Category: Culture

My First US Adventure

Let’s wind the clock back. My first trip to the US. It was a big adventure. One that I’d recommend to anyone in their 20s. The trip was a Pam Am fly-drive affair. A travel package that took me and three friends from London Heathrow to Seattle and back. In 1981, I had no idea that I’d be returning to Seattle numerous times in the following decade.

I keep a personal flight logbook. It’s a simple way of keeping track of the dates, times and places. Memory can be unreliable. When 40 years or more has past recollections of individual trips get jumbled up. Although this one is difficult for me to mistake.

We took off in the afternoon and flew across the Atlantic on flight PA 123. Slightly being in awe of the mighty Boeing 747-100. It was the largest aircraft doing that route on a regular basis.

Sadly, the Lockerbie bombing occurred 7-years later to a similar transatlantic Pan Am flight. The airline that brought the Boeing 747 to life didn’t survive after that tragic event.

One of the advantages of being a sandwich student was the ability to earn. To put some money away. To have the funds to plan an exploration like this trip without depending on the bank of mum and dad. To keep the costs down the four of us shared a car, the driving and the motel rooms along the way. In fact, we had a detailed itinerary that didn’t leave much slack time at all. Our travel planning was meticulous. I’d even arranged to visit an offshoot of the Plessey company in the Los Angeles suburbs. It was a real eyeopener. A maker of precision metals for the aerospace industry.

We arrived in Washington State only a year after the deadliest volcanic eruption[1] in US history. Naturally, being the students we were, we drove as close to the devastated area as the open roads would let us. I took pictures of that too. Views of forests felled like matchsticks.

We packed an enormous amount into August 1981. Returning to our final year as soon as we got back. This trip always reminds me that if you plan well and are determined enough you can do a hell of a lot in a short time. We drove over 6000 miles and took in a lot of the West Coast.

[1] The Mount St. Helens major eruption of May 18, 1980.

Light in Dr Who

I’ve started so I will finish. There’s a good line. Don’t worry I’m not going to write about quiz shows but it’s time for another short review. I have seen the light. Well, switched on the TV.

Flashy clothes, 50s vibe and excruciating way of getting there. The second in this new series of Dr Who twisted and turned around an attempt to get home. There’s a theme. Adventures on the way home. Wonder where that idea came from? An odyssey of a flight in time, one might say.

In a digital age a flip back to an age of film was a nice touch. It’s kind of funny how animation is now so much easier done. Film is becoming a museum artefact. I don’t think it will get the popular revival that vinyl is getting.

Explaining a job like “projectionist” to newer viewers isn’t necessary. Wasn’t done. Takes me back to the small flee pit of my youth and the story of a living Volkswagen Beetle[1]. That’s quite freaky. Jumps in the film, munching crisps in the theatre and sitting in the dark when it was daylight outside.

The sinister and creepy monster turned out to be a being of light. Like a Twilight Zone moment, a menacing cartoon character came to life. Given the various realms through which the doctor travels, this is not unexpected. Good job there was only one of them to defeat.

Beings of light[2] are a popular science fiction theme. They crop up now and then on both good and bad sides. I like the ambiguity. That one entity can flip between good and bad. It wasn’t so much a tale of an evil moonbeam as one of light finding a path to becoming substantial and physical. The dark of night or, in this case, the cinema world turned the mischievous moonlight to the bad side. Only a release back into the bright light of day let it rejoin the sunlight and starlight of the universe.

Plonk in the middle of the show was a breaking of the fourth wall. That boundary between the fictional characters, the Doctor and companion, and the imagined audience at home. Suddenly one was real, and the other was fiction (even though they were both fiction).

After a good haunting the colourful cartoon menace was expelled. Given how easily it got into the cinema in the first place it’s a wonder this story isn’t repeated a million times.

Confusing at times, the suspenseful moments were jarringly technicolour. Sometimes less is more. This was a case of packing too much content into a rapid-fire story.

Having wrapped up a 1950s mystery, the Doctor is back to his time travelling.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herbie

[2] https://babylon5.fandom.com/wiki/Vorlon

Who 15

As per tradition there was a moment of running down corridors pursued by robots. Add to that the shock horror realisation that it’s bigger on the inside than the outside and the staple diet of BBC Science Fiction is playing again.

Dr Who is rolling[1]. As expected, Russell T Davies works magic with a super-fast story line. In fact, so fast that I’m going to have to watch it again to figure out exactly what the featured rift in space and time did to the plot. Thematically up to date as the main baddy in control of the evil robots was both misogynistic and AI. I’ll give something away if I reveal that the two letters AI were not what they seemed. Not only that but the robots were redeemed.

