
then came a small still voice that only he could hear. And after that came a golden glow that shone
before his throne which faded to reveal the soul of a rich human who had let
his arrogance and greed chill his heart to an absolute stop this very Christmas
morn.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> And
Lucifer Morningstar looked up to see the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Celestial</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>
that he alone in Hell could still perceive and whispered:</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> ‘Thank
you, it’s just what I wanted.’</i></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span>
<span lang="EN-GB"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #363636; font-family: Georgia;">‘A Christmas Present’ copyright</span></em><i><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></i><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #363636; font-family: Georgia;">© 2012 Alastair Chadwin<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: large;">Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-84939541070805611732012-12-21T17:53:00.000+00:002012-12-21T17:53:24.077+00:00William Blake and Me<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">As those who have the misfortune to have
spoken or otherwise been in contact with me in the last twenty-four hours may
be aware, I have published a book. It’s
called <i>The Fernal Files</i> and you can
get it <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Fernal-Files-ebook/dp/B00AQZR9QM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1356110182&sr=8-1">here</a>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCa2BwnzV86DtnSyG2TrMzhItWJY9ScAFmf1CKam0I7YjjO_8SOoXnlSNTDokeEQL_Pf9YyklBTAETiiUCeL6lpBmQsu-UeILX1UoHIW5NCzCrOPYcS0LJvy9Ry6JaPLfhNq1EbOXw-NI/s1600/Foden+tom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCa2BwnzV86DtnSyG2TrMzhItWJY9ScAFmf1CKam0I7YjjO_8SOoXnlSNTDokeEQL_Pf9YyklBTAETiiUCeL6lpBmQsu-UeILX1UoHIW5NCzCrOPYcS0LJvy9Ry6JaPLfhNq1EbOXw-NI/s1600/Foden+tom.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">While this is all very gratifying, it is
essentially a self-published book and as anyone knows who paddles in the
puddles of the literary life will know, self-published authors are the lowest
form of life there is. Several
commentators on <i>The Guardian</i> website book section hold us in the deepest
contempt. And they have their reasons. As I have said before, there is an also lot
of rubbish fiction on the internet, I know, I’ve read some of and, God forgive
me, written some as well. Some
self-publishers try to avoid this censure by calling themselves 'independent
publishers' and fooling nobody. <i>Independent publisher</i> is a mealy mouthed
phrase like <i>graphic novel </i>in the
comics world, used by people trying to hold onto the respect of their
peers. It rarely works. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The unhappy aura of vanity publishing hangs
over the self-publishing world as well*.
My worst ever reading experience (and I’ve read DH Lawrence) occurred
when I was asked to look over a couple of vanity published books. One was just dull, while the other, a
sprawling fantasy, had trundled along its weary way for about fifty pages
before the author suddenly announced that the preceding section actually
belonged in a later novel, yet to be written, and then started again. I did not join him. Another reason is that, filled with
unwarranted confidence in their skills, many self-publishers eschew such things
as proof-reading and independent editing, which can make for a memorable, if
not enjoyable, reading experience. I
have endeavoured to avoid such traps and got others to proof-read and edit my
meretricious effort before inflicting it onto the public.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*<i>The difference is subtle. Basically, self-publishing is when the author
does it him/herself, vanity publishing is when you pay a company to print it
for you.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Amazon claim that you can be published in
five minutes. Far be it for me to doubt
their tax avoiding word, but I cannot say that I found this to be the
case. It took about three to four
hours. Admittedly this included a trip
to the bank to obtain a couple of highly obscure account numbers amazon
required in order to pay me any royalties from the USA, as if, and the
previewing does take a while to do, especially as you can’t jump around in the
text so you have to go through the whole thing page by page. Luckily my little effort is a novella.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So why do I open myself up to the sneers of
the <i>Guardianistas </i>and the glum realisation that no-one really wants to read the
bloody thing? Sheer bloody arrogance
plays a part. The fact that the book is
a novella told in the epistolatory form which I suspect would be a hard sell to
any grown-up publisher is another factor.
But mainly it was because I have plans to grow this into a publishing operation
and, like the scientist in a ‘50s horror film, I though it best to experiment
first on myself. Next year we shall be
publishing a novel not written by me and so, in one leap, move up a tiny step
of respectability from self-publisher to small publisher, maybe even to sunny
uplands of small press. And once you get
there you can point to such luminaries as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._L._Carr" target="_blank">JL Carr</a> and William Blake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52bf1Xc1QBzt17zDiEr3pqJFUBhqXtVV9ocftrCoBrChAZ1CMbYT8xmtIukRUUDuR1UuvVm06RNrOYALS4La6f7AYOwxYq0BtoCoEnqoLFXxaPvpJTIqQjlSa21bzkVO6jhoLwKt9fPA/s1600/minstrelband.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52bf1Xc1QBzt17zDiEr3pqJFUBhqXtVV9ocftrCoBrChAZ1CMbYT8xmtIukRUUDuR1UuvVm06RNrOYALS4La6f7AYOwxYq0BtoCoEnqoLFXxaPvpJTIqQjlSa21bzkVO6jhoLwKt9fPA/s1600/minstrelband.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Anyway, must be away as there’s an angel in
the garden wants a word.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-7351776173382391652012-11-23T17:16:00.000+00:002012-11-23T17:16:17.420+00:00The Curious Incident of the End of Civilisation as We Know It<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I was at a political meeting earlier this
week. The first one I’ve been to in
years. It was about the announcement by
Newcastle Council that they are planning to close at least ten branch libraries
over the next year. David Almond and
others spoke well about how these cuts are unnecessary, indeed how the vast
majority of the austerity cuts are unnecessary but are ideologically driven,
and the importance of easy access to libraries.
Furthermore, the council have announced that all arts funding is going to
be cut entirely within the next few years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It’s interesting what sets you off in the
end. As anyone unfortunate enough to be
a facebook friend of mine will have been aware of the number of articles etc
about ATOS I’ve been posting/sharing if they haven’t already hidden me. But it is this one that has really
bitten. This time it’s personal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I have a simple question. The Government tells us: lose the libraries
or lose care for children/elderly. Is
this really what we have come to? Is
this really the stark and only choice?
We could afford the Olympics, we can afford police commissioners, we can
afford to keep our soldiers dying in an unnecessary and already lost war, we
can afford to give tax breaks to the rich.
But we can’t afford libraries, or can only do so at the expense of the
vulnerable. Libraries as reckless
luxuries? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Of course this is nonsense. The cuts are political, not economic. This is an attempt to return us to a pre-War
country, which, thanks to Evelyn Waugh and others, many Tories view as a lost
paradise. Coupled with this is the truly
disgusting belief that our only purpose in this life is to make money for
someone else. Nothing else matters. An entire country as a workhouse with
overseers born to the purple stalking the land sneering at those who made the
morally incorrect choice to be born poor.
It’s like a version of <i>Mad Max</i> written by Oscar Wilde, but not nearly as
witty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And just to add to the poisoned punch, we
have a government made up of billionaires breathtakingly out of touch with
anything outside their gilded circles.
This has been building for a while, from Thatcher’s adoration of the
finance sector to the corruption of the Major years and finally the betrayal by Tony Blair and his crony capitalism. Now
we have people who appear to have no concept of what it is to live under a
certain income level. People who believe
that poverty is a lifestyle choice and, because of their own diseased morality,
believe that everyone must be on the fiddle, like them. I really could weep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So, do I exaggerate when I say that these
cuts are the most destructive thing to happen to our culture since the Puritan
destruction of mediaeval art in the 17<sup>th</sup> century? I truly hope so. But I fear not.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-75180395403036574072012-11-15T18:28:00.000+00:002012-11-15T18:28:32.912+00:00Movember Woes<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Well, I’m half way through the hirsute
hullaballoo that is Movember. If you’ve
missed this annual event, it’s a fund/consciousness raiser for male health
issues in which men volunteer to grow a moustache during the month of November,
thus the name. You can find details and
so forth <a href="http://www.movember.com/" target="_blank">here</a>. You can also find
me. No photographs as my phone camera
has broken (honest). Not that I’m
disappointed. I’m more disappointed in
my pathetic moustache. I was hoping for
a Zapata (one of those ‘60s droopy affairs) but fifteen days in and I’ve got
something that barely registers.
