When a person I regard as quite liberal expresses some sort of support for some of the precepts of Pegida, then I know that we western Europeans - and probably further afield too - have a problem. And whatever it is that Pegida have tapped into with my aforementioned friend, they have managed to identify in others across Europe as well - indeed I have seen Monday night Pegida demonstrations in Rotterdam and Oslo, and we in the UK have our own 'Pegida Lite' manifestation in UKIP.
So what is it that is bothering people - and I don't mean the usual demographic of unemployed, uneducated casual racists on the right - but the more centrist, better educated middle classes? I suggest it is loss of national identity. Now, one has to be very careful about using the 'N' word, and the Left get deeply uncomfortable with nationalism - but I think a distinction needs to be drawn between nationalism - and patriotism. But back to 'identity'. Citizens of a country like to know where they belong, what their country, society stands for. Very often they believe there are certain aspects of their country that quintessentially express their national characteristic, as they see it. And the problem of increasing immigration is that immigrants, for whatever reason, are not being assimilated into society, and are not identifying themselves with their new home country.
This is for a number of reasons. Firstly, many immigrants are poorly educated and, as such, poorly equipped for earning a living wage in Europe in the current economic state we are in, and thus are immediately thrown onto whatever welfare state provisions that exist. This creates some resentment amongst some existing inhabitants. The second consequence of the economic downturn is that host countries lack the resources and (or aren't prepared) to spend money in the areas needed to assimilate immigrants successfully. Furthermore, because the existing nationals of the country are already struggling to have a decent standard of living, this creates resentment of the incomes, who they see as making their share of 'the pie' smaller than it might otherwise have been. So far so familiar, for any downturn since 1945. However, increased mobility and increased inequality means these issues are more exaggerated than ever before.
Therefore, however well immigrants are integrated into a society, however well they assimilate and identify with their adopted country, there will always be a fringe element of right wing xenophobes for whom any immigrants are unacceptable. The challenge for democratic governments is to manage assimilation well enough to ensure that such elements remain at the margins, and that Pegida like groups do not gain critical mass and move the governments of Europe to the right in the way that was seen in the 1930s.
A good example to look at here is that of Australia in 1989, and their approach to multiculturalism. in which it was perfectly acceptable for the citizen-immigrant to express their cultural identity - balanced by an obligation to accept the rule of law, parliamentary democracy, freedom of speech & religion, English as the national language and equality of the sexes. Everyone should have a 'primary loyalty to Australia'. Thus there is an in-built citizenship test, and an approach to multiculturalism that integrates ethnic and cultural minorities as citizens.
To me, this is the crux of citizenship and patriotism: where does one's 'primary loyalty' lie - or, putting it bluntly: Who do you cheer for at an international team sporting event? How do you make immigrants patriots? And how do you define the essence of 'German-ness' or 'Dutch-ness'?
Unfortunately, the Left / social democrats tend to avoid talking about patriotism, seeing it as akin to nationalism. The danger of this is that it leaves the field open to the far right. But patriotism as a virtue, a loyalty that motivates citizens to make sacrifices for the improvement of their country and sees its public institutions as their own and readily contribute to its flourishing, is entirely laudable. Rich tax avoiders who manage their tax affairs out of tax havens very often consider themselves patriots - but how can anyone who undermines the public purse and therefore public institutions, institutions that make their society what it is, ever be true patriots?
So if we fail to assimilate immigrants as citizens, if we allow them to ghetto-ize themselves, set themselves aside, resentment grows and society is divided. Similarly one has to question whether faith schools help this process, help understanding of wider society. Or do they contribute to divided sections of society which at best doesn't understand other sections, and at worst is openly hostile.
In all of our countries governments have to outline the vision of what our society is, what it stands for and educate all elements of society as to the values that society holds dear. It has to identify the national cultural issues and nurture them, and make citizens proud of them. Most of all, it has to make all citizens feel they belong and that behaving as a profoundly different group within the society within which you have settled, is unacceptable. You have to want to wear the national flag at the Olympic Games if you, like Mo Farrah, a Somali refugee, happen to win the 10,000 metres.
