sorry we missed you…

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see Ken Loach’s film “Sorry We Missed You”. The words in the title are frequently used on those postcards the delivery drivers push through your letterbox when they’ve tried to deliver a package when you’re ‘out’.
Before you go to see a Ken Loach film, you pretty much know what you’re in for. It’ll be hard-hitting. It won’t pull any punches… and, almost certainly, it’ll be a political statement (it certainly won’t be a celebration of austerity and Tory Britain).
And so it proved.

The family in the photograph (who ‘star’ in the film) represent just an ordinary, working class family. The mother and father are both hard-working individuals who do their utmost to earn a living… but it’s a struggle to achieve anything but basic survival in austerity Britain. The father, Ricky, is a former construction worker who lost his job and home in the 2008 financial crash (not many bankers have similar stories). He’s eager to make a go at being his own boss and takes on a quasi-freelance delivery post… involving punishing hours, a zero-hours contract with no support or benefits, a ruthless manager and the need to make a substantial investment of his own ‘up front’. The mother, Abby, is a care worker who herself faces exploitative pressures, doing her utmost to nurture the sick and elderly people in her care, within the few minutes allowed by her agency.

It’s a truly gut-wrenching, heart-breaking film.
It’s based on rigorously researched off-the-record interviews. Despite their very best endeavours, families are utterly trapped… there’s nowhere to go and they are financially crippled. They are exploited by an unscrupulous system which robs vulnerable, decent people of their dignity and hope for a better life. How are families expected to deal with the demands of family life when their employers lock individuals into a world that doesn’t offer ‘time off’ to deal with the challenges of ‘normal’ family life (and working very long hours) - relationships, health and school issues et al.
It’s a damning critique of an unequal, unfair system.

It would be good to ensure that EVERYONE standing in the forthcoming parliamentary elections (but especially prospective government ministers!) was made to sit through this film. Sadly, I think that many of them wouldn’t have the first inkling of what it might be like to live such lives… and it’s vitally important that they should.

It’s a brilliant, shocking, very hard-to-take, powerful film. See it if you can… but I would absolutely understand if you decided you couldn’t put yourself through it.

cyrano at bristol old vic…

Moira and I went to the Old Vic last night to see Edmond Rostand’s late 19^th century play “Cyrano de Bergerac” (or just ”Cyrano” as the Old Vic refers to it). Cyrano de Bergerac (1619-55) was, amongst other things a French novelist, playwright and duelist… He was also seen as a bit of a dreamer, a failure and a fool to fortune (but you probably knew all that?).
Rostand’s account is, inevitably, a fictitious, gallant and glorious version of the person Cyrano was in real life.
The play (directed by Tom Morris, translated by Peter Oswald and designed by Ti Green) is about love, about uncertainty, about unfulfilled desires and about pretence. It’s about the relationship between Roxane and Christian (‘an imaginative and lively woman shackled to the wrong man’ as the programme notes put it); Roxane demands that ‘life rises to the level of poetry’ – something Christian can’t give her, but which Cyrano can (despite his other ‘deficiencies’).
In short, life’s difficult!

Tristan Sturrock (reference: ‘Poldark’ – which I’ve never watched) plays Cyrano - complete with impressive nose - and is excellent. He is supported by a first-rate, multi-talented cast (including the wonderful Felix Hayes)(me? biased?) who play a whole variety of roles (and sexes), including nuns, bakers, usherettes, soldiers, politicians and musicians. But, frankly, the entire play is about the Cyrano character – it seemed that no one else really counts as far as the playwright is concerned.

The entire play is performed in verse and although this might help to set the original tone and form set by Rostand, I found it somewhat off-putting and ‘clunky’. Given the quality of the company, I would have much preferred to have seen a ‘devised’ version of the play (retaining the poetry and verse where appropriate, but bringing out the ‘playfulness’ of the other performers). I also felt that the play was a little too long – the first half lasted an hour and a half and the battle scene in the second half dragged on somewhat, in my view.
Although I don’t think the play matched the wonderful, elevated standards of the Old Vic productions I’ve seen over the past two or three years, it was another very enjoyable, high quality evening.
According to the Old Vic’s programme notes, we are reminded that Rostand wrote his play at a time when “attempts to build a European political union had collapsed” and that he did so with “poetry as strong as a tractor, capable of hauling the hearts of his audience towards a sky of new dreams”!
As director Tom Morris wrote (again, in the programme notes): “Whether this leaves us all inspired with new hope for our broken world, or just provides an evening’s relief from its relentless stupidity, not even Rostand could predict”.
Indeed!

