juno and the paycock

Moira+I went to the Bristol Old Vic last night to see Sean O’Casey’s “Juno and the Paycock”. It’s a bleak, stark tale of a Dublin family during the time of the Irish Civil War of 1922-3 (there was a certain irony that we saw a play about the bid to establish an independent Ireland on the day of the Scottish referendum result announcement). It was a time of factionalism, great poverty, high infant mortality, awful slum tenement housing, anger and much bitterness.

It doesn’t really sound like a fun way to spend a Friday night does it!
Well, no, it wasn’t fun… but it was a very powerful story of the divide between rich and poor, the hopelessness of the have-nots and desperate survival. I haven’t yet read any reviews of the play but, in her programme notes, director Gemma Bodinetz concluded: “What’s the point of existing without the possibility of laughter, a good tale well told and hope?”. Well, actually, I don’t think there was an awful lot of laughter last night (some, yes, but not much) and certainly not much hope.
In a strange way, having reflected on the play overnight, I've been reminded of various situations highlighted in various “Who Do You Think You Are?” television episodes - when people uncover tragic events and hopeless circumstances relating to their respective ancestors… AND YET, somehow, their families managed to pull through, against all the odds.
This might all sound very negative as far as last night’s “Juno and the Paycock” is concerned? Well, that wasn’t the case at all. The set, the music and the cast were all hugely impressive. The play had a powerful message for audiences today (the divide between rich and poor) and the leading actors Des McCaleer (Captain Jack Boyle) and Niamh Cusack (Juno Boyle) were both excellent – Niamh Cusack was simply superb.
The play ends on 27 September… if you live in the Bristol area, it’s well worth seeing.

 

biking

Perhaps I should start this post with a few admissions…

Firstly, I’ve only got back on my bike fairly recently (after a couple of years of virtual non-cycling), so my views might be a little naïve/fervent; secondly, we’ve just returned from a wonderful few days in the Netherlands, where biking is a completely different experience; and, lastly, I ride simply for pleasure and convenience… I’m not a commuter or a long-distance biker!
As many of you will know, I’ve lived in Bristol for the past 11 years or so. It’s a lovely vibrant city and, as far as biking is concerned, it seems we’re very fortunate. In 2008, it was named as the country’s first “cycling city” and, a couple of years later, a study in Cycling Plus magazine named Bristol the most bike-friendly big city in the UK. It’s true that that there are an increasingly number of cyclists, bike shops and traffic-free routes but, as a recent convert to the benefits of cycling, I think there’s an awful long way still to go.
The car is definitely still king here. A good number of motorists still seem to regard bikers as the scum of the earth/third-class citizens (drivers of lorries, buses and white vans seem to come to the fore on this!). Pedestrians actually aren’t much better – all too frequently completely ignoring bike lane markings and then getting irate when cyclists try to weave their way between them.
It’s all SO different in the Netherlands.
Yes, I know it’s pretty flat, but there’s also a completely different mentality when it comes to cycling. The hierarchy of vehicles, pedestrians and bikers is COMPLETELY different. Even in cities (ok, so I can only speak from experience of Amsterdam and Utrecht!), it seems that cyclists have PRIORITY. There are well-designed, designated cycle-lanes everywhere. Pedestrians are, crucially, “aware” of cyclists and take due account when crossing bike-lanes and the like. Motorists are bottom in the pecking order and seem to take due account of this (in terms of speed, manners etc) whenever bikes and vehicles have to share routes. This may sound like wishful thinking on my part but, having seen it in action, I’ve been very impressed. Significantly, there are also LOTS of bike-parking areas (including a massive 3-storey bike-park in Amsterdam!) and the bike-lanes are CLEARLY marked – usually in a different colour/material to roads and pavements.
While we were in the Netherlands, we also stayed a few days in Houten (a commuter town some 9km south-east of Utrecht, with a population of just under 50,000). It has a large number of child-friendly bike paths and, critically, the road network is NOT designed for through traffic. People are encouraged to travel by bike and train… and they DO (and all ages too!).
Cycling has always been a popular form of transport in the Netherlands (most people have bikes - there are apparently more bikes than people!) but, actually, much of the infrastructure has been built since the 1970s… and has continued to be improved.
Investment has been crucial.
I would certainly accept that Bristol has a few issues when it comes to cycling. For example: a) it’s not exactly flat, b) the transport network has to contend with lots of river crossings and c) it’s probably the worst city in the UK when it comes to getting around by car. But, I would suggest that, with some bold thinking, the city could be transformed when it comes to transportation. Afterall: a) you could always fit a small motor to your bike (as many people in Holland do to offset strong winds – a little expensive, yes, but small change compared with car travel)(and/or get the Council to install a bike-lift for getting up Park Street?), b) they have just a few stretches of water and bridges in Amsterdam and seem to cope(!), c) by making the Bristol ring road WORK and reducing car use drastically within/across the city as far as possible - by making it far more inconvenient to use the car, and d) encouraging more people to use bikes by creating LOTS of “bikes+pedestrians only” streets (car use would be tolerated for access only… and car drivers would have to accept that they’re bottom of the pecking order - SO many potential bikers are put off by the fact that they know they’d have to contend with rude, impatient car/lorry/bus drivers on the same street/thoroughfare as them).
Yes, I know I’m probably being far too optimistic/unrealistic and I also appreciate that such changes won’t happen overnight.
It’s a new MINDSET that’s required.  
Photo: this photograph was taken from our hotel window in Amsterdam – the busy street had two bike lanes (one in each direction!) plus pavements… and cars were tolerated for access only.
PS: Before you strike me down, I’d also be the first to admit that there are some pretty poor/intolerant cyclists too!

