Category: Culture

I’m Mandy

It’s something to ague about. My view is that pop songs don’t have to have “official” meanings. If you listen to a song and it means something to you then there’s no point in arguing with someone else about what it means. Well, not much point other than the pure fun of it.

That doesn’t stop an argument. It’s like answers to quiz questions. There’s that strong desire to be the one with the right answer. With a song it’s not so easy to be literally right or wrong. There may be clues left by the song writers or a generally excepted interpretation. It’s not a subject to place major bets on. There’s likely to be no definitive answer.

This week, I popped into a small shop that is full of retro bric-a-brac. In one corner there’s a display of second-hand vinyl records. 45s and LPs nicely arranged in alphabetic order. I find it fascinating what’s fashionable, and thus pricy, and what’s not. This trendy little shop aims at a student market. What caught my eye is an album from the band 10cc[1] from 1976. It has a colourful fold-out album cover which is a story in of itself. It’s a real photographic artwork. And strangely profound in the age of the mobile phone. Lots of people holding telephone handsets.

“How Dare You![2]” is an immensely creative but almost incoherent jumble of wandering songs. It’s a kind of progressive rock music exposé but much more popular, in the sense of pop. And in its time, it did well for the band, giving them two charting singles from the album. It’s a 70s vinyl masterpiece that will not be entirely lost and forgotten.

10cc is part of my student history. From what I could see from the price, it’s not so fashionable with today’s students. In good condition, for £5, I was more than happy to spend my hard-earned cash. At the till, the young lad who was minding the shop took one look at the album cover and asked: do you mind if I take a photo of that? We both agreed that streaming music is fine but there’s something more satisfying about handing physical artwork like this album cover. It’s tangible. It’s real. It’s an artifact.

The most notable song on the album is “I’m Mandy, fly me”. What is known about 10cc and their song “I’m Mandy, fly me” is that it was kicked off by a National Airlines poster. Like so many American airlines, National got swallowed-up and those who swallowed them up suffered the same fate. But in the 70s they were going strong. What they will be remembered for is that one of their publicity stunts caused controversy. It’s the sort of situation that kicked-off protests and rightly so.

In the early 70s, to sell their long-haul seats National’s posters ran a slogan saying: “I’m (flight attendant’s name). Fly me.”. The sexist nature of the advertising slogan got heavily criticised. These airline posters must have been up in Manchester, UK. Enough for seeing them to inspire 10cc to write the song “I’m Mandy, fly me”[3].

What’s it about? I think it’s pure imagination. Wandering a street, seeing the poster and going off on a fanciful muse. In my view it’s not literal. There is no plane crash. The fantasy is that the flight attendant in the poster rescues the singer from the dullness of everyday Manchester. After a few moments he snaps out of it, realises that he’s been daydreaming, and life carries on.

[1] https://www.10cc.world/

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/How_Dare_You!_(album)

[3] https://genius.com/10cc-im-mandy-fly-me-lyrics

Ethics of Medication

I don’t know about you but the whole idea of medicating people to increase the prosperity of society has a terrible echo of the worst kind of politics. Now, if we change the “p” word to protection of society, a policy of medication might make some reasonable sense. The COVID pandemic taught use that individual freedoms are not absolute. We know that allowing people to spread infection, whenever their personal beliefs, can kill other people. Reckless actions did exposed people to danger. Big name politicians did some dam stupid stuff just because they wanted to side with those who believed irrational, unscientific nonsense.

A UK Labour Health Minister saying that obese people would benefit from a jab so that they can get back to work makes me feel uneasy. It’s one thing to recognise that society has a problem with obesity but it’s entity another for the States to impose medication on specific groups of citizens. Expensive new medication that that.

I know it can be argued that the cost of obesity to the National Health Service (NHS) is high so there’s no zero cost answer. Having hammered down smoking deaths over decades of work it’s now obesity that’s the great societal challenge. The line between personal freedoms and social demands can be a fuzzy one.