october 2019 books…

Looking To Heaven (Stanley Spencer): This lengthy, hardback book (priced £30, but bought for £2.50 at The Last Bookshop) is Spencer’s autobiography (put together by his grandson John) compiled from his many notebooks and letters from roughly 1906 to 1936 – but concentrating on letters from 1911-1918. The book contains relatively few illustrations, but his words inform us of the forces that were to affect his art in later years and his love of his home village of Cookham is abundantly clear. The war years were clearly a frustrating time for Spencer (1891-1959) in that they largely interrupted his artwork (he attended the Slade School of Art 1908-12). At the start of the war, Stanley was persuaded by his parents to join the Home Hospital Service (Royal Army Medical Corps) rather than volunteering for active service. He worked as an orderly at the Beaufort War Hospital, Bristol from July 1915 until May 1916 (formerly a lunatic asylum and part of Glenside Hospital – now UWE’s Glenside Campus) and, it seems, had an awful time there – being bullied by a sergeant major and some of the senior nursing staff. Interestingly (for me), our Drawing Group frequently meets at Glenside, in and around the chapel, which now forms a mental health museum. Spencer seems to have had very little opportunity to paint or draw during WW1 – apart from lots of ‘head sketches’. He served with the Field Ambulance Service in Salonica from September 1916 before transferring to the Royal Berkshires as a Private from Autumn 1917 in Macedonia and spending some testing days serving on ‘the front’. Much later, in 1935, he wrote of the treatment ‘metered out’ to him during the war and of his disdain and loathing for officers and their behaviour towards the lower ranks. An impressive and revealing book.
Coming Back To Me (Marcus Trescothick): I bought this book (published in 2009) for £1 at Somerset’s secondhand cricket bookstall during the last game of this season. The game (although he only featured as a twelfth man substitute on the final day) also marked Trescothick’s retirement from first-class cricket at the age of 43, after 27 years in cricket. Trescothick had a hugely successful career as an England opening batsman, but was forced to retire from international cricket in 2006 after struggling to come to terms with chronic depression. On two occasions in 2006, when representing England on tour, he was forced to return home from India and Sydney. This brave, honest autobiography tells the harrowing reality of what he struggled with over a number of years… the sheer unrelenting pressure of almost constant international cricket, the tours, the mental anguish and the effects on family life… and combating what he originally felt was an awful weakness in him as a person (and those who were simply suggesting he should just “pull yourself together”). An impressive, revealing book.
A Winter Book (Tove Jansson): First published in 1968, I first read it in 2007 (I read Jansson’s wonderful ‘The Summer Book’ in 2003 – she died in 2001, aged 87). This is a collection of short stories (semi-autobiographical) about winter on her small island in the Gulf of Finland. She grew up a bohemian artistic child, a daughter of artists and bohemians. These odd little stories are beautifully crafted and strangely powerful. I read them quite slowly and enjoyed the simple rhythm of their words. There’s a gentleness and quirkiness to them and I found re-reading them a really rather wonderful, rewarding experience.
The Mermaid And Mrs Hancock (Imogen Hermes Gowar): This historical novel is our bookgroup’s next book. It’s nearly 500 pages long, so I wonder how many of the group will have actually finished it by the time of our next get-together (not everyone has the luxury of retirement!). It’s set in 1780s London and a merchant discovers that one of his ship’s captains has sold the merchant’s ship for what appears to be a mermaid. So begins a complex, multi-layered tale of ambition, power, exploitation, privilege, class and poverty – where men of position and wealth feel they have the ‘right’ to do and act as they see fit (which frequently involves self-gratification at the expense of young women who are ‘employed’ to serve their needs). Despite it being set nearly 250 years ago, the book frequently echoes situations that we can recognise in our 21^st century world – the privileged (and rich), selfish male who has the ability to dominate others; the treatment of women (#MeToo movement); the haves and the have-nots (the rich getting richer, the poor getting poorer) etc etc. Gowar’s writing style is compelling and authoritative (and her ability to use language that seems appropriate for the times she’s describing is uncanny - without needing to resort to ‘ye olde English’!); her characters are engaging and believable. Frankly, historical novels aren’t my ‘cup of tea’, but I was certainly impressed (and almost enchanted?) by the fantasy and invention of the author. Given the complexity of the story, I can readily appreciate the need for a lengthy novel – but, even so, I feel that it’s 100 pages too long. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely… although I was left feeling a little ‘flat’ at the end (*no spoilers* - I’ve subsequently seen reviews extolling the way the book was ‘rounded off’). As ever, it’ll be fascinating to hear the views on the bookgroup.
Counting Backwards (Helen Dunmore): I’d read a number of Dunmore’s novels before ever reading her poetry. The first of these was her final collection ‘Inside The Wave’ (published in 2017, just before she died). This is a retrospective covering ten collections written over four decades (I know!). I’ve purposefully read them slowly over a period of several months and have enjoyed them enormously. ‘Inside The Wave’ remains my favourite collection (probably because it’s the one I’m most familiar with… and probably because I know she wrote it in her final year of life), but I was touched by several of her other poems (eg. ‘If Only’). As always, when I read poetry, there’s part of me that wants to ask the writer to explain some of the background or context for the individual pieces so I can understand them more readily. I share a number of things with Dunmore: she was born just 3 years after me; she lived in Bristol for much of her life; and she had a love of St Ives! I’m not sure just how many poems the book contains in total, but it runs to well over 400 pages – so I know I’ll be dipping into this book again and again over future years.  