two days, one night

End of the school holidays, so it seemed only appropriate to mark the occasion with a trip to the cinema! I went along to the Watershed this afternoon (yes, I know… it’s ALWAYS the Watershed – but it IS an excellent place!) to see Jean-Pierre+Luc Dardenne’s “Two Days, One Night” featuring the wonderful Marion Cotillard in a ‘deeply affecting social drama’ (in the words of the Watershed’s blurb). Cotillard, as Sandra, suffers from depression and, after a recent long-term absence from work, has been laid off following a ballot of work colleagues who were asked to choose between their EUR1,000 annual bonus or allowing Sandra to keep her job. She ends up being granted a new blind vote when everyone returns to work on the following Monday morning and so launches a desperate weekend bid to convince each of the sixteen workers to change their minds (the original show of hands was 14-2 against her)…

It’s a fascinating, intimate and tough film. It's about defiance, fighting for survival (perhaps that's a little strong?) and about dignity. In many ways, the film reflects these times of (some) management attitudes, short-term contracts and (all too frequently) non-unionised labour… and it's also about people trying to come to terms with depression – and, especially, in the context of family life and tough financial circumstances.

It’s a very powerful, brilliant film (and a strangely uplifting one too) and Marion Cotillard is my new super film idol!  

august 2014 books

still more book stuff:

Mapp+Lucia (E F Benson): I’d not read any of EF Benson’s Mapp+Lucia series of novels before now – about the polite, terribly-English society of the 1930s and a clash of two titans (Elizabeth Mapp and Emmeline “Lucia” Lucas), who plot and scheme against each other in an effort to be the centre of their social circle. It’s beautifully observed and delightfully funny (and much better than Jeeves+Wooster, in my view). It seems that the only people who work for a living at that time were servants and shopkeepers... the haves and the have-nots (life doesn’t change!). By coincidence, our recent Sussex holiday gave us an opportunity to visit Lamb House in Rye (used by Benson as the model for the “Mallards” house).
Unfurling (Ian Adams): This is a book of poems by my great mate Ian. Ever since I first knew him, Ian’s always had a way with words – the ability to express profound things in a simple, knowing way. Over recent years, he’s increasingly used the vehicle of poetry to help illustrate or support his other writing (and his photographs) and so it’s lovely that he’s now produced this first book of poetry. This is a beautiful book. The fundamental thread is about our awareness of the world, the people around us and ourselves. Many of the poems have a spiritual connection (but are very accessible whatever your background) - about rediscovery, about seeing (and looking), about simple living, about hope, about understanding and awareness, about memory, about places and objects and, crucially, about love. The book is packed with beautiful nuggets that stop you in your tracks… and make you smile or just think afresh. It’s a simple and yet profound book by a writer of great wisdom and creativity. I loved it and know it will be one of those books that I revisit on a very frequent basis.  
Breakfast At Tiffany’s (Truman Capote): It seems very strange that I’ve never read this book before (or, indeed, seen the film), so it now feels good to have done so at last (the book, that is). As you probably know, the book is set in New York of the 1940s where the main character, Holly Golightly, lives a complex life which mixes innocence with gold-digging and integrity with brashness. She’s beautiful, teasing, intelligent, generous and witty… she entertains men at all hours (mainly Mafia gangsters and playboy millionaires) and attracts the affections of almost everyone. Beautifully written and with an excellent, believable dialogue. As a complete aside (the book was first published in 1958), I thought it was interesting to note that one of the other female characters went by the name of “Margaret Thatcher Fitzhue Wildwood” (did Capote know Maggie Thatcher’s parents I wonder? Almost certainly not… but I found it amusing nevertheless). My edition also contained the following three intriguing stories: “House of Flowers”, “A Diamond Guitar” and “A Christmas Memory”.
Now You Know (Michael Frayn): Published in 1992, more than 20 years before anyone had heard about Edward Snowden, this book delves into the fictitious world of a pressure group dedicated to the cause of open government. I like Frayn’s writing and, initially, I thought it was going to be a fascinating satirical novel about governmental secrecy. Disappointingly, in my view, it became an almost sentimental story about a group of sad, but amusing, characters who are all trying to keep aspects of their own lives secret. Very readable, nevertheless – EXCEPT for Frayn’s decision to tell the story through a series of first-person narratives (featuring all the main characters, but without any indication who was speaking)… but I frequently needed to read on half a page to discover who had actually taken over the dialogue. Very irritating!
At The Pillars Of Hercules (Clive James): As I think I’ve posted before, I just love James’s writing… he’s irritatingly clever, brilliantly funny (or insightful/critical/elegant… delete as necessary) and, it seems, can write/talk about virtually any subject with engaging candour. This is a collection of critical essays, written in 1973-77, which range from the legacy of Auden and Larkin to the likes of Chandler, Solzhenitsyn, Stoppard and Lord Longford – all showing incredible depth of knowledge and exhaustive detail. I freely admit that I hadn’t even heard of many of the writers he was discussing (eg. Robert Lowell, Donald Davie, Kenneth Slessor and Nigel Balchin?). People who perhaps have only ever seen Clive James on television (where he seems to specialise in wonderful one-liners of which Chandler’s Marlowe would be proud) won’t appreciate his huge intellect. Yes, he is opinionated and egotistical, but he also has a gift for literary criticism and a way with words that I’ve always found incredibly impressive - even if he often writes stuff that is FAR too clever for me (there were times in this book that I frequently counted two or three words per page that I hadn’t a clue what they meant… and couldn’t be bothered to find out!). Another absorbing, brilliant book… if you like Clive James, that is!    