The jab in question may have become fashionable as a weight loss aid[1]. That doesn’t justify a UK Minister, with all the power of the State, suggesting that overweight people be put on a regime of injections. And if they say “no” to the regime then be penalised in some vague manner.

It’s known that these new weight loss drugs have side effects. No everyone can take them without consequences. These drugs should only be used under medical supervision. That said, many people do take them without recourse to advice from a doctor.

To the Minister I say, don’t ague about the cost to the economy of obese people. Please ague for helping people to make weight management work for them as individuals. Obese people are not one amorphous mass of idle slobs who sit on the sofa all day. The Daily Mail characterisation of bludgeoning swarms of people burdening society with their indolent ways may chime with populists and the emerging Conservative Party. It’s no way for a Labour Minister to address a live challenge. 

National proposals to give unemployed obese people a jab to get them back to work has a ghastly ring to it. Yes, it’s not saying we (society) should send them down the salt mines but when the economic argument is the top one it does dehumanise the target audience.

Weight loss jabs may continue to have potential befits for many people. Let’s say that we are talking about health benefits, so that individuals can play their role in our society, whatever that role might be. State officials who attempt bring shame on people living with obesity, that’s just plain nasty.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c981044pgvyo

Rain and Life

Rain is inevitable. Rain is perpetual. Rain is ingrained in the fabric of life. Britain is a series of islands that’s buffeted by the winds that sweep across the Atlantic. Not always but mostly. 

We complain about it. We lament it when there’s not enough. We are shaped by it.  If ever there was a better sign of what’s called “small talk” it’s to talk about the weather. Having a conversational default like this one is deeply embedded in our culture.

The line to draw is one between the “normal” amount of rain and the periods when the torrents seem almost biblical. Record breaking is a talking point. Can’t ignore it.

According to the Met Office[1], Berkshire, where I am, received 3 times its average September rainfall. Southern England had its wettest September since 1918, and its 3rd wettest on record in a series from 1836.

Natural variations are to be expected. Afterall, what would there be to talk about if the only thing to say is that the weather is the same as yesterday, or last week. That is the fate of people in some parts of the world. No such predictability for our northern hemisphere islands. Up at above 50 degrees of latitude we see a moderate variation in almost everything.

The key word there being “moderate”. Months that are as wet as this past September, do impact the regular cycles of the seasons. Generally, it’s been warm too. I can’t help thinking it’s been a good year to be a tree. Roots have had a lot to soak up whenever the need arises.

Is what’s happening an indication of climate change? I’m not going to be the one to put my hand up on that one. I suspect that a greater degree of variation in the weather is a broader factor.

For the farming calendar this year has already been a strange one. Almanacks that tell you when to reap and sow might need revisiting. Whether cows will need to develop webbed feet or horded of ducks take over, I’ll leave that to the imagination.

For me, since January, living near a river has become a source of curiosity. Luckily our house is many meters above the worst-case scenario for a sustained flood. The river runs fast. It’s a chalk stream. What’s interesting is that its level is highly dependent upon the degree of soaking that the surrounding land has received. Just now, the green fields around are like sponges that are nearing their capacity. I’m sure, that’s unusual for early Autumn.

[1] https://www.metoffice.gov.uk/about-us/news-and-media/media-centre/weather-and-climate-news/2024/record-breaking-rainfall-for-some-this-september

Changing Political Landscapes

You can tell the type of person I am. I occasionally stop for a morning coffee in Gail’s[1]. Overall, I favour cafe Nero. Better coffee. An Italian vibe. That said, the expanding up-market bakery has a pleasant ambience. They are taking over and restoring the more regal old bank buildings of the High Street. Britain’s national banks have long since moved out.

In the last 9-months, I’ve moved from a town that had both, to a town that until recently had only one. It wasn’t my influence, but a Gail’s has opened a new shop in recent weeks. Post election, I might add. I’ve moved from a Conservative town to one that is no longer a Conservative town.