september 2019 books…

Dark Pines (Will Dean): A Nordic noir crime novel (set in the northern wilds of rural Sweden) written by a bloke who grew up in the English Midlands (who now lives in rural Sweden in a wooden house he built in the middle of a forest). Tuva Moodyson, a 26 year-old, deaf reporter on a small-time local paper, who is looking for a story that could make her career. Dead bodies found deep in the forest, with their eyes missing, could just be the story she’s looking for! This is an intriguing, fast-moving, tense, haunting and compelling novel. I really enjoyed it… once I’d overcome my feeling that the main character was a little too much in the Saga ‘mould’ portrayed in the brilliant “The Bridge” television series (with her Asperger syndrome meaning that she doesn’t act in socially conventional ways)… but perhaps that was just me!
Back In The Frame (Jools Walker): I bought this book after attending an author’s evening at our local StorySmith bookshop. She’s an articulate, interesting woman who re-discovered cycling at the age of 28 after a ten-year absence. She’s a popular and successful blogger (alias Lady Vélo - which focuses on her cycling adventures). In truth, it’s a biker’s book… it’s encouraging and rather too nerdy for me. I’ve just sold my bike. I’m not a biker! She writes about the joys of cycling, but also about the difficulties of finding a place in an industry not traditionally open to women – especially women of colour. I found the most interesting sections of the book were those that outlined her struggles with depression and then, in her early thirties, when she had a mini-stroke – and how cycling helped her recoveries. It’s an unnecessarily long book, in my view (348 pages!) and, frankly, it wasn’t for me.   
Lanny (Max Porter): This is another of our book group’s books… and I thought it was really very special. It’s something of a mesmerising fable… quite magical, intoxicating and enchanting. Lanny is a young boy, living in a rural village, who spends his time exploring, building dens, chatting to trees and generally investigating the important things in life. His parents (especially his devoted mother) adore him but, at the same time, are baffled by him. There’s an ageing artist, ‘Mad Pete’ (I loved this character!) who lives in the village plus others like old Peggy, gossiping at her gate - but the village also belongs to Dead Papa Toothwort, an ancient spirit who stirs in the ground and has seen all life in this place. Lanny and Toothwort are forces for good(?)/positive characters: fertile, resourceful, but frequently skirting danger. This comparatively short book is a combination of strangeness, raw emotion and risk. In a somewhat eerie way, I also found the book something of a call to action regarding today’s world – reminding us about the need to nurture and care for our planet (and people); about the wonders of imagination and beauty; about the need for encouragement and acceptance; and a warning about intolerance and suspicion (no names!). A beautifully composed, sustaining, compelling and ultimately joyful book (and beautifully set out on the page). I really loved it... the book group discussion will be fascinating.
Wild Swimming (Marek Horn): Moira and I went to see the play and this is book of the script. The action takes place on a beach across five centuries of time-shifting action and involves just two characters, Oscar and Nell. The script wonderfully sets up the sense of fun and irreverence we saw in the play… with the two individuals attempting to perform the play but, at the same time failing (and frequently just making things up!). Their relationship is complicated (sometimes great friends, sometimes loving, sometimes hating, sometimes jealous and resentful). Nell comes from a rich family, but she’s a woman, and she’s bored and life has no proper purpose… until she begins to write. Oscar is a university student with grand ideas about swimming, writing (and the Hellespont) and preaching to Nell about his theories, but that’s as far he ever gets. As the play develops into the 20th century, one becomes aware of a reversal of gender-derived success… Brilliantly conceived and scripted.
Kingfisher’s Fire (Peter Harris): Good friends of ours have a long-established association with A Rocha (an international network of environmental organisations with a Christian ethos) and, next month, are due to depart Bristol to live and work in Nice for the organisation. I read Harris’s book ‘Under The Bright Wings’, telling the story of how A Rocha started, a couple of months ago. This (published in 2007) is a follow-up book written 15 years on (ie. 25 years since the organisation was first established). To be honest, some of their Christian views are a little too ‘evangelistic’ from my perspective, but I find what they’ve achieved since 1983/4 quite remarkable. From very small beginnings in Portugal, they’re now established in some 20 countries around the globe. When they were first formed, they were way ‘ahead of their time’ as far as environmental awareness was concerned and since this book was completed, 12 years ago, issues relating to climate change, global warming and the climate crisis are now at the forefront of global issues being discussed on a daily basis. This book recounts their challenges in helping to bring new life to urban and rural areas; the issues and problems they’ve faced (frequently involving bureaucracy and lack of funding); and the blessings and the gifts of the people working for the community. A fascinating and inspiring book.