mood indigo

For the second time in three days (it must be the holiday season?), I went along to the Watershed cinema. This time I saw Michel Gondry’s film “Mood Indigo” – with Romain Duris playing Colin and Audrey Tautou playing Chloe. The film’s adapted from Boris Vian‘s 1947 novel “The Froth of Days”; it’s set in Paris and tells the story of two lovers who marry (in an underwater ceremony!) after a whirlwind romance, but whose bliss is interrupted by news that Chloe is suffering from a strange illness (she has a water lily growing on her lungs)…
Gondry uses all his own visual inventiveness to create a wonderful, fantastic (literally) and colourful way – with inventor Colin’s bizarre and eccentric creations. The result is visually stunning (and surreal in the extreme) and, at times, very funny… but as the film’s storyline becomes more sombre, so it becomes more monochrome.
My main reasons for seeing the film were clearly Audrey Tautou (of course!) and Paris – plus being intrigued by some of the film images I’d seen. It proved to be a mesmerizingly inventive film (sometimes just a little too ridiculous for me), but also one that I found both surprisingly sad and poignant.
PS: The film title relates to the composition by Duke Ellington, whose music is a continual theme.

studio ghibli forever: porco rosso

 

I went to the Watershed again this afternoon to see a film about a talented Italian fighter pilot who’s been turned into a pig by a magic spell.

Yes, really.
Frankly, I certainly wouldn’t have bothered seeing this 1992 film, directed by Hayao Miyazaki, but decided to do so on daughter Alice’s recommendation. I’d previously only vaguely heard of Studio Ghibli and its animated films before this week but - although I recognised the beautiful, elegant drawing style - that was the limit of my knowledge (yes, really... again!).
Well, I now feel very pleased that Alice encouraged me to go along because I thoroughly enjoyed this film. It was great fun (and I really enjoyed the bold graphics and animation)… and no, I wasn’t the only unaccompanied adult in the audience! In fact, the Watershed has a “Studio Ghibli Forever” Season running throughout August – also featuring “My Neighbour Totoro”, “Princess Mononoke”, “Spirited Away” and “Ponyo”.
I suspect that I’ll be watching all these Studio Ghibli films with grandchildren over the coming years (maybe some of them are just a little too young at present?). I’m looking forward to it!
PS: Although the hero Porco Rosso seems to chain-smoke his way through its entire 93 minute length, the film does contain some really good female role-models.

letter to an unknown soldier...

This is what the 1418-Now website says: “On Platform One of Paddington Station in London, there is a statue of an unknown soldier; he’s reading a letter. On the hundredth anniversary of the declaration of war… we’re inviting everyone in the country to pause, take a moment or two, and write that letter. All the letters the soldier receives will be published here, creating a new kind of war memorial – one made only of words”.

The website remains open until 11pm on 4 August – the centenary of the moment when Prime Minister Asquith announced to the House of Commons that Britain had joined the First World War.