Furthermore I’ve had to stop putting my hair into a ponytail because if I do it makes me look like one of those characters in 1950s British films that
James Robertson Justice would shout at, </span>and when I put my glasses on, then it’s a cuckolded
husband played by a harassed Richard Attenborough. Which is worse. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/oVWjAeAa52o" width="420"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I like my ponytail. It keeps my hair out of the way and it
irritates dedicated followers of fashion who, for some reason, seem to think they have a
right to comment. Movember irritates
other people too. I read one chap railing
against it as being stupid and ineffective and, while he may be right, at least
it’s fairly harmless and only effects the moustachioed and his immediate
family, which is more than can be said for those prannets who announce that
they’re going to cross some ocean on a space hopper and always seem to end up
having to be rescued by the Australian Navy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The other thing Movember does, it forces
the men involved to face up to their facial hair growing abilities. Women, and any bloke who’s never tried to
grow a beard or moustache, will be happily unaware of the fraughtness that it
creates in the rest of us. In the ‘90s I
shared lodgings with a bloke who had to shave twice a day and used to develop a
five o’clock shadow á la Fred Flintstone or Homer Simpson and as a student I
shared accommodation for two years with a bloke who, within about three days,
could grow a beard that would have won warm applause from any member of Jethro
Tull circa 1974.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6PIpR6wJq05fw8KhXIOuP6-0BHmMPRKFEutqxuTbYYteebJyFx5FziRHpsRYOAFu0v7FonuSj0fITVRFE1eFZHxoB1QAaAWmO71LNFP8IF86EnhteAy8QNMx2udPIVIaGekVvxsUzZ4/s1600/minstrelband.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6PIpR6wJq05fw8KhXIOuP6-0BHmMPRKFEutqxuTbYYteebJyFx5FziRHpsRYOAFu0v7FonuSj0fITVRFE1eFZHxoB1QAaAWmO71LNFP8IF86EnhteAy8QNMx2udPIVIaGekVvxsUzZ4/s1600/minstrelband.jpg" height="225" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I, on the other hand, had to suffer the
sorrow that comes on a chap when his moustache does not connect with his
beard. A small, yet pungently shaming
gap remained either side of the mouth to sneer at my pretentions to Hemingwayesqe
machismo.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And then, a couple of years ago, I was on a
fortnight long narrowboat holiday. I
don’t shave when I’m on a boat, officially to save water, unofficially because
I’m on holiday, and about two thirds of the way through the trip it finally happened. They joined up. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city>,
I had moustache/beard interface. I felt
as though a great burden had at last been passed from me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">But, Hirsutius, the god of facial hair, is
a cruel and capricious god. As I admired
my fine piece of horticulture, I saw two patches, equidistantly astride my
chin, of white hair. My first. Truly is it said that the gods are not
mocked. Things were not improved by my
two and a bit year old niece who, whenever she was sitting on my knee, would
gaze wide-eyed at my white patches, occasionally lifting a tremulous hand to
touch one of them, before snatching it back with a look of unease and
discomfort. So you can see that I had some, albeit forlorn, but still some hopes for this moustache. Alas it is not to be.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Still, only fifteen more days to go.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-55189989714864586922012-11-09T16:23:00.000+00:002012-11-09T16:23:08.840+00:00The Red and the White<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">I see that the white poppies for
Remembrance Sunday are making a comeback.
Well, actually I don’t see that at all as I’ve not seen anyone wearing
one. In fact, now I think on it, I’ve
never seen anyone wearing one and it’s not as if I move in particularly
militaristic circles.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">No, what I mean is that I’ve seen an advert
for them and someone posting in The Guardian website mentioned them. Apparently they were first put on sale in
1933. I’d always thought of them as an
‘80s thing, along with ‘Nuklear Power nein danke’ window stickers. A quick glance at Wikipedia tells me that
Margaret Thatcher disapproved of them which doubtless explains their sudden
flurry of popularity.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The idea behind the white poppy is to show
remembrance for war dead while making it clear that the wearer is against war
and therein lies the problem. I’m not
sure that the red poppy does denote that the wearer is happy and comfortable
about the prospect of people dying in war.
Rather the opposite I’d always thought.
Some white poppy supporters point to the fact that the red one is worn
predominantly by Unionists in Northern Ireland in which case I would suggest
that said Unionists be castigated for turning it into an overtly political
symbol, just as the English fascist movements tried to co-opt the St George
flag. I loathe football, but I am
pleased that assorted World Cups have won that back for us.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">With the best will in the world, I find the
white poppy uncomfortable. It smells too
strongly of the kind of sanctimoniousness that assumes a moral superiority to
all around. I always think of the lines
in the Tom Lehrer song, The Folk Song Army:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"> <i>We
are the folk song army</i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i> Every
one of us cares.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i> We
all hate poverty, war and injustice</i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i> Unlike
the rest of you squares.</i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And here in its entirety:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yygMhtNQJ9M" width="420"></iframe></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">While the red poppy might (and I say might)
have honoured only the Allied dead of the ’14-’18 war, it certainly does not
now. Furthermore as the appalling bullying that
went on a couple of years back that demanded that everyone should wear one
seems to have died down, I am wearing a red poppy this year. And if anyone wishes to wear a white one, let
them do so, but be aware that it may carry as many negative connotations as the
red ones you abjure.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nW1aVuGHUwk" width="420"></iframe></span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-5399357501999289092012-10-31T17:48:00.000+00:002012-10-31T17:48:44.780+00:00It's Hallowe'en!<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">Another Hallowe’en and another tale for
you:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 24.0pt;"><b>OSTENSION<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><b> </b></o:p></span><b>It begins with a competition.</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>This
Halloween, create a new fear. Major
rewards.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Looks fun.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>An old photograph, small part of background
carefully distorted, just enough to cause discomfort, a sense of wrongness, a
feel of the uncanny, the creepy. Play
with photoshop. It’s a laugh.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>An
impression of hair with a glow or nimbus behind it. Features and limbs unseen though there are
hints against the dark of things that seem sharp-edged and bone-white.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Photograph not quite enough. Needs more.
Needs a caption.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘He
said glory would be our reward. All we
had to do was give. We gave all. We received out reward.’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>That should do it.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>It’s spreading.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Some wannabe film students muck around with
their mates and a digital camera camera.
Ten shaky, blurry seconds of something.
Something that gives an impression of hair and bone.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘God,
what’s that? What is it?’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘Get out. Just get out.
I’m right behind you!’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Sudden blackout with electronic screech.</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>All very <i>Blair Witch/Paranormal Activity</i>.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘Tonight
we want your calls about your spooky experiences!’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘It
was like the thing in the photograph, you know, the famous one of the
playground. Well I was haunted by that
thing all my childhood. It’s real.’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Result!
Losers out there think it’s true.
Tossers.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>The
Website That Let’s You Tell Your True Life Paranormal stories<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>They’ve given it a name. They’ve given it a gender!</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>gloryboy<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Is it too late to copyright?</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>A
flicker in the mirror. That which makes
you suddenly check that there’s nothing behind you. The light patch in the dark of the trees that is suddenly wrong.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>you’ve
got gloryboy on your trail<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-GB">Houston</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-GB"> we have a meme!</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Pastor
Caleb Gems performs exorcisms to rid you of evil<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘I
know that gloryboy exists’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘There
he was, watching me from the woods, a darkness darker than that around. A strange glow. Hair and bone’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘In
my bedroom, in the corner, just there for a moment I saw him from the corner of
my eye. I see him still.’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>‘Please
God, save me from gloryboy.’<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>“gloryboy:
He Exists” by Pastor Caleb Gems, $10 special price when you click here.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Coming through. Coming through.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>At
gloryboy.com you can get your gloryboy mugs, tee shirts, mouse mats and
badges. gloryboy is here with your
reward!<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>A focal point. New bogeyman.
Something is hungry. Something is
ready to feed.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>There’s
glory for You!<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Follow
the new hilarious gloryboy web-strip!
You’ll get your reward!<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Coming through. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Coming through.</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Reward.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Where did that come from? Be seeing old glory himself if not careful:)</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Photograph
from 1912 shows that gloryboy has been with us a long time.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Oh give me strength!</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Does
this medieval woodcut show gloryboy?<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>No it doesn’t. It can’t.