pride and prejudice*(*sort of)…

On a day when UK politics seemed to have sunk to an all-time low and with the rest of the world regarding us as a laughing stock, it was good to be able to leave our depressing world and enter into the magical, joyful world of British theatre… At least there’s SOMETHING about which we can be proud.
Moira and I went along to the Old Vic last night to see “Pride and Prejudice*(*sort of) – director: Paul Brotherston, writer: Isobel McArthur (who’s also one of the actors), designer: Ana Ines Jabares-Pita. It’s an adaptation of the Jane Austin book, but told by servants - using music and an all-female cast (in all the roles) - and all the time, remarkably, keeping very much to the original story…
Oh, and it’s quite, quite brilliant.
In essence, it’s a sweary, immaculately choreographed, fast-moving, very funny, wonderfully clever, hugely entertaining, karaoke version of a well-loved, classic, English novel (as you do). The cast are all simply wonderful… ALL of them (Tori Burgess, Christina Gordon, Felixe Forde, Hannah Jarrett-Scott, Isobel McArthur and Meghan Tyler). Incredibly versatile (complete with rapid costume changes) and also gifted singers and musicians (on harp, trumpet, accordion and piano). Watching Hannah Jarrett-Scott ‘in action’ was utterly compelling (this might not sound as flattering as I want it to be, but she was like a younger, much more attractive version of Patricia Routledge… timing, facial expressions and genius acting ability). Incidentally, Mr Bennet was played (silently) by an armchair – slightly angled away from the audience (and ‘holding’ a newspaper).

The confidence of the actors and their clear enjoyment of what they were doing was utterly infectious… and the audience lapped it up. At times, the production verged on becoming a musical (in a good way) and, as performers began their karaoke version of a song (I’m afraid I can’t remember many of the titles, but they certainly included “You’re So Vain”, “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?”, “I Got You Babe” and “Lady In Red”), the audience frequently giggled, cooed and applauded in delighted appreciation of its aptness for particular scenes. It was all very clever, very funny… and seamless (and the actors duly ‘milked’ the audience’s response… which was entertaining in itself).

Theatre and live performance at its VERY best… and yet another brilliant show at Bristol’s Old Vic.
We’re very, very blessed.

a letter to my MP about the climate crisis…

Dear Karin Smyth
You’re clearly a conscientious MP who works hard for her constituents and, despite not being a Labour voter, I sincerely thank you for that.
I appreciate it’s a pretty tumultuous (and depressing) time in British politics at present and that, after the Supreme Court’s ruling today, I suspect that things will continue to be both complicated and unpredictable (although I suspect there’ll be a General Election before the end of the year). Sadly, despite the awful mess the present government has created over recent years, The Labour Party has been an incredibly disappointing Opposition party – so many lost opportunities and own goals, so much muddled thinking and lack of leadership – in my view.
I’m an ardent Remainer when it comes to UK politics and am pinning my hopes on there being a second Referendum in due course (and look for the Labour Party to press for this).

However, I think the most crucial subject on the political agenda HAS to be Climate Change.

I don’t know if you attended the strike/rally/march on College Green last Friday? I didn’t see you but, if you did, I thank you for being there… and if you didn’t, why on earth not (it had been arranged a long time in advance)? You are in parliament representing people like me who feel they have very little influence both in this country and across the world. You, as my MP, provide one of the very few outlets I have to make my voice heard… and so it’s VITAL that you do so for me and for all your constituents.
Yes, Rebecca Long-Bailey had some positive things to say in her conference speech this week (Green New deal; targeting 2030 for zero carbon emissions; more charging points for electric cars etc), but it’s relatively easy to make such resolutions and to talk-the-talk (meanwhile, of course, Mr Johnson has been highlighting his own 'new' policies on bio-diversity; protecting wildlife etc).

The trouble is, as far as I’m concerned, that whilst many of these measures are welcomed, the electorate has become sick and tired of politicians (from all parties) simply paying lip service to the environment. No doubt, last week, you saw all the marchers from around the world protesting about the lack of urgency on the Climate Crisis. Millions of young people who frankly don’t trust people in your position.

What a sad, depressing state of affairs.

You will be only too aware of what Great Thunberg said at the UN Climate Summit on Monday:

“You are still not mature enough to tell it like it is. You are failing us. But the young people are starting to understand your betrayal… You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words… The eyes of all future generations are upon you. And if you choose to fail us I say we will never forgive you. We will not let you get away with this… All you can talk about is money and fairy tale of external economic growth... How dare you! Right here, right now is where we draw the line.”

That’s very tough Karin, I know, but as far as we, your constituents, are concerned YOU are one of the few people who can speak for us… and we’re depending on YOU to do this on our behalf.

Every day.
Never easing off.

I wish you well in your efforts… and thank you.

Yours sincerely
Steve Broadway

PS: Please don’t send me a standard press release from the Shadow Environment Secretary giving me your Party’s position. We need much more than that.

last game of the cricket season (again)…

I’ve seen a reasonable number of cricket matches this season but, as always, I really did intend to watch far more games than I actually did. I’ve watched a number of Gloucestershire games at Bristol and Cheltenham; I’ve managed to see a couple of Bedminster CC’s matches; I’ve watched an evening Twenty20 game at Bristol; at long last (thanks to my lovely brother), I’ve seen my first Test Match (the first day of the Ashes series at Edgbaston). I TRIED to watch games at Taunton on two occasions but one day was rained off and, frustratingly, another finished a day (or was it two days?) early.

