Category: Culture

Cynicism to Appreciation

A couple of things came together this week. I had the pleasure of enjoying 35 degrees in Brussels. The joy of the odious metro, the brutalist main station and the wandering herds of tourists. Overhead one couple saying do you know that they have a statue of a little boy having a wee. I flinched because I genuinely thought everyone in the world knew of the Manneken Pis[1]. How can anyone not know?

It was a Canadian who prompted me to undo a prejudice of mine. Loving the air conditioning in the hotel, I looked to my iPad for late evening entertainment. There was the man – Clarkson. Irritating prankster and motorhead. Not known for meaningful commentary. I’d resisted watching his series Clarkson’s Farm[2] on the basis that I’d want to throw bricks at the screen.

This week I watched the first series. Made pre-COVID. Fine, it’s not a serious documentary about the trials and tribulations of British farming in the 21st century. True to form it’s pure entertainment. Edited highlights of comic moments and true to form tomfoolery.

My mind is changed. I started as a cynic. Here’s a moneymaking scheme for a wealthy landowner who made riches in the television world. To here’s a have a go spirit let loose on what people often assume is easy but, in fact, is mighty hard to do. The series is an engaging journey of discovery all but made for the small screen.

How can you not make a profit out of a highly desirable spread of a thousand acres in some of the most beautiful countryside in Britain? Experience counts and when you have none, it counts even more. Watching the lights come on in Clarkson’s head is well worth a watch.

Farming with drone shots and a camera crew following is obviously not the real world. Nicely edited highlights tell the story on the page. Put aside any cynicism. The show has a way of story telling that brings out the awkward, funny and frustrating reality of farming. Folly, errors and mishaps are all part of what happens in that colourful industry.

There was a world pre-COVID. Going back even further, there was a world before the fireworks of the year 2000. It was summed up by the brothers Gallagher. Yes, I am talking about the getting back together of Oasis. A band that was a bit more than an everyday rock band.

Having survived watching last week’s televising of the one millionth Glastonbury festival (exaggeration), the memories of the “real” contrast with the artificial, bland and merely controversial for the sake of it. Those years in the mid-1990s were good ones, if only I’m using the trick of selective memory. Remember when people who supported leaving Europe were strange and social media was only a rare tacky e-mail.

Maybe I’m getting more Clarkson-like as time flies.

[1] https://www.introducingbrussels.com/manneken-pis

[2] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt10558964/

It’s green

Daily writing prompt
What’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten?
View all responses

Taste is not a fixed sense. It mingles and matches other senses. Taste and smell always seem to go together. What’s delicious is more than nice. It must have a distinct context. Appearance comes into the equation too. What was delicious is a shorthand description of an embedded memory. A memory of a sensation.

My offering is a sweltering hot day. Really hot and dry. A Sicilian piazza and a desperate need for ice cream. If there is better pistachio flavoured ice-cream on the global, I’d like to taste it. Sitting in the shade in Catania[1] my spoon scooped up something special.

[1]https://www.visitsicily.info/en/localita/catania/

Shiny silver

Daily writing prompt
If you were forced to wear one outfit over and over again, what would it be?
View all responses

If I remember righty, it’s a Seinfeld routine: in the future everyone will be wearing the same outfit. That shiny silver clothing so beloved of pulp fiction comics and SiFi series. Alien races will only ever see humans as being wrapped in tight body suites.

Except for the static burns occurring when brushing swiftly across a nylon carpet, I’d go for the crew of Alpha. That’s Space 1999[1] for those who missed the plywood sets of 1980’s TV. They seemed to have a dress code that made best use of their limited resources on the Moon.

A light grey Commander John Koenig outfit would be future proof.

[1] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0072564/

F2F with a machine

Daily writing prompt
Describe one of your favorite moments.
View all responses

Coming face to face with a Cyberman. It’s walking towards me. The crowd is clearing. I’m directly in its path. It’s got an evil stare. A dramatic sound fills the air. I don’t want to be converted into a mindless machine. Help!

Hang on. I’m standing on the floor of the Royal Albert Hall in London. It’s full to the brim with excited people. It’s hot. It’s August. How did this happen to me?