If we fail to integrate immigrants, if we fail to define, protect and nurture the cultural values that are precious to each of our countries, Pegida, or Pegida like organisations will gain strength and we will be back in the 1930s. Because immigration isn't going to go away.
Wednesday 11 February 2015
Monday 13 May 2013
Crisis? What crisis
So, in the last week the atmospheric concentration of CO2 reached 400ppm for the first time in human history, for the first time since the Pliocene Age, we are told. And the world didn't end.
This is probably 'a good thing'. The unfortunate thing is that this number had been (is?) given some significance by the scientific community. But the world kept turning, the sun came up and you could still go down the shops for a loaf of bread. 'Just more scientific scaremongering' Mr Average thought as he reversed his SUV off the driveway. It was almost as if something epochal had to happen as this sad marker was passed. Except that something epochal IS happening - just not in most people's backyards.
I won't go through the list of disastrous changes the world is undergoing - many of them irreversible, but perhaps the worst of all (and the most irreversible) is the rate of species extinction. Of the many statistics bandied about, let me give you just two: globally the abundance of vertebrate species has fallen by nearly 1/3 since 1970 (according to the 2010 Global Biodiversity report. Forget about extinctions - there are now a third fewer wild animals on the planet than 40 years ago (never mind about plants and invertebrates, which are also under massive pressure).
Thing is, it's not as if people don't care - many do. But it's just that as individuals we don't think we can make any difference - so let's eat, drink and be merry - and thank goodness that sea levels aren't 40 metres higher, as they were last time the planet was at the 400 mark. Politicians wring their hands - but very few are real visionaries, most focussed on policies that will get them re-elected in 5 years time, and whether growth is 0.5% per year, or a whole ONE per cent! Companies care about dividends for their shareholders over the next few years, 5 if you're lucky. So I really question whether the democratic - capitalist model can deliver when we are faced with truly global, long-term challenges. When it does try and deliver a global treaty (such as the Kyoto Protocol), nations renege on the deal if it no longer suits them (Thank you USA, Canada and Australia). Anyway treaties that deal with some environmental problem or other are only tinkering at the edges of the real problem: population.
Eventually every species reaches the limits of its ecological space, and humans won't be any different - we've just been much better at increasing that space (to the disadvantage of every other species on the planet). The question is, what will the planet look like by the time we get to that point? Grey, covered in large desert areas, with very little wildlife? I don't want to be around to find out. The only country that has tried to address population growth is a totalitarian one. But I suspect that unless the rest of the world wakes up to dealing with the 'P' word, then our problems will only worsen, and population crash, when it comes (as it does for all species) will be genuinely catastrophic. So in a way it's shame that the sun DIDN'T come up for one day (or something spectacular, but equally short term), the day we went through the 400 mark. Maybe the people would have demanded action from their leaders. But it was just another day, and the ship of fools sails merrily on. Place your bets on when we reach 450?
This is probably 'a good thing'. The unfortunate thing is that this number had been (is?) given some significance by the scientific community. But the world kept turning, the sun came up and you could still go down the shops for a loaf of bread. 'Just more scientific scaremongering' Mr Average thought as he reversed his SUV off the driveway. It was almost as if something epochal had to happen as this sad marker was passed. Except that something epochal IS happening - just not in most people's backyards.
I won't go through the list of disastrous changes the world is undergoing - many of them irreversible, but perhaps the worst of all (and the most irreversible) is the rate of species extinction. Of the many statistics bandied about, let me give you just two: globally the abundance of vertebrate species has fallen by nearly 1/3 since 1970 (according to the 2010 Global Biodiversity report. Forget about extinctions - there are now a third fewer wild animals on the planet than 40 years ago (never mind about plants and invertebrates, which are also under massive pressure).
Thing is, it's not as if people don't care - many do. But it's just that as individuals we don't think we can make any difference - so let's eat, drink and be merry - and thank goodness that sea levels aren't 40 metres higher, as they were last time the planet was at the 400 mark. Politicians wring their hands - but very few are real visionaries, most focussed on policies that will get them re-elected in 5 years time, and whether growth is 0.5% per year, or a whole ONE per cent! Companies care about dividends for their shareholders over the next few years, 5 if you're lucky. So I really question whether the democratic - capitalist model can deliver when we are faced with truly global, long-term challenges. When it does try and deliver a global treaty (such as the Kyoto Protocol), nations renege on the deal if it no longer suits them (Thank you USA, Canada and Australia). Anyway treaties that deal with some environmental problem or other are only tinkering at the edges of the real problem: population.