Over the years, I think I’ve blogged about the ‘last game of the cricket season’ a number of times. Well, this is another one! Today, I went to day one (of four) of the Somerset v Essex match at Taunton. As it happens, the first day was the only day I could get there… so, despite the weather forecast (cloudy morning, rain in the afternoon), I decided to go along. Sadly, the rain came a little earlier than forecast and so there was less than two hours play (in which, ridiculously, spinners were bowling from both ends after 70 minutes!). In the play that did take place, Somerset more or less blew their chances of the Championship (75-4 after winning the toss). Somerset’s veteran opening batsman (and local hero) Marcus Trescothick is retiring at the end of the season. He hasn’t been able to secure a place in the first team for most of the season, but I would have put money on him scoring more than Somerset’s openers today (Vijay 6, Davies 2).

It’s a CRUCIAL game. Somerset, who have never won the championship, are lying second place – just 12 points behind championship leaders Essex. A win for Somerset would win them the title but, sadly, the weather forecast for the next three days is: rain/some thunderstorms all day; cloudy with a chance of some drizzle; and rain all day… so it looks odds on ending up as a draw and with Essex being crowned County Champions.

Sadly, as I’ve mentioned on a number of occasions over the years(!), the County Championship game has been relegated to being played predominantly at the start (8 games April-June) or end (3 games September) of the cricket season – with only 3 games being played July-August. For goodness sake, it’s October next week! I thought cricket was our beloved ‘Summer Game’… but apparently not. I freely accept that the limited over games make for good entertainment – and that they’re money-makers as far as the clubs are concerned – but, grumpy old man that I am, I don’t really think they represent ‘proper cricket’.

Interestingly, at the end of an exciting England v Australia Ashes series - in which various ‘cricket experts’ have been rueing the poor batting by the England team (which most have put down to the concentration on one-day or twenty-over cricket) and their inability to adjust to Test Match cricket over 5 days – the BBC’s cricket correspondent, Jonathan Agnew, advocated scrapping the Championship’s current two division and, instead, forming a single division of 12 teams (at present, there are 18 teams in the two divisions). Well, whilst I agree with much of what he says, this raises a number of crucial questions, for example:

1.  If you have a single County Championship division of 12 teams, this would mean that space would need to be found to accommodate four extra 4-day games in each team’s fixture list. In a game which is dominated by one-day cricket and Twenty20 games these days, how would this be achieved? (Please don’t tell me that the powers-that-be would start the cricket season in March and end it in October!).
2.  Oh, and of course, the powers-that-be are going to introduce an “action-packed, unmissable new 100 ball cricket competition” next season featuring “8 brand new city-based teams” (don’t get me started!) at Middlesex (London), Surrey (London), Lancashire (Manchester), Yorkshire (Leeds), Warwickshire (Birmingham), Glamorgan (Cardiff), Nottinghamshire (Nottingham) and Hampshire (Southampton). How will they squeeze these in to the fixture list?
3.  Oh, and if you effectively eliminate six county sides from first class cricket (ie. reducing from 18 to 12 – see paragraph 1), which teams would you save and which would you cull? Assuming the ‘Hundred’ teams listed in paragraph 2 are ‘saved’, which of the following are you going to save (choose 4) and which are you going to cull (choose 6): Somerset? Gloucestershire? Durham? Sussex? Worcestershire? Kent? Essex? Leicestershire? Northamptonshire? Derbyshire? Are you going to contact unsuccessful clubs and tell them the good news? Are you going to speak to the new owners of a wonderful balconied apartment overlooking the cricket ground in Bristol (or Taunton or wherever) and tell them that they won’t be able to watch first-class cricket from their lofty towers in future?

Hey ho! Despite the limited period of play today due to the rain, I actually really enjoyed what I saw (and despite the Somerset wickets!). So that’s it for another season… it’ll be fascinating (and maybe somewhat depressing?) to see what the powers-that-be come up with in the way of fixture lists next year! 
Photo: James Hildreth (Somerset) batting with ex-England captain Alastair Cook (Essex) at first slip.

 

 

youth climate strike…

Moira, Ruth, Felix and I (plus lots of friends we bumped into) joined Iris and her schoolfriends at College Green, Bristol at today’s Youth Climate Strike (and I know that Hannah+Ursa took part in a demonstration at Ursa’s school).
It was probably the biggest demonstration I’ve attended in our city (10,000, according to YouthStrike4Climate).
It was a global day of protest. It had been publicised weeks in advance… and, by the look of the television/newspaper/social media pictures I’ve seen, an amazing number of people from almost 150 countries turned out to make a stand and to demand urgent action from politicians before it’s too late.
It was an important, impressive, humbling day of protest.
My own generation are the guilty ones. Some of the guilt comes from lack of awareness, but much can be put down to people’s selfishness and greed.
Saying sorry isn’t enough. Obviously.

