New Sailings

Well, the troubled year of 2011 is over, and readers will have observed the sparsity of contributions on this particular blogpage. Not that anything hasn't been happening: far from it, in fact. The egregious VAF has finally opened (and is fulfilling its function to the art community if not necessarily the local one), Nick Clegg has at least shown some backbone in standing up to David Cameron in the European financial crisis, and the Olympics are just around the corner in Britain, which are greedily taking place for the third time in London.

Also in the approaching four years since I started jotting this blogpage, a new animal has gradually grown and grown, in the shape of Twitter and the increasing promotion of social networks. These two - Twitter and Facebook - in particular have shown their dark side: not only do they tinker with people's personal information, but the contributions themselves have almost started wars. Where once the thought at the back of someone's mind usually stayed there, or the occasional impulsive comment came and went, now they are on display for millions to see - anywhere around the world.

As indeed is this blogpage - for those who happen to find it. With that in mind, it's been a tricky dilemma wondering which of them to cut back on - social networks or blogs - in this age of austerity. Axing this page is a sensible temptation, but this was always meant to be for those occasional afterthoughts (and thought is the word) and incidental observations. So we'll see.

Good riddance 2011. Happy Olympic Year.

Tuesday 11th September 2001

Woke early at 7.30 this morning, and tried to get on with some work at home in the limited amount of time I had before going to work this morning, as well as going to a quiz later this evening. Just Dad and myself [among my family] at work today, with Catherine taking part in some TV recordings for Patrick McCarthy and company, to be shown over four separate Sundays next month.

The work was running out today, except for yours truly or Martin Pudney. This was convenient as today was my last day of the week anyway, prior to travelling to Scarborough tomorrow. Went for a quick walk to loosen some of my joints at 12.45, feeling a little stiff either from trying to overcompensate for my lack of rest, or through simple over-exertion of my limbs at a computer terminal.

Mum telephoned the office in a rather fraught state of mind later this afternoon, to tell me that two airliners had been hijacked by terrorists and flown into the World Trade Center, with the second of the two towers collapsing (as had the first already) whilst Mum was speaking to me over the phone. Soon the news was common knowledge all around the office, and indeed anywhere one dared to speak today. It later transpired that four planes had been hijacked (possibly even five), another of which had crashed into the Pentagon at Washington D.C. Whatever the outcome of all this, I tried to keep a slightly distant view of it all, as I was far too busy with other things to be sidetracked by such tragic events.

Left work briskly as planned at 5.00, and decided to walk up Hythe Hill towards Jessops to collect my recent photos, and just got there in time once again. Saved my money by not having any dinner in town, and went straight home to cook a steak & mushroom pie together with some "Micro Chips" this evening, before having a bath in the time I had left before this evening's quiz at the Wivern Club. The rest of the family of course had spaghetti.

Took a 66 bus with Mum and Dad once again, meeting Mick Emmerson at around 7.45. We arrived at the quiz quite early, but nonetheless found ourselves saddled at the back of the lounge in a rather difficult location with a lot of chatter muffling out the sound of the quizmaster. We finished 9th on the night (penultimate in effect), with 75 points, and then headed straight for home because Dad and I need our sleep, such as we were able to get tonight. The events of today gradually seeped through to me when I watched Newsnight and saw for the first time the airliners crashing into the World Trade Center, the pinnacle of New York's business community, crumbling. It looked like the biggest atrocity, outside of war, that had ever been committed.

Scarborough - September 2001

Outside Ground Zero in 2011

NY Diary: Day 3

Sunday 20^th March

Slept better during the night, with no noisy pipes giving me trouble this time, and was able to wake at 6.45 to relax and chill-out before get-up time at 7.30 – something I was to regret later on.

Took breakfast shortly after 8.00 – much the same as yesterday’s, plus some easy-spread American cream cheese. I used the hotel’s Internet terminal to email some photos to the folks back in the UK, but spent too long, so when I checked the times of trains from Queens Village, I realised that I had just missed the 8.42 - the next one (in an hour’s time) would be too late for me to visit the Statue of Liberty.

Deo Gratias however to the bus driver and the E Line Subway, for though my likely assumption was that I had missed the Liberty Cruise, I was going to take it as far as I could and try to see what the options for an exchange or a refund were.

As it happened, I arrived at Castle Clinton at a time nearer 11.00 than 10, but the clerk saw that I was a prepaid customer, and booked me for the 11.30 ferry instead, so all was well.