To make sense of this I can see an orchestra on stage pounding out a science fiction theme. Yes, I’m at the Doctor Who BBC Prom[1] a year ago. That was fun moment. Quite a few in fact.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/events/e5drn3

Evolution Politics

Wake up John. The herald of today was there in the late 1990s. There was me fascinated by the possibilities of the INTERNET. Buzzing modem squeaking down a phone line. With such peculiarities as Y2K behind us the new century provided broadband access to everyone. Almost everyone. Eventually, being off grid became a sales tag for remote rural settings.

Meanwhile, good old-fashioned popular entertainment media was desperately trying to make itself relevant to the new era. Proliferation of reruns were not enough. Stale formats dwindled. In that maelstrom, reality television was born. Technology shaped what became possible. It was a horror to me but then again, I was just out of touch.

Big Brother is a strange beast. Watching joe average or minor celebrities make complete fools of themselves for big bucks – how could that work? It did, bigtime. Undeniably scoring with the public. It spawned lots of similar shows bombarding us with unscripted chat seen through the tight lens of an edited television show.

Not quite like throwing Christians to the lions, familiar to Romans, but a social experiment open to participants combative as much as caring behaviour. Watching relatable and unrelatable volunteers try their best to seem nice or nasty as they thought appealing.

25-years on, now British politics begins to resemble reality television. That creation provided a pathway through our screens to capture our attention. To make names out of relatively unknowns. Or to revive careers waning.

I said “begins to resemble” without realising that I’m being a dinosaur. It’s here. A politician can’t anymore stand on a soap box and pontificate about the world. The grand ark of a well written speech is destined for the dustbin. Every presentation needs to be framed as if they are in the jungle (I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here![1]).

Reality shows are becoming a training ground for political personalities. Forget the serious need to do an apprenticeship. That one has been hijacked too. The basic grind of administration and casework can be bypassed if the candidate is a good enough showman or woman.

Going back to the 1990s, I think a lot of us were naive about the coming technologies. There was an imagining of the information superhighway[2] as a great educator. A positive liberator. A forum for better communication. Making it easier for people to have a real dialogue with the elected officials. Thus, solving problems, cutting down bureaucracy and engaging communities.  

Of course it is those things. The naivety came with the blindness to the huge entertainment possibilities. How reality and make-believe can get intermingled. How dominant personalities would capture the cameras like Hollywood stars.

With that fuzziness between reality and make-believe storytelling takes on a new importance. That’s what political managers have discovered in abundance. Medium and message have always been closely linked. Now, a would-be star or demigod must take that ever more seriously to win.

[1] https://www.itv.com/imacelebrity

[2] https://www.bbc.co.uk/videos/czv20818q2no

The Evolution of Travel

Nothing is stationary. As our solar system circulates the milky way and everything we know is in motion. Nature abhors the stationary. Movement is a part of all living things. Even on dead worlds, like Mars, dust devils whiz across barren surfaces to get caught on camera.

The more we move the more we change. History’s long tail shows that the rooting of people to a place is a temporary affair. What’s changed is our means of locomotion. In the stone age great distances were traversed but not in a hurry. Speed is a modern acquisition.

It is modern. Where I live now is, and has been, a route from East to West and vice versa for much more than a thousand years. For most of that time either our feet or horses where the means of locomotion. Time had to be set aside for perilous and uncomfortable journeys

Travel is a wonderful experience. Even if the time spent between A and B is tedious, draining and eventful in an unwanted way. Adventure beckons in a manner that has always overcome the inconvenience. Certain airlines would never have succeeded if comfort was a must.

In the 17th century getting from London to Bath was a major undertaking. A speed of 30 or 40 miles per day on rain-soaked roads of poor repair there was need to rest up and take a journey in stages. It’s these habits that have shaped the view of traditional England. Gone are the toll houses and the highwaymen but the routes and public houses remain. Well, fewer and fewer of them as business is tough[1].

Travel is that perennial hope, that there is a silver lining to every cloud, that good times are only just around the corner. That in travel we will see, hear and experience something new and to our benefit. It’s not a free lunch. Effort must be made to reap this benefit. It’s there in the word. It’s the Norman-French origins of travel. Travail is to work and labour.