Anyway, there I was doing a bit of lunchtime shopping in Waitrose. It has a small cafe in one corner of the supermarket. Stopped for a ham, egg and chips and a flat white coffee. On a rack on the wall is a display of daily newspapers. I’m pleased to say that there’s a weekly local newspaper there too.

The Times and The Daily Mail are there for the delight of their customers. Two national newspapers that I am not going to spend my hard-earned cash on unless I’m desperate for something to read. Both tabloids aimed at a broadly conservative readership. 

The Mail is serialising the writings of former Prime Minister Boris Johnson. No doubt he’s getting an astonishing amount of money for his latest scribblings. Journalism was his calling.

To sell a book about political life the book certainly mustn’t be boring. Charity shops are littered with shelves of books from long forgotten personalities. My observation is that Johnson has taken aim at an audience that still thinks of him as a worthy premier.

I couldn’t resist. Had to speed read the parts that spilled the beans. The parts that dug the dirt. The revelations. Except that’s not what I read in speech bubble paragraphs. First off, I was remined of The Beano[2]. The world’s longest-running comic for children. Johnson’s language assumed my reading age to be about 12-years old. A jolly wizard wheeze ticking-off those fancy pants or misery guts who haunted his days in power. Apart from saving the known universe his anecdotes were mostly to the detriment of the people mentioned. One exception being his dad.

In a moment of reflection, it’s astonishing that Johnson once led this great country. He led London too. What on earth were we thinking? How did it happen? One or two more serious books have gone down that road. I was recommended to read “Johnson at 10 by Anthony Seldon[3].” By the way, you can tell the type of person I am. Earlier in the year, that book suggestion came from the person standing next to me, wating to go into the BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall.

[1] https://gails.com/

[2] https://shop.beano.com/

[3] https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/may/24/johnson-at-10-by-anthony-seldon-and-raymond-newell-review-the-great-pretender

Travel Educator

Travel is the great educator. Fundamentally – yes. My ordinary every day is extraordinary to someone. Just as their ordinary every day is extraordinary to me. There’s so much we take for granted, and we must, that we forget how strange our customs and practice can be.

Even if it’s so simple as bumping into people when they walk on the right and I walk on the left. Or I sneeze and the obligatory and automatic “bless you” takes me by surprise. Greetings can come as a shock too. Whereas if someone says, “are you going the same way?” might be taken as the introductory line of a serial killer in London, in a small country town it’s just a polite inquiry by a genuinely interested fellow traveller.

Does travel teach social skills? I’m not so on-side with that view. There’s no doubt that it can be a way to meet like minded people. That can often, on the downside, be a local bubble. Ending up chatting to likable people who are going through similar experiences. Identifying not with the people around but those who are similarly placed.

What’s a more regular encounter is the tall guy with the sharp elbows who doesn’t acknowledge that the person in the middle seat, namely me, is annoyed by how little care he’s taking with his lanky arms and legs. I suppose, if such occasions teach me anything it’s to not do what is being done to me. Especially when a homeward bound aircraft is on hold, going round and round, in bad weather trying to get into Heathrow. Time stands still.

One of the best realisations that flows from travel is that there’s a common humanity lurking everywhere on the planet. On the other hand, it’s not always obvious or the first encounter. I think, most people sit in the camp of being indifferent or helpful. Yes, a small percentage are out to do no good. Thankfully, they are a small percentage and best avoided at all costs.

Another realisation is that uncomfortable situations, like being lost after having misread the map App on my phone, are all part of life’s colourful pageant. There maybe moments of concern. I don’t like to use the word – fear. There’s generally a pathway back to the more familiar.

I’m not for one moment advocating taking unnecessary risks. Before wandering around any major city, it’s as well to do some research. To get a rough appreciation of the geography and what goes where. Like a layout of the metro map. It’s nice to have tall landmarks that sit of the skyline. The sun and a wristwatch always offer the most rudimentary navigation aides. Knowing that a river crosses the city or tourist congregate in a certain place works at nighttime.