Although there was a smidgen of absurdity and an expectation that the audience would draw of decades of Dr Who mythology, the show hit the mark. Afterall it’s entertainment not a profound reflection on the state of the world. It’s colourful Saturday night drama that the whole family can watch. Although in this case there was no need to hide behind the sofa. Also, a lot of the 21stC social commentary would be lost on younger viewers.

Because the series has been running for such a long time there’s a bit of repetition that creeps in. This is not bad per-se. It’s a reminder that coming up with truly original scripts is incredibly hard. Imagination has no limits but when pen hits paper past references helps move stories along quickly.

Adventures in space and time could go on forever. All time, in fact. The subject has no limits. Each version of the Dr Who saga will be set in the context of the audience’s everyday reality. So, the Daleks were a product of nuclear war, and now humanities greatest threat comes from billions and billions of electrical ones and noughts.

Playing with humankinds’ curiosity about space and time is fruitful territory. Imagery can be fantastical and push the boundaries of video production. If anything, Dr Who is modest in pushing at those boundaries. Mustn’t forget that it’s prime time entertainment. Real space and time are far more than a headful.

[1] https://www.radiotimes.com/tv/sci-fi/doctor-who-times-release-schedule/

Exploring Sunday

To the rationalist everyday is the same. Earth turns on its axis. We all experience day and night. Day and night change as the season change. It’s all mechanical and predicable. Even the builders of Stonehenge knew that there was a rhythm to the year.

Last night, to mark that transition between the cold winter months and spring, the clocks went forward one hour. So, I’m already out of sync with my normal routine. Happy with it. Those extra hours of light in the evening are a great joy. Time to get the garden in shape.

This seventh and last day of the week, has a marker too. Christian communities see this day as a day to take stock, to rest. We don’t entirely observe that tradition anymore, but it is a different day. A day when life takes a slower pace.

If I go back to my youth, Sundays were distinct. The day was always a time set aside for visiting relatives. Now and then, a church or chapel service in the evening. West Country village life was one of compromises. We went backwards and forwards between the Church of England and a small Methodist chapel in an adjoining village.

Sunny spring and summer Sunday evenings could be unlike every other day. Until my parents gave up the dairy, and reliance on a cheque from the Milk Marketing Board[1], everything we did had to fit around milking time. Cows have internal clocks. They know when the time has come for milking.

Lighter spring evenings opened the opportunity to go visiting or, as we often did, going for a drive. All six of us would get packed into the family’s Wolseley 16/60. Dad would head off over the hills and vales of Somerset and Dorset to get some relief from the constant demands of the farm. Later on, the 16/60 was replaced by a newer bright white Wolseley 18/85[2]. A quite dreadful car to ride in. It was a time when the British car industry was desperately trying to modernise. The Japanese had started to produce cars that were starting to offer better value and reliability.

Cruising around the country lanes was not only an opportunity to get out and about, but this was also a way of looking over the hedges and surveying the landscape. Finding out what the neighbours were up to. Checking out some new farming venture that was being talked about at market. Criticising poor husbandry or the dereliction of what was once a “good” farm.

This childhood experience has left me with a curiosity. Could be inherited. That need to know what’s around the next corner or just over the brow of a hill. It’s imbedded. Naturally, that curiosity was stimulated by the unending variety of the topography. On my trips to America, it has always struck me that driving for miles and miles can be easy, but it takes a long way for the sights and sounds to change. Somerset and Dorset, and I mustn’t forget Wiltshire, have a world around every corner. Sundays were explorer days. Adventure days too.

[1] https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C179

[2] https://www.wolseleyregister.co.uk/wolseley-history/blmc/1885-six/

Laughing Through Politics

Maybe it’s not a new seam to mine. That rock of British popular culture that puts up a mirror to entertain us or even shock us. There’s always a space for the public to be tickled by the absurd or hamming up of clichéd characters. It’s struck me, particularly on rewatching British TV comedy, how what we find humorous is an indicator of how we might think more generally. Or there’s a peculiar connection.

Obviously, it would be good to look at this subject in an objective way. To see what the evidence says. However, it’s almost impossible to separate personal experiences from any general observations. Afterall, I went to school where we endlessly repeated lines from Monty Python’s Flying Circus. This had our poor teachers totally bemused. Long forgotten is the “woody and tinny words” sketch. It only took a teacher to say a woody word and we’d have hysterics.

Not that Python didn’t offer one or two educational opportunities. In imagination, if nothing else. Try “The Man Who Speaks in Anagrams[1]” as an example.

