[sarajevo,1914] you'd think they'd change the script

Mikhail A Molchanov, professor of political science at St Thomas University, Canada writes:

During the whole Boris Yeltsin decade, Russia's foreign policy did not significantly deviate from the master plan devised in Washington. The country was ruled by the oligarchs, not by the elected government.

The West has called this "democracy". While the two small Caucasian nations were clamouring for protection, Moscow's hands were tied by the fear of Western disapproval.

The slightest sign of independent orientation in foreign policy was cited as a proof of Russian "imperialism".

I’m not endorsing this because it ignores certain naughtiness on the Russian side but I think this comment by Tony Sharp:

This was supposed to be about South Ossetian independence and interests. The Russian actions are those of a country determined to control its satellites and impose its will on a sovereign state - Georgia. Whatever the rights and wrongs of Georgia's position, Russia has taken advantage of them. Where next? Ukraine?

… is fairly typical of the Brit reaction, as opposed to Wolfie’s:

Go Vladimir! Thankfully Georgia isn't on our doorstep or we'd dither until everyone was dead.

Richard Havers was close to it, in my eyes, in saying:

Nothing can be quite that simple.

All right, so let’s not get into the rights and wrongs of this side of it for the moment because we’ll be arguing till the cows come home but let’s look instead at what the overall game plan entails, given that the heads of governments are not actually the primary agenda setters.

In other words, where is this thing headed?

The U.S., through NATO, lays down an ultimatum, Putin lays down a counter ultimatum, some ‘statesmen’ like Sarkozy broker a peace, Milliband gets his bit in, China backs Russia, along with Iran and India, the EU imposes sanctions, troops are massed.

Yet the cutters and dicers are all part of the same team, grim-faced and defiant all the way to the round table but there it ends over cocktails. Methinks we need to look at where the current stand-off fits into the overall game plan of creating super-blocs. Does anyone actually deny that the political map is now oriented towards blocs?

That’s what this thing is all about – jostling for position – and it has sfa to do with the good of the common man inside whatever you want to call those republics or however you draw up the map.

You’ll find me in uniform in Dad’s Army within weeks of hostilities breaking out, along with most of my vintage but that doesn’t mean I can’t ask people not to blithely accept the simplistic ‘enemy is evil’ blandishments they’d love us to accept.

Don’t forget this is exactly what the average Russian is saying in reverse.

[conkers] the crime of having fun

In the park just now and the leaves are starting to fall.

People were walking dogs on fancy leads, the grass had been half mown by a council worker but then he'd obviously knocked off, as the rubbish collectors also seemed to do today. Big mistake putting the bin out last night in the hope that when they said they'd come early, they would.

So how about this woman who was taken to court for dropping a sausage roll meant for her daughter? Or the one who waited five years for a house that catered for her disabled son which she never wanted until the council blocked a plan to reconstruct the front of their house?

The one I love is that doing cartwheels is now banned. Girls and boys must now desist because it is highly dangerous to do a cartwheel, as you know. Like playing conkers, there is a very real danger of having fun.

But people still do have fun - they stroll in the park, share a joke, sip a pint, visit the garden centre, go to the conservatory or bicycle to the station and chain the bike up there before taking the train to work.

Carthorses still haul the rag and bone men down Steptoe Lane and people are still polite and helpful, especially in community facilities like libraries.

And the colour is something else again- that rich, soft green and it doesn't really matter a damn what the killjoys are doing - this is still a green and pleasant land.

And we're all going to have fun at Bridlington or Notting Hill or wherever.

Cheers!

[blogosphere] the power of friendship

With ten minutes to go on this one hour internet time I'm allowed at Hull library [and they are very nice people here], I've just checked my email and not yet the post below and have to make a statement.

I don't feel alone with that sort of practical advice and encouragement. I thank you from the bottom of the heart and now, to make you thoroughly sick, I'm going to celebrate this by going out and having fish, chips and mushy peas.

The blogosphere works, it's wonderful and the moment I can get a breather and set up basically, I'm turning round and helping you in return. No doubt on earth about that.

Thanks again.

Proper post this evening.

[the rat race] where are you situated?

Someone recently said that success begets success but once it goes the other way, it all comes over you in waves and you can’t take a trick.

It’s true and an example of my own I can offer is in the mid 90s when I was my lowest ebb ever to that point – unemployed and trying to qualify for ue and housing benefits, once the cash ran out. I don’t really count that one though as I still had the car, clothing, iron and so on and I could compete for jobs. I was shopping for food at M&S.

Still, there were some numbing experiences. Had an interview in south London and it involved calculating the amount of fuel needed to get there, what food could be consumed that day to keep under the budget and so on. Turned out they weren’t interested anyway but just wanted to see me out of interest.

When the break came, it was almost an anti-climax. A teaching job became a housemaster’s then the head’s job itself. As the money moved steadily into the coffers, more smiles greeted me, people sought my company, allowances were made and little things like reserved parking spaces were made available and so on.

Riding relatively high, it all came abruptly to an end due to some issues from the school’s past; it limped on another couple of years but I didn’t.

So, back to square one in Russia and the long slow climb again, to the point where, in Russian terms, I was again right up there, with a thriving practice and coming into the lucrative summer. Contacts were exponentially expanding and I was even being a bit lazy and knocking back offers.