If I probe my decades of memories of travel, a lot of vivid recollections come from unexpected discoveries. Afterall, part of travel is returning home and having stories to tell.

Reinventing Breakfast

Public service broadcasting is fine with me. It ought to be funded. We are all better for it being funded. In the UK, the BBC does a tremendous number of good works in a wide spectrum of spaces. I’m a supporter of public funded TV but now and then it drops the ball.

Switching the TV on in the morning is not something I do at home. There’s something bedsit kitchenette about having a TV blazing while the toaster is popping up. It’s what’s better placed in a gritty drama of the mid-1970’s. Gawdy wallpaper and service hatches.

I get to view breakfast morning TV when I’m in a hotel room. It’s so much easier to switch on a wall mounted TV than mess with an iPad App or flick around the long list of channels trying to find a radio station. Press the button number 1 on the remote and up comes BBC1.

So, what’s with the morning News? Is it a magazine show with snippets of life outside the studio or is it hard hitting political journalism? To me, it’s a mishmash that’s trying to be everything to everyone. A male presenter who looks half asleep and would be totally lost without an autocue. A female presenter who’s doom laden petulant style reminds me of Chicken Licken[1].

An artificial backdrop, that has become commonplace on such shows, doesn’t help. Look the morning sun is shining. One look outside the window and it’s not. I’d been tempted to suggest going back to a few of those shelving units that once adorned the set of Blue Peter.

The BBC props department must have ordered a job lot of curvy sofas about ten years ago. They turn-up on the BBC’s One Show too. Now that evening programme is a mystery to me. Although, that said, it isn’t trying to be anything other than a magazine.

Thank the heavens that I don’t have to watch breakfast TV every day. I would be ready for the men in white coats if I did. Banality mixed with artificial seriousness would do my brain in. Surely, there’s a format that can be engaging and inform in a way that wasn’t so mighty odd.

If the BBC needs a transition to something new. A format that works for the second decade in the 21st C, then I suggest they bring back a certain popular rat. Roland[2] was a professional. Now, I’m sure he could both talk about endangered water voles or interview tricky politicians with great style and panache. 

[1] https://usborne.com/media/usborne/files/quicklinks-library/englishlearnerseditions/chicken-licken-teachers-notes.pdf

[2] https://fb.watch/uHOGZqLQ_J/

Fuel for Online Conflict

Professional defensiveness is just as damaging as arrogant assertion. I wonder if I can justify saying that sentence. I’m saying this as an observation of comments made on social media. Maybe that’s an unwise place to start. However, we might try to pretend that social media is full of outliers. In reality, it often puts up a wobbly mirror to society. Not every time. Just often enough. Our good and bad behaviours are magnified through the lens of a small mobile touch screen or the keyboard of a desktop.

Who would have thought that at the time of early INTERNET optimism in the 1990s. The information superhighway was going to be an awesome educator. A great liberator. Egalitarian and a universal force for good. Technology was going to free us from ignorance.

What’s going on? Often, I see a spasmodic reaction to an article or a comment that comes from the school of knee jerk reactions. Highly respected commentators are not immune.

If you see a man in an orange tee shirt, and you don’t like orange the last thing most people would do is scream across the road a sharp rebuke. On-line, it can be the case, when a perfectly rational and reasonable but challenging and unfamiliar view is put forward, instant defensiveness takes the stage.

Those invested in the status-quo go into overdrive. And I’m not talking about Status Quo the British rock band. I must admit, I have been guilty of this myself. In a moderate way. I’ve even seen them live on-stage. Oh no, I mean the first thing I am talking about.

Professional defensiveness has a fair root. If someone is highly invested in a point of view or has had experiences that embedded an opinion, it’s not so easy to stand aside and be objective.

Sir Humphrey Appleby[1] would, week after week, defend the indefensible. He’s a fictional character that pinches our consciousness and reminds us how smart people can get stuck on tramlines. I’ve still got a small cartoon from the 1970s. It is of a draftsman, pen in hand, with blinkers on. The caption says: “but we’ve always done it this way”.