The frightening, depressing thing is that, even today (when we know so much more about climate change and its causes), some corporations, some politicians and some individuals are STILL turning a blind eye to the stark realities of the climate crisis… and putting off making crucial decisions on the basis of “promising to deal with the problem, once we’ve done X or Y”… or “it’ll be another politician’s job when I move on so, for time being, I’m not going to put the my head above the parapet (and, in the meantime, just feather my nest)”.

Clearly, some politicians feel passionately about climate change but, in all honesty, it seems that those in power (including Environment Secretaries) are simply prepared to pay lip service to the problem.

In a strange way, for some, today’s protest in Bristol was something of a metaphor for the Climate Crisis… “Climate Crisis? What Climate Crisis?” and perhaps “It’s not really going to affect me in my lifetime… I can’t do anything to change it, so I’ll ignore it”.
Three examples:
1.  We were walking into Bristol this morning with our banners/placards and a very pleasant young lady approached us to ask “what’s going on?”. “We’re going to the Youth Climate demonstration in town” we replied. The woman clearly didn’t know what we were talking about. “Have you heard of the 16 year-old Swedish environmental campaigner Greta Thunberg?” we asked. Completely blank response. “Climate Change?” Still nothing. She smiled and wished us well and we continued on our way (somewhat perplexed).
2.  Maybe I live in a bubble, but people had been talking about today’s demonstration for ‘some time’ (and especially over the past week). Surely, it would have been obvious to anyone who knew our city that there would be a large demonstration. It would have been talked about/referred to relentlessly over recent days on local radio and in local newspapers, social media etc etc. Silly me! Clearly, LOTS of motorists (mainly private cars and vans – although the local bus company obviously just ‘gave up’ until the streets returned to ‘normal’… with passengers abandoning their journeys) hadn’t a clue. Why on earth would you even dream of driving into the city centre at a time to coincide with a MASSIVE demonstration involving thousands of people? Well, let me tell you, they were there in their hundreds (thousands?)… with most of the drivers looking bewildered and frustrated. Ridiculous.
3.  This is somewhat similar to (2). Demonstrators had set off on their march around the city on a pre-planned route. Clearly, as we took to the roads, traffic came to an utter standstill. Some drivers blatantly refused to accept that they would be ‘inconvenienced’ for perhaps half an hour at the very least (there were an awful lot of people!) and kept their engines running. Very bad move… resulting in a long line of marchers chanting “engine off, engine off” as they walked past you. Humiliation. But, hey, I digress… one of these cars just happened to be a taxi… with a passenger (silly man had still to realise it would be quicker to walk)… and the meter still appeared to be running! It felt a bit like an encapsulation of the climate crisis itself – the clock is ticking and it’s now too late to do anything about it.

No doubt, we’ll hear from world leaders (there are always some exceptions… no names!) who will be applauding the enthusiasm and effectiveness of the demonstrators and will be promising to take action to do ‘stuff’. But, of course, we know it’s all hot air… pie-in-the-sky promises. Governments will NOT put their heads together at the Climate Action Summit in New York on 23 September and commit themselves to making the huge carbon dioxide reductions that are urgently needed. They’ll agree on something that ‘sounds’ quite positive (for media purposes) but, actually they’ll be saying things: “well, we’d LIKE to do more, but country A doesn’t want to play ball, so neither will we – because we don’t them to have a commercial advantage”.

The scary thing (and there are LOTS of scary things relating to Climate Change) is that, after a day of worldwide demonstrations – which will no doubt earn praise and acknowledgement from national leaders – people will feel a little like Greta Thunberg, when she addressed the Senate Climate Change Task Force earlier this week:
“Please save your praise. We don’t want it. Don’t invite us here to just tell us how inspiring we are without actually doing anything about it because it doesn’t lead to anything.
If you want advice for what you should do, invite scientists, ask scientists for their expertise. We don’t want to be heard. We want the science to be heard.
I know you are trying, but just not hard enough. Sorry.”
Action, not words… now, not soon.

wild swimming at bristol old vic…

Moira and I went along to the Old Vic (The Weston Studio) to see FullRogue’s “Wild Swimming”, directed by Julia Head. The production received excellent reviews when it was performed at the Edinburgh Fringe and, on the basis of what saw tonight, they were fully deserved. Lasting just over the hour and featuring just two actors (both quite superb: Alice Lamb as Nell and Annabel Baldwin as Oscar), the play takes place on a beach across five centuries of time-shifting action.