Most readers know what happened from May to August which was stressful but nothing to what it is now. You could well say ‘serve you right’ as I let everything back home slip away, dropped out of the credit system, dispensed with the mobile, failed to renew things like the drivers’ licence etc.

Result being that having returned, there is no recent credit history or any other history for that matter and those that officially bestow things on you don’t like that. They suspect you’re a terrorist, I think. So they refuse you bank accounts, benefits and other little goodies, which in turn means that overseas drafts are stopped dead in the water and a steady stream of refusals result.

Now it only needs one lucky break – one – and the nexus is broken.

I could point to a position I now hold or property I’m renting and everything then expands again. But without that first break, nothing at all comes – it’s scorched earth and meanwhile the clock counts down on largesse shown by certain kind people.

So it comes down to just one break, providing the groundwork is being done thoroughly and we’re up and running. Sound familiar to you, this story?

Incidentally - because the jameshigham email is not working on this computer due to javascript problems, then I also cannot access the address book to write to people nor can I check emails in. The address to use now is nourishingobscurity@gmail.com.

Also also - we were in the park just now and the first clump of leaves were under the tree and the brown leaves were in the trees. Autumn is upon us, folks and it is beautiful.

[criminalization] innocent and guilty alike

This must be of great concern to every one of us.

Tom Paine once mentioned the 3000 new crimes under Blair. Now we have the criminalization of youth and not just them either. There is something wrong when you are turned in by someone and then prosecuted for putting a bottle in the wrong bin or waling in the cycle lane or whatever.

What is happening?

[bank holiday] blackberrying and soaking up the sun

Old gear donned, we headed down the canal in the steamy hot, balmy 20 degrees but I still kept my long sleeve winter sweat top on against the thorns, nettles and thistles which, seeing through this ploy, decided to attack the wrists and face instead.

Deep in shrubbery on the bank, plucking away at juicy berries, the scene sitting beside San Georgio on the curving steps under the hot Sicilian sun was beginning to fade. Oh to have Welshcakes here now, fearlessly charging into the brambles for us, [because all men are wimps, you know], picking the six tubs in far less time than our two and a half hours.

The cuppa cha afterwards was like the nectar of the gods. Plus the cheese sandwich. Piradina con formaggio is also sliding into the medium term memory.

[bank holiday] the long-suffering heroes return

The scene – the Olympic plane lands, the gangway is rolled over and the athletes are rudely torn from their bag collecting and last drinks to line up in formation, attractively arranged down the steps.

Fiona Fatwah [BBC]: Andrew and Sally, come over here please. Well, I’ve simply run out of superlatives. What can I say?

Andrew: Er … I don’t know.

Fiona [recovering her composure]: Well Sally, when you were about to step up onto that podium, how did you feel?

Sally: Awful. I never wanted that medal; I wanted the gold - I could have scratched her bitchy eyes out.

Fiona: Andrew, how did you feel when you won that gold?

Andrew: Sick in my stomach, Fiona. Never wanted that gold.

Fiona: How was the flight back? How would you describe it?

Sally: Ah, there were these three seats, you see and there was a stain on the antimacassar in front of me and I read the in flight magazine twice and had a g&t.

Andrew: Mine was a Carlings.

Fiona: Well guys, do you have a message for the teeming millions watching this because there’s nowt else to do this bank holiday Monday except extend the Olympic fix as long as we can through interviews like this?

Sally: Yes, Fiona – we’d just like to thank everyone and see you in 2012, guys.

[They rush for the team bus which takes off, the camera lovingly trained on the exhaust pipe disappearing round the corner.]

Fiona: And now we cross live to the team reception where Emma Hamilton is awaiting to ambush the luckless athletes.

Emma: And here comes the team bus now. Let me call over Andrew and Sally. Hi guys. Oh gosh, what can I say to you that hasn’t already been said a thousand times already?

Andrew: I have not the shadow of a clue.

Emma: How was the bus trip back from the aeroplane? How would you describe it?

Andrew: Sally, you do this.

Sally: Ah, there were these three seats, you see and there was a stain on Andrew’s uniform in front of me and I and couldn’t get a g&t.

Andrew: I couldn’t get a Carlings.

Emma: Well guys, do you have a message for the teeming millions watching this because there’s nowt else to do this bank holiday Monday except create a feel-good factor as a buffer against the cries of outrage at the £10 billion bill for 2012?

Andrew and Sally: Er … ah … [rush inside for the reception].

Emma [turning to the camera crew]: What did I say? What did I say?

Must I wear shades too?

[need a shave] of metal seats, tube fights and blackberries

Some images above of first impressions.

Question- have you ever spent a night in an airport? Interesting experience, especially the way they do the slippery metal seats with metal armrests in such a way that you can't lie on them. The other guy with me found a way though- put the head on the table effect at the end, the neck under the first armrest and the waist under the second and so on.

There was a chapel in the airport, just as there is a Madonna in every shop and it was nice to spend some time in, that chapel, with it's cleverly backlit crucifixion scene at the front. On the right at the front was a plush velvet chair, presumably for the priest to sit on. When I came back later in the night, there was a shopping trolley in there with plastic bags of someone's worldly goods. In the priest seat was an unfortunate who'd ended up on the street and I thought - there but for the grace ... left a few coins and departed. Hope the airport authorities don't read this post.