Eventually every species reaches the limits of its ecological space, and humans won't be any different - we've just been much better at increasing that space (to the disadvantage of every other species on the planet). The question is, what will the planet look like by the time we get to that point? Grey, covered in large desert areas, with very little wildlife? I don't want to be around to find out. The only country that has tried to address population growth is a totalitarian one. But I suspect that unless the rest of the world wakes up to dealing with the 'P' word, then our problems will only worsen, and population crash, when it comes (as it does for all species) will be genuinely catastrophic. So in a way it's shame that the sun DIDN'T come up for one day (or something spectacular, but equally short term), the day we went through the 400 mark. Maybe the people would have demanded action from their leaders. But it was just another day, and the ship of fools sails merrily on. Place your bets on when we reach 450?
Friday 15 February 2013
Art for art's sake
I cannot say I'm a big art fan. But I'm a fan of the arts. Which means from time to time I trundle along to the theatre, the odd ballet and last Sunday, art exhibition (let's not say anything about the poetry reading in Stroud, and the woman reading the poem about shaving her armpits....)
It was an interesting setting, being a disused waterside warehouse in south Rotterdam. The organisers had rigged up an impromptu cafe on the ground floor, and very good its offerings looked too - lots of homemade stuff, I noticed, as we queued for tickets. The queuing crowd was interesting too - not the alternative Rotterdam set that I had imagined would attend such a venue (well maybe midday was a bit early for them), but a rather smartly dressed elderly crowd. Some of the organisers staff were trying for 'alternative' by burning pallets for warmth outside on the quay, to cultivate a pseudo NY street living image. Should have popped inside to the caff instead!
Anyway back to the exhibition. We started on the top 2 floors, where there was an exhibition called 'China Expo'. And do you know what? It was really good. Thought provoking, touching your emotions, original. I drifted between exhibits, occasionally sharing thoughts with my kids (who had persuaded me along actually).
This is why I enjoy art - and poetry. I may not always understand it, but it can produce an emotional response from a part of my brain that I suspect isn't used that much. A wire structure slowly spun in a corner, casting the shadow of two old men locked together in an interminable lively discussion. I loved a bizarre papier mache construct called 'The Pleasure Garden' by Couzijn van Leeuwen (courtesy Galerie Wit if you're interested) and many other little moments of surprise and delight.
Drop down to the next 3 floors and you are in the Art Fair proper. And Boy, don't you notice the difference. As we studied some drawings, my son Charlie remarked that perhaps he should sell some of his drawings, (Charlie being something of an accomplished cartoonist, a fact that only his friends and family know about him) - to which I instantly replied 'Yes you probably could Charlie - but you draw for your own enjoyment, not because you have to'.
And I wonder how much this essential, differentiating driver, formulates an artists work. because we scooted through these next 3 floors of (in the main) soulless, pretentious crap. I began to understand the crowd in the queue. They had come to spend their savings on some objet that could fill their well-heeled Kralinge residences and that their neighbours wouldn't have. Well there were plenty of opportunities for that - probably their neighbours (if they had any sense) wouldn't have been seen dead with half of that waste of creative talent.
I left somewhat dejected, wondering if this need to sell doesn't somehow corrupt the work of the artist or writer. Write /paint /draw for yourself when the force is with you, and it's a pure expression of creative force. Feel that you have to, and all of a sudden....it's very different. Your soul isn't necessarily in it - head is dictating to the heart. You need the money! The consequence of this was there for all to see at the 'art' fair.
Writers like Joseph Conrad (and probably many others) had long periods of writers block. This is because the pressure of having to produce was just too much for them. It didn't, ultimately, stop him from producing some wonderful novels. Vikas Swarup wrote his little gem of a novel 'Q&A' (better known as Slumdog Millionaire) when he was an Indian diplomat
in London. When asked whether he would now leave his day job to concentrate on writing, he replied he wouldn't - that he would rather write when he didn't have to write, because that way he could enjoy it.