I created him, it, two years ago for a competition.</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Never did get my reward.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Latest
gloryboy footage and testimony. Is he
after our children?<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>They’ve added so much to him. Not just a name and a gender. They’ve given him a look, motives, an MO.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>It was meant to be something odd, a bit
creepy, unsettling. Not some comic book
villain with complete backstory.</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>It’s not mine anymore.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>He’s not mine anymore.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b>gloryboy has escaped.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>And I think he’s coming home.</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Tonight’s
discussion.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>The
unexplained disappearance of the self-proclaimed creator of gloryboy continues
to cause controversy.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Did
he get his reward?<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><b>With apologies to Victor Surge<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
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<b><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; color: #363636; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Ostension’ copyright</span></em><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 8pt;"> </span></i></b><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; color: #363636; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 9.0pt;"><b>© 2012 Alastair Chadwin</b><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"> Or you can read it, along with some comments about the its writing, over at <a href="http://springheeledjack.org.uk/" target="_blank">Spring Heeled Jack</a>.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Meanwhile, in the run up to Samhain this
year I’ve been reading up on my ghostly literature. Best of the batch so far, <i>Dark Matter </i>by Michelle Paver which I
read, liked, admired, but was not overly scared or unnerved by it until this
morning when I was in the bath. No I
don’t know why either. Baths don’t feature
in the book at all, as far as I can recall and as I only read it a week back,
if they did they weren’t major plot drivers.
Odd.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve come across this delayed reaction to
ghost stories before, noticeably with MR James.
A detail from the story will suddenly pop back into my mind at an
unexpected moment. It can be
inconvenient.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Another read was <i>The Haunting of Hill House </i>by Shirley Jackson. This was made into the famous 1963 film, <i>The Haunting </i>and the script there
follows the novel very closely.
Interestingly though, the most famously scary sequence in the film is
less so in the novel, while the novel’s most alarming scene comes across as
somewhat melodramatic in the film. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Disappointments have included a
surprisingly clumsy and unsubtle effort by Henry James called <i>The Romance of Certain Old Clothes</i>. I hope he gets his act together before I get
to <i>Turn of the Screw</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Finally, here’s a song from a film which,
despite its title, has curiously little to do with Tim Burton:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DOtEdhKOMgQ" width="420"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And if you are out tonight, as always, be
watchful for there may be things abroad which should not be.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-1131628979269578242012-10-27T18:45:00.000+01:002012-10-27T18:45:05.430+01:00When The Swashbuckler Comes In<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Reading a <i>Doctor Nikola</i>* novel the other month, I was startled when the
action suddenly shifted to my own fair <st1:place w:st="on">Newcastle upon Tyne</st1:place>,
town of my birth and current abode. I
shouldn’t be surprised as the city turns up in a surprising number of novels.</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*Late 19<sup>th</sup> century master villain who
appeared in a series of novels notable for the fact that, contrary to the
author’s intention one assumes, the good doctor is only really likable
character<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oxrgQfA6Vc5l6wd7udHiPrQKKfflw4tVKipXcDk_upAGTQBwVYz5_2yIHZla8otJmx0PEPpFEVAEgiDIGzcw-sRA2LwaykXXMoL4opJ0cJ97r8T6XAvhPSBliEXp_QAIzybycu6qOWI/s1600/Dr+Nikola+Returns2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oxrgQfA6Vc5l6wd7udHiPrQKKfflw4tVKipXcDk_upAGTQBwVYz5_2yIHZla8otJmx0PEPpFEVAEgiDIGzcw-sRA2LwaykXXMoL4opJ0cJ97r8T6XAvhPSBliEXp_QAIzybycu6qOWI/s1600/Dr+Nikola+Returns2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"> </span>First, and far and away most unexpectedly,
is the curious fact that the three musketeers come here at one point. Honest.
It’s in the sequel to the original novel, <i>Twenty Years After</i>, set – well, you get the idea. It turns out that twenty years after the
events of the first book brings us to the English Civil War and the musketeers
attempt to rescue Charles I while he is held in durance vile in, yup, Newcastle
upon Tyne. <b>Spoilers for novel and, indeed, English history:</b> they fail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It so happens that I read this book in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">France</st1:place></st1:country>. I was in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Paris</st1:city></st1:place> and being the pretentious drear that I
am, I had decided to take a French book with me to read while I was there and having already read <i>The Three Musketeers</i> chose <i>Twenty Years After</i>. So there I was in a hotel room in the Latin Quarter
reading about <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Newcastle</st1:place></st1:city>. That was odd.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAztymyatBJ9iQMvjxcbgbS2zxEloT6T3F_2-YxQNniRJJeZMA_8o8tiOr6xvNS-yCAbCmFp9y3JG7d5lt3jRW2Tskql0X03Wpxu5Gm4yFrfKk1RUmR5R-mLHMc79MlMYC-OCvga4oT18/s1600/weismuller-tarzan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAztymyatBJ9iQMvjxcbgbS2zxEloT6T3F_2-YxQNniRJJeZMA_8o8tiOr6xvNS-yCAbCmFp9y3JG7d5lt3jRW2Tskql0X03Wpxu5Gm4yFrfKk1RUmR5R-mLHMc79MlMYC-OCvga4oT18/s1600/weismuller-tarzan.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Other unexpected appearances of my fair
city occur in Jane Austen’s <i>Pride &
Prejudice</i> in which – if memory serves, I don't have a copy to hand – a rakish army officer is sent to Fenham Barracks, which lies to the west of the city, in
disgrace which seems right and proper. Susanna
Clarke in the highly recommended <i>Jonathan
Strange & Mr Norrell</i> posits <st1:city w:st="on">Newcastle</st1:city> as
the centre of magic in her version of <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULP_0-010d5bf92sUkIk6GSigHJXhU6n9iaZLKUovf8vIEvuVDpTmhywtnGiBxlGbIm_MWoWfJw4nnVL6q1x-AdoW3bV5uvp15kaqAf8sjvBpK4xOp917uVbwms9L4qOikEfyJZWlH3U/s1600/ravenkingfull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULP_0-010d5bf92sUkIk6GSigHJXhU6n9iaZLKUovf8vIEvuVDpTmhywtnGiBxlGbIm_MWoWfJw4nnVL6q1x-AdoW3bV5uvp15kaqAf8sjvBpK4xOp917uVbwms9L4qOikEfyJZWlH3U/s1600/ravenkingfull.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">while the comic book
character John Constantine, created by Alan Moore, had an experience up here
that led to him spending some time in a secure mental health facility.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8R8Ihe2aPx8EwjDjYa8Wc6JQKoRmjqnEDKwC6TosPNi7MpEvLR9h3VzHVmrbnURkaSENb6sXoI2aoHMtxkDdGeYotM8obuKruiKJdOQO678YMAWIVhbmAj0eEfp1Oq6Km1jo0EMRAs2c/s1600/constantine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8R8Ihe2aPx8EwjDjYa8Wc6JQKoRmjqnEDKwC6TosPNi7MpEvLR9h3VzHVmrbnURkaSENb6sXoI2aoHMtxkDdGeYotM8obuKruiKJdOQO678YMAWIVhbmAj0eEfp1Oq6Km1jo0EMRAs2c/s1600/constantine.jpg" height="121" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Interestingly, the one novel in which
Newcastle does not, apparently, appear is <i>Jack’s
Return Home </i>by Ted Lewis upon which <i>Get Carter</i> was based, and while the film is definitely set in Newcastle (and
Gateshead, Whitley Bay and Northumberland) the book, or so I’m told,
never specifies which city it’s set in.