Ironically, although there are exceptions, modern society is trying to make travel as little effort as is possible. Even to the extent of automating vehicles when the demand for such innovations is minuscule. It’s not increased comfort or convenience that’s the aim. No, it’s to dissect time into even smaller parts so that people do not “waste” time travelling.

In an age before concrete and steel carved a path through the English countryside, a journey was a venture to be planned and considered with trepidation. A land of fields and meadows, rivers and streams, and notoriously changeable weather.

Comparisons with today do fall by the wayside. Towards the end of the 17th century the population of the whole of the country was only about 5 million. Creeping industrialisation was drawing people into the cities. Change was on the way.

[1] Hard Times of Old England https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoWEiq_Z0aw

A Day at the Bath and West Agricultural Show

It’s a part of my childhood. It’s fascinating to see how it has changed over the decades. There’s hardly a year go by when I don’t go to at least one agricultural show in the UK.

Last year, I visited the Lincoln show and the Newbury show for the first time. Most of the summer rural shows in the UK have a long history that is kept going by an Agricultural Society. The bigger ones have dedicated show sites and some permanent buildings. The smaller ones can be a large field that’s set aside for a couple of days a year. Each show reflects the nature of the farming, the crops, the animals, in its region.

This Friday, my day out was a trip to the Bath and West show[1] in Somerset. The show site is large. Spread over a south facing gently sloping hillside. To the south of the town of Shepton Mallet, at the base of Prestleigh Hill.

That’s my family connection. My mother grew-up on a small farm in Prestleigh. It’s not named on the map anymore as a couple of the buildings are now dwellings. Yew Tree Farm was situated on a dangerous bend on the main A371 road where traffic must veer right as it comes down the hill. The alternative being to hit a wall and end up in the farmyard. If I remember correctly, my grandad got free tickets to the Bath and West as they used one of his fields for a car park. As children we would hop over the fence to go straight to the show.

This year, the ground was as hard as rock underfoot. Spring has been unusually dry. There’s more dust than mud. That’s good for the show. There have been years when the wind and rain have swept the exposed show site and blown down tents and made mini rivers. Making welly boots mandatory.

What has changed? Although this annual event is predominantly a showcase for West Country food and farming it’s gone beyond that formula to become an atypical half-term family day trip. It’s no longer a place where local farmers strike deals with machinery salesman or learn about the latest breeds or cropping methods. That post-war image of mucky tractors and trailers turning up in droves is for vintage postcards.

What’s nice is that there’s something for everyone with an interest in the English countryside. Beekeepers, cider markers (and drinkers), cheese makers, traction engine enthusiasts, rare breeds, heavy horses along with tea and cake in the WI tent.

Sheep started big this year. Cattle and pigs less so. Again, the word is enthusiasts. Breeds rare and commercial ones all cleaned up for display and judging. Handlers, young and old, parading their animals for picky judges to prod and score. Then colourful rosettes displayed with pride.

It’s not a cheap day out for townsfolk and county people anymore. Car parking might be free but the price of entry and just about anything on-site can quickly rack up. Everywhere, even in a field, we have become a cashless society. A tap here, a tap there, no longer do we dig into our pockets for loose change.

For the good weather and crowds, I expect this year’s 3-day event will be evaluated as a great success. Keeping the tradition going.

[1] https://www.bathandwest.com/royal-bath-and-west-show

Collecting First Editions

Somewhere in several cardboard boxes I have books. Now, I know not where they are. Most of these books were published by Hodder and Stoughton. There were numerous print runs. Popular fiction.

What attracted me to these books was a character played by Roger Moore. No, I’m not talking about James Bond. Moore is probably best known for his portrayal of Bond. This was before he got that cinema role and global fame.

Author Leslie Charteris created a character called The Saint. That is Simon Templar. Roger Moore, as The Saint ran as a British TV series in the 1960s. What ran was an honest crime mystery series, with a Robin Hood style hero, who always won the day. His nemesis was a police inspector, even if they did cooperate towards righteous ends. The Saint didn’t always play by the rules. He fought tooth and nail to topple the ungodly.

Collectables are first editions of Leslie Charteris books. At one time they would appear forgotten in High Street charity shops. That day has gone.

The Saint Plays With Fire is worth revisiting. It’s a warning – especially now.