I wonder, truly, how many of these exhibiting artists last Sunday, can truly say they enjoy the work they had produced for sale. And how many of them recall the Hans Christian Andersson tale for the ages 'The Emperor's new clothes'.
It was an interesting setting, being a disused waterside warehouse in south Rotterdam. The organisers had rigged up an impromptu cafe on the ground floor, and very good its offerings looked too - lots of homemade stuff, I noticed, as we queued for tickets. The queuing crowd was interesting too - not the alternative Rotterdam set that I had imagined would attend such a venue (well maybe midday was a bit early for them), but a rather smartly dressed elderly crowd. Some of the organisers staff were trying for 'alternative' by burning pallets for warmth outside on the quay, to cultivate a pseudo NY street living image. Should have popped inside to the caff instead!
Anyway back to the exhibition. We started on the top 2 floors, where there was an exhibition called 'China Expo'. And do you know what? It was really good. Thought provoking, touching your emotions, original. I drifted between exhibits, occasionally sharing thoughts with my kids (who had persuaded me along actually).
This is why I enjoy art - and poetry. I may not always understand it, but it can produce an emotional response from a part of my brain that I suspect isn't used that much. A wire structure slowly spun in a corner, casting the shadow of two old men locked together in an interminable lively discussion. I loved a bizarre papier mache construct called 'The Pleasure Garden' by Couzijn van Leeuwen (courtesy Galerie Wit if you're interested) and many other little moments of surprise and delight.
Drop down to the next 3 floors and you are in the Art Fair proper. And Boy, don't you notice the difference. As we studied some drawings, my son Charlie remarked that perhaps he should sell some of his drawings, (Charlie being something of an accomplished cartoonist, a fact that only his friends and family know about him) - to which I instantly replied 'Yes you probably could Charlie - but you draw for your own enjoyment, not because you have to'.
And I wonder how much this essential, differentiating driver, formulates an artists work. because we scooted through these next 3 floors of (in the main) soulless, pretentious crap. I began to understand the crowd in the queue. They had come to spend their savings on some objet that could fill their well-heeled Kralinge residences and that their neighbours wouldn't have. Well there were plenty of opportunities for that - probably their neighbours (if they had any sense) wouldn't have been seen dead with half of that waste of creative talent.
I left somewhat dejected, wondering if this need to sell doesn't somehow corrupt the work of the artist or writer. Write /paint /draw for yourself when the force is with you, and it's a pure expression of creative force. Feel that you have to, and all of a sudden....it's very different. Your soul isn't necessarily in it - head is dictating to the heart. You need the money! The consequence of this was there for all to see at the 'art' fair.
Writers like Joseph Conrad (and probably many others) had long periods of writers block. This is because the pressure of having to produce was just too much for them. It didn't, ultimately, stop him from producing some wonderful novels. Vikas Swarup wrote his little gem of a novel 'Q&A' (better known as Slumdog Millionaire) when he was an Indian diplomat
in London. When asked whether he would now leave his day job to concentrate on writing, he replied he wouldn't - that he would rather write when he didn't have to write, because that way he could enjoy it.
I wonder, truly, how many of these exhibiting artists last Sunday, can truly say they enjoy the work they had produced for sale. And how many of them recall the Hans Christian Andersson tale for the ages 'The Emperor's new clothes'.
Saturday 6 June 2009
Die Totenhosen
Regular readers of my diatribes (both of you) will know that MM has always been partial to a bit of live music, notwithstanding his unfortunate enforced exit from the Black Crowes bash at Brixton 3 weeks ago - but that's another story. Hem). Never a fan of stadium rock though.
So quite how it was that I found myself filing into the Europahalle sports stadium in downtown Karlsruhe last Thursday to watch a band I'd never heard of, was down to a peculiar combination of a property broker and some spontaneous desire to see what this legendary German punk group was all about.