This was my brief offering:

“I rather envy you… you reading that letter from a loved one.
My grandfather Frank, aged 17, was a member of the 8^th Brigade Royal Field Artillery and entered the Theatre of War in France/Belgium on 19 August 1914. He was one of the “lucky” ones, he survived. His service war record indicates that he spent a total of 4 years 221 days in France (until April 1919). He never really spoke to us about the war – although it seems that he was on the receiving end of the first German chlorine gas attack at Ypres and, amazingly, also bumped into one of his brothers there too!  
Through access to War Diaries at The National Archives, I’ve managed to follow his Brigade’s “progress” through the war (although sections from 1917/1918 remain incomplete).
What we have NOT got are any of the letters he wrote during the course of the war or any he received from his family and friends… they must have provided some crucial scraps of comfort to all concerned at a time of huge uncertainty and fear.
Frank survived, which, of course, meant that my mother was born… and me, and my three daughters, and my six grandchildren…
Did you survive?
A hundred years on and we try to remember those didn’t.
For me, these are just names (or represent vague thoughts about the futility of war) but, for many, they were and are much more than that”.
Photo: the statue of the unknown soldier on platform 1 at Paddington Station.
PS:  at the time of this posting, the website says the soldier has received 19,167 letters.

stalin’s daughter

Did you know that Stalin’s daughter, Svetlana, became a British citizen and lived in Clifton in Bristol from the early 1990s until 2009? No, neither did I (although I did have a vague recollection that she’d lived in Britain for a time).

Last night Moira+I went to the Tobacco Factory Brewery Theatre to see David Lane’s play entitled “Stalin’s Daughter”. It tells the story of how Svetlana strived to create a new life for herself in Bristol… away from the haunting legacy of her monstrous father (who died in 1953). In a powerful, thought-provoking, one-woman production, Kirsty Cox gives a very impressive performance… as Lane tries to piece together the life of a woman trying to hide from her past and who left almost no signs of her existence in the UK.
I came away from the theatre feeling somewhat drained (despite the play’s relatively short length of 75 minutes)… mainly due to the intensity of the Cox’s performance, but also as I struggled to come to terms with Svetlana’s complex identity issues and background. There were moments during the performance when I found myself wanting to press the pause button – so I could Google “Svetlana Stalin/Svetlana Alliluyeva” and find out more about her life!
Having now done so(!), I realise that her life (she died in 2011) was indeed incredibly complicated… and included political asylum in 1967; three marriages and three children; living in India and the USA (as well as the UK); flirting with various religions and also believing in mysticism... and that’s not the half of it!
A fascinating and intriguing story and a very powerful piece of drama.

joe

Another trip to the Watershed cinema this afternoon – this time to see David Gordon Green’s bleak and violent film, “Joe”. Based on the 1991 novel by Larry Brown, the film focuses on the life of Joe Ransom (played by Nicolas Cage) - a man with a pretty brutal past, a drinker, a gambler and someone has a long-running feud with one of the local tough guys. But he’s also a trusting and inspiring man to many within the local community (Ransom employs a road crew of labourers to poison trees on behalf of a local lumber company – the government doesn’t allow healthy trees to be felled!). At the start of the film, he employs a 15 year-old boy (a very willing and able worker) and Ransom takes him under his wing. The boy’s father (wonderfully played by Gary Poulter – a former true-life down-and-out who sadly died not long after the film’s completion) is a monstrous thug and abusive drinker who is forever smacking his son. Ransom is aware of the situation and decides to intervene (rather than ignore it and allow the boy to sink into the sort of darkness that once consumed him)… despite the consequences.

Frankly, I’m not a great fan of Nicolas Cage… but I thought he was excellent in this film. It’s definitely NOT one of those gentle films you might watch on television on a wet Sunday afternoon, but it’s definitely worth seeing!

golfing again…

I last played golf on 1 November 2012 (that’s 19 months ago). It proved to be a painful experience… some hip pain, but much worse was that I experienced sharp shooting pains down my right leg virtually every time I hit a shot.

So, ten weeks after my hip replacement, I tried again… and played golf with my great golfing mates Pete, Steve and Ken at my former golf club in Oxford (Studley Wood)… in glorious sunshine (and, somewhat amazingly, on a virtually empty golf course - was it a case of “Mad dogs and Englishmen”?... ok, not quite, Ken is a joint UK/USA citizen these days!)
As far as I was concerned, the quality of the golf was entirely unimportant – the crucial thing was that I was actually PLAYING golf again (or at least trying to) with my old, regular golfing buddies (in the “old days”, we used to play EVERY Friday afternoon, 12 months a year).
For the record, we “tossed” for partners and Ken+I took on Pete+Steve…
Ridiculously, I started by scoring a par (ie. the score you SHOULD get if you were a “scratch” or zero handicap golfer) on the first hole… followed by another par on the third!!
In the end (my fellow golfers had generously allowed me to play off a handicap of 22 at the start – when I used to play regularly, 12 years ago, my handicap was 15 – but soon slashed this to 18), Ken+I won the game easily… and I finished with five “proper” pars for the round (and, when I’d checked the scorecard afterwards, found that I’d actually played the round to a 18 handicap). As you might imagine, my so-called friends gave me a fair amount of “stick”… accusations of faking my injury to gain sympathy and achieve a higher handicap and accusations of hours of practice on the golf range (if only!) etc etc.
In the event, I was so relieved and thankful that I’d been able to play an entire round of golf (and walk the whole way round) completely pain free… and it really was lovely to meet up with my great mates again.
It feels quite miraculous and I’m very grateful to the NHS!
Photo: golfing-selfie (Steve, Pete, Ken+me)!
PS: I don’t expect to maintain such reasonable golf scoring… I should point out (to the golfers among you) that I holed a fair number of putts yesterday (and this only happens once in a blue moon).
PPS: I finished the round by hitting my ball into the lake (twice!) on the 18^th!