When Mrs Brown’s Boys[2] became popular, I knew we were in serious trouble. I may be a real snob, but this kind of British “comedy” is a throwback to the worst of the 1970s (almost). To me the show has no merit whatsoever. It’s a sop to a grim set of stereotypes.

Jamilla Smith-Joseph’s short article[3] does point out that British culture is one of seeing the funny side of both us Brits and those strange foreigners. Problem is that in a simmering Brexity climate, we find it so much easier to lampoon our nearest neighbours, European foreigners.

I matured from Python to then enthusiastically embrace “The Young Ones” in my anarchic student days[4]. Now, I rewatch the series and the impacts are curious. In so many ways 21st Century Brits have become tame and unadventurous. The sheer destructive energy that let rip on TV screens delighted in upsetting established norms. Now, lots of people are embarrassed by what was called “alternative” comedy at the time.

Then we grew-up and got jobs. Tony Blair came onto the scene. Born out of that period of change was such masterpieces as “The Think of It”. Hope and optimism descended into spin and panic.

Popular culture and politics do connect. Is it a mirror like refection or is it a subconscious trend indicator? Or even a driving force that sustains a current way of thinking?

British popular culture is not going through a creative period. In 2025, there’s not a lot to recommend. Oddly it’s a series that started with a low budget movie from New Zealand that I find is the best comedy of the moment. “What We Do in the Shadow[5]” is variable in places but has horrendously funny moments.

So, come on British writers it’s time to better lampoon the toolmakers son who sits on the fence. One leg here, and one leg there. Labour’s latest adoption of conservative attire is surly worth funny lines. Something original. Maybe even out of this world.

[1] https://youtu.be/Q1sXeUHBHgk

[2] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1819022/?ref_=ttep_ov

[3] https://ukandeu.ac.uk/a-very-british-euroscepticism-the-popular-culture-politics-nexus/

[4] Yes, I really did live in a rundown brick terrace, with a hole in the wall as space for a payphone, and a dodgy builder come landlord. Carpets with slug trails and an icebox as a shower.

[5] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7908628/

Dealing with Difficult Individuals

Dealing with an objectionable person. There’s a title for a book. Could be 101 things you didn’t know about objectionable people or maybe objectionable people for dummies. I can see it now. Airport bookshelves full of such books. You know those colourful sections on management and self-improvement books that you don’t often see in “normal” book shops.

It’s something I suffer from when travelling. I see an enticing book title in the moments of boredom waiting for my flight to come up on the large electronic display board. The ridiculous thought goes through my head after reading a random page. Now, this erudite tone, obviously read by millions, will help me be a better person. Naturally, the book’s future is to sit in a cardboard box and be moved around, never to be read again.

Back to my theme. How to deal with an objectionable person. Of course, the context matters a lot. If I said the person is your boss, then one approach might be in order. If the person in question is a world leader, you and I are a little removed from impacting the prevailing situation. Quite different. Never-the-less, why not have an opinion?

There’s strength in numbers. Through the whole of human history. Let’s face it, we are puny creatures when faced with natures most threatening circumstances. What we do is gather together and hey-presto[1] suddenly solutions start to bubble to the surface. I’m not talking about escaping a woolly Mammoth. More of a woolly Man-mouth.

Unity is powerful. Trouble is that unity is difficult to assemble. It becomes somewhat easier to assemble when a real threat is looming. An example that is of the moment is Canada. Over the last few weeks Canadians, if the media is to be believed, seemed to be becoming unified. I expect the same is true of Greenlanders.

Europeans are, as we often are, struggling to find unity. It’s there at the core but it’s beset with voices of doubt and voices of unfriendly adversaries. Over intellectualising is a common trait of mature democracies. We like to study the woolly Mammoth before we run away or make a lot of noise and throw spears at it.

Here’s a potential solution for dealing with an objectionable person, or more than one. It’s a borne of primitive schoolboy politics. Smart folk will wince. Push that to one side. Lets’ face it, smart folk have led us down the path we are currently on.

Send them to Coventry[2]. I don’t mean literally send them to the ancient English cathedral city in the West Midlands. If you are fed-up with hanging on every word of someone who is a menace, one approach is to stop listening and walk away. That English idiom about sending someone “to Coventry” is to deliberately ostracise. Avoid their company and act as if they aren’t really that important. You’ve bigger fish to fry.

Just like that. A good way to deal with Colin Robinson[3] is to walk away before it’s too late.