The film, by the way, was originally going to be filmed in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hull</st1:place></st1:city>, according to what
I’ve read, but when that proved to be impracticable, the filming moved here.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4d98LC7GkCtQ8LNV7MGlcIY_xLchQKRn2HwcKR8JUs5zMcjmgYJfKxKv3Jr_nPRA_d6KsAmhJ9B8bd3KMA3CVeqpKA0ihtUfBdIfVH0LoPmxuY5j_LfXLm0rUYk9Uhm6qtDEWFtJAB5o/s1600/jacksreturnhome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4d98LC7GkCtQ8LNV7MGlcIY_xLchQKRn2HwcKR8JUs5zMcjmgYJfKxKv3Jr_nPRA_d6KsAmhJ9B8bd3KMA3CVeqpKA0ihtUfBdIfVH0LoPmxuY5j_LfXLm0rUYk9Uhm6qtDEWFtJAB5o/s1600/jacksreturnhome.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So, forget Cookson country. Let's market the North East as Musketeer
country which would, let’s face it, be more fun than concentrating on those
novels in which, in accordance to local by-laws, the main character’s father or
grandfather is obliged to be killed/crippled/drowned in a coal fall down the pit or out
at sea with the fishing fleet. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It would
be worth it, surely.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihK5lisj6gVCQ-Owjn9HlE1GGLRIrSiJmgNiejgVhkejMOyKa6BpLed9-mWx2JQWKhT7Q-UsjG6NdwNBEqYgZYkiatiNnD7wV3SozVCw-SGOq67vIETUInFrjRoLjgBfLkS9BT-YQ2KsQ/s1600/CarterGeweer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihK5lisj6gVCQ-Owjn9HlE1GGLRIrSiJmgNiejgVhkejMOyKa6BpLed9-mWx2JQWKhT7Q-UsjG6NdwNBEqYgZYkiatiNnD7wV3SozVCw-SGOq67vIETUInFrjRoLjgBfLkS9BT-YQ2KsQ/s1600/CarterGeweer.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-80295433832436065662012-10-19T18:27:00.003+01:002012-10-19T18:27:50.075+01:00Being Volume 12 of the Brightononicom<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">A couple of weeks back, wearing my <a href="http://www.springheeledjack.org.uk/" target="_blank">Spring Heeled Jack</a> hat, I attended the British Fantasy Society’s annual wingding, or
FantasyCon as they will call it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEq8Qcio18IhavGE19nYcRxN9xOmVzbHuv0AwOxtd-L1m-KHUY4Vw2SQlN8UpLx4ZMs22XN9qMMN-LqpZ_A1WER17S-Ah9pE8cQjrn8SO5qxKdZ23wmc9vQCJp6qK5X4LKJ-GmO37wRw/s1600/fantasycon2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEq8Qcio18IhavGE19nYcRxN9xOmVzbHuv0AwOxtd-L1m-KHUY4Vw2SQlN8UpLx4ZMs22XN9qMMN-LqpZ_A1WER17S-Ah9pE8cQjrn8SO5qxKdZ23wmc9vQCJp6qK5X4LKJ-GmO37wRw/s1600/fantasycon2012.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">As they
define fantasy to include weird fiction I saw it as a chance to put in a bit of
networking and get an idea of what’s what in the genre these days.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So what did I discover? Of this I shall sing:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">1/</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Obvious point, but does need to made for
those of us whose idea of ‘fantasy’ is that it’s solely made up of those
interminable multi-volume sagas involving magical artifacts and epic quests and
heroes who introduce themselves as so and so’s son assuming an interest in
their genealogy which most of us simply do not share, is that it’s a cheerfully
open genre happy to embrace just about anything it likes. There was none of that ‘Oh I never read
[insert whatever/whoever here]’ that so bedevils a lot of book talk.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I don’t know if this is usual as I’ve never
been to one of these things before, but it is an odd experience to find
yourself reading a book in a bar and looking up to see the author sitting three
foot away from you.* Or even more a
challenge to etiquette, to realise one is sitting opposite an author whose name
you recognise and whose work you are aware of
but have never actually read.
What, if anything, can you say?
Nothing in my case.</span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.0pt;">*’Ash’ and James Herbert if you were wondering<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">3/</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Fantasy authors are engagingly shy about
that unhappy business known as networking.
I thought I’d missed a trick by only having the logo, a mildly sinister
quote and the web address on the cards I scattered about cheerfully, but
apparently not.</span></div>
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4/</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIJxX6aM8k-_X1Z4h3NT0TRcO4LA9lIyozoVflbk_xheD27VfmMN5fYlqLqjPuAEV1Jh-f2OyHiT2at1YvUN7jM_Io3IDFiq1ev4lrQTygvx7CFGon2wgifYKkZ1dBHtquI_FzfxkA-0/s1600/Mark-Gatiss-300x225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIJxX6aM8k-_X1Z4h3NT0TRcO4LA9lIyozoVflbk_xheD27VfmMN5fYlqLqjPuAEV1Jh-f2OyHiT2at1YvUN7jM_Io3IDFiq1ev4lrQTygvx7CFGon2wgifYKkZ1dBHtquI_FzfxkA-0/s1600/Mark-Gatiss-300x225.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Mark Gattiss disliked the new iDalek design
and argued against it. He was therefore
particularly irritated that it was introduced in a story written by him. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvWNEZCDsnVtKxnha7aFTL-xJnORsLXt3kdSH3RV2A-Ck4WR1hXAfx3BpnOf5S_23UXvXBOPZmtO4Mg4nd9YJ9yaKLs42Ag3A-xkcQ-2vszlh2gANFFsblafc-cUaw9zLcfcDQRoonCY/s1600/iDalek-nowincolor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvWNEZCDsnVtKxnha7aFTL-xJnORsLXt3kdSH3RV2A-Ck4WR1hXAfx3BpnOf5S_23UXvXBOPZmtO4Mg4nd9YJ9yaKLs42Ag3A-xkcQ-2vszlh2gANFFsblafc-cUaw9zLcfcDQRoonCY/s1600/iDalek-nowincolor.jpg" height="209" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">He also uses the neologism <i>Poliakoffian </i>to describe very, very slow
moving drama.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">5/</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The members of the panel discussing the
member’s vote on ‘Best Ghost Story’ all admire MR James but really wish the
membership would stop voting “<i>Oh,
Whistle, And I’ll Come to You, My Lad” </i>in every single bloody year.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsh3qaJtq1uj1_o5vhn4h86tSmnLFgEpZZus5YRGsarWSjIwSZIsds6CpsK1wDvE-GSzHovmV1VX3fY3nbqHpLGe0nATwndiDmBZodrm-LiNpaBWm5a4xM_ZXKM8oPRzficaZMjdfDbs/s1600/220px-Whistle-mrjames.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsh3qaJtq1uj1_o5vhn4h86tSmnLFgEpZZus5YRGsarWSjIwSZIsds6CpsK1wDvE-GSzHovmV1VX3fY3nbqHpLGe0nATwndiDmBZodrm-LiNpaBWm5a4xM_ZXKM8oPRzficaZMjdfDbs/s1600/220px-Whistle-mrjames.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Any many other things besides, but you'll have to wait for the next volume to find out what manner of things they may be.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-80790218268685007672012-09-21T18:12:00.000+01:002012-09-21T18:12:09.196+01:00Eight legs bad<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">I was trying to find some conkers the other
day. I managed two which I fear is
scarcely sufficient for my purpose.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And that would be? Keeping out spiders. A correspondent to <i>The Guardian</i> had stated
firmly that conkers keep spiders away and as we are entering the spider season
and given that spiders and me have a complicated relationship (faults on both
sides I’m sure, but I’d just as rather not have them in the flat) this seemed
like a plan, albeit one unlikely to work.
But a low level arachnophobe like myself has to try what he can.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">In the meantime I have spreading the
word. A till driver at Tesco who was
fretting that there had been a spider in her car while she was driving to work
and would still be there when her shift ended, was very taken with the idea and
vowed there and then to fill her car with the nuts as soon as. I just hope they don’t all roll under the
brake pedal, though that would make for an entertaining inquest.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Meanwhile the female half of the couple in
the ground floor flat (the male half was once bitten by a moth as long time
readers of this blog may <a href="http://thecuriousadventuresofajchadwin.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/watch-skies.html" target="_blank">recall</a>) was also fascinated by the idea and has asked
me to report on whether it works which strikes me as tricky as I will have to
show the absence of spiders. A bit like
the old joke about the chap who carries an anti-tiger charm in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Scotland</st1:place></st1:country> and
when asked why states that he hasn’t been bitten by one yet.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">But my researches may come to naught as I
am finding it hard to find any, as stated above. I have put out a plea on facebook, the modern
equivalent of chaining yourself to the railings outside the Houses of
Parliament and will keep looking.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Wish me luck.</span></div>
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Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-45568930715593803682012-09-15T18:12:00.000+01:002012-09-15T18:12:31.025+01:00'Now is the Summer of Our Discontent...'So it’s possible that they may have found Richard III’s skeleton? Gosh.<br />
<br /><br />
I had the chance to visit the place where the Battle of Bosworth Field apparently didn’t actually happen (as recounted <a href="http://thecuriousadventuresofajchadwin.blogspot.co.uk/2009/12/all-i-ask-is-narrowboat.html" target="_blank">here</a>) and as stated, just by the canal is a rather sweet little memorial at the spot where, tradition has it, Richard died. If memory serves, the small monument had an inscription to ‘the last English king’ which was odd as the Plantagenets were French. As the peerless <em>1066 & All That</em> points out, the last English king of England was Edward the Confessor as after that we have Harold (Danish), the Normans and then Plantagenets (French) then the Tudors (Welsh) and the Stuarts (Scottish) and finally the Hanovers/Windsors (German). And people say that the English are insular.<br />
It is thought that the skeleton might be Richard because it has signs of curvature of the spine. I had thought that version of him was Tudor propaganda (x-rays have shown that the famous portrait of him was later altered) and wonder what this will do for those people who believe him to be a highly maligned figure.<br />