 

mount pleasant terrace street party

I’m not entirely sure, but I think the street party held in our street today was the first one for nearly 70 years - since the party held in 1945 to mark VJ Day (I met a bloke named Roy who used to live at number 44 and who showed me photographs of the event). I also have to admit that a) I had absolutely nothing to do with the planning/organisation of our street party, b) I didn’t participate in any of the organising or setting up of the event and c) I simply turned up (somewhat embarrassed) at 2.30pm carrying a couple of bottles of wine and three chairs (note: Moira also made excellent cake!)… and we later brought along some burgers and salad for the BBQ.

I have to admit that it wasn’t something I was particularly enthusiastic about or looking forward to… but I freely admit that I was WRONG.
In the event, lots of people turned up – including lots of neighbours I’d never met. There was music, games, food, drink and… crucially, conversation.
It was simply brilliant.
I met lots of people I’d never spoken to before today. Children played happily… without the threat of cars. There were an awful lot of friendly, happy people enjoying themselves… and I was one of them!
Simple pleasures... with lots of people delighted to be celebrating the community in which they lived.
Happy day!
Photo: the truly amazing Roy Gallup... and just one of his magnificent creations...

july 2014 books

yet more stuff:

J B Priestley (Dulcie Gray): This is a short biography of essayist, playwright, novelist, broadcaster and journalist JB Priestley written by actress/writer and long-time friend of Priestley, Dulcie Gray, and published in 2000. Although I’m now a little wiser about the man (but Wikipedia would probably have provided me with a better background), it’s not exactly an academic book – actress Gray focuses, somewhat predictably, on the theatrical (and Priestley’s various mistresses!). What I hadn’t appreciated was that he wrote an article “Britain and the Nuclear Bomb” which sparked off the formation of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.
Tales From A Long Room (Peter Tinniswood): I came across this when attempting to re-organise some of our bookshelves and, once I’d started to re-read it, just had to finish it. Published in 1981 (when I first read it), it’s a completely irreverent, entirely non-politically-correct and VERY funny (you probably need to like cricket, as it’s full of references that only “old” cricket-lovers would appreciate). The book pretends to be a collection of tales recounted to the author by the “Brigadier” – who “loves fine claret, Vimto, quail in season, barrage balloons, blotting paper, EW Swanson and his sister Gloria”. Glorious!
Ancient Light (John Banville): This is a story, set in 1950s Ireland - when the narrator was a 15 year-old schoolboy - but recounted some 50 years later, about his illicit and steamy meetings with a 35 year-old woman. The narrator recalls this relatively brief episode ten years after the death of his daughter, as he tries to make sense of the boy he was. I found reading it, at times, a strangely uncomfortable experience (not that I had any similar experiences in my own youth, I hasten to add!), but was eventually won over by Banville’s skill as a writer and a story-teller (with some reservations). Like the only other Banville book I’ve read to date, “The Sea”, it’s a book about coming to terms with death, events from his childhood and matters of memory and experiences.  
Jill (Philip Larkin): The novel’s set in war-time Oxford of 1940 and recounts a northern boy’s first term at an Oxford college… where he experiences privileged southern life, and snobbery, for the first time. Jill is the name of his imaginary sister who he invents to try to impress his roommate (a well-off, public school-educated, southerner) before he becomes infatuated with a real-life Jill, called Gillian… Larkin wrote the book in 1943, when he was 21 and an undergraduate of St John’s, Oxford. Although Larkin’s experiences of Oxford are hugely different to mine (I didn’t attend an Oxford college, just the school of architecture on Headington Hill, and 27 years after the book’s setting), there were parts of it that reminded me of my own first experiences of Oxford… as a working-class boy from Birmingham (Larkin was born in Coventry) and having the feeling that everyone else seemed to be far more knowledgeable, far more experienced and far more worldly-wise than me. It’s not a classic, but I certainly enjoyed the book – with its evocation of one of my favourite cities and vague memories of my youth!
Searching for God (Cardinal Basil Hume): This is a book, published in 1977, adapted from talks given by Basil Hume to Benedictine monks, when he was Abbot of Ampleforth. It’s a really beautiful, profound and compassionate book and its guiding principles are still relevant for the general reader and monk alike as they were for the members of the monastic community some 50 years ago. The book provides a real sense of Hume as a very spiritual, wise and humble man and, most certainly, as a man of prayer. 

the tiger and the moustache

Moira+I went along to the very warm(!) Brewery Theatre tonight to see Saikat Ahamed’s acclaimed one-man show (returning to the Brewery Theatre after a national tour). We’d previously seen Saikat in a number of local productions – including Cinderella: a Fairytale, Treasure Island, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (which also included Felix in the cast) – so we just KNEW it was going to be good! However, this show was very different in format… not only was he appearing on his own, but he’d also written the play.