I must have looked like a shady character as I got the shakedown on trying to check in and it was my first half-strip in public - hope the public enjoyed it but the paws all over the bod didn't endear it to me too much. The airline quite thoughtfully had provided copies of newspapers with the Madrid disaster plastered over them so that made good reading.

First experience this side was a helpful railway employee called Mark who not only suggested that if I went to the ticket machine round the corner there was no mile-long queue but then he stayed around to ask if I was "all right then" after that. Wish I'd taken his name and sent a letter to the authorities about him - he was exactly the image the railways need.

Of course this was counterbalanced. An old chap couldn't read the signs and was trying to get to the Victoria line so he asked me what it said and I said that I also had trouble with my eyes but I'd ask. As it happens, we were in the right place so we helped each other get to the right train just as it pulled in, which infuriated a nutter with wife and daughter standing in prime position to get on the train.

He threw a tantrum, shouting he was going to put me in hospital and then came at me while the old man looked on in disbelief. I told the nutter he was a f---- imbecile. " Something wrong with your brain, i'n there, eh?" I grinned at him, which seemed to infuriate him more and wife and daughter kept right out of the way. W-e-l-l, why do nutters keep coming at me? I mean ...

So he continued:

"Yeah, you!" he shouted. "Wot you calling me names for?"

"The stress, friend, the stress."

"You got no f----- manners," he shouted.

"Yes I have - I stepped back and let you on first, din I?"

"You wotchit, mate."

"Yeah, yeah, you 'ave a good day too, me china."

The old man had enjoyed this and now asked me if I was travelling to join a boat. "Pardon?" I asked.

"A boot like. Merchant navy. Anyway, they employ Filipinos these days."

"Ah." Turns out he was twenty years in the merchant navy and I thought to myself, that sounds like not a bad idea, really. Either that or become a Benedictine monk.

Still might too but first some blackberry picking tomorrow and another thing - why do councils insist on lopping them down when they're doing no one any harm? This is the sort of out-of-spite thing and then they send in teams of loppers who know nothing whatever about trees and things and they hack at them.

Reminds me up on the moorland some years back when some Dutch company got the right to hack swathes of heather for padding in dam walls in such a way that it could not regrow. Everyone knows that heather needs burning. Still, it was a nice little money spinner for someone.

And another thing- did you see the way McFly hacked up Winner Takes it All today but the version of We Can Be Heroes was pretty good. And what did you think of Jimmy Page and that girl, by the way? And how do you like the way Boris was standing, waving the flag?

I need my winter clothes, even though the ice cream van was out today.

More in the next few days.

Depending upon there being no problem with no passport...

Depending upon there being no problem with no passport...







Saturday Departures from London
24/05/08 to 13/12/08
London King's Cross 09:34 11:48 13:38 17:05 19:41
Grantham 10:44 12:48 14:44 18:10 20:43
Retford 11:06 13:14 15:10 18:31 21:05
Doncaster 11:24 13:27 15:25 18:48 21:20
Selby 11:40 13:43 15:41 19:08 21:36
Howden 11:50 13:53 15:51 19:18 21:46
Brough 12:03 14:05 16:03 19:30 21:58
Hull 12:20 14:22 16:20 19:47 22:15

http://trustedplaces.com/review/uk/hull/food/1a7c57/sicilian-takeaway

Sorry, no shower only bath...


UPDATE: Just received a phone call. The Eagle has landed at Gatwick and is crossing London heading for King's X, and should see him arrive in Hull at 19:47.

The Death of Ann Sadler: Murder by over enthusiastic Dancing

I have been as readers of my own blog can see, musing on the Old Bailey records this morning. Amongst those records one finds interesting cases- and one that I thought the readers of this blog might be interested in was a case of murder by over enthusiastic dancing: here it is

Simon Durrant , was Tryed for Killing Ann Sadler at Leather-sellers Hall , on the 9th of August last, by brusing, rowling and throwing down the said Sadler, of which she languished till the 3d of September and then dyed . The Proof was, that there being a Feast heald there that day and a Dancing Bout ensuing, whilst Durrant was Acting the Countryman, Ann Sadler came in to call her Mistresses Son from thence, when upon intimation Durrant caught hold of her and obliged her to Dance, which she did for almost a quarter of an hour, and then she being about to make her escape from him, he pursued her and puling her back by force threw her down, and tumbled with her over and over; so that being bruised thereby, she went home and sickned and languishing to the day aforesaid, dyed, to which he plaaded that her Dancing was with her own consent and as for the rest it was but a Frolick, and he intended no harm and bringing credible persons to testifie it, and that he laid her down very easily, and further, it appearing upon the Testimony of two Chirurgeons that she dyed not by any Bruise thereby occasioned, he was acquitted , as also upon the Coroners inquisition for Manslaughter.

What lies behind this record? It seems odd at first sight. Let me set up the situation in modern English- what Simon Durrant was accused of was grabbing this young girl, dancing with her, throwing her to the ground, tumbling over her and bruising her so much that she died. It sounds implausible and the two doctors who visited her agreed with my modern impression, that 'she dyed not by any bruise thereby occasioned'. One interpretation sees this case as emerging from something else: Ann Sadler died and her friends hung this charge around the neck of Simon Durrant. He seems to have been a lively young man- and perhaps one that people wanted to bring down, to hang a noose and a murder round his neck.