All I can do here is to take note. It’s a note for me. Anytime an uncommon or intriguing view comes forward, do a double take. Count to ten. Don’t go by the first instinctive reaction that come into my head. It’s a question of not seeing a view that overthrows past thinking as instinctually wrong.

I posed a dichotomy at the start. Let me say that professional defensiveness combined with arrogant assertion, now that is dangerous.

POST: What about the AI generated picture? Spot the problem? Is the number six ringing any bells? This is a nice example why AI will not be taking over the world anytime soon. It’s great to have as a helper and that’s all.

[1] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0080306/characters/nm0001329

Last Night

Nice to see a flood of blue at the BBC PROMS last night. I’m not just talking about the wonderful Angel Blue[1]. I was not there. Watched the whole performance at home on the TV this year.

It’s great to hear that GB News went apoplectic. To quote: “The Last Night of the Proms has been swamped in controversy yet again after a sea of EU flags were spotted being flown by event-goers – despite imposing a ban on “protest flags” ahead of time.”

For one, there’s no controversy. For two, there was no protest flags. For three, there’s always all sorts of flags. Making up stuff is the sad habit of bored journalists with space to fill. If I can call them journalist. Click bait writers – now that’s just off-the-shelf hype makers.

Look. In a free country and let’s face it, that’s what the singing in the Royal Albert Hall is about. Land of hope and glory. If the this year’s BBC Prom goers want to hold up EU flags, it’s entirely up to them. No one is forcing them to do so. It wasn’t a mandate from on high.

I was disappointed not to see more flags. My experience of having been at the Last Night twice is that one fun thing to do is to figure out what some of the more obscure flags mean or where they represent. A Caribbean country, Devon, Cornwall, Isle of Man, or a remote Scottish Island. And lots of friendly countries, like the US. Well, dependent on the current presidential race.

Right-wing commentators often push a line that is prescriptive with respect to their opponents but take the view that they should be able to do whatever they like in the name of freedom. I believe that there’s no part of the right of politics that doesn’t hold this self-serving view.

It’s like the often-quoted view of the Conservative Party elite. They take the line that their people are born to rule. It’s not a joke. This week, it’s mighty interesting to read the reflections on recent events coming from Lord Brady[2].

The country is so incredibly fortunate now it has shaken off the fading embers of 14 years of Conservative Party misrule. Who knows what dreadful havoc would have ensued if they had retained power. It’s a much better autumn that might have been.

This is the time to re-think Britain’s relationship with our near neighbours. For a start, all aspects of unnecessary negativity and the dogma of Brexit need to be put asunder. No more ridiculous caveats on every policy and speech just to appease a right-wing media. No more neurotic ducking and diving to keep the outer extremes on-side.

Brexit was a rubbish idea. It was heavily sold by charlatans. It has failed. Corrective action is long overdue. I do not know what shape that corrective action will take but it needs to be immediate and sincere. And with a long-term perspective in mind.

POST: The next generation have the right idea Gen Z leads drive to reverse Brexit in new poll on EU referendum | The Independent

[1] https://angeljoyblue.com/

[2] https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/sunak-election-brady-confidence-letters-tory-b2612966.html

1930s Aerodrome Architecture

We talk of optimism and pessimism as if one presides while the other sleeps. It’s not quite like that in consideration of the legacy around us. There’s no doubt that the 1920s and 1930s were years of austerity and depression. The Great War had an overwhelming impact on all sections of society. The buildings that remain from that era, including the house that I once lived in, do record a simpler style. Material chosen for their functional value rather than decorative.

Victorian’s built with flair and every mechanical contrivance that their technology could provide. Value in longevity was integral in their thinking. Who could imagine the sun setting on British empire?

The brief inter-war period was one of concrete and steel. A bit of classicism retained an influence. Form, fit and function played a bigger part. Modernism meant reflecting the advances in technology that were making great pace. Construction was fast.

Aviation was one of the most notable advances. Post-war flying moved from the military to sport, the recreation of the rich and the wonder of the onlooking public. It went together with the race for speed on land. Everything had to be faster and go further.