It’s a semi-autobiographical piece about the birth of Bangladesh and Saikat traces the journey of his mother from the frightening time of partition in 1947 up to the present day. It’s a completely captivating performance (he’s a brilliant story-teller). It’s energetic, sad, funny, evocative and beautifully informative.
Quite, quite brilliant.  
PS: Tomorrow (26 July) is the last performance of the tour… I suspect that it’ll be another sell-out but, if you are free, I suggest you check if there are any tickets still available… you WON’T be disappointed.

uk and the arms trade

Yes, I probably have a very simplistic view of the world of politics and global business, but news that the UK was exporting arms to Russia (despite David Cameron’s previous assertion that an absolute arms embargo had been put in place) should come as no surprise. According to a cross-party group of MPs, there are more than 200 licences in place to sell arms to Putin’s government.

Please note, I’m certainly NOT claiming that this is some sort of Tory conspiracy, because I’m fully aware that ALL UK governments over recent decades have been actively encouraging the growth of arm sales in this country.
I find it all SO depressing.
I suggest you read this article by Owen Jones in today’s Guardian to get a sense of the scale of the UK arms trade.
Presently, the only meaningful constraint on arms exports is political embarrassment. Restrictions on arms sales are put in place when particularly shaming sales are uncovered
or when a buyer, to the Government’s apparent shock, uses the weaponry it has bought.
UK governments have consistently tried to justify the arms trade on the basis that:
a)    Arms exports are important for national security
b)   They’re vital to the UK economy and jobs, and
c)    They’re stringently regulated.
The “Campaign Against Arms Trade” argues that such “justifications” are all false.
Here are some extracts from CAAT’s website:
1. The 55,000 arms export jobs comprise less than 0.2% of the UK workforce.
2. The exports themselves are less than 1.5% of total UK exports, and even this is an overestimate of their importance as 40% of the value of the exports was imported in the first place.
3. Arms exports are subsidised by the taxpayer (27% UK Government research expenditure is spent on arms and 54% UK Trade+Investment staff committed to selling arms).
4. There is an engineering skills shortage.
5. High profile arms export deals rarely result in significant UK jobs as production moves overseas. In August 2010, BAE sold 57 Hawk jets to India in the headline deal of a David Cameron-led trade delegation to the country. All of the aircraft will be made in India and, while the deal is worth £700 million, it will generate only 200 jobs in the UK.

Of the 16 countries identified by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute as locations of major armed conflict in 2009, the UK sold arms to 12.
In the Foreign Office Report (2010) on Human Rights and Democracy, the following countries were “UK arms buyers” on the Foreign Office’s list of countries with “the most serious wide-ranging human rights concerns”:
Afghanistan, Belarus, China, Colombia, Democratic Republic of Congo, Iraq, Israel, Libya, Pakistan, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Somalia, Sri Lanka, Syria, Vietnam and Yemen.
And it’s ALL being done in OUR name.

yes… women bishops at last

The Church of England Synod’s vote in November 2012 against women bishops marked the end of my time worshipping in the Anglican Church. At that time, I posted this blog and said that, following the vote, my "separate, personal, lonely journey starts today”.
So, you can perhaps imagine my enthusiastic response to today’s news that Synod has overwhelmingly voted to allow women bishops (only 45 lay members of the synod voted against it and 152 in favour. The majorities among bishops and clergy were even greater).

I’m absolutely delighted and relieved by today’s outcome… and delighted for so many of my Anglican/Christian friends.
So today’s decision means that I can abandon my futile(?) protest against the institution that calls itself the Church of England… well, actually, I’m afraid not.
Yes, for the past 18 months or so I HAVE been on a separate, personal, lonely spiritual journey… but, in that time, I’ve found myself reeling against the institutional church on so many things and I certainly don’t think I’m currently anywhere near returning to the Anglican Church fold - I won’t rule it out at some time in the future but, for now, I’m continuing in my spiritual wilderness.
Since November 2012, I’ve read many books that I’ve found helpful (and, indeed, I’ve re-read books that I’d previously been encouraged by). Books by Richard Holloway, Ian Adams, Basil Hume, Jonathan Sacks, John O’Donohue, Peter Millar, Kathy Galloway, Mourid Barghouti, Kader Abdolah, Dave Broom, Billy Collins, Tony Benn, Martyn Percy, Sara Maitland, Alice Munro, Jane Bentley+Neil Paynter have all proved invaluable… and I’m sure there will be others in the future.
Yes, I’m sure there will be people who read this post and want to shake some sense into me… and give me any number of reasons to return to the Church of England. The fact remains that, while I’m still unsure about my own faith journey, it’s far better for me to remain in “exile” than to return still an angry man (perhaps a little over dramatic, but I was certainly finding myself coming out of church after a service regularly feeling angry and frustrated… and, despite today’s good news, I don’t think the frustration (and the anger?) will have subsided sufficiently.
So, I'm still wondering and wandering...