But look at it again and the evidence changes- its possible to see something there that we might describe as sexual assault- Simon Durrant's excuses are very much in that mould- I did it with her consent, it was just a bit of fun etc etc. That was obviously not the opinion of Ann Sadler's friends when they brought this case to the attention of the court, nor does it seem to be her opinion- she 'languished' for several days before dying. There may have been internal injuries- possibly a little more than a tumble in the hay- that seventeenth century post mortems could not find. Furthermore Sadler may well have faced depression from her ordeal- if we presume that what this account masks is a sexual assault- and that may have assisted her death.

We will never know. Both accounts make sense. A spurious charge invented by Simon Durrant's enemies or a sexual assault that the prejudice and ignorance of the time could not properly judge: its up to you to decide. The evidence is fragmentary and I hope this suggests one of the problems of being a historian, you have a fragment like this and you have to work out what happened from it. Sometimes it is uncertain and you just cannot know- this case is one of those.

?

?

Sicily

[this blog] brought up to date

Seem to write this type of thing every few days but this weekend, whichever way it falls, is a change of life for the Higham. If I don't get back here to this blog, there are other team members I'd invite to contribute.

If I do come back, it will be a metamorphosed Bigglesworth you'll be seeing. This is living by the seat of the pants and you can keep it. I'm more for the quiet life.

'Nuff till we meet again, dear reader.

The temple of tame tigers

The temple of tame tigers

The Wat Pa Luangta Bua Yannasampanno Monastery in Thailand is home to a family of tigers raised by a monk and living alongside human visitors

After poachers killed its mother, villagers brought the first tiger cub to the monastery in 1999

Since then Abbot Chan has created a wildlife sanctuary where tourists can touch resting tigers

There are around 40 tigers in the temple, all of whom have been hand-raised by the monk and have learnt to control their aggressive behaviour

Chan says there is no secret to their friendliness toward humans...

...after four hours of swimming and a good meal of boiled chicken, the nocturnal animals want to sleep through the heat of the day

Tourists can attend, at short distance, the tigers' morning programme which includes exercising their hunting skills in the pool

It is a great tourist spot and a potential death trap, but there have been no accidents yet

Boy in hospital after 'gas lighting' stunt backfires

Boy in hospital after 'gas lighting' stunt backfires



A 12-year-old has been taken to hospital with burns after blowing up a petrol can while breaking wind.

"The boy was attempting to set fire to his farts as part of a competition against his cousin in the garden of a house in Tipton when the accident occurred".

This is a variant of the Night of the Flaming Arseholes...

[outdoor concert] la traviata and other pieces

Just saw the weather report for Britain below as I came up here to report on a magnificent outdoor concert I just attended beside Hotel Palazzo Failla, everyone done up to the nines and expecting great things.

It was great too. Maria Gabriella Ferroni, soprano and Giuseppe Veneziano, tenore sang from Verdi, Puccini, Tosti and Carrubba. It might have been Caruso again in a feast for the ears called "Un lieve palpitare". The outdoor concert was a one off and I am so pleased to have been invited to attend it.

The champas and eats helped a lot too, just to lower the tone a little. However, the tone was considerably lowered by people coming late, standing, blocking others and generally making pests of themselves by then talking so that during the finale, I jumped up and went forward to hear it uninterrupted.

A balmy 29 degrees ensured all were in shirt sleeves for the event. Wish Welshcakes could have been here but there was no chance to get her here at such short notice.

Last observation - my goodness, the Italians put passion into everything they do, don't they?

Weather forecast and lightning strikes

Weather forecast and lightning strikes

Summer lightning over southern England

A series of spectacular lightning strikes lit up the skies as a thunderstorm swept from Sussex through to Suffolk

Despite the London skyline experiencing the impressive light show, there was little actual rainfall in the area, with the clouds particularly high in the atmosphere for a storm

East Sussex Fire and Rescue Service had a busy night, receiving 52 calls in an hour and a half as heavy rain caused floods late Wednesday night

Although not much damage was reported, firefighters from Eastbourne were called to two houses where lightning had struck roofs

Crews in Brighton and Hove were also caused to a series of small floods at houses

The Met Office said the particularly high temperature - peaking at 80F (27C) - contributed to these types of storms, as they made their way from mainland Europe

Today, they expected some more thunder, moving further north up through East Anglia, Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, perhaps with some heavy downpours

Temperatures are expected to peak at 72F (22C) in the London area

Some minor showers are expected, scattered with sunny intervals, although over the weekend things could well go downhill again

What is a McCannism?

What is a McCannism?

A commenter believes this post displays a McCannism. I particularly like this post, and this comment in response:

"How “ludicrous”…

Can you spot the ten alternatives (taken from the Mac Microsoft Office thesaurus) for this popular McCannism word in my Mitchell-style rant below?

How absurd to accuse the innocent Kate McCann of being a “cold fish” and an “ice maiden”. Such a ridculous suggestion just shows how ridiculous some of the stories about the McCanns have become. The daft idea that Kate would hide Maddy’s body in a freezer just shows how farcical this smear campaign has become. The personal attacks on Philomena, with reference to “Comical Philly” are simply outrageous. It is preposterous to claim the McCanns would be so foolish as to invent an abduction to cover up their own dubious actions. Anyone who suspects the McCanns is just plain stupid.

Answers later, folks and what’s the odds on Dimmo Mitchell starting to use some of these alternatives instead of his beloved “ludicrous” from now on".