What Does Freedom Mean?

Daily writing prompt
What does freedom mean to you?
View all responses

Freedom. There’s as subject that’s banded around as if it’s a simple matter. It’s not.

Let’s start with Thomas Hobbes in the 17th Century.  He says freedom is the absence of external obstacles. Thus, if a person is not restrained from doing what they will then they are free. That’s an individualistic view. However, what happens when the theory is applied to a murderer, a thief or conman? I would like to see such a person presented with obstacles. By the way, I’m taking liberties as Hobbes was more nuanced than my description of his philosophy.

Let’s say I’m more inclined to John Stuart Mill’s thinking. Liberty (freedom) is to be free to think, say, and act as one wishes on condition that resulting actions do not harm others. Autonomy has a condition. This is nice. Hold on, isn’t the range of what might be generally considered as “harm” a wide one? In the past, school children may have chanted: “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Quaint, and in the modern context a saying that is clearly utter nonsense.

In Britain individuals are free. However, boundaries are placed on that freedom by law and by social convention. Freedom of thought, speech and action are to be cherished and defended. In my mind that means challenging boundaries where constraints might be overzealous.

Words used with intent to harm others should face public objection. Words that may annoy or unsettle or question others, well that’s a different matter. A dynamic balance must be sought.

Exploring a Riverside

Riverside walks can be pleasant ways of spending a sunny spring evening. That’s what I did on Friday. Sun shining with a cool breeze sweeping through the trees. Underfoot even the unmade-up paths were dry, which is testament to the rainless weather of recent weeks. Even so, the riverbank showed signs of the flooding of the winter.

Reading is a town[1]. It’s England’s largest town. Now, I didn’t know that until I looked it up. The largest English town that I’ve been familiar with over the years is Crawley in Sussex. I think of that as a large town but it’s less than half the size of Reading. It’s the railway that makes Reading. Reading railway station was the last stop on the Great Western Railway (GWR)[2] when it was first opened in 1840. After that the railway forged west to be what we know now as the main thoroughfare across southern England.

Reading town has a long history. That’s no surprise given its position on the river Thames. It’s where the river Kennet, the canal and the river Thames meet. An obvious place for trading since Roman times. It’s a commercial town. Glass sided office blocks and Victorian brick work. For all that it doesn’t stand out as an architectural masterpiece.

Another surprise for me was leaning that town twinning is alive and well. That Reading in twined with Düsseldorf in Germany. A city more than twice the size of Reading. In fact, until this last year, I’ve been more familiar with Düsseldorf.

Our walk ended at The Fishermans Cottage[3]. I’m happy to recommend this small riverside pub.

From there, on the walk back to the railway station I did see the one of the more notable sites in Reading. That’s the Banksy’s Great Escape artwork[4] on Reading prison wall. Oscar Wilde spent time in that jail. The artwork has got a Perspex cover to keep the pigeons off. And anyone else who might think of spraying it.

That reminds me. It’s not unusual to have a phobia about dogs. Although dog owners mostly have a difficulty in getting their heads around the fact. On my riverside walk dogs were not the problem. Amongst our small group of walkers had a different phobia.

As we got to the confluence of the Thames and the Kennet, we discovered the phobia of one of our walkers. Alfred Hitchcock would approve. The Kennet’s tow path attracts Swans. These Swans are attracted by people with food. With no inclination to get out of the gently flowing river these lazy Swans wait for passers-by to pay attention to their needs. That’s no problem.

It’s called Ornithophobia. A fear of birds. Birds flock when free food is on offer. The worst of these can be thought of as flying rats. I talk of pigeons. That how I think of pigeons. Tom Lehrer[5] had the right idea about these annoying birdies. Frightening them away, at least for a moment, cleared our pathway. Like a flash they returned as we strolled into the pub.

[1] https://www.reading.gov.uk/

[2] https://www.gwr.com/stations-and-destinations/travel-inspiration/blogs/history-of-the-railways

[3] https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g186363-d7363678-Reviews-The_Fishermans_Cottage-Reading_Berkshire_England.html

[4] https://banksyexplained.com/create-escape-march-2021/

[5] https://youtu.be/yhuMLpdnOjY