Further delays were to compound matters with a suspect package (ie. unattended) inside the monument, during which time however I enjoyed the clear afternoon sunshine and started chatting with some others in the line, who were three generations of a Texas family together with their friend over from Italy (above). Not surprisingly they were freaked out by my English accent – "British Guy" the younger ones called me whenever we saw each other from one side of the mighty pedestal to the other.

The climb to the top of the 275 steps (designed by – Gustav Eiffel, no less) was confining and extremely pulsating. My knees gradually quivered at the prospect, and I was still feeling a wobbling sensation from the ride on the ferry, but made it to the top. The Crown was smaller and more cramped than I was expecting – I bumped my head against the roof on a couple of occasions. I asked a Chinese tourist and the Monument guide to take a picture of me at the window (left), and then having milked my moment up close and personal, headed back down the narrow spiral stairs down to the pedestal – built at great opulence by the US Government in 1884, and gloriously constructed by the French who sailed the statue across the Atlantic to be 'bolted' (literally) on top – I had seen the replica prototype before in Paris on the River Seine.

As I made my way down from one level to the other down the star-shaped pedestal, I got a sense of what made America great: not just the outstanding craftsmanship of the Statue, but also the same exhilaration that Apollo astronauts felt when they looked away from the Moon and back at Earth, to see what a wonderful thing their land was.

I skipped onto the returning ferry at 1.55 which as an added bonus stopped at Ellis Island. I couldn't resist the urge as it was snack time to have a hot dog and a Pepsi in the balmy breezy brilliance of the Hudson and East Rivers. I feel like an American now.

Grateful thanks are also due to the staff at Radio City Music Hall, once I arrived there a little after 3.00. “Are you Joseph Sales?”, asked Emily the attendant when I wandered into the foyer – I must admit I was surprised to be referred personally by name in such a gigantic venue as this. As with the Louis Armstrong House yesterday, the organisers were very accommodating in allowing me to come into the tour a few minutes in. Yesterday I was not allowed to touch most of the lovingly preserved original 1970’s features of the Sachmo House; today I was afraid to touch anything (but also perfectly able to) in this incredible theatre, at the time of its completion in 1932 the biggest cinema in the world, and still one of the largest theatre venues globally. Even the Men’s Rooms looked lavish and opulent, which we were also allowed to use (although in such a theatre of my dreams the idea of the call of nature was about the last thought in my head.)

Also as an added bonus we had one of the renowned Radio City 'Rockettes' (Lindsay Howe) made a personal appearance and spoke a few words about her career and the development of the dancers, and then posed for photos with some of the guests, including yours truly feeling rather vain and indulgent; perhaps I’ve come over all Anglo-American today.

With the rest of the day free to do as I pleased, I marked out the places I had been unable to visit so far, which included St. Patrick's Cathedral, Central Park, the Plaza Hotel, and as I happened to be passing it, Tiffany’s department store (as immortalized by the Audrey Hepburn film taking Breakfast there.)

Once I’d finally given up with my ramblings around the city, I jumped onto the Subway back from Brooklyn Bridge, then the Long Island train back to Jamaica and Queens Village. In the absence of anywhere else that I could eat, I tried 'Popeye’s Chicken and Biscuits' (or 'scones' as we'd call the latter), an unexpected novelty, with macaroni cheese as a side dish with some chicken strips of varying chunkiness, before I was eventually able to get into a bath and prepare for the Transatlantic journey home tomorrow. If life truly begins at forty, then this last weekend has been one hell of a pleasant introduction.

Sunset in Central Park

Manhattan Diary

Friday 18^th March2011

Woke at an ungodly hour of 3.30 (as planned) and phoned Dad at 4am to confirm that I was awake, although I only caught the most fleeting glimpse of he and Mum when I boarded the 4.43 from Platform 6 at Colchester North Station. I was glad of the advance preparation, as physically this early in the day in miserable, expensive England, I just felt akin to moving one foot in front of the other, my senses not my own.

Arrived in London Liverpool Street after a short wait at the signals ("on time" the driver said), and then headed on through my favourite city, towards arguably the greatest city in the world, by taking the Piccadilly Line from Holburn all the way to Heathrow Terminal 3.

All seemed to go well, although it was already past 7.30, but with the obliging help of American Airlines the luggage door was reopened for me, and I zipped along the travelators to Gate 13(!), with all the other Economy passengers.

Reset my watch to American Time, and therefore the Boeing 777 was underway at the same time I'd left North Station – 4.43. It was a hazy afternoon at JFK when eight hours later I stepped on US soil for the first time (technically my first outing on US territory was at the Kennedy Memorial at Runnymede.)

