renaissance man
I knew it! Or, rather, it’s what I wanted to believe. And, in all honesty, this study seems so small as to be of questionable scientific merit. But it’s in line with my confirmation bias, so I’m running with it!
Anyway, I doubt anything would stop Teresa and I chatting in our baby-ish ways with our cats. We did it with Tigger, now we’re doing it with Chester. It’s natural! We love it. And, so it seems, so does he.
Excellent!
Many years ago now, I was a regular contributor to Drummer magazine. One of the things I did was a regular monthly classic album column, called Recycled. I enjoyed this so much I started posting reviews to Amazon’s UK website. I don’t know how long that went on for before I was invited to join the Vine programme.
The Amazon Vine programme lets you have free things in exchange for reviews. And for many years now I’ve enjoyed being a part of this programme. But today I’ve discovered I’ve been booted off the programme for ‘violating the terms’ of the programme. It’s a bit annoying, as I’m not sure what my ‘sin’ is!
But on the other hand, as one door closes, another, hopefully, opens. Over the years the programme evolved, and, having initially been mostly sent books, it shifted towards all sorts of random stuff. And it’d gotten to be quite overwhelming. So a break from this could be a good thing.
But I’ll be sorry if that’s the total and final end of my involvement. As I got a lot of great stuff over the years.
I’m typing this at roughly 2.45 a.m. I think I’ve dozed for about 30 minutes, perhaps? Other than that, I’ve been wide awake all night.
In some ways I don’t mind. What I mean by that is that I’m not in a highly agitated state. But as I know that there will be ‘payback’, there is a dull and muted sense of dread.
And, ironically, my worst nights are often those that precede my most demanding days. So it’s Tuesday night, and I need to be sleeping properly, as Wednesdays are my busiest teaching day.
I feel relatively okay right now. Like I ought to feel during the middle of an active day. But how am I going to feel midway through teaching?
Teresa, meanwhile, sleeps like a champ. Just as she always does. She’s a gold medalist ninja snoozer, whilst I’m an F-grade dunce, sleep wise!
It’s all particularly galling, in a way, as I’ve only recently read Walker’s excellent Why We Sleep, so I’m particularly aware of the need to sleep properly. Hey ho! It is what it is…
An interaction with family today has made me reflect on the incredible depths of penetration that politics really has. And how the establishment so totally owns and runs and controls the ‘status quo’.
The dominant narrative in the UK right now is that we’re all united in grief over the death of Queen Elizabeth II. And any dissent from this position is automatically negative and therefore despicable. This position silences debate, playing very powerfully into the interests of retrograde Conservatism.
And the ‘shut up and don’t complain’ card is very powerful. So I’m very happy to see and respectful of those few brave souls taking a principled stand against the ongoing propaganda and lies that swaddle our monarchy.
From Labour MP Clive Lewis to barrister Paul Powlesland, and the guy caught on film pointing out to Charles the costs to ordinary people of the monarchy, it’s refreshing to find that some people are not being hypnotised by all the pageantry.
Powlesland said “One of the many things that makes me proud to be British is our freedom of speech. It’s one of our most precious and sacred rights and it’s far more precious to me than the royal family is.” Amen to that! And, as he experienced, when making a very mild protest in London, these freedoms are being systematically attacked by our current Tory (mis)government.
And in the UK today amongst some of the most powerful groups serving and enabling Tory repression are those very large swathes of people who are doing alright. The ‘I’m alright Jack, don’t rock the boat, with your carping negativity’ crowd are helping silence dissent, or alternative views/possibilities.
And, lest we forget, we wouldn’t have things like weekends, holidays, sick pay, the eight hour day or 40 hour week, etc, if it wasn’t for the dissenting voices. Or even the NHS, which is really and fundamentally a response to the massive blood sacrifices made by the working masses in two world wars. If we’re required to make such sacrifices for the state/nation, shouldn’t that state/nation look after us? Damn right it should!
I like history, including the colourful Napoleonic wars, with the ridiculous peacock finery of uniforms that were often destined to be torn into bloody pieces, along with the ‘soft machines’ wearing them, by shot and shell. I love cathedrals, but I loathe religion. I can see the appeal of the pageantry. But I also see the oppressive institutionalisation of inequality such mummery represents.
It’d all be fine if nothing meant anything – a position that appears to have escaped the genie’s bottle of left-wing ‘postmodern’ academia and infected the entire organism of modern culture with a very pernicious form of relativism – but alas, stuff does mean something. And in this case it means ‘shut up, know your place, and march in step with us, backwards towards a fantasy feudal past’.