This post also claims to have the answer to what is a McCannism. Some interesting comments.

We need to ask the McCanns some questions, we also need to ask the Mainstream Media some questions.

The answers are in the details.

Previously, both the McCanns and Clarence Mitchell told reporters when they asked pertinent questions that they could not go into details because of the judicial secrecy laws in Portugal. However, as Gerry states on his blog “It is over 3 weeks since we learned that the Portuguese authorities had...ended judicial secrecy". Why is the MSM not re-asking the questions?

For me a McCannism is a lie told by the McCann camp which we are meant to swallow as truth. It's a bitter pill. Like a secondhand car sales man selling you a lemon. In a wider sense it is also words like ludicrous which the McCann camp kept repeating. They never did say why the accusations were ludicrous.

It is not just Madeleine who is missing, the freedom of the press went walkabout on the McCanns wild goose chase.

P.S.

Kate McCann has said:

“To be honest, I don’t actually think that is the case. I think that is a very small minority of people that are criticising us.”

If that isn't a McCannism is I don't know what is. Between 73 and 82% criticise the McCanns to some greater or lesser degree.

Thought for the Week!

To see the whole world in a grain of sand, and heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and in eternity in an hour.

William Blake

[making gelato] and the dangers of creativity

There are some very interesting people around and sometimes they’re right beside us all along.

I’d include Welshcakes in this, fluent in French and Italian and with immense knowledge of those cultures as well. Her CV, her early years and later moves have shaped her character and now she’s carved out a niche which is sustainable and it’s where she wants to be, as long as health remains good and bureaucracy allows.

Into this came I, some time back, privileged to share a portion of her life but unable, at that point in time, to put very much back in, to my chagrin, a matter I intend to resolve when I can find my own sustainable base. For two such individual characters of different backgrounds, politics and genders, I don’t think it was total disaster and I hope she doesn’t regret the time spent together [too much].

On the other side of town I’ve come to know a young man, Georgio, who has his own talents in his own modest way and he’s interesting on the topic of cuisine/kuchina, gelato making and pizza design, with his own take on language, culture and many other topics. From another town, he’s carved a niche for himself in both places and lives not far from where I am currently holed up.

I think what I like most about him is that he is solitary, not entirely by choice and at the same time enjoys great warmth from those about him. He’s creative and recognizes and respects that in others. Whilst he’s a humble barman on one level, a person the crass would dismiss out of hand, his solitariness does not exclude others - it’s just that people are wary of someone like that who’s done it his own way and for whom every step forward, every break he gets, is accompanied by an opposite vicissitude.

The net effect though is that he does go forward.

Italy seems to me admirably suited to accommodate human tragedy. Sitting, drinking Nasto Azzurra and nibbling on nibbles, discussing shades of difference in the Italian language, discussing architecture, painting and kuchina on a 40 degree plus day, when virtually the whole population was at the beach enjoying what they saw and we both didn’t as la dolce vita; in the early evening, with the periphery of the northern Italian storms arriving, the umbrellas and awnings flapping wildly in the wind to the point we all had to race outside and batten them down – this was no ordinary experience.

Some people live lives of quiet desperation and wish and hope, in that Walter Mitty way, for some excitement or break from the tedium. Some live from tragedy to tragedy, blow to blow, punctuated by bouts of joy. Some might even be happy and contented, surrounded by family and friends – I wouldn’t know about such people but I wish them well.

Then there are those fey characters we meet, ships out on the sea who come into port for a brief time and then must move on again – think of the experiences they’ve accumulated, like barnacles which can’t be scratched off, not willingly itinerant by any means but ready to meet that someone and to settle down - yet something in the firmament will not allow this to ever happen.

You can’t call such people depressed, as they usually bounce back but they are, ultimately, tragic and a little cold, a little unapproachable until they themselves find a way to interface with others at a personal level. I find such people not sociopathic; there are few skeletons in the cupboard of any consequence – they’re just appreciative of the chance of human warmth though they don’t really know what to do with it once they are extended it. In the end, they’re nice people but will never be part of any circle of friends.

Everyone hopes they find what they’re looking for - normal people always like to demand concrete goals of others - but their goals are just to find a sustainable base and some human warmth, as with “normal” people, yet somehow things manage to get in the way to prevent that, quite rotten luck really, in part a product of their own unusual and interesting lives.

And as they grow older, what was once seen as a life of adventure is now viewed with a jaundiced eye and as they fail to settle into the wife, home, car and two kids life-in-hock, people say, ‘Nice man, kind face,’ but secretly resolve he’ll never marry their daughter. They almost resent his bad luck and think, perhaps with an element of truth, that he brought it all on himself.

These are things I saw in the future yesterday for my young friend and hope to goodness it doesn’t go that way. Fine thing to be creative, to sit on the steps beside limestone churches and admire the baroque period but it hardly puts bread on the table, does it?

Also, he’s not getting any younger but at least he’s in the country of his upbringing.

Could be the last for some time

It is looking increasingly like I shall not be able to post for a week or so. The availability of this computer is running out with a high influx of visitors. I'll try though.

[ave maria] and italian national bell ringing day

The above sketch is a not very good attempt at conveying the scene on this clifftop. In reality, it is far steeper than shown, more crowded, with narrower streets and not as regular. By the way, if Piazza is “square”, then why is it a triangle?