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I’m sure you’ve heard about this, Richard was a good king who didn’t murder the Princes in the Tower (though I side with George MacDonald Fraser who, like Cicero, asked <em>cui bono</em>) and was an all-round good egg unlike the untrustworthy wife-executing and altogether a bit too Celtic Tudors. It’s one of those things that people get surprisingly wound up about to the surprise to outsiders. Other instances I’ve recently come across on the net include the behaviour of George Lucas, creator of the <em>Star Wars</em> films, the behaviour of the Doctor in the most recent episode of <em>Dr Who</em> and the incidental music in the last couple of seasons of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> which apparently spoilt one poor chap’s childhood.<br />
<br />
The observant amongst you, ie all of you, will notice that all these examples above come from the world of science fiction film and television. I do paddle in the shallows of that particular fandom and one of the attractions is the high emotions that it produces in a few unhappy souls. ‘But what about the pain Jackson caused me!’ wailed one commentator on a forum about the <em>Lord of the Rings</em> films in response to the moderator complaining that his increasingly vicious comments were causing pain to others. You get it with Sherlock Holmes fans as well where liking the recent Robert Downey characterisation is a sin beyond forgiveness or redemption. I know connoisseurs of horror cinema who still hold Barry Norman in open contempt for his many slights on their preferred genre.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, here’s the excellent <em>Horrible Histories</em> programme doing old King Dick with full admiration and open worship to whoever came up with rhyming ‘can you imagine it’ with ‘Plantagenet’.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/R6JczvS1PL4" width="560"></iframe>Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-86609476489113232872012-09-08T17:14:00.001+01:002012-09-08T17:14:50.499+01:00Not to Mention the Dog<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I keep having this strange feeling that
there’s a dog in the room. Oh,
good. There is.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’m looking after him while his owners
(assorted members of the clan) are away for a long weekend. I think of him as a dog in law. I’ve done this before and he knows me well so
it’s no great ordeal, rather the opposite even if he is a touch excitable and
tactile in his affection. At least he’s
sleeping through nights now. The first
time he came to live at my expense, I awoke at about four in the morning as I
sometimes do and sleepily went for my glass of water before falling back asleep
until a reasonable hour. On this
occasion though I was brought to a fuller awakeness by a furry snout and wet
nose thrust towards my face, attached to a dog that was not only wagging its
tail but its whole body in that way that long-leggéd canines can. ‘Oh great,’ he seemed to saying, ‘this is way
earlier for my walk than my usual owners manage!’ I was obliged to disillusion him but he bore
the sorrow well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Better than he did than when he arrived on
that first visit. After his pack had
left, he took to his basket and whenever I looked around I could see just his
two eyes poking out from his bed and gazing at me with complete and total
reproach. As it happened, another
brother ‘phoned just then so I shared my discomfort with him. He failed to help by pointing out that not
only was the dog obviously thinking ‘I’ll never see them again’, he was also
thinking ‘And it’s all your fault.’ Very helpful. My lodger cheered up soon enough though, round about lunchtime if memory serves.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It’s all been less fraught this time. A twenty-something neighbour referred to him as a doggy, being
apparently unaware that there is an age restriction on that word, otherwise all
well so far. And best of all, we haven’t
found a corpse. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">As any reader of the crime reports in the
papers will be aware, murder victims are frequently found by dog walkers and
this always alarms me mildly whenever I am dog sitting. He’s here for another day, so fingers
crossed, I really don’t have the time right now for the paperwork.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">On an entirely different topic, it was
brought to my attention last night that for the last four years I have been
completely misunderstanding the purpose of those label things that you put on
your blog. I thought they had something
to do with search engines, apparently not.
It seems they’re an aid to navigating to my other blog entries. To quote Jessica Hynes’ character in <i>Twenty
Twelve</i>: ‘Who knew?’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Given I was in the habit of ensuring that I
never repeated a label, this will have meant that anyone clicking on one will
probably have been directed back to the blog they’d just read. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Sorry about that.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-33788428520595344562012-08-31T17:54:00.000+01:002012-08-31T18:13:44.120+01:00Ratepayers Against Bloggers Inciting Democracy (or R.A.B.I.D)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">As of midnight tonight squatting will be a
criminal offence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And hurrah to that I say. At last an end to all those times I’ve been
out to get some milk and come back to find an anarchist collective has moved
into the flat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Because that’s the odd thing about
this. It’s an issue that a lot of people
are very scared of, but which rarely if ever seems to actually happen. I mean, how many times has a family returned
from holiday to find strangers living in their homes? I venture to suggest hardly ever. As it happens the only incident I ever came
across was in my legal days when we had a landlord client who took the
opportunity of his tenants being on holiday to move another family into the
property. The first family came back
from wherever to find their possessions piled up in the hallway. And you have to admit, that's not quite the same thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It is a sure sign of a bad law that it
sounds like it’s been drafted in response to a slightly drunk middle aged
middle class man in a pub. You know the ones.
They prop up the bar complaining about things that don’t actually
happen. ‘So there was this Muslim bus driver who refused to let a old woman on
board because she was wearing a cross’ or ‘some council has banned Christmas
because it’ll offend the Hindus’ or ‘And of course all you need to do is walk
into the dole office with a slight limp and you’re on disability benefits for
life’ and so on and so on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The last law I can remember being
formulated in response to golfclubman (as I like to call him) was the poll tax
which was introduced to Parliament in response to a lot of dreary moaning about
the rates and so the incompetently unfair poll tax was brought in and, in the
fullness of time, destroyed Margaret Thatcher as a political force.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For those of you too young to remember the
rates, they were a local tax which was set according to the value of the
property. They had a weird fascination
for a certain type of small-minded person who used their status as a payer to
somehow suggest that their opinions carried more weight than others. A local group where I live, the Jesmond
Residents Association (whose sole <i>raison d’être
</i>as far as I can make out is to ensure that we never again have a chippy in
the area) was originally the Jesmond Ratepayers Association. And the main opposition to the Greenham
Common Peace Camp was a group calling itself Ratepayers Against the Greenham
Encampment (or R.A.G.E., see what they did there?) thus announcing that their
status as payers of a local land tax gave their views greater weight than those
of equally effected residents who did not (eg dependents, students, children,
the unemployed etc) and while there were issues around Greenham Common* it
seems strange that greater weight to the debate should have been given to those
who paid the rates. It’s as if they were
still smarting from the removal of the householder qualification from those eligible
to vote.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">*<i>the
most bigoted people it has been my misfortune to meet have been a couple of BNP
skinheads I once advised in the police cells and a Greenham Common veteran<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Personally, rather than criminalise the squatters,
I would increase council powers to claim properties abandoned or forgotten by
their owners and put to use as social housing.
But then that would be a step towards the alleviation of poverty and, as
the last two governments have made abundantly clear, being poor is a lifestyle
choice that should not be encouraged.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I suppose that putting squatters in prison is one way of solving homelessness.</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-65859493352116337492012-08-24T15:05:00.000+01:002012-08-24T15:06:44.340+01:00Identies 'r' Us<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I have recently been setting about a
facebook profile not my own. Not an
attempt to further damage their share price, I’m not sure the stock market
could handle another mauling, but as part of the on-line marketing of the weird
fiction website that I may have mentioned I am involved with, <a href="http://www.springheeledjack.org.uk/">Spring Heeled Jack</a>. Now according to a friend and new
media advisor, to market a website these days it is necessary to ‘whore
yourself across the net’. His words, not
mine. Personally I prefer to think of it
as providing a discreet service to discerning gentlefolk but as this is all
getting a tad EL James, I think I’ll kill that metaphor stone dead right now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">One of the peculiar effects of this flurry
of facebook activity is that I am now getting existentially weird emails. I am just computer savvy enough to ensure
that most of my email accounts send their messages to the same inbox. The practical upshot of which is that when I
sent from my own profile a friend request to the Spring Heeled Jack profile, a
message popped up in my inbox saying ‘Sandy Chadwin wants to be friends with
you’ which was surprisingly disconcerting and highly reminiscent of a certain
type of self-help book. <i> Be Your Own Best
Friend</i> or <i>Befriending Others by Befriending Yourself</i> type of thing. You know the sort. To make it worse, the temptation to turn down
my own friendship was surprisingly strong.