Die Totenhosen, or as you English speakers are likely to call them The Dead Trousers (and don't go all Wallace & Gromit on me here), are something of a cult of 30 years standing. They look fairly unremarkable (compared to their fans anyway) except for the rhythmn guitarist, who, in an effort to give the band a more offbeat look (or cover up his spam, who knows) wears a bowler hat. It doesn't work particularly.
The Europahalle is like a mini O2, for those of you have had that dubious pleasure. On entering everyone was being offered earplugs by a cheery gent wearing a T shirt which insisted that 'Alcohol is not the answer'. Well it is if the question is 'What is it in beer that gets you off your face?', but I digress. However, it did strike me as rather incongruous that these 40something fans with hair spiked specially for the occasion, were grabbing the 'plugs by the handful.
Judging form the clapping & cheering for the support act the Doughnuts (Yes, reader. German rock bands DO need to do a bit more work on their names I agree), I could tell it was going to be a lively evening. The main act came on to the strains of the crowd singing 'You'll never walk alone'. Oddly enough it appears to be some sort of signature tune for Die Totenhosen - couldn't tell you why. The band then launched into a succession of what, to me, seemed some fairly innocuous clappa-singalonga 'Oi' pop songs, but the crowd was loving the whole show and that, in the end, is what matters. Crucially for Die Totenhosen, and probably why they have never made it outside Germany, unlike Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream and Can, is that they sing in German. And I feel that rhyming German words, and making them scan smoothly into a song, must be fairly challenging, given the multi-syllable typical word construction. The singer had a fairly shouty raucous style which left me feeling that if I was at the controls of the U boat he was captaining, I would be diving at speed due to the imminent arrival of a British destroyer, but that's just me.
Anyway, 10/10 to the fans, who gave their all and who must have been thrilling to behold from the stage. And 10/10 to the band, who played for 2 hours and did 3 encores. It's just a shame they didn't have any good songs. Maybe they were punk once. Maybe what we have here is 'Schlager' punk.
So quite how it was that I found myself filing into the Europahalle sports stadium in downtown Karlsruhe last Thursday to watch a band I'd never heard of, was down to a peculiar combination of a property broker and some spontaneous desire to see what this legendary German punk group was all about.
Die Totenhosen, or as you English speakers are likely to call them The Dead Trousers (and don't go all Wallace & Gromit on me here), are something of a cult of 30 years standing. They look fairly unremarkable (compared to their fans anyway) except for the rhythmn guitarist, who, in an effort to give the band a more offbeat look (or cover up his spam, who knows) wears a bowler hat. It doesn't work particularly.
The Europahalle is like a mini O2, for those of you have had that dubious pleasure. On entering everyone was being offered earplugs by a cheery gent wearing a T shirt which insisted that 'Alcohol is not the answer'. Well it is if the question is 'What is it in beer that gets you off your face?', but I digress. However, it did strike me as rather incongruous that these 40something fans with hair spiked specially for the occasion, were grabbing the 'plugs by the handful.
Judging form the clapping & cheering for the support act the Doughnuts (Yes, reader. German rock bands DO need to do a bit more work on their names I agree), I could tell it was going to be a lively evening. The main act came on to the strains of the crowd singing 'You'll never walk alone'. Oddly enough it appears to be some sort of signature tune for Die Totenhosen - couldn't tell you why. The band then launched into a succession of what, to me, seemed some fairly innocuous clappa-singalonga 'Oi' pop songs, but the crowd was loving the whole show and that, in the end, is what matters. Crucially for Die Totenhosen, and probably why they have never made it outside Germany, unlike Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream and Can, is that they sing in German. And I feel that rhyming German words, and making them scan smoothly into a song, must be fairly challenging, given the multi-syllable typical word construction. The singer had a fairly shouty raucous style which left me feeling that if I was at the controls of the U boat he was captaining, I would be diving at speed due to the imminent arrival of a British destroyer, but that's just me.
Anyway, 10/10 to the fans, who gave their all and who must have been thrilling to behold from the stage. And 10/10 to the band, who played for 2 hours and did 3 encores. It's just a shame they didn't have any good songs. Maybe they were punk once. Maybe what we have here is 'Schlager' punk.