The road is either cobblestone or pitch and where it is the latter, it’s been rubbed smooth and shiny by tyre tracks and oil, so you can imagine the behaviour of the cars. The 25cm x 35cm stones, making up the pathways and squares, have also been worn smooth and one imagines one fall of rain for an ice rink effect, particularly fun as the square has a gradient of about 1 in 10.

Picturesque? Painfully so and the irregular angles are like something out of an art student’s perspective class or else something from Escher.

Last evening, to drown the sorrows, I went down to M. Bassa and sat, for a while, in Santa Maria di Betlem. You want outrageous baroque? There it is inside. If you’re suffering from church fatigue in your travels, this would cure it. I hope no one from Modica is reading this because … shhhhh … don’t tell anyone but SMdiB is better inside than St George’s or any of the others I’ve seen.

Just now, as I write, sitting on the bed, with the pillow up against the bedhead behind and the Mac on one knee, the bloody bell across the narrow street has started its maniacal ringing. Wouldn’t mind if it was playing a tune but someone in there is just bashing the hell out of it, which is probably the general idea.

Actually, it is quite disconcerting popping out for one’s elevenses and coming face to face with a priest in the middle of the slick, pitch, downhill car racetrack. “Guorno,” one says, wondering if an “Ave Maria” should have been tacked on to the end of that.

Speaking of Ave Maria, last evening in Santa Maria on Corso Umberto, with a little bar in the adjoining piazza for those souls who can’t face the whole Mass, there were two offputting things.

Firstly, there was a sign with two bouncers nearby and it read, in Italian [yes, I can read Italian now] that visiting the church is suspended due to a service being in progress, which it was. To their credit, the double doors were still wide open, unlike the church in Modica Sorda. Quick check of the French and yes, “suspended” was certainly the translation.

Fair enough, methought. Wedged between these was the quite nasty English version: ‘Visiting the church is forbidenn during the service.’

Lovely, simply lovely for all the English speakers, of which most would have been American. Simply charming, along with those bouncers. I went down the side road looking for the little door to the curia or wherever the clergy hang out and I was going to have a word about that translation.

That’s my mission in life, you realize – to see cra--y translations and write better ones for them. 

I was also, as an afterthought, going to mention to the priest that there was a heck of a lot of calling on the name of Maria during the service and not a lot of Father, Son and the Santa Espirita [that’s how it sounded to me but I’m sure scholars will correct that]. Then it seemed better not to, as the girl with the guitar was really getting into the Ave Marias and I felt a bit naked without my rosary beads. It does seem a very cross-generational community thing, all in all.

Don’t see what the difficulty with Catholicism is, really. All right, a bit lighter on the Mary presence, if you wouldn’t mind and the rosary beads and bits of the true cross take a bit of getting used to but it could be cathartic sitting in a little box recounting your sins to a padre, as in The Seventh Seal.

Everything else seems above board in there – lots of crosses and an altar, a pleasing nave to sit in and a lot of people reciting the catechism. In Latin or Italian – take your pick. And as a heretic to Protestantism [I believe in Purgatory – please, please let there be one, otherwise I’m damned], there seems to be some middle ground. Plus, if we left it to the Protestant clergy to uphold the Word round the world, there’d be precious little Word still being spread. My denomination, the C of E, hasn’t exactly covered itself in glory these past decades.

So to today and I’m afraid it’s time for elevenses, so off for some more adventures on this Italian National Blaring Car Horns and Lots of Interminable Shouting Outside Your Cave Day. As the barman and I agreed yesterday, when everyone crams into cars and goes down to the beach for their festa, we stay up here in town. When they come back in the cooler months, we go down there.

One last chuckle. Yesterday, I complimented three Sicilians who were sitting, eating a meal, on their Italian speaking, as I’m struggling with it a bit. ‘Italian?’ spake the girl. ‘Non, he speaks Ragusan and this one speaks Modica Altan.’

‘Oh,’ which is better?’ I innocently inquired.

I learnt a lot from the subsequent ‘discussion’, not least that I must learn when to keep the mouth closed – an Italian ‘discussion’ has no use-by date. They are lovely people, the Sicilians of my acquaintance and they do seep into the soul after some time.



The Mount Grace Lady Chapel at Osmotherely

The Mount Grace Lady Chapel at Osmotherely

According to wikipedia: "A Lady chapel is a traditional English term for a chapel inside a cathedral or large church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Most large medieval churches had such a chapel, as Roman Catholic ones still do, and middle-sized churches often had a side-altar dedicated to Mary".

However, we like to be different in Yorkshire.



"The Mount Grace Lady Chapel in North Yorkshire is a long established place of pilgrimage. It is situated on a hillside above Mount Grace Priory and within walking distance from the picturesque village of Osmotherley in the North York Moors National Park".

"The Lady Chapel originated as an outlying chapel of the nearby Carthusian priory of Mount Grace, now belonging to the National Trust but managed and maintained by English Heritage. The Lady Chapel site is close to the route of the Cleveland Way and provides a panoramic view across the Vale of York towards the Yorkshire Dales and beyond to the Pennines".

Prior to my release from prison in 2004, I had the pleasure of doing community work at The Lady Chapel, whilst on day release from Kirklevington Grange resettlement prison at Yarm in Cleveland. I was fascinated to read about the connection between Hull and the Lady Chapel during the rescusant pilgrimage, when bodies would be carried over the North Yorkshire Moors for secret burials.