‘That Sandy Chadwin, he’s the sort who’d think nothing of whoring
himself across the net. A J Chadwin and
Spring Heeled Jack want nothing to do with such a low fellow,’ I found myself
thinking. After wallowing in this
phenomenological mud for a time I calmed down. I began to think of it as the opposite of identity theft, a kind of identity gift if you like.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then a message popped up informing me that
Spring Heeled Jack is now friends with Sandy Chadwin and I felt as if I’d been
left off an invite list.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I wonder what they’re saying about me?</span></div>
Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-62727490659685371952012-06-30T17:05:00.000+01:002012-06-30T17:05:31.427+01:00It's Space Nazis on the Moon!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Chatting to a friend the other day, she informed me that she’d just been to see <i>Prometheus </i>and could not, in all honesty, recommend it. On the other hand, she stated, she could recommend<i> Iron Sky</i>. Now it so happens, I had seen it on the one day it was shown at the Tyneside Cinema a few weeks back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">If you are unaware of the <i>Iron Sky</i> film, let me elucidate. A Finnish film, it concerns the consequences of an American moon mission discovering a Nazi base on the dark side set up in 1944, said base filled with fanatical Nazis awaiting their opportunity to return to Earth and re-establish the Third Reich. In other words, space Nazis on the moon. Or to put it another way, It's Space Nazis on the Moon!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DW0uPbt7o-9onIbjfByFCVg7DI6Kc90fDn_VkzkEyw8hYadOlrB6FjP1DT26nyLizfssm4rCdSrJwVf9A6wZrhPE4S4J23nWW35PFsD7APLKjkvCtPAC1BaoopAvQSLyA6iDBHpuFfc/s1600/coming-soon-poster-iron-sky-30365381-760-1126.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DW0uPbt7o-9onIbjfByFCVg7DI6Kc90fDn_VkzkEyw8hYadOlrB6FjP1DT26nyLizfssm4rCdSrJwVf9A6wZrhPE4S4J23nWW35PFsD7APLKjkvCtPAC1BaoopAvQSLyA6iDBHpuFfc/s320/coming-soon-poster-iron-sky-30365381-760-1126.jpeg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This film is not only critic proof, it is
criticism proof. Any negative
observation is completely countered by the fact that It’s Space Nazis on the
Moon! A kindly soul would describe the
acting as wobbly, the script will not be troubling the Oscars committee, the
humour is forced and not as clever as it thinks it is. But…It’s Space Nazis on the Moon!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">To be fair, the special effects are rather
good and the design is spectacular with Wehrmacht overcoats and helmets/gas
masks turned into space suits and 1940’s era technology applied to the space
age.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggd992FtXKQ9th02XxlTfxymYiOfdq6Fp6pudlok8C5iOVvTtEmvjToVifCpcYCH-vnJ3NX9J5wbSZIi_BfnOoZEVXqXeHyK6YLTP2ewJ1WbajJmroJIVWHAFWaiVjyHBfbyI9SpJ_GuI/s1600/Iron+Sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggd992FtXKQ9th02XxlTfxymYiOfdq6Fp6pudlok8C5iOVvTtEmvjToVifCpcYCH-vnJ3NX9J5wbSZIi_BfnOoZEVXqXeHyK6YLTP2ewJ1WbajJmroJIVWHAFWaiVjyHBfbyI9SpJ_GuI/s320/Iron+Sky.jpg" width="320" /></a> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"> All that goes to just add to the
fact that It’s Space Nazis on the Moon!
There’s even space Zeppelins.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT64JnMNjdFpvq3t7J8yB3cBTd-NWMHlMNFOa7AS-yGjUMzOnyzF-NirlhReqMrXSruGfQK9PMzJatxZ5X7fMYzsSVv5lZ5bfUxsdzDZL983zQXOVTXb_ehBc5vtfpZhSdiozYOTcItdI/s1600/14xidsx.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT64JnMNjdFpvq3t7J8yB3cBTd-NWMHlMNFOa7AS-yGjUMzOnyzF-NirlhReqMrXSruGfQK9PMzJatxZ5X7fMYzsSVv5lZ5bfUxsdzDZL983zQXOVTXb_ehBc5vtfpZhSdiozYOTcItdI/s320/14xidsx.jpeg" width="320" /></a>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It was only shown for one day in a few
cinemas across the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country-region>
as a publicity stunt to showcase the subsequent DVD release. Unfortunately, anticipation had grown so high
(It’s Space Nazis on the Moon!) that this backfired rather spectacularly with
the distributors being booed when their name appeared in the credits. In at least a couple of cinemas, the run was
extended to a week.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Here in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Newcastle</st1:city></st1:place> we only had two showings to satisfy
our Space Nazis on the Moon! needs. I
went to the afternoon showing and was lucky to get a ticket. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It was an odd experience watching it. It is, probably, one of the worst films I
have seen in a cinema and yet I hugely enjoyed it owing to the It’s Space Nazis
on the Moon! factor. There were a group
of people behind who dutifully laughed at every leaden joke with a ‘ho ho ho’
that you never hear in real life, only light operetta, and I felt sorry for
them. No need to try to persuade
yourself that this is comedy up there with Jacques Tati. No need at all. Just relax and revel in the fact that It’s
Space Nazis on the Moon!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So I find myself in the odd position that I
feel obliged to highly recommend a film which is, exerting every charitable
iota I possess, not terribly good, but I must. I’ll probably get the DVD in the fullness of
time. I have little option. I’m sure you all understand. After all…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">IT’S SPACE NAZIS ON THE MOON!</span></div>
<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><br />
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-63637092232190025812012-05-05T18:20:00.000+01:002012-05-05T18:20:49.723+01:00The Reader's Fear of the Self-Published<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">There has been a little flurry of articles
recently about self-publishing on-line.
These have varied from the generally approving to the sternly
disapproving which is much as one would expect.
An interesting reaction, however, could be found among the below the
line comments. After just about every
article there is a comment stating, in a tone ringing with the authenticity of
experience, that the majority of self-published fiction is very bad.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now I have to declare an interest
here. As you might be aware, and if
you’re not it’s no fault of mine, I am involved with the weird fiction website
Spring Heeled Jack and it is currently publishing a serial wot I wrote.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Anyway, back to the comments. The curious thing about these comments
revealing that the majority of self-published fiction is crap is that they are
stated in a firm tone as if the commenter is revealing a hitherto unknown
fact. ‘Have you read self-published
fiction?’ they cry like Jeremiah, ‘it is awful.’ You can almost hear their self-satisfied
grunt as they sit back from the keyboard with the knowledge of a warning duly
given. Their job here is done. The majority of self-published fiction is
crap.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I know.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I know a lot of it is awful because I’ve
read some of it. God help me, I’ve written
some. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now I’m doubtless missing something, but
surely that fact that a lot of something is crap does negate the value of that
small amount is good. I am reminded of
Sturgeon’s Law. If you don’t know it,
Theodore Sturgeon was a science fiction writer in the 1950s who, in response to
the statement that 90% of science fiction is crud, stated that 90% of
everything is crud.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Another curious thing about these
aforementioned commenters is that they often continue their condemnation of
self-publishing with a smug aside to the effect that they themselves never read
anything until it has been cleared by agents, editors, publishers and
critics. This seems to me a strange
thing to boast about. They’re basically
boasting of the fact that they won’t do something until someone else tells them
they can and confirms that what they plan to do is good. In most fields of human endeavour such craven
behaviour is not widely encouraged, in this specific area, it is a sign of