Maybe it was the Bauhaus in Germany, that set down some much-copied rules. Symmetry and square lines were on the drawing boards of a lot of public architects. It’s the case that some ornamentation was thrown in where the patrons were wealthy. Even that was relatively muted.

What lasted is no abomination of a poverty of ambition. It’s not utopian. It’s not brutalist. There’s instead a simplicity that was authoritative enough but not too ostentatious.

Pictured above is the 1932 Aero Clubhouse at Brooklands[1] in Surrey. It was designed by Graham Dawbarn[2] in what was a typical 1930s style. It set a trend for aerodrome buildings. Buildings like this one added grandeur to aerodromes where sheet metal hangers and small wooden huts were more often to be seen.

I like these enduring, straightforward, practical buildings. Yes, they are a form of British colonial architecture. One that could be easily reproduced anywhere on the globe. In today’s terms not the least bit environmentally friendly or efficient. Nevertheless, there’s an appeal that marks them out particularly when compared to the sheets of glass and skeleton frames of steel of modern aviation facilities.

[1] https://www.brooklandsmuseum.com/

[2] https://www.ribapix.com/graham-dawbarn_riba47117

Dr Who?

I’m having to get to know Paddington. For such a long time my route into London was via Victoria station. Every nook and cranny of that enormous railway station was etched into my brain. I could go from A to B with the speed of a swift. Southern trains trundle backwards and forwards, in and out of London. For the last 8 years, I’ve been able to navigate from my doorstep to the Royal Albert Hall (RAH) in about an hour. Only occasionally being marooned in Croydon.

Once I’d discovered the BBC proms it became a regular part of my annual schedule. That knocked off August and part of September. Promming[1] is a wonderful tradition that opens access to great music of all kinds for a token sum. Standing for me is no big deal.

Last night, I travelled through space and time. A different space and time from my normal one. Now, I’m having to get to know the ins and outs of a different railway company. To some extent they have “proper” trains that go somewhere. I mean, cities in Wales and the West of England.

This was only my second BBC prom of the year. This one was going to be different. For a start it was Bank Holiday Monday. It was the main day of the Notting Hill Carnival[2]. For those who don’t know that sat on my route into Paddington and round the Central Line to the RAH.

Busy, busy, busy. I don’t know if the National Orchestra of Wales to the same route as me. They were on stage for prom 48[3]. Thankfully, GWR speedily and safely got us into London.

The buzz was infectious. Whovian community folk like to dress-up. Standing in-line outside before 6pm, conversations were about favourite monsters and the authenticity of other prommers costumes. Fantastic handmade scarfs. Elaborate purchases from e-bay. Eccentric illusions to long lost baddies. I felt grossly underdressed. That said, I shouldn’t have been surprised but the audience was about as intergenerational as is imaginable. Maybe, I should have said intergalactic. I was standing next to a would-be William Hartnell in his 20s. Further along the que there were 2 Sylvester McCoys in their late 50s, at least.

What can I say about the evening? Hat’s off to all concerned. It was a dam good show. I don’t count myself as a Whovian even if this small screen fiction has populated most of my life. I was struck, not just by the obvious theatrics but how important the music had become to the whole drama. It really does pull on the emotional strings. Story telling needs that magical music.

Standing in a crowded arena, I wasn’t for one moment frightened. Which I would have been as a young boy with a cyberman walking straight toward me. An authoritarian Dalek called for the interval. Ordering the orchestra off the stage. The revered Russell T Davies was in the audience. They played out with the Doctor Who theme.

For an evening learning a new route in and out of London, all my effort was more than rewarded. Time and space well spent. I shall now turn my hand to inventing a working TARDIS. Then I could go back and do it all again. Well, that is except for the cool breezy late-night hanging about at Reading station platform 3.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/3598F306c3KnN6t3x6ThKpN/what-is-promming

[2] https://nhcarnival.org/

[3] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m00224zh