"Built in the late fifteenth century the Lady Chapel stands close to a Holy Spring to to which steps ascended from the Carthusian priory of Mount Grace, down in the woods below. At one time the residence of a hermit named Hugh, Lady Chapel became, at the Dissolution, the pension home of the last prior, John Wilson.

Unroofed and deserted during the late sixteenth century, it had become a lively centre of recusant pilgrimage in the early years of James I, and evoked the attention of the Ecclesiastical Commission of the Archbishop of York in 1614. In the reign of Charles I Mary Ward, foundress of the IBVM, went there on pilgrimage, and in the reign of Charles II a full restoration was even considered when Lady Juliana Walmsley established the Franciscans in Osmotherley for the help and support of pilgrims. The Titus Oates Plot and the fall of the Stuarts put an end to that.

As a regular visitor to Osmotherley in the 1750s John Wesley records preaching at the Catholic Chapel in Osmotherley and visiting the ruined chapel on the hill-top. And pilgrims continued to visit the holy spring even after the Franciscan finally withdrew in 1832.

The ruin came back into Catholic hands in 1952, and excavation was made of the floor of the chapel with the possibility of finding burials there, one such possibility being that of Margeret Clitherow who had been secretly buried after her execution in York in 1586. Burials were indeed found in the chapel, but their identities remain unknown.

The chapel was restored by the Scrope and Eldon families. The arms of the families involved are shown in stained glass in the west window of the chapel, illustrated on the left. The chapel was blessed in 1961 by Cardinal Godfrey and reopened as a pilgrimage centre. Shortly afterwards the Franciscans returned to help and support pilgrimages until they withdrew in 1994".

Pearson Park 2

Pearson Park 2

C'mon, hurry up, I want to get into the park...

Rocky chewing something in Pearson Park...

Now which one of these ducks shall I have?

Rocky eating ice cream, Lily and me by the ice cream hut in Pearson Park

[exotic views] plum wine and chicken

[Excuse pics 2-4 – they were taken with the Mac portrait cam which decided it was the day for washed-out sepia, so it seems.]

Last evening the edge went off the heat about 11 p.m. and I went for a climb downhill [there’s no such thing as a stroll here] and found a spot stuck out in space, from where the whole valley can be seen in all its twinkling light. To the right was the Church of St George, also lit up.

It’s exotic all right but I see Jailhouse Lawyer has been pretty active too with exotic pictures of Hull. A Sicilian I was speaking with here wants to get out of here at the first opportunity and go to Britain – it’s exotic, he thinks.

I think my cave [pictured right] is also pretty exotic.

Now to food. Welshcakes had given me a bottle of her plum wine the other evening, by the way and it’s superb with some grapes. She should run a restaurant.

I found I could buy a slice of chicken, some beans and tomatoes and put them together with some parsley and pasta, all for under 3 euros and that makes for the meal of the day today and tomorrow. [The result, for what it’s worth, is to the left]. A glass of beer for 1.5 euros does for the evening meal and the trick is to sleep through breakfast.

The Italian National Holiday is upon us this weekend [this afternoon through to Sunday evening] and there threaten to be fireworks, all kinds of festa and a mass flocking to the beachhouses. Should be good back in the old town with only the Palazzo Faillo [pic above doesn’t do it justice, of course] open for piadini and other delights.

This weekend has a special piquancy for me and I hope your weekend is lovely too.

Pearson park

Pearson park

Pearson park lies about 1 mile (1.5km) northwest of the city centre and was the first public park to be opened in Hull. The land for the park was provided in 1860 by Zachariah Charles Pearson (1821-91) to mark his first term as mayor of Hull. He shrewdly retained c.12 acres (5 Ha) of land surrounding the park to build villa residences. Two years later his shrewdness failed him when he bought on credit a large fleet of ships and attempted to run arms through the Federal blockade during the American Civil War (1861-65). The venture failed and all his vessels were captured. Financially ruined, Pearson resigned half way through his second term as mayor and spent the last 29 years of his life in obscurity, living in a modest terraced house in a quiet corner of the park which bore his name.

The park, which covers c.23 acres (9 Ha) of land, was designed by James Craig Niven (1828-81), curator of Hull's Botanic Gardens. Features of the park include a small serpentine lake, a broad carriage drive running around the perimeter, and a Victorian-style conservatory (rebuilt in 1930) - all set in well-maintained grounds with plenty of trees and shrubs.

The main entrance to the park, at the end of Pearson Avenue on Beverley Road, is through an elaborate cast-iron gateway created by Young & Pool in c.1863. The gateway, along with several other structures within the park, is now listed as a building of special architectural/historic interest. The other listed structures include:

* the east entrance lodge (number 1) built in 1860-1
* an ornate cast-iron canopied drinking fountain erected in 1864
* the statue of Queen Victoria created by Thomas Earle in 1861
* the statue of Prince Albert created by Thomas Earle in 1868
* the Pearson memorial - an iron-stone monolith featuring a marble relief carving created by William Day Keyworth junior in 1897
* the cupola from Hull's demolished Town Hall built in 1862-66 (erected here in 1912) and
* three surrounding villas (numbers 43, 50 and 54) built in the 1860s

Construction on the villas began as soon as the park was laid out. Most of them remain today including number 32, the top-floor flat of this house owned by the university, which was the home of poet Philip Larkin for 18 years (1956-74).

