Category Archives: topographical

3/52 Horns


3/52 Horns, originally uploaded by kcm76.

Week 3 of the 52 weeks photographic challenge and I almost didn’t get a decent picture this week. But then I saw this window display in Selfridge’s Department Store in London’s Oxford Street. All these brass instruments looked absolutely stunning – but impossible to photograph well because of all the reflections.

1/52 Solar Eclipse, London Style


Solar Eclipse, London Style [2011 week 1], originally uploaded by kcm76.

This is the view of the solar eclipse just after sunrise yesterday (Tuesday 04/01/2011) from my study window. Like what eclipse? Typical of the UK to cock it up; can’t this country get anything right? Bah Humbug!

This is also my first photo for the “52 weeks