No thanks!
I’m inevitably going to see some of today’s tomfoolery. Teresa likes that sort of thing. I can hear she’s watching it now. So I’ll get sucked in as well. Hey ho!
As I’m typing this the soporific harmonies of High Anglican service waft up the stairs. It seems as if, thinking back to the ECW – what Royalist history calls ‘The Interregnum’ – with the Stuart Restoration, and then later the Glorious Revolution, England, or what became the UK, awoke momentarily from the stupefied slumber of monarchy, only to lapse back into a deep sleep. A sad state of affairs that continues to this day. Wake up!
* Gillray was a brilliant satirical political cartoonist. But his fabulous talents were deployed by the oppressor, to maintain a conservative status quo. Nowadays Gillray’s job is accomplished via the predominantly right wing media, be it print, TV, or online. At least Gillray left us something we can still admire and enjoy! The tawdry disposable ephemera of our own times barely exists beyond the few minutes or hours it’s required to do it’s job.
ADDENDUM
Ever since hearing the news of the Queen’s passing, I’ve been thinking, who else died that day? How many took their own lives, amidst poverty and despair? How many of those who died, anonymous unlamented (relative to the Queen that is), might have lived longer and better lives – richer lives, even if not in the fiscal sense – if our society was less wealth and power crazed, venal and uncaring?
Well… what the absolute feck was that!? Just heard a very long supersonic jet or rocket type rumble in the skies overhead. And it’s coming back…
The main episode seemed to go on for ages, maybe five, or even 10-15 minutes. Oddly and disconcertingly long. Not just a simple fighter jet flyover type deal. And it seemed to get closer, move away, get closer, move away, return… it was really quite alarming!
It sounded like what I imagine an incoming nuclear missile might sound like, or a huge jumbo jet, heading for an unscheduled crash landing!
It was so scary I got dressed – I was still in bed – and went outside, with a mind to try and film a bit. But my iPhone memory was full, so I wasn’t able to do so… dammit! I noticed our neighbour was also outside, looking worriedly skywards.
I googled ‘just now roaring in the skies overhead march cambs’, and a gov.uk/MOD low-flying complaints website came up, top of the search results.
There was a tel. number, which I rang, only to be told ‘nobody home, please email’! So I emailed. And I await a reply. This isn’t the first time this has happened recently. But it was the loudest, longest, and most discombobulating!
It’s the sort of evil apocalyptic sound that I imagine would precede nuclear annihilation. And it makes one think, would that be it!? No warning!? A terrible ‘tearing the heavens in twain’ roaring, and then either evaporation type obliteration, or poss’ much worse? Very scary!
UPDATE: I got a reply to my email…
Thank you for your e mail regarding aircraft noise on 8 September 2022 in the March area.
I have checked our records for the date and time you quoted, however, this does not indicate any military jets operating at low level in the area. The disturbance on this occasion may be attributable to military aircraft operating at medium or high level, which for fast jets can range between 2,000 to 30,000+ feet Above Ground Level.
I can advise that some military aircraft activity does take place over the sea, but weather conditions are not always suitable and due to its flat and featureless nature the sea does not always provide the realistic environment necessary for aircrew essential training needs.
The Ministry of Defence (MoD) takes its responsibility to the public very seriously indeed and would prefer not to cause any disturbance to those on the ground. Unfortunately, there are no uninhabited areas of the UK large enough to cater for essential training needs. I hope you will understand that the MoD would be failing in its duty if it did not ensure that aircrew were fully competent in a wide range of flying skills and tactics before they deployed on operations.
I apologise for any concern caused on this occasion.
Regards, Sarah Hodgkinson
Low Flying Complaints & Enquiries Unit, SWK-lowflying@mod.gov.uk
Well… that was a typical government response: opaque and ultimately more confusing than illuminating!
Whilst looking for images for this post I found this, an article on sound used as a weapon, in which the author of the article, (?), says, of fighter jets flying overhead, “their unnatural volume and the coarse noise of their engines triggered a palpable and overpowering sense of unease and distress.” Too damn right!
And then I found this, a more local/recent piece, in which they discuss exactly what I was thinking about:
“The sight and sound of heavy bombers and fighter jets in the skies above the UK have taken on an extra resonance following Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Urkaine. Military training flights regularly take place but conflicts and tensions mean more attention than normal is being taken of these RAF and USAF missions.