As you take your seats before the play commences, you immediately get a contagious sense of fun and irreverence as the actors chat, sort out their initial costumes and endeavour to find sweets, snacks and various props filed away in the small storage units that form part of the stage set.
You get the sense that it's all going to be OK and that you can just relax and be joyfully entertained.
Sweets continue to be shared with the audience, certain people are given water-pistols and water pumps to use during the performance and informal, constant dialogue puts everyone at ease… and then, suddenly, the lighting switches, the actors are in position and motionless… and we’re about to start.
The action begins in the late 16th century, then skips to the 18th, then the 20th, and finally present day. Nell comes from a rich family, but she’s a woman, and she’s bored and life has no proper purpose… until she begins to write. Oscar is a university student with grand ideas about swimming, writing (and the Hellespont) and preaching to Nell about his theories, but that’s as far he ever gets. As the play develops into the 20th century, one becomes aware of a reversal of gender-derived success…
Throughout the play, we have the complicated relationships between two characters – sometimes great friends, sometimes loving, sometimes hating, sometimes jealous and resentful… and all this amid on-stage costume changes, constant (frequently bawdy) dialogue, musical accompaniment and, of course, random sweets being thrown into the audience. It’s also brilliantly-scripted (by Marek Horn) – although the actors are quite wonderful in their frequent ‘deviations’ from the script and their ability to react to each other’s ad-libbing interventions/audience interactions with apparent ease.
There’s a wonderful chemistry and energy to it all and, certainly, last night’s audience loved it! It finishes at the Old Vic on Saturday 21 September… if there are any tickets left, then I’d strongly advise you to get to see it. Really excellent.

referendition... my 'poem' for resonate

Referendition…

 Let’s ask their permission

Consult the population

Pose them a question

Call it democratisation

Powers of persuasion

Lies and distortion

Blame immigration

Avoid any retraction

Keep raising the tension

Use manipulation

 

 Art of discretion

Another edition

Evil collusion

Special adviser’s deception

He’s no relation

Self-gratification

Don’t stop for reflection

Congratulation

Lack any compassion

Stand to attention

 

 Shun all contrition

Do you want an election

Face annihilation

No constitution

No negotiation

No retraction

Don’t even mention

Prorogation

Don’t tell the nation

Slow realisation

 

 Abject depression

Hopeless position

Utter dejection

Bring revolution

Time for some action

Ignore apprehension

Discover restitution

Seek reconciliation

Achieve restoration

Let’s find a solution

 



trip up’t north…

Moira and I have just spent a rather lovely week in Yorkshire. We stayed in the heart of Skipton’s town centre - a stone’s throw away from both the High Street (named England’s Great Street of the Year 2009!)(Moira still doesn’t believe me!) and the Leeds+Liverpool Canal… and only a low bow shot from Skipton Castle.

Although we’re not particular boat-lovers, we do both love canals. We love walking their towpaths (Moira likes them because they’re ‘flat’!); we love their urban and rural settings; and we love the gentle pace and rhythm of life that they offer. Our towpath walks included an amble to Bradley (and a drink in the Slater’s Arms), where we watched some of the impressive Fell Races (3.5 miles/900ft rise)… and a walk along the canal near Bingley (via Bingley station) to the impressive 3- and 5-lock rises.

We were also very impressed by Skipton Castle (original built in 1090, with subsequent fortification improvements after 1310. During the English Civil War the castle was the only Royalist stronghold in the north of England until December 1645) – now beautifully preserved and surrounded by the greenest grass you’ve ever seen!). The one minor niggle for us was the group of four loud-mouthed (literally) American tourists who spent their time talking VERY loudly to each other as they came across new treasures (why do so many Americans have to be SO noisy!?)(sorry, my lovely American friends... I know I'm generalising!). We were also very taken by the wonderful Skipton Castle Woods – 36acres of ancient woodland along a river valley (hauntingly beautiful and, in Moira’s words, “beguiling”).
We visited Saltaire a couple of times. We love its history as a Victorian model village (built in 1851) and the inspired vision of Sir Titus Salt who created it. Salts Mill, with its cafés/restaurants, museum, galleries, bookshop et al, was a particular highlight. Beautifully renovated, laid out, decorated and lit – and the perfect space in which to view work by David Hockney in a permanent collection.

I sketched, we walked, we explored, we read, we chatted, we laughed, we ate and we drank the odd glass… and the weather was reasonably kind (which was a bonus). Not being car owners these days, we travelled everywhere by train (when we weren't walking)(excellent rail link between Leeds and Skipton… and beyond) and we loved the differing landscapes we travelled through – with distant fells, wide open green acres, small old villages (their houses were much better than most of the stuff erected these days… IMHO!) and busy industrial towns (some perhaps not quite so busy these days).

Yorkshire (even without setting foot on the Moors) is a very beautiful part of the world and we fell in love with much of what we saw.
Photo: Moira+I drinking at The Slater's Arms, Bradley.
PS: Click on this link for my Skipton+canal pics.
PPS: Click on this link for my Saltaire+Salts Mill pics.