superior judgement.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I have a horrible suspicion that these
people are amoungst those who view reading as a way of showing their
superiority over the rest of us rather than the life-enhancing joy it can be if
you want it to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">But then what do I know? My name’s A J Chadwin and I self-publish.</span></div>Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-76038288909650632012012-03-16T17:07:00.014+00:002012-03-16T17:27:17.466+00:00Concerning Moomins<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><blockquote></blockquote><span lang="EN-GB">A friend gave me this slightly plaintive looking moomin as a present recently:</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><div style="text-align: center;"><span ><u><br /></u></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSp9BF7LMjxPrrBzzsjaFB1AWPFktF__R3VykFCUIQ3-UGjga9wAmIUJ1UeQN9NRzwS0vqOTgj_qk8oaGyDTw5FbmKXYscBr79tv-CvN1jFIjBS6oEZsKiVmovL34biHbHMwTTzUUGlc/s1600/Moomin+004.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSp9BF7LMjxPrrBzzsjaFB1AWPFktF__R3VykFCUIQ3-UGjga9wAmIUJ1UeQN9NRzwS0vqOTgj_qk8oaGyDTw5FbmKXYscBr79tv-CvN1jFIjBS6oEZsKiVmovL34biHbHMwTTzUUGlc/s320/Moomin+004.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720546076712971458" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">The Moomins were, of course, created by Tove Jansson and if you haven’t read the eight volumes that make up what is somewhat grandiosely known as <i>The Moomin Saga</i>, then you have a treat in store.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span>They are children’s books sure enough, but such joyous ones.</span><span> </span><span>Or at least the early ones are.</span><span></span><span>There’s a facebook application where you can identify which Moomin character you most resemble.</span><span> </span><span>I took it and was informed that I was Moomintroll:</span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjCc4wtIuEi4Tr2fHdSPQh78gN8Bnj-HnfM_OP8NZn74pivy7ofJvHqGBHtRKLG-H1y0S4TfdncZrr271xGhz6ju8mGkWwN85fOPhjWx2PvF9dSwW6uuYozgfsWyUN84EXg7BdPdh4Ec/s1600/Moomintroll.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjCc4wtIuEi4Tr2fHdSPQh78gN8Bnj-HnfM_OP8NZn74pivy7ofJvHqGBHtRKLG-H1y0S4TfdncZrr271xGhz6ju8mGkWwN85fOPhjWx2PvF9dSwW6uuYozgfsWyUN84EXg7BdPdh4Ec/s320/Moomintroll.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720545797227501602" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">I was slightly disappointed as for all that Moomintroll is, pretty much, the hero of the series and is in all but one of the books, I had been holding out for Snufkin, who is so much cooler.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPI5e8Ub9IaoBr4B6basF9iiKWcco9WaKt8Zgt3nq3ky5aNS_O4psVEQOp5xUSd9lUQHBxGRz0eaDFQnWrK_plxYqEkL2jyivmA6CSIljupKz_4w7uQ9-Bjut43UXPcjIoZtj_ud8mVy0/s1600/tove-snufkin1.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPI5e8Ub9IaoBr4B6basF9iiKWcco9WaKt8Zgt3nq3ky5aNS_O4psVEQOp5xUSd9lUQHBxGRz0eaDFQnWrK_plxYqEkL2jyivmA6CSIljupKz_4w7uQ9-Bjut43UXPcjIoZtj_ud8mVy0/s320/tove-snufkin1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720545585688417922" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">The first five books are cheerful enough, though <i>Moominvalley Midwinter</i> has a melancholy streak to it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQvXHM3R1QoexURLielGbnSiAJ4miom_Nh3qdUg8zBBOLkjmiBBaZqJFn0O5rWCzEdGl-cEBsr2ho707S2nhnavZwoL5KBqQwhWClFQ0CZ0jCHaMgpR4oqToaJ8MMTiPThPJb8op3HvI/s1600/moomintroll.gif" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQvXHM3R1QoexURLielGbnSiAJ4miom_Nh3qdUg8zBBOLkjmiBBaZqJFn0O5rWCzEdGl-cEBsr2ho707S2nhnavZwoL5KBqQwhWClFQ0CZ0jCHaMgpR4oqToaJ8MMTiPThPJb8op3HvI/s320/moomintroll.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720545364701844802" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">But the surprising one is <i>Moominpappa at Sea</i>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEidR5P5SOlKHMhTKGAC0NYL-jeL1TO3fNza6xTdNM-VqqF1u5rZK-rC6VWOwX6xZbgdPmVPakomDm2dh7psxp-saHpItKMSwCIb1uoYi26PLGmUnn0_qG_vLUYaq840GqtmBOXFSQVU0/s1600/6106053483_f879c5c665.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 202px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEidR5P5SOlKHMhTKGAC0NYL-jeL1TO3fNza6xTdNM-VqqF1u5rZK-rC6VWOwX6xZbgdPmVPakomDm2dh7psxp-saHpItKMSwCIb1uoYi26PLGmUnn0_qG_vLUYaq840GqtmBOXFSQVU0/s320/6106053483_f879c5c665.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720544938714096786" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB">I suspect that these days children’s books about the male menopause pretty much fill up the kids’ shelves in Waterstones, but back in the early ‘70s they were not so common. I remember my mother reading this one to me as a bedtime story and stopping off now and again to ask me if I wanted her to continue. I did, but in a wide-eyed, slightly scared way. It’s an uncomfortable read yet, though excellent.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></span><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">The joy of the stories is the number of sympathetic and beautifully drawn characters. There’s the Hemulen who always wore a dress that he had inherited from his aunt:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodMc1C3Rns6GACxDXfsXKme8BxwxGl2-zUj9uHAJEJ89VZ-_6zt5XCUSaCkRUmAH0OmUIRdQGyvPaKR3hbYe7vL7R93KwVfbdS-Cyz6ay7bKSac6L1gZfVAhmAJX4fGMyv0LKomOG6kU/s1600/avatar125387_1.gif" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px; height: 92px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodMc1C3Rns6GACxDXfsXKme8BxwxGl2-zUj9uHAJEJ89VZ-_6zt5XCUSaCkRUmAH0OmUIRdQGyvPaKR3hbYe7vL7R93KwVfbdS-Cyz6ay7bKSac6L1gZfVAhmAJX4fGMyv0LKomOG6kU/s320/avatar125387_1.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720544766053028482" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">the sinister yet ultimately tragic Groke:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQbuxIgkEcA7UbZPCdMhz1VWP75d5KnCj5bQCQtj1yTK1z71Q7k4VYG-kuiTWgfpzacFFcsuHZ05SQrRjoMPsBbmyX2oQRUlAoA4IaOvRBwjuUxbwOo1HVGbFqNPJ4U_wi3ylB9YwWh-4/s1600/6588_2146.jpeg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQbuxIgkEcA7UbZPCdMhz1VWP75d5KnCj5bQCQtj1yTK1z71Q7k4VYG-kuiTWgfpzacFFcsuHZ05SQrRjoMPsBbmyX2oQRUlAoA4IaOvRBwjuUxbwOo1HVGbFqNPJ4U_wi3ylB9YwWh-4/s320/6588_2146.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720544583632549202" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">the mysterious and enigmatic Hattifatteners:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjle7dc10rXMWPW2gOfX59U1HAqXXKhGEbYqiNyZY5qJ_zC4rpCFz7LZfRwINPcm42HHV-qxmt6by-xvapCaiFKKVQgdmt1DQiJjabp_0E4NUgsi2zzZZDUzlkxTX9V7lko5pdouxgMvLM/s1600/swap.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 196px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjle7dc10rXMWPW2gOfX59U1HAqXXKhGEbYqiNyZY5qJ_zC4rpCFz7LZfRwINPcm42HHV-qxmt6by-xvapCaiFKKVQgdmt1DQiJjabp_0E4NUgsi2zzZZDUzlkxTX9V7lko5pdouxgMvLM/s320/swap.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720544361253769170" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">and if you find the Snork Maiden a bit too pliant a female character:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEOy5YcMjFFxxZ5plYe6JZC0aCLo-aCgDz4F9mLU5mtxkgpPI4sXcF-Qej9F7P48u7YIVuI54g4cmyJiWM-WGRRMf1beNm_zr8Rh0ZYDZBXUJInmjOljR9IZ-m0wk6DPsW_X3aQVwZkc/s1600/snorkmaiden.gif" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 117px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEOy5YcMjFFxxZ5plYe6JZC0aCLo-aCgDz4F9mLU5mtxkgpPI4sXcF-Qej9F7P48u7YIVuI54g4cmyJiWM-WGRRMf1beNm_zr8Rh0ZYDZBXUJInmjOljR9IZ-m0wk6DPsW_X3aQVwZkc/s320/snorkmaiden.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720544170817618210" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">she is all but off-set by the true star of the series, Little My!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEJlH4AudeohJvE3fgk51uGtAcgTzx44HSnd3-XeloB_AgKZ5v4l7pHamzYjxlkzMYBkJdZzcVze7ZRROdh_2Bo96JYSxb2WzQnZZTBjduX43W3KSz0trvSrUzFgg-eYmD0H53JhBx74/s1600/little_my.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEJlH4AudeohJvE3fgk51uGtAcgTzx44HSnd3-XeloB_AgKZ5v4l7pHamzYjxlkzMYBkJdZzcVze7ZRROdh_2Bo96JYSxb2WzQnZZTBjduX43W3KSz0trvSrUzFgg-eYmD0H53JhBx74/s320/little_my.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720543937524451842" /></a><br /><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB">Tove Jansson also wrote excellent books for adults, but that is for another time. For the moment, let’s finish with the last words of <i>The Exploits of Moominpappa</i>:</span><span style="font-size: 100%; "></span></p><blockquote>"…a new day…can always bring you anything if you have no objection to it."