Across the country, people have been reporting planes such as B52 bombers and F-35B and F-16 fighter jets. Bases being used include RAF Fairford in Gloucestershire, RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire, RAF Lakenheath in Suffolk and RAF Marham in Norfolk.”
And since first posting this, I’ve heard similar sounds on numerous occasions. Although as yet none quite as long, loud, and frankly terrifying, as those that prompted this post. Strange and scary times
Watched this during another insomniac wee small hours spell. A spoof documentary, or, as they call ‘em now, a mockumentary, FUBAR follows a film-maker, Farrel Mitchner (Gordon Skilling) who is himself following two white-trash stoner headbangers, Terry and Dean.
Set in suburban Alberta, Canada, it takes a while to get used to, and was filmed on a Canon XL1, giving it a very lo-fi verité flavour. With a core cast and no script, the movie was largely improvised, some scenes involving ‘John Q Public’, unaware it was actually a work of fiction. Apparently the fist-fighters, for example, were genuine.
Terry (Dave Lawrence, who made the film) and Dean (Paul Spence) are two young long-haired rocker slobs. Continually shotgunning beers, smoking (fags or weed), and living on diets of appalling junk food. They’re dumb, foul-mouthed and pretty nihilistic.
At first I found myself thinking, what’s the point of this wallowing in the kind of hippy dream turned sour that has created zombie hordes across the US, and – this is set in Canada – North (and no doubt also South) America?
It was horrifyingly salutory to see how large a part of the MAGA/Trumpite crowds of Jan 6th were longhaired losers looking very like the two chief protagonists of this film. But there’s also everyone else; the lads’ families, partners, friends, co-workers/employers, etc. And Farrel and his documentary crew.
All these others, inc Troy/Tron, a former party animal gone ‘square’, are the ‘straight’ world. Dean’s mom [sic!] recites a poem, ‘Woman Is A Danger Cat’, by her son, whilst he plays his sensitive acoustic ballad ‘Rock & Roll Is My Guitar’. Terry’s employer (or is it Dean’s? I forget!) corrects his delusional embellishments on his professional responsibilities. And Troy’s partner tells it like it is, regarding women and their effects on slacker slobs!
In some ways this film, as awful as it is in many ways, has a resonance for me, in that I lived for a while a life a little bit like theirs. The ubiquity of ‘cuss-words’, the aimless boozing and smoking, and the ‘us against the straight world’, were all part of my early twenties hippy-dream-gone-sour interlude.
But whilst we were naive, we were never so moronically dumb, nor so grotesquely ignorant and hypocritical. These dolts love to trash stuff, leaving a trail of litter in their wake (‘the park ranger’s’ll clear it up’). This particular brand of white trash rocker types seem peculiarly American (or Canadian; I have Canadian ancestry*) in their boorishness. From their ‘hockey mullet’ hairdos (very obviously wigs!) to their mix of heavy metal and ‘sportswear’ clobber.
* My grandfather and one of my uncles were Canadians. I still have relatives over there.
But, not unexpectedly, several threads are introduced to being a bit more depth. First we learn Dean has testicular cancer. And is kind of in denial. And second, the interactions between Farrel and his crew and their subjects lead to… well, we’ll get to that.
The whole cancer thread is, kind of ironically and paradoxically, the saviour of this movie, which otherwise might’ve been a pointless exercise in Ali-G’esque social satire. In the end it’s awkwardly straight Farrel whose reaction to Dean’s medical emergency catalyses the catatonic headbanger into taking appropriate action, with some chiding from his ex, Trixie.
Farrel starts out mostly off camera, but gradually becomes a more and more key character, until… blam! He’s gone. I won’t say more, not wanting to spoil it too much for those who haven’t seen this. But everything around this crucial episode is very well done, and, like the revelation re Dean’s monster nut, it elevates an otherwise mundane movie, bringing pathos and a degree of subtler human observation that’s actually both well observed and quite moving.
The film was a success at Sundance, and has spawned a sequel, Fubar II, a TV series, and some sort of online offshoots. So it’s done well for a super low budget indie affair (financed by a maxed out credit card and a parental re-mortgage; phew… that could’ve ended very badly!).
It’s very sad to say this, but the film’s low key trashiness, and the imbecilic Everyman types it portrays, make it perfect for the efflorescence of serf-culture that’s been so assiduously cultivated by the evil machinations of recent populist governments – Trump in the US, BoJo in the UK – in the so called developed Western world.
I genuinely didn’t know which way it’d go at the end. And it was nice the way it did turn out. But maybe that’ll be the aspect that makes it so very much a work of fiction? And perhaps the rise of the kind of cultures it documents in the real world won’t turn out to have such a happy ending?