Wednesday 8 April 2009
Mugged off by....well everyone really
I seem to be going through a phase wherein I am some sort of soft target for people. I suppose it started last week when I was on holiday in Tobago (tough I know - well I AM unemployed..) You see my problem is I am way too friendly - but I hate to seem like the stand-offish tourist who doesn't give a damn. But I have never successfully cultivated the 'bog off and leave me alone' look, having gone instead for the naive, vacuous look of 'whatever it is you've got to say, I'll listen'.
So last week it was a toss-up on what occasion I wasted most money: Was it the street corner old rummy who asked me to buy him a drnk? (I bought him two somehow). Or was it the hitch-hiker we picked up who was on his way to work, and turned out to be a 'guide'in the forest reserve - I use the term advisedly, as at one point I pointed at a passing flock of parrots. "What sort of parrots are they" I asked. "Ones that talk" he replied. Mind you, this is the same man who, when I asked him what was the difference between Methodists and Baptists (West Indians take their religon seriously) said that Methodists sing, but Baptists shout a lot.Ok he wasn't representing himself as a guide on the finer points of theology I admit. Anyway, after 2 and a half hours of trekking round the forest - and seeing a lovely waterfall - he declared we owed him TT500, but he would do a special rate of 420 - this in a country where the average hourly rate of pay is TT8. Now, whilst we were officially still 'taking him to work' at this point, we were somewhat naive to have not negotiated a rate before starting on this trek. After much arguing, in which my companion told me we should pay no more than 150, my soft heart yielded 180 into his grasping hand. He skipped off to his house.
But on reflection I think the worst spent money was on Alan, the beach rasta with teeth like the Lands End rocks. He wandered onto the beach carrying some strands of what looked like cactus and a wad of pirate CDs.A glance at my mate Blackie told him he was going to get short shrift out of the Geordie rottwelier. But who was that gullible friend of his sitting nearby? Five minutes later I have been smeared front and back with something looking like lumpy KY jelly, which he insists is 'natural aloe vera' and comes from these plants, and am also the proud owner of a CD entitled 'Barrington Levy - the Early Years', according to the badly printed bit of paper inside - you know,the legendary Jamaican reggae and dancehall star (according to his website), and am TT 30 lighter in my wallet.I regard it as a contribution to Alan's dental care plan.However, when I eventually DO inspect the goods back in the UK, what I am in fact the owner of, is 'A Six Pack for Christmas' by Goddy, which is not some kind of abs work-out as you might suppose, but a selection of Goddy's Christmas calypso songs, some of which are the same.Goody is so lacking in fame that a Google search turns up nothing on him, and if you hear this CD you will understand why.
So, yes - I am a mug. Mind you, despite several opportunities, I have yet to buy a timeshare anywhere. Anyway, I have to go now - and write an e-mail to a nice man in Nigeria who has just written to me promisig me a lot of money if I can help him transfer some funds.
So last week it was a toss-up on what occasion I wasted most money: Was it the street corner old rummy who asked me to buy him a drnk? (I bought him two somehow). Or was it the hitch-hiker we picked up who was on his way to work, and turned out to be a 'guide'in the forest reserve - I use the term advisedly, as at one point I pointed at a passing flock of parrots. "What sort of parrots are they" I asked. "Ones that talk" he replied. Mind you, this is the same man who, when I asked him what was the difference between Methodists and Baptists (West Indians take their religon seriously) said that Methodists sing, but Baptists shout a lot.Ok he wasn't representing himself as a guide on the finer points of theology I admit. Anyway, after 2 and a half hours of trekking round the forest - and seeing a lovely waterfall - he declared we owed him TT500, but he would do a special rate of 420 - this in a country where the average hourly rate of pay is TT8. Now, whilst we were officially still 'taking him to work' at this point, we were somewhat naive to have not negotiated a rate before starting on this trek. After much arguing, in which my companion told me we should pay no more than 150, my soft heart yielded 180 into his grasping hand. He skipped off to his house.