june/july 2014 books

More book stuff:

The Shock of the Fall (Nathan Filer): This is our Book Group’s next book (but I’ve read it so far in advance of our next discussion that I might have to read it again!). It’s a novel about a young schizophrenic man struggling with guilt. It’s a story of grief, madness and loss. It’s a deeply moving, funny and incredibly impressive first novel (as well as a performance poet and writer, Filer is also a registered mental health nurse). It’s quite, quite brilliant – one of those compelling books that you just want to read in one sitting.
The Men Who Stare At Goats (Jon Ronson): I haven’t seen the film but, as you might guess from its title, this is something of a bizarre book. I spent much of the time reading the book thinking the author had made up the entire narrative… but, worryingly, as Ronson tells readers in the book’s first five words: “this is a true story”. It’s the author’s investigation into “psychological warfare” techniques used by America’s elite Special Forces. I’ve just read Tim Adams’s review in the Observer from 2004 which ends as follows: “…not only a narcotic road trip through the wackier reaches of Bush's war effort, but also an unmissable account of some of the insanity that has lately been done in our names”. I can only agree with him. The book is hilarious, incredible and frighteningly scary.
Two Lives: Gertrude and Alice (Janet Malcolm): I don’t think I’ve ever read any of Gertrude Stein’s work so, when I bought this in the £3 bookshop, it rather felt as if I was going “out on a limb” in choosing this. I was somewhat intrigued to learn more about the forty-year relationship of Stein (American writer of novels, poetry and plays, fervent collector of Modernist art, friends of the likes of Picasso and Hemingway) with Alice Toklas and how this “pair of elderly Jewish lesbians” had survived the Nazis whilst living in France. Sadly, this never really gets explained – neither Stein nor Toklas seems ever to have acknowledged to anyone, least of all themselves(!), that they were Jewish and therefore in a highly vulnerable position. I have to say, I really came to dislike Stein as I read the book - she comes across as someone shamelessly certain of her own literary genius; I found many of her quoted passages unreadable and/or hugely awkward; and she was a supporter of Franco and an early advocate of Hitler (who, she suggested, should be given the Nobel prize for getting rid of conflict in Germany!). Although Stein had willed much of her estate to Toklas, including their shared art collection (some of them Picassos) housed in their apartment, the couple's relationship had no legal recognition. As the paintings appreciated in value, Stein's relatives took action to claim them, eventually removing them from Toklas's residence while she was away on vacation and placing them in a bank vault. Toklas then relied on contributions from friends as well as writing to make a living. It all goes to make a remarkable story – but, sadly, one which I personally found didn’t quite make its mark.
Of Human Bondage (W Somerset Maugham): This is a very long book (some 700 pages) and, given its weight and the resulting implications for trying to read it in bed, is the best argument for converting to a Kindle – but no, I’ll stick to the old fashioned book format  (at least for the time being)! I’ve really enjoyed every Somerset Maugham book I’ve read and this was no exception. This is probably his best-known book (published in 1915) and tells the story of an orphaned boy who is raised by a religious aunt and uncle and who leaves home (and school) at 18 to pursue a career as an artist in Paris and then on to London to study to be a doctor… but it’s also a book about poverty, sexual infatuation, freedom, beauty and connection. For me, Somerset Maugham writes with a simple elegance that I find very appealing.  
The Ascent of Rum Doodle (W E Bowman): A rough description of this book might be: “Mountaineering’s equivalent of ‘Three Men in a Boat’”. It tells the completely fanciful story of a group of English gentlemen who set out to conquer the ascent of a spoof 40,000-and-a-foot peak. Published in 1956 (the author had never actually climbed a mountain!), this is an outrageous, ridiculous but funny book… featuring (amongst other things): a team guide who was constantly getting himself lost (search parties had to sent out); a hapless team photographer who accidently, but predictably, ruined the entire stock of used film of the expedition; a team doctor who insisted on including several cases of champagne as part of the medical supplies etc etc. It’s a short, amusing and very readable book.

boyhood

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see “Boyhood”, the much-acclaimed Richard Linklater film – filmed with the same group of actors over a twelve year period (from 2002 to 2013). It’s certainly a remarkable film in terms of its concept and, clearly, the critics have absolutely loved it. For example, the Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw (whose opinions I value highly) gave it a 5-star rating and described it as “one of the great films of the decade” and Robbie Collin in the Telegraph reckons it was “an achievement of a lifetime” (and also gave it 5 stars).