It’s funny how your preconceptions are built up about a place: from what I imagined of Manhattan as a vast sprawling metropolis, the reality was actually a little different, certainly from what I observed when I took the Long Island train to Penn Station, with lots of small single floor houses in the more run-down parts of Queens - until the two most famous gleaming towers (the beautiful Chrysler and the Empire State) came into view. In a way it reminded me of the approach to Liverpool Street - London is likewise becoming more and more Manhattan nowadays.

I couldn’t resist a glance up at the Empire State Building as it was so close to Penn Station, and then as it was such mild weather (late spring/early summer in atmosphere), I took my first walk through New York City, passing one or two more famous landmarks such as the distinctive Flatiron Building, the County Court House (as seen in the films Twelve Angry Men, The Godfather and the recent Adjustment Bureau), and as I continued along Broadway I detoured to find a place that I’d always been meaning to visit in NY: the corner of Church Street and Lispenard Street, where a French film crew were innocently shooting a documentary film when they happened to catch sight of the first tower of the World Trade Center being hit.

I visited Ground Zero itself much later as darkness was setting in, and also made pledge to visit a McDonald’s at 160 Broadway nearby - that I remembered seeing standing in dust-filled defiance of Al Qaeda on September 11^th.

With the next train back to my hotel in Queens Village not due until 9.42, I had time over to go the whole hog down Broadway towards Battery Park, and caught my first glimpse of the Statue of Liberty this evening.

NY Diary: Day 2

Saturday 19th March

In the city that doesn't sleep, I too had my troubles sleeping overnight as I turned 40 -not for that reason, but for the incessant noise created by the pipes in the room next door from about 3am onwards. The radio (WHPC) turned on to more news of Colonel Gaddafi, to whom President Obama is laying down ultimatums, and the still horrible situation in Japan.

Breakfast consisted of some bread (or bagels), self-toasted, "Frosted Flakes" (Frosties) and some decaffeinated coffee, and I took whatever extras that I could as a bonus, while a chilly wind blew in through the lobby doors this morning, on an otherwise sunny start to the day. Checked the timetable and took the 9.42 train from Queens Village into Penn (short for Pennsylvania) and on this sunny, brisk morning I made my way first of all towards the Empire State Building, a building in every sense, and not just a tower, with some nice restaurants and shops on the ground, and though I decried yesterday the comparative merits of the art deco Chrysler building, the Empire State is also a glorious affirmation of that era, dripping with art deco in almost every corridor leading up to the Observation Towers on the 8th and 102nd floors.

Travelled on one of the fastest elevators that I'm ever likely to, which belted up the first 80 floors, and then interchanged onto another lift which took visitors up to the first of the two viewing areas: an outdoor one, and predictably full with Saturday tourists (yours truly included). My problem was not getting to the top of the Empire State Building, but rather the lengthier proposition of getting down again, through all the advancing crowds of other rising visitors.

As an afterthought, I didn't find the Empire State Building vertigo-inducing. I took a look up when I finally reached the bottom again, and had no difficulties, nor did the tiny specks of people and vehicles seen down below seem too giddying. Maybe we are becoming hardened by such spectacle nowadays. A unique experience, all the same.

Remembered that I'd wanted to visit the New York Library on the map, just a short distance away along Fifth Avenue, Steven Schwarzman's glorious building supported by J.J.Astor, which I found as impressive and palatial to visit as the Musikverein in Vienna. What I didn't realise was how beautiful the roof mosaics were in both the North and South Hall reading rooms.

If New York Library took my breath away, then so too did Grand Central Terminal, a glorious palace of a railway station, perhaps my favourite now over dear old Liverpool Street and Paddington. My plans to visit Central Park, St. Patrick's Cathedral and the Plaza Hotel had to be postponed this afternoon, so that I could go to the Louis Armstrong House way up in Corona. It was a delight, a pleasant diversion from Manhattan, and although I had already arrived after the start of the last tour of the day, the staff couldn't have been more helpful and I was given a discounted ticket half-way through. Thus I was able to see where old "Sachmo" sat with his glorious"den" of a study of gifts, articles and reel-to-reel tape recordings, and also the bedroom where he died, in the year of the moment for this occasion, 1971.