But on reflection I think the worst spent money was on Alan, the beach rasta with teeth like the Lands End rocks. He wandered onto the beach carrying some strands of what looked like cactus and a wad of pirate CDs.A glance at my mate Blackie told him he was going to get short shrift out of the Geordie rottwelier. But who was that gullible friend of his sitting nearby? Five minutes later I have been smeared front and back with something looking like lumpy KY jelly, which he insists is 'natural aloe vera' and comes from these plants, and am also the proud owner of a CD entitled 'Barrington Levy - the Early Years', according to the badly printed bit of paper inside - you know,the legendary Jamaican reggae and dancehall star (according to his website), and am TT 30 lighter in my wallet.I regard it as a contribution to Alan's dental care plan.However, when I eventually DO inspect the goods back in the UK, what I am in fact the owner of, is 'A Six Pack for Christmas' by Goddy, which is not some kind of abs work-out as you might suppose, but a selection of Goddy's Christmas calypso songs, some of which are the same.Goody is so lacking in fame that a Google search turns up nothing on him, and if you hear this CD you will understand why.
So, yes - I am a mug. Mind you, despite several opportunities, I have yet to buy a timeshare anywhere. Anyway, I have to go now - and write an e-mail to a nice man in Nigeria who has just written to me promisig me a lot of money if I can help him transfer some funds.
Thursday 6 November 2008
It's just like watching Brazil
Ok I'm sorry - this another football posting. But the experience of watching Santos play at home to Palmeiras was pretty special for someone use to the insipidity of English football fans.
An inkling of what was to come came as we stood in a bar next to the ground watching Massa win the Brazilian GP. As Hamilton slipped from his required 5th, to 6th place on the penultimate lap, the roar was deafening. No-one seemed to notice in the pandemonium that greeted Massa taking the flag, that the tenacious Hamilton had clawed his way back to 5th at the last corner - me included, as I slipped away before anyone noticed I was a Brit.
In the ground your ticket guides you to your section - but once in, you sit where you can. Suggestions about 'getting a programme' excited a certain amount of mirth from my companions...
Getting a seat at the back of the section is fine, so long as you don't mind not seeing the ball every time it's more than 10 feet above the ground, so low is the tier above. Both ends are standing and open to the elements - and both are incredibly vocal. The green Palmeiras section at one end gave a very good account of themselves. But compared to the wall of sound immediately to our right, all their efforts were barely audible. The home end was extraordinary in its 90 minute performance of singing and clapping, with a variety of chants and the continual fast samba beat of drums, keeping the whole crowd revved up to fever pitch - take note Hornby. What team could not play for such fans? The so-called Baggy Bounce is also in evidence, but this being Brazil, it's a co-ordinated bounce which, viewed from afar looks like gusts of wind crossing a wheat field. The atmosphere is so excited and exciting as a result, that you cannot help but be moved to jumping and shouting yourself, even if you are a neutral and haven't got a clue what to shout.
The referee takes huge abuse, and walks off flanked by the linos, and 3 riot police holding shields above their heads to protect the ref from stuff being thrown at him. One thing they do which is a REALLY good idea, and I don't know why we don't do it here, is that the ref carries some sort of paint can with bio-degradable spray, which he sparys at the spot where a free kick is to be taken from. He then paces 10 yards, and sprays a line for the defenders to stand behind. Easy.
With the game tied up after 75 minutes at one apiece, the announcer announced the crowd. 14 odd thousand. 14 ODD THOUSAND?? You're joking - they sounded like 60,000, I swear it. I thought to myself, as I watched a tropical storm cross the ground and open ends, and diminish the noise not one jot, that EVERY Premiership season ticket holder should be forced to watch this, first hand, to see how really to support your team - especially Wigan and Blackburn supporters, who are particularly woeful in this respect. This IS Fever Pitch Mr H - the Highbury Library it most certainly isn't.
For the record Palmeiras grabbed a late winner - not that their supporters will have seen it, due to the smoke drifting over the ground from the home fans' guttering flares. Come to think of it, I'm not sure the Santos defence did either.
And watch out for the Palmeiras left-back, Leandro. Very classy.
An inkling of what was to come came as we stood in a bar next to the ground watching Massa win the Brazilian GP. As Hamilton slipped from his required 5th, to 6th place on the penultimate lap, the roar was deafening. No-one seemed to notice in the pandemonium that greeted Massa taking the flag, that the tenacious Hamilton had clawed his way back to 5th at the last corner - me included, as I slipped away before anyone noticed I was a Brit.