august-september 2019 books…

Bloomsbury (ed Gillian Naylor): Right… prepare yourself for THREE Bloomsbury/Charleston books on the trot! This one, published in 1990 (Moira bought it secondhand in Oxfam in 1999), focuses on the work and ideals of the artists, writers and designers associated with the Bloomsbury Group during the early years of the 20^th century. I’ve ‘read’ and perused the book on lots of occasions, but realised that I’d actually never REALLY read it. So I’ve now done so. I’ve long been fascinated by people who made up the ‘Group’: the likes of Vanessa Bell, Duncan Grant, Roger Fry, Virginia Woolf and Clive Bell. What’s so nice about this book is that it’s made up entirely ‘by the artists, authors and designers themselves’ – extracts from diaries, letters, books and so on (with references to the Omega Workshops, Charleston, Hogarth Press and society in general). Yes, I’m very aware that they came mostly from upper middle-class professional families (which, no doubt, took a little pressure off the need to ‘earn a living’!) but, nevertheless, I was intrigued by their overlapping, interconnected similarity of ideas and attitudes (“the creation and enjoyment of aesthetic experience and the pursuit of knowledge”) which I found incredibly stimulating and which provided much food for thought. A beautiful book that I’ll certainly continue to delve into over the coming years.
Charleston (Quenton Bell+Virginia Nicholson): We bought this book (published in 1997) when we visited Charleston in 1999. Charleston is a rather lovely house set in the heart of the Sussex downs. This is a book that celebrates the “lives, wit and originality” of some of the people who lived there from 1916 onwards – including painters Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant. In this very beautiful, illustrated book, the authors Quentin Bell (younger son of Clive+Vanessa Bell) and his daughter Virginia Nicholson tell the story of the house and some of the leading cultural figures who were invited there (the book reckons its ‘golden age’s was from 1925 to 1937 – a period I particularly love, when it comes to British art). The house’s rooms are all richly (and unconventionally) decorated by many of those who lived in it over the years and, certainly, the house today (opened to the public) is an enchanting place - a feast of colour and creativity. Clearly, it wasn’t always such a heady experience in the early days – the garden was completely overgrown and the heating was either patchy or non-existent. My favourite passage in the book reads thus: “When the house was being restored (by the Charleston Trust) it was discovered that the studio walls had, in fact, been painted only after the pictures and the large mirror had been hung. Clearly Duncan and Vanessa had never considered doing anything so time-consuming as taking them down and hanging them up again, and when they were finally removed areas of bare plaster were exposed.” Over recent years, I’ve become more and more fascinated by the work (and personalities) of Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant – particularly Grant (who apparently painted every day and was constantly experimenting – decorating furniture, designing textiles, pottery etc). Whatever your views on British art in the early years of the 20^th century (art fashions change rather quickly!), I think there’s something really quite inspirational about the work associated with Charleston. It’s a very lovely book.
Deceived With Kindness (Angelica Garnett): Right, the very last of my Bloomsbury/Charleston-related books (promise)! First published in 1984 (+new Preface 1995). Angelica Garnett (1918-2012) was the daughter of painter Vanessa Bell; her childhood homes – Charleston, Sussex and Gordon Square, London – were both centres of Bloomsbury activity and she grew up among the most eminent writers and artists of the day. But she battled (and largely failed) to achieve independence from this rather intense and remarkable community and this memoir is essentially a self-analysis of her struggles… and she DID lead a rather complicated life! Her relationship with her mother was never straightforward (Garnett regretted the lack of frankness on both sides and it seems that children rather got in the way of her mother’s art!); her schooling was haphazard and regarding as somewhat unimportant (eg. missing whole terms to spend time in France on vacation); she spent the first 18 years(?) of her life believing that her father was Clive Bell, when in fact it was Duncan Grant (Vanessa’s painting partner); she ended up marrying one of her parents’ contemporaries, David ‘Bunny’ Garnett – 26 years her senior (and, for a brief time, also Duncan Grant’s lover)… as I say, her life was ‘complicated’! It’s a beautifully written, incredibly honest book which reveals another fascinating side to the Group.
Plot 29 (Allan Jenkins): You might recall that I recently read Jenkins’s excellent ‘Morning’ book… about him rising very early and tending his north-west London allotment before breakfast (amongst other things)? Jenkins is the editor of ‘Observer Food Monthly’. In this book, he talks about how its content changed from his initial perceptions: “It was to be about gardening, a year in the life of a piece of land, with personal stuff added in”. The final book tells the story of him as a young boy in the 1950s/60s Plymouth, together with his brother Christopher, being ‘rescued’ from care by an elderly couple (who lived in Averton Gifford, Devon – a village I know well). Although things didn’t really work out in the end, they did learn to grow flowers from seed at their riverside cottage. As Jenkins digs deeper into his difficult past, he finds solace in tending his allotment and its echoes with his childhood memories. A beautifully-written, brave and encouraging book about resilience and, as Monty Don puts it: “A superbly written testament to the power of earth to nourish and heal”. I’m no gardener, but I really loved this book.
The Scent Of The Night (Andrea Camilleri): This is the last book of my Montalbano ‘stock’ – I think I need to check out (and acquire!) the few remaining books in the series that I haven’t yet read. I really enjoy reading the bizarre adventures of the Sicilian police inspector… the plots are always clever - this one, quite complex, involving a financial entrepreneur who, through a kind of pyramid scheme, had successfully (albeit illegally) relieved large numbers of people of their life savings. But, for me, the real pleasure of the books comes from the characters of Mantalbano’s loyal and eccentric tea, the Sicilian setting, his food-loving lifestyle, his eccentricities, the beautiful women and, of course, the humour. Easy reading certainly – but always pleasurable too.