Returned to Manhattan before sunset, and found the New York Daily News, (as used in the film Superman) and almost hidden away on Roosevelt Avenue, beside the East River and stashed away like another city block, was the United Nations. Extraordinary to think that this little area governs (technically) the world police who should be the ones to decide how we intervene in Iraq, Iran - and now evidently, Libya - and yet is tucked away in the lap of America – the geographical and political metaphor is appropriate.

It's been an intense, tiring but rewarding and unique 40th birthday, but the best may still be yet to come.

Good Things 22

Vaccuum flasks

So good for saving from constantly buying coffee, and great for days out. Mmmmmm.

The wrong kind of policing

The area of Colchester has been mercifully free so far of any civil unrest that has ravaged so much across Britain's inner cities these last few days. It seems that the most volatile areas are those where the policing is sadly at its most liberal or at its most under-funded, whereas in Colchester - an area not unfamiliar with rowdy, chavvish behaviour - any reciprocal violence in response to any other acts of vandalism has been quietly kept in check.

For those removed from the danger, it seems exaggerated and aloof. For those in the midst of the terror, the sense of insecurity is palpable. All one can do is carry on going about one's normal lives. Carefully.

That's Out!

The complacent decision by Ian Bell to return to the pavilion at the tea interval and subsequent "run out" at the Second Test, is, as time will tell, a likely storm in a teacup, but it does draw attention to how players continue to ride on oblivious to umpiring, an attitude actively encouraged with the Decision Review System, that allows them to dissent further from the figure of authority in the field.

It was also, as much as a sporting gesture by the Indians to "the spirit of the game" (for whom it did otherwise very little good), a way of taming the angry and mostly drunken Trent Bridge crowd, who only minutes before were gleefully Mexican waving, and equally oblivious to the on-field action as Ian Bell was at teatime.

Ian Bell misguidedly heads to the pavilion for his teatime cuppa - before the umpire has told him to, meanwhile the Indians have whipped the bails off.

Is it any wonder?

...that the News International corporation should have stooped so low as to hack the mobile phones of murder victims, giving families false hopes that their young ones were still alive.

The surprise perhaps, is that it has taken this long for the rest of the media to rise up against Murdoch (although there are some dissenters who fear for the "freedom" of investigative reporting), after so much scandal, over knows goodness how many years. The Milly Dowler case is the straw that broke the camel's back.

I can't feel any huge amount of rage towards Rebekah Brooks, as she is very much one major cog in the wheel of an enormous, monstrous machine, which has encompassed governments (including the present one) as well as once respectable newspapers.

The only good of writing about this now, is that hopefully a thorough clean-up of the whole sleazy mess is made. It would be too much to hope for the end of tabloid journalism.

You're as young as you feel

40 this year (coming soon - Manhattan Diary commemorating the event!), and yet as I stood waiting for a bus this afternoon, beside a steep wall along Mersea Road, I climbed up and sat on top of it, just like when I was a kid at school.

Despots

It's been a momentous weekend, just a day or two after the anniversary (April 29th) of the death of Adolf Hitler, now comes the world's other great bogeyman.

Many years ago, I was asked in R.E. class the hypothetical question if ever Colonel Gaddafi came on a school visit: would I shoot him if I had the opportunity? Given some due thought towards self-preservation and security, I honestly answered that yes, I would. With Gaddafi and his kind very much in the limelight once again, I feel the tiniest amount of pleasure, and the far greater sense of relief, to hear that Osama Bin Laden is reported to have been shot.

There are other dictators floating around (Robert Mugabe's controversial presence at the Vatican is a case in point), but in the case of Bin Laden, and I say this in all sincerity: God rest his soul. I fear also those dreaded reprisals, but they could surely not be so much as the awfulness of September 11th.

I also note that today - in the 2011 Christian calendar - is St. George's Day; in the grounds of the United Nations in New York is an allegorical sculpture of St. George - the figure of good - slaying evil, in the shape of a double headed nuclear missile dragon. The imagery is appropriate.

A World without Women

That was the sight that practically beheld me on Friday morning, the 29th of April (the same date as the wedding of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun, by sinister coincidence), when I walked through Colchester - as indeed was probably the sight throughout most of Britain during the Royal Wedding between Prince William and Kate Middleton.

I'd seen the beginning of the ceremony, and their betrothal, and that was that.

May they remain in happiness and an all-round happier marriage than their seniors in the Monarchy who have trod the uneven path. Time, as ever, will tell.

Cultural Diary - January

As part of Radio 4's Film Season, The Film Programme asked listeners to provide their own film diaries for the month, so I thought I'd expand that to a general cultural appraisal of this month to kick-off the year.