[1] https://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/hey-presto.html

[2] https://www.coventrytelegraph.net/news/coventry-news/phrase-sent-coventry-originate-from-12137441

[3] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt11582982/

Review: The Autobiography of a Cad at Watermill Theatre

I’ve not done it. I’m always tempted. When I see Boris Johnson’s latest book on the shelf, to turn it around. Anything to discourage the good people of this parish from reading it. The picture of his smiling mug on the front of the book is a horrible reminder of the Brexit years. We’re still in them, and I dearly wish we weren’t.

A wasted decade. What for, I ask? It hits me that this is England. A society that is liberal to the core is obsessed with class. We don’t so much have a class system of the Edwardian era but what we have divides people almost as much. Every day the media trades on stereotypes borne of this embedded class perspective. Having lived in another country for over a decade, I can see it perhaps more than most.

We do joke about it. The pages of the satirical magazine Private Eye would have nothing to write about if “class” was truly a thing of the past. Today’s Parliament remains way overrepresented by a certain class of individual. Usually male.

Last night, I went to see “The Autobiography of a Cad.[1]” This is a story of an Edwardian. You might first think that there’s no relation to any politician of our time. It’s a about a man who has one true love – himself. It’s about how, even events as calamitous as WWI, offer him an opportunity to advantage himself usually at the cost of others.

The toff in question is fictitious. The play is a satirical comedy. It’s a highly entertaining evenings romp through the life of a rampaging chancer. Trust, truth and rules are as nothing in the face of his need to get what he wants. A faithful product of English public schools.

The cad is hazardous to anyone in his orbit. He has no idea of the havoc left in his wake. Ensuring others get the blame for his misdemeanours occupies much of his time. You are left wondering if this is instinctive or learnt this at Eton and Oxford.

Edward Percival Fox-Ingleby claims the title of political titan in his own made-up world. Comedy comes from his efforts to create a story of a colossus.

The play starts as it finishes. Fox-Ingleby standing at a lectern in the rain. Now where have we seen that before?

Watching this, with the intimacy of the Watermill theatre, I was in admiration for the three actors on stage. Galloping at the speed they were, throwing props around and transitioning from year to year was astonishing. I’d recommend this play. Best take a cushion. It’s a long romp.

[1] https://www.watermill.org.uk/events/the-autobiography-of-a-cad

The Impact of the English Civil War

Yesterday afternoon, I met King Charles. No, not the one who lives in Buckingham Place. No, not the one who hide up a tree. No, it was Charles I. Or at least a man dressed as Charles I.

Reasonably you might say, didn’t that King have his head cut off a long time ago? A lot depends on any recollection of English history you may have. It’s not a part of history that is taught in the national curriculum. Which is odd when considering how important it is.

Shaw House[1] is a beautiful Elizabethan building that has seen a great deal of history. In the 17th Century an English Civil War battle was fought there, and in the surrounding area.

In Newbury, 1644 was a turbulent time. As I understand it, the civil war that was raging all around could have been brought to a swift halt. King Charles and his forces, the Royalists, facing defeat, fled in the dark of night and made their way to Oxford. Thus, the Parliamentarian forces were left with a pyrrhic victory.

Eventually, the Parliamentarian forces succeeded. Charles I was tried, convicted, and executed for high treason in January 1649. The bloody execution of the war left a scar on English society. Brother fought brother. Families were torn apart. Nowhere was left untouched by the conflict.

The events in Newbury led to the formation of the New Model Army in 1645. Parliamentarian success may be traced to that decisive reorganisation.

The Earl Rivers Regiment Muster (Members of The Sealed Knot[2]) is a group of reenactors who bring the 17th Century back to life in the 21st Century. So, my day out at Shaw House was an immersion in times long past. People dressed up, showing off swords, muskets and pikes is entertaining and, without doubt, an important reminder of why today’s society is the way it is.

This was the time in English history when Parliament gained its supremacy. No more would the divine rights of Kings rule the English people. It’s true that the English republic didn’t last long but the supremacy of Parliament stuck.

Along with the re-enactments of battles there’s an exploration of how life once was. Exhibits of tradesmen and women the civilians who accompanied the armies. Reliving history by staging events beings alive the country’s past struggles. It’s a good reminder that conflict is ever with us.

By the way, if I had to choose a side, I surely would have been a Roundhead. The Royalist may have been said to be romantic, but they were on the wrong side of inevitable change.

POST: For more of the story BBC Four – Charles I: Downfall of a King

[1] https://www.westberkshireheritage.org/shaw-house

[2] https://www.thesealedknot.org.uk/

Arrival of Spring

It’s the time of the year that I like the most. OK, so I have a birthday in March. A good reason to take stock and look ahead. This year my age moves from one tick box to the next. So many surveys and questionnaires divide ages categories at 64 – 65.