There were indeed some excellent things about the film, such as:
a)      I loved the time-lapse study of a boy aged 5 growing into manhood and was genuinely intrigued to see him develop physically (and how the various characters changed/evolved)
b)      I liked Mason’s “ordinariness” as a character and the fact that the film wasn’t based on a series of big dramatic set-pieces.
c)       The principal family characters were beautifully portrayed.
d)      I suspect everyone who sees the film will automatically find themselves reflecting on their own lives (as children, as parents, as siblings…).
e)      Very cleverly put together and with beautiful aesthetic consistency.
But (and perhaps I shouldn’t admit this), I actually found the film somewhat tedious, contrived and even banal, at times…  at one stage, the “boy” Mason character (played by Ellar Coltrane) mumbled to his birth-father (played by Ethan Hawke) “what’s the point of it all?” and, in some ways, this could be my own reaction to the film.
Why aren’t I raving about the film when, it seems, everyone else is?
Maybe I just found the American way of life depicted rather depressing? Perhaps it was that it didn’t really have a point to make and was simply trying to tell a story of “normal” (whatever that is) family life? Maybe it was because the whole thing was false… real actors in a real time-lapse telling a completely made-up story?
No doubt, I’ll continue to reflect on the film over the coming days but, as things stand, I would only give it three or four stars!
But hey! Don’t let me put you off… afterall, everyone else seems to have enjoyed it!

the hundred-year-old man who climbed out of the window and disappeared

I’d previously read (and thoroughly enjoyed) Jonas Jonasson’s bizarre and entertaining book about the unlikely adventures of a man who avoids attending his own 100^th birthday party by climbing out of the window of his room in an old people’s home. It therefore seemed only right that I saw Felix Herngren’s film version when it opened at the Watershed yesterday afternoon. The book version is long and complicated, so I was fascinated to see how successful (or not) the director would be in adapting it into a film of less than 2 hours in length. In the event, I thought he did pretty well. My one real reservation relates to having one actor (49 year-old Robert Gustafsson) portraying a character who ages from a late teenager to a centenarian (complete with very heavy make-up). Compared with the book, this was always going to be difficult and, for me, so it proved.

One of the entertaining bonuses (if slightly annoying at times!) was that, somewhat predictably for matinee performances, the vast majority of the modest audience consisted of “old people” (yes, I know, just like me… but even a little older!) who clearly had no prior knowledge of the story (or the book) and spent much of the afternoon conversing in rather loud stage whispers about the film’s plot and/or “ooohing and aaahing” when surprising things happened on screen!
If you’re up for a romp, this film’s for you!

camille claudel 1915

I went along to the Watershed yesterday afternoon to see my first film since my hip operation… only now can I face the prospect of sitting on a non-raised seat for 90 minutes or so! The film in question was Bruno Dumont’s “Camille Claudel 1915” starring one of my favourite actors, Juliette Binoche. It tells the harrowing story of the celebrated and gifted sculptor Camille Claudel, one-time protégé and lover of Auguste Rodin, who was committed to an asylum in 1913 by her younger brother Paul, following the death of her father. Claudel appeals impotently against her imprisonment – where her claims of persecution are seen as proof of her “madness” (alleged poisoning of her food, abandonment by her family and theft of her art by Rodin). The film deals with just three days of her life in the asylum – at a time when she still had hope of being released. Tragically, she lived in confinement for 30 years until her death in 1943.

The film is based on Claudel’s medical records and the letters between her and her sanctimonious brother (who, according to Wikipedia, visited her just 7 times in 30 years) and, somewhat controversially, is filmed in a French asylum, using actual residents as the supporting cast – and their presence acts to underline the unfairness of Claudel’s incarceration.
It’s a tragic, upsetting but quite brilliant film. Binoche gives a simply stunningly performance.  

sketchbook…

As some of you will be aware, I started my “One Day Like This” blog in September 2012 – posting a daily photograph or drawing on alternate days. Thus far, I’ve posted well over 300 drawings and 300 photographs. Until quite recently, I was producing drawings in various A4 spiral-bound sketchbooks and then ripping out individual sheets and scanning them for blog purposes. In February this year, however, I was given a smaller, A5 “hardback” sketchbook and decided that I would keep the sketchbook in tact and NOT to rip out individual pages (ie. simply scan in situ as it were).

Four months later, I’ve now used up the entire sketchbook… and I’ve found the whole process strangely liberating. The A5 format is much handier for carrying around in my shoulder bag and (perhaps encouraged by its smaller size?) I’ve found myself become far less “precious” about the resulting drawings. One of the bonuses has been that I’ve speeded up my sketching “technique” – with many of my drawings now taking me no more than 10-20 minutes to produce and far more being drawn “on the spot” rather than perhaps a combination of on-the-spot and photographs.
I’m not quite sure where to go from here (but I have been given a rather lovely A4 hardback sketchbook recently!), but I’ll certainly be continuing to post drawings on my blog every other day.
Photo: the finished sketchbook (not that you can see all 62 pages of scribbles!).