The first, most noted aspect of this month has been the exclusive broadcasting of "The Genius of Mozart" on BBC Radio 3, something I feared would be a little monotonous but proved to be an unexpectedly sublime experience. Almost every time a tune was playing during the first 12 days of 2011, you could always guarantee that it would be bloody good. On Sunday 2nd I listened to the latest in the 53rd series of I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue, which has become enough of a comedy institution to have survived the loss of the irreplaceable Humphrey Lyttelton, and still remain funny, innovative, nonsensical and sometimes satirical, with Jack Dee fitting nicely into the host's chair now.

My sporting affiliations had me listening to Test Match Special's coverage of England's record innings victory over Australia at the Fifth Test in Sydney on January 7th; aside from England's splendid win, the commentary is much more entertaining and informative than the dour Sky TV coverage, and makes for an adequate consolation for the shameful lack of live terrestrial TV cricket.

For my friend Kevin Topple's 50th birthday party in Copford on January 8th, Kevin himself provided the entertainment with the help of Kerry King, Martin Rayner, and Guy Singleton's tribute to the great Jake Thackray. On the BBC I-Player on January 9th I caught up with the TV drama The Sinking of the Laconia, a fascinating true story of nobility during World War II, and much more interesting for its second half than the first, which follows a cliche-ridden variation of Titanic.

On the 11th I finally got to watch on DVD a film I'd been curious to see for some years, the Hollywood 1930's version of Alice in Wonderland, which was an interesting if rather disappointing experience. More disappointing was to see that Pointless has finished the last of the series on BBC 2, an ingenious quiz show where contestants are required to find the most obscure answers to public survey questions. There's no sign as to whether a new series is coming along.

On the 12th I filled in for Paul Reed at Colchester Theatre Group's rehearsal for The Canterbury Tales, which even at this early stage promises to be another innovative, entertaining and slightly naughty adaptation of Chaucer from Ian Amos, who seems ideally suited to the material.

The remarkable De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill was the venue on the 15th for Bexhill Amateur Theatrical Society's (BATS) production of Dad's Army, with a very capable collection of local actors bearing useful resemblance to the famous characters such as Mainwaring and Wilson (left), Frazer, Pike, Jones, etc. The actor playing Captain Mainwaring had trouble remembering his lines, and would occasionally stumble on his words waiting to be prompted - much like Arthur Lowe in fact!

Back at home on the 18th, I got round to watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a clever and powerful true-life study of a magazine editor's struggle to communicate with the outside world; a French film with more than a hint of the help of Steven Spielberg with the project.

Over to the Headgate Theatre on the 20th, for one of their best recent pantomimes, Beauty and the Beast, capturing some of the spirit of the Disney cartoon version - and some of the darkness - whilst still remaining within the pantomime tradition - with two rather fetching dames!

The welcome return of the Ipswich Film Theatre allowed me on the 22nd to see Of Gods and Men, the profound and moving true story of Cistercian monks in Algeria, continuing to go about their daily practice despite (and because of) the terrorist threat around them. The following morning I listened to Betty (Coronation Street) Driver's choice of Desert Island Discs, and one touching insight she gave was during her wartime entertainer days, when soldiers returning from the war in the Far East in 1945 left them looking "dead" (from the effect of tetanus jabs and other vaccines), but how the show had helped them on the road to getting back home feeling alive again.

On the 27th I continued on the theme of 1930's cinema with Greta Garbo as Anna Karenina, then the day after contributed my own bit of culture this month with a cameo in the Orpen Players' pantomime Babes in the Wood, as the "Elfin Safety" man - no prizes for guessing what my spoilsport role in the production was.

Finishing off the month delving in the macabre, with The Watcher in the Woods on DVD, an odd mixture of creepiness and cutesiness from the Disney studio (with not one but three different endings), which though it never made a great deal of money at the time, must have been a experience for families at the time - especially those parents who thought Disney only produced harmless, wholesome entertainment.

And then on the 31st, I also saw Colchester Operatic Society's production of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street - ambitious, well performed and a good evening's entertainment for those who came in the mood for it; unfortunately all I could do was try and shut my eyes through the production because I had a brief bout of 'flu!

Finally, I'll cheat a little for this one-off month and shoehorn in The King's Speech on February 1st at the Odeon Colchester, with the plight of King George VI doing excellent prospects for Colin Firth's career. The film I think is one of the best examples of British triumph in adversity since Chariots of Fire made 30 years before.