My father-in-law, now long past, was an accountant. He’d often quote a dated joke. It’s more of a pun. “Old accountants never die; they just get broken down by age and sex.”

What’s even more special than that is the point on the astronomical calendar. No, not the astrological calendar. Although for note, I was born under the star sign Pisces. Which I am more than happy about. Smart, creative, and intuitive. Those characteristics might be plucked out of an astrologist’s scribblings, but I’ll take that.

Spring is sprung. The vernal equinox is on 20 March. And that’s official enough for me.

Usually, I have another marker for spring and it’s because of an English town, where I once lived. It’s the time of the Cheltenham Gold Cup[1]. This is a popular horse racing event held in Gloucestershire, UK. It has a huge impact on the town. I write this because back in the late 1980s I remember watching the racing in a snowstorm. Looking out on that huge bowl-shaped racecourse as snowflakes sprinkled the ground. Quite a picture, windswept and cold. It certainly was memorable.

On my calendar proper Spring can’t happen until the Gold Cup is done and dusted. This year that’s on the 14 March. Just before Spring officially begins.

By the way, I can squeeze aviation into this celebration of the onset of Springtime. The central area of racecourse in Cheltenham becomes a helicopter park. This experiences about 300 helicopter movements per day for the four-day duration of the racing. As the weather improves in the UK so general aviation wakes-up.

The seasons have a rhythm about them which is powerfully reassuring. Just at the moment, nothing in the News can be said to be reassuring. I’m sure, the signs of the zodiac didn’t predict these last few weeks. Rhythm has broken into arbitrary disruptions.

As the conflict in Ukraine continues the positions taken by western allies becomes ever more confused. To the extent that the word “allies” may need a second look.

I’d always say the Spring is a time for hope and optimism. I think we all are looking for that hope and optimism.

[1] https://www.thejockeyclub.co.uk/cheltenham-festival/

Legacy, A Cautionary Tale

English is full of pithy phrases that echo through the pages of history. One of the greatest contributors to this phenomenon was Shakespeare. Lots of quips and quotes and snippets of wisdom come from his numerous plays (and other literary imitations).

The phrase or maximum that I have in mind is: “Beware of an old man in a hurry.” It’s not the only one on the same basic theme. My dad used to say that there’s “No fool like an old fool”. Honestly, as a child I had no idea what he was getting at. I guess it was to sum-up an observation of someone’s behaviour. It’s not a complementary saying.

There’re several ways of interpreting the “old man in a hurry” saying.

For one, and I’m just about to clock 65 years, the way the world seems is conditioned by the fact that one’s final moments are a lot closer than they were as an ambitious young man.

Another interpretation is that we might expect an older person, with more experience, will be guided to make better life decisions. However, in reality, the reverse is so often true.

I could go as far as to say that the “beware” part is to beware of imbedded prejudices and reduced peripheral vison that can come with age.

Doing a quick bit of research the source of this short English saying is not ancient wisdom from a Greek scholar or scribbling Roman sage. Not even a contemplative Medieval monk.

No, it’s a young British Conservative politician talking about an old Liberal. In fact, probably the most successful old Liberal that has ever graced Parliament. The one who left this county with the world’s biggest Empire. When he passed at 88 years, Britain was the most developed, most prosperous nation and biggest manufacturer the world had ever known. If we were ever to call to Make Britain Great Again, we’d call for an old Liberal. MBGA doesn’t exactly flow of the tongue. Anyway, GB (Great Britain) endures as a name.

The young British Conservative politician was Churchill’s father, Randolph, and the old Liberal was an energetic, fired-up Gladstone.

Can I now use “Beware of an old man in a hurry” as I reflect on the week’s News? Does President Trump see the world as a racing clock? Knowing that mortality looms. Knowing that any marks that are to be made need to be made – now. The “long-game” is for others to play.

When time is almost up the tendency to rashness can be understood. A lot depends on whether the subject of legacy looms large in the thinking of a leader. Through the millennia legacy has mattered a great deal to leaders.

Gladstone’s success was marred by the eventual destruction of the Party he led. He did transform government from a boys-club of privilege, at least in part, but the future of Ireland became his achillea heel. As a Liberal, he found building a powerful country didn’t mean granting privilege for politician’s and friends’ private businesses but ensuring that the working class were represented.

Trump’s haste, and lack of longer-sighted goals, appears real. Constitutions, democracy and the public good will endure. Mean-time hang on to your hats.