Commentary: I am glad I looked this up, because I had assumed that the gates must have led to a mansion in the grounds and that at some stage it must have been demolished. I was particularly interested in Zachariah Charles Pearson's role in the American Civil War.

Photo: wikipedia

[south ossetia] not straightforward

This is my post some time back on the matter.

If you have a long border and if on your doorstep is a tinpot demagogue shoring up his own position and gladly accepting largesse from a traditional enemy by oppressing the people loyal to your country, what do you do?

Tell me any country which does not protect its own interests. This is far more complex than is being presented.

[little gems] to ease the perspiring brow

My little car in Mill Hill during my last "troubles"

Interesting being stateless and destitute because it focuses the mind wonderfully in analysing the situation and some things are borne in on you:

1. You’re not really stateless as everyone has some passport and you’re never really destitute because there is always a little left;

2. You’re not without friends and you find out now who your friends are and whom you thought were but turned out not to be. Blog friends have fallen into both camps and one just notes for future reference and passes on. It’s essential to realize the limitations to this. You can’t depend on the very best person for more than a certain time. He or she would allow it at a pinch but you must not and when it’s time, it’s time. One little addendum is that it’s essential to stress that you go with only deep gratitude and a mental note that this kindness is to be repaid asap, not with any ill will of any kind;

3. It’s essential that when you’ve defined your little living space, you first keep it scrupulously clean and tidy, fighting the depression as far as possible and then start to extend your influence in this to the rest of the space around that. Delighted to see we have a bucket and mop at the ready in this place. Also, you start to see hidden benefits, little gems you hadn’t seen at first. For example, the people I’m with are not here and the automatic washing machine, used once in four days, is a boon. That’s not poverty.

If you lose your housepride, you’re dead or dying in my book – this is what I was brought up to believe. Once, camping in the forest, we put up a bivouac of sticks and undergrowth and then I saw the first thing she did was to put together a brush and sweep the place out – a space which had been forest floor up to that point.

Last time I was in this state I still maintained the vehicle in the above photo and used it once in three days for short hops over to Hendon or to drop into Marks and Sparks food store. It cost nothing to keep it washed and people didn’t really believe I was in the state I was but one tank of petrol was to do a month. On Sundays I walked down to a little group at 8 a.m. at a lovely church, St Michaels and All Saints, for communion. My actual address was “The Moorings” – what had been a stately house and had now fallen on hard times. Still, it looked good on paper;

4. You’re not without your things and you probably came away with your triple-head philoshave, laptop, some nice clothes and so on. So you’re really not living without – the ability to do this post now on my Mac and then try to negotiate getting it on to the net comes later, via the usb stick. Should I have to fly next week, unfortunately over half of this has to be left and stored.

5. Routines become sacrosanct. It’s 10 a.m. now and it’s coming up to Elevenses at the hotel. There is a little side bar with really the most friendly faces [and not just for commercial reasons – they’re staff, not the owners although the owners are good people too]. The main thing for me is to be able to converse in Italian, in airconditioned comfort, in beautifully ornate surroundings, to read La Sicilia at leisure and learn, learn, learn and all for very little outlay. I reason that as I’m likely to be a regular here for years, however small each outlay, it will eventually add up. When I start to accrue again, the ante is upped of course.

6. Possibilities do open up if you have some skills, are prepared to find work immediately and do some praying. The worst thing possible is to close yourself off and start chanting woe-is-me – you have to expand contacts – you’re going to need them to help your own friend sooner or later once you’re set up again.

7. Your health is an absolute essential. If you’ve trained in the gym in the recent past, then even though you’ve atrophied a lot, the body does remember and when you exercise again [impossible not to in this hilly terrain], it stands you in good stead. You have to refuse breads and pastries and stick to meat and veg, beer, water and the occasional treat of coffee and chocolate. Lots of water.

You need to get to bed early. I put it to the Sicilians yesterday that they eat at the wrong time – in the middle of the night at 1 a.m. They shook their heads and said no we don’t – we eat at around 10 p.m. when it gets cool and then get to bed as most of us work the next morning early. I’m dropping off about midnight myself and am up at 7 a.m. to do the domestic chores.

Where we do disagree though is in what constitutes a meal. Yesterday I ate with two young ladies and one young man and later I said to one of them that that was my meal for the day. She was horrified – but it was a snack of prosciutto, salad and melon. It was enough for me. A beer in the evening with some nuts is a good supper in my book. I’m not doing pick and shovel work, am I?

8. Lastly, it can all be killed of by the stroke of a bureaucratic, Sword of Damocles, pen of State. You have to recognize reality and certain impossibilities. I have a miniscule retirement fund o/s but first I have to write to them and they must put it to various boards and the thing takes a month but it’s killed off at this moment by the uncertainty of where I’ll be in a week or so from now. Ditto other possibilities which take a longer time than the rate at which the cash is dwindling [slowly but surely].

You can be sure that all possibilities are being explored and attended to and anyway, the thing must resolve itself in the next week, one way or the other – it has to.

The alternative is mindboggling.

What does the jury think?

What does the jury think?

Norfolk Blogger who is a LibDem states the Tories are right on this issue.

Juliet Lyon of Prison Reform Trust states the Tories are wrong on this issue.

What does the jury think?