In the ground your ticket guides you to your section - but once in, you sit where you can. Suggestions about 'getting a programme' excited a certain amount of mirth from my companions...
Getting a seat at the back of the section is fine, so long as you don't mind not seeing the ball every time it's more than 10 feet above the ground, so low is the tier above. Both ends are standing and open to the elements - and both are incredibly vocal. The green Palmeiras section at one end gave a very good account of themselves. But compared to the wall of sound immediately to our right, all their efforts were barely audible. The home end was extraordinary in its 90 minute performance of singing and clapping, with a variety of chants and the continual fast samba beat of drums, keeping the whole crowd revved up to fever pitch - take note Hornby. What team could not play for such fans? The so-called Baggy Bounce is also in evidence, but this being Brazil, it's a co-ordinated bounce which, viewed from afar looks like gusts of wind crossing a wheat field. The atmosphere is so excited and exciting as a result, that you cannot help but be moved to jumping and shouting yourself, even if you are a neutral and haven't got a clue what to shout.
The referee takes huge abuse, and walks off flanked by the linos, and 3 riot police holding shields above their heads to protect the ref from stuff being thrown at him. One thing they do which is a REALLY good idea, and I don't know why we don't do it here, is that the ref carries some sort of paint can with bio-degradable spray, which he sparys at the spot where a free kick is to be taken from. He then paces 10 yards, and sprays a line for the defenders to stand behind. Easy.
With the game tied up after 75 minutes at one apiece, the announcer announced the crowd. 14 odd thousand. 14 ODD THOUSAND?? You're joking - they sounded like 60,000, I swear it. I thought to myself, as I watched a tropical storm cross the ground and open ends, and diminish the noise not one jot, that EVERY Premiership season ticket holder should be forced to watch this, first hand, to see how really to support your team - especially Wigan and Blackburn supporters, who are particularly woeful in this respect. This IS Fever Pitch Mr H - the Highbury Library it most certainly isn't.
For the record Palmeiras grabbed a late winner - not that their supporters will have seen it, due to the smoke drifting over the ground from the home fans' guttering flares. Come to think of it, I'm not sure the Santos defence did either.
And watch out for the Palmeiras left-back, Leandro. Very classy.
Saturday 25 October 2008
What are suitcarriers for?
When I embarked, several years ago, on worsening my carbon footprint under the guise of ‘business travel’, I noticed that many of my travel companions in this category had large, square flat bags, called ‘suit carriers’. I naturally assumed that the boffs in Samsonite’s R&D department had spotted a niche opportunity, thought things out carefully, and crafted a product designed to keep one’s suits and shirts in pristine, ‘ready-to-wear-as-soon-as-you-got-off-the-plane’ condition.
Not a bit of it. Do not be fooled. The suitcarrier mangles your clothes as effectively as if you had handed them to a captive princess in a tower of your choice (the princess I mean. Not the tower) and asked her to assemble a rope ladder by tying them end to end for the benefit of any passing in-bred aristocrat. In other words they are RUBBISH. With mine, everything needs ironing afterwards. Even my socks.
It does, however, have one important feature. It is bullet proof, the salesman assured me, made from the same material that is used to make body armour. So that’ll come in handy if anyone decides to take pot shots at the carefully concealed dodgy linen suit I own.
And while I’m on the subject of travel, I have just come through
Now every Tom, Dick and Harold seems to be schlepping up to
People used to be impressed if you had done the Inca Trail – now it’s almost a ‘must-do, and if you stand still for two seconds, you are likely to get trampled underfoot by the hordes, about 25% of whom are doing it for ‘charidee’ – and what a scam that is – get everyone else to pay for something you want to do anyway.
I’ll tell you what – there is a good reason Jeeves carefully packed all Bertie Wooster’s elegant togs in trunks and leather suitcases, and it was because they were fit for purpose. Old Jeeves wouldn’t have been seen near a suit carrier - and if he was, I’m confident he would have raised an eyebrow at it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