Far from essential or classic, nonetheless, not too shabby. And, whilst I’m not sure I’d say ‘worth watching’, it wasn’t a total waste of time.
Well, this is intriguing!
AI generated – I think? – by the lyrics of the ‘Polygondwanaland trilogy’, by King Gizzard & The Wizard Lizard.
I was all set to not even watch this. Then to dislike it… and now I’m bemused, as I really rather like a lot of aspects of the resulting ‘art’. And I’m intrigued as to how it’s done.
I’m trying out a tiny little MP3 player, as part of my ongoing participation in the Amazon Vine product review program. It’s an X16, and at present I’m struggling to learn how best to import music such that I can browse it easily.
I had one before, and couldn’t get the thing to work at all! So they – the supplier/manufacturer – sent me another. Both are now working. But at present I can only dump MP3s on the SD card, meaning they’re not grouped by album, or artist, or anything.
You hear on the TiVvy that times are tough. But it’s usually only when it comes home to roost, when you feel the burn, that you really get hipped to the pain of poverty.
I’ve never ever been a bread-head. Indeed, I’m actually quite proud of my anti-capitalist anti-monetarist stance in life. Ok, I may not have set the world aflame, or even achieved very much on any level. But for the most part my time has been my own. To ‘spend’ or ‘waste’ – such dumb-ass hooman ideas – as I choose.
But sometimes these ‘lifestyle choices’ can hurt a bit. Today is such a day. Some money went out of my account today to pay for a holiday. The first and only real holiday we’d have had – excepting only Abbie’s glorious wedding! – in about three years. Indeed, we hardly leave the house, except to work, or buy stuff.
That last observation makes me realise I haven’t escaped the rat race treadmill half as much as I’d like to! The money leaving my account to pay for the AirB&B accommodation would take (indeed, may have already taken) me over my overdraft limit. Like Louis Cole… ‘I don’t want to, check my…’
Anyway, to meet the costs of other regular commitments, I’ve been trying to get some casual cash in hand work, and I’ve signed up with Amazon Flex, to do deliveries. But so far, nada. So in the meantime I’ve been flogging stuff.
And now we get to the rub, the pain, the hurt… Today I sold a resonator guitar that I only bought, I dunno, maybe six months back? I’ve hardly even played the damn thing! And whenever I have I’ve really enjoyed it.
It’s a cheap Chinese jobby. I only paid £60-70 for it (and I just sold it for £75). But I didn’t want to sell it! It was worth a lot more to me as a thing; a thing of beauty capable of the magic that is music. Indeed, checking it over prior to selling it I got ‘in the zone’ for a bit, which only makes parting with it all the harder!
Oh well, easy come easy go. I guess…
My FODMAP diet is suffering from our total lack of any money. I can’t be buying expensive sourdough loaves, and non-dairy alternatives to milk (Oatly is prob’ my favourite, thus far), when the bank is bereft.
As a consequence, my diet has gotten rather patchy. I’m still avoiding wheat stuff and milk as much as poss. But I am having it with cereal at breakfast most days. Ironically it was seeking to wean myself off that routine that was where FODMAP started for me!
Anyroad, my lunch today – ‘free from’ macaroni, with two fried eggs, omelette style, grated cheese, ‘free from’ pesto, sat’n’pepper – has prompted this post. The pesto at least has a little flavour. Sure,8ts shite compared to the real McCoy. But the macaroni? What that’s free from is texture flavours, or any ability to promote joie de vivre.
It’s the food equivalent of sackcloth and ashes. Why? Surely those of us seeking alternatives to the things that upset our digestion still want food to fulfil that fundamental role, not just fueling our bodies, but bringing us pleasure!
This macaroni, as utterly bland as it is, is at least not totally revolting. Several free-from pastas I’ve tried were, frankly, inedible. Inedible food? Deliberately manufactured as a ‘healthy alternative’!!! That’s got to rank as one of modern humanity’s greatest follies!?
Just stepped outside the front door. Inside I’m sweating buckets. It’s unbearably close and hooomid! Chester is still AWOL. I’ve been out looking and calling for him. When I stepped out front just now, the weather looks and feels like it’s changing. Rain was forecast for today. But has slipped over to tomorrow. At least on my iPhone weather app.
Got the fan on full, and I’m more or less naked! My naturist side is very much in the ascendant these days. Leastways within the four walls that are our home. It’s because I’m always sooo g’damn hot! I associate this with my current meds…