</blockquote><span style="font-size: 100%; "><blockquote></blockquote></span><p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9WdSrexOEOVQJUfvI1PEkI2D4PXHIK-ZR-V9vJolVoNm6WCjDTk5GP8s_goC2smZZVt-zojzxuOqJi3tZgc_WB6KnBjhEFPPksnSlNtOd2vwmqOn7Lhm3yeDl1rPIyRM_vcV1qI7rzZo/s1600/45230.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9WdSrexOEOVQJUfvI1PEkI2D4PXHIK-ZR-V9vJolVoNm6WCjDTk5GP8s_goC2smZZVt-zojzxuOqJi3tZgc_WB6KnBjhEFPPksnSlNtOd2vwmqOn7Lhm3yeDl1rPIyRM_vcV1qI7rzZo/s320/45230.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720543650737845026" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0cm; margin-right: 90pt; margin-left: 54pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-490037717295757778.post-84982154749385416362012-03-10T17:27:00.011+00:002012-03-10T17:50:14.783+00:00Me Blogger, You Reader<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPk_Et9lxrt40KNR49bNixiak4vnb32gtLs9i-Ge5u2pFi4cgew9U8NN1y4Nyq6cZDMPdtjGVYLur7NsweuNEX5lxf_cMu7NrVFx1ZF9fzdamMECo6duyIm31K9YmIEQr_BiKDX7_RG2o/s1600/tarzan_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPk_Et9lxrt40KNR49bNixiak4vnb32gtLs9i-Ge5u2pFi4cgew9U8NN1y4Nyq6cZDMPdtjGVYLur7NsweuNEX5lxf_cMu7NrVFx1ZF9fzdamMECo6duyIm31K9YmIEQr_BiKDX7_RG2o/s320/tarzan_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718323415187346674" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB">I recently read <i>Tarzan of the Apes</i> by Edgar Rice Burroughs, mainly as a result of hearing an radio documentary about the character who is apparently a century old this year. It turned out to one of those books that is startlingly unlike what you are expecting. Previous examples I have come across are <i>You Only Live Twice</i>, the James Bond novel, which is breathtakingly unlike the film, and <i>The Day of the Triffids</i> which we read at school. I still remember my fellow pupils saying with increasing desperation, ‘But when are we going to get to the bit in the lighthouse?’*</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt; "><i>*This makes sense if you’re of the age to have seen the 1962 film version which starred Howard Keel for some reason.</i></span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjez1iUzqI2Sep_0FElIWFJAOog15dyPejRm26CpEmerwlJoATufjlicnOi8qCrmP6St8ShIfCQV5xuLr5mBb29CE7zdJGnqoFU28Ooe0mYiPy4whvQ2wKSCx8RzLh2aKiZir8Gfm8ymco/s1600/triffids460.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjez1iUzqI2Sep_0FElIWFJAOog15dyPejRm26CpEmerwlJoATufjlicnOi8qCrmP6St8ShIfCQV5xuLr5mBb29CE7zdJGnqoFU28Ooe0mYiPy4whvQ2wKSCx8RzLh2aKiZir8Gfm8ymco/s320/triffids460.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718323334344467986" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; ">Well, <i>Tarzan of the Apes</i> is a bit like that. There’s none of that ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ stuff. Tarzan is highly fluent in first Apeish and then, somewhat unexpectedly, in French. English is his third language, as far as I can make out, and he speaks that with remarkable ease.</span> </div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyw9s7AczKWW8l2vFDqOIA-y9cT8HDWG-xhbqx-SnzcdrBMaHkmyXKQF7j8iINepdvm5AogNp9WdnU_eS5qO_dZxzZw7jYvnmzk1WOzFiSw0F2WIXU14n-6VWmQfqYyuCleIC3oQiHys/s1600/tarzan.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyw9s7AczKWW8l2vFDqOIA-y9cT8HDWG-xhbqx-SnzcdrBMaHkmyXKQF7j8iINepdvm5AogNp9WdnU_eS5qO_dZxzZw7jYvnmzk1WOzFiSw0F2WIXU14n-6VWmQfqYyuCleIC3oQiHys/s320/tarzan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718323003745952578" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; ">Weirdly enough, Tarzan in the first instance can speak Apeish but read English, having found books for his education in his parents’ hut. In one of the more disconcerting sequences of the novel, he takes a few years to teach himself to read, with the skeletons of his parents lying by him. He does not know that they are his parents, but it still makes for an odd, yet touching, image. Oh, and if you think it is unlikely that a teenager could teach himself to read from first principles with only the aid of a primer, at least it is more probable than Mary Shelley’s <i>Frankenstein </i>where the creature learns to read by peering through the hole in the wall of a peasant’s cottage, this view luckily allowing him to look over a child’s shoulder as she looks at her school books. Honest.</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdP1NIgLURkngAx6jM_Dw6_DYd7dGyhoO32PJnWMci0SpKd_1aljevLcl9K61rsCHxnbq3C0c_r212Qg0NhNjtLzOu-ebGUegmxGmB21Zc4rYu1lT9SO5GpF_UqNID72UwwJn6tkX4Pa8/s1600/tarzan_jeff_jones_frazetta.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdP1NIgLURkngAx6jM_Dw6_DYd7dGyhoO32PJnWMci0SpKd_1aljevLcl9K61rsCHxnbq3C0c_r212Qg0NhNjtLzOu-ebGUegmxGmB21Zc4rYu1lT9SO5GpF_UqNID72UwwJn6tkX4Pa8/s320/tarzan_jeff_jones_frazetta.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718322861408615378" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB">I have a soft spot for Edgar Rice Burroughs and first read him as a child, specifically <i>At the Earth’s Core</i> which was a highly entertaining film at a time when decent children's films were few and far between. <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>, in those distant days, laboured under the dread hand of an organisation called the Children's Film Foundation which made, God help us, highly worthy films which occasionally starred Keith Chegwin. I say no more.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB">Anyway, onto this bleak cinematic landscape, <i>At the Earth’s Core</i> burst with a glorious pre-<i>Star Wars</i> exuberance. With truly appalling special effects (only its predecessor, <i>The Land That Time Forgot</i> had worse, again ask any UK subject in their ‘40s about the pterodactyl in that film, I dare you) and a cast that included Peter Cushing, Caroline Munro and the thrice blesséd Doug McClure, it was a joy, an action filled adventure about two Edwardian adventurers who gain egress to an underground world by virtue of brilliantly designed mechanical ‘mole’.</span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcnGaF0nEdqJnGlKUZWHAUANHtVaLocqxXx-aHoAGaQaUipg0tJfaebfhwsLGDOtUS96iW1tha3VaD_IjWb5_iCaWlTaQgO9xjfg-5Xmul-yV0xfhujjJ4vXVRjFtSxkpfTaSyirZs8Qg/s1600/sechste_kontinent_gb_1976_q.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcnGaF0nEdqJnGlKUZWHAUANHtVaLocqxXx-aHoAGaQaUipg0tJfaebfhwsLGDOtUS96iW1tha3VaD_IjWb5_iCaWlTaQgO9xjfg-5Xmul-yV0xfhujjJ4vXVRjFtSxkpfTaSyirZs8Qg/s320/sechste_kontinent_gb_1976_q.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718322764131030306" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB">Or so I remember. In a move I may well come to regret, I have ordered <i>At the Earth’s Core</i> from lovefilm and I suspect that it may not quite live up to my memories. But just as Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner was compelled to shoot the albatross, I am similarly bound to do this.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbB3w1KEJQjcdFtXMxUBTXawy9ELpow2nCRgkJXx9WpAUpEIEm84_uXVocdzQW-LNs0fFO8dBO1ipdqHDlCjv23fFR-2P7mlaQLlOLF4_5RfEUW1c2mEGP13jYl3jly9CsHAUJlnx9FuA/s1600/earthscore-1.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbB3w1KEJQjcdFtXMxUBTXawy9ELpow2nCRgkJXx9WpAUpEIEm84_uXVocdzQW-LNs0fFO8dBO1ipdqHDlCjv23fFR-2P7mlaQLlOLF4_5RfEUW1c2mEGP13jYl3jly9CsHAUJlnx9FuA/s320/earthscore-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718322628594050402" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">Mind you, I might appreciate Ms Munro a bit more on this viewing.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQetZ_hnV0JPlzbO4lqSdFDg1yuAdCM1_8OcF0-i_B91vROlKgQqQhe9eMbjJexw-c_FaVE5nyGGU-EhCH032ayNC1erC8beqjVBf4g2haAJRG3-lSg5OpUHY7ZKHvSPh7ekBabV_D190/s1600/28566469-28566472-large.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQetZ_hnV0JPlzbO4lqSdFDg1yuAdCM1_8OcF0-i_B91vROlKgQqQhe9eMbjJexw-c_FaVE5nyGGU-EhCH032ayNC1erC8beqjVBf4g2haAJRG3-lSg5OpUHY7ZKHvSPh7ekBabV_D190/s320/28566469-28566472-large.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718322546907133298" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Wish me luck.</span></p></div>Alastair Chadwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08626470638991347500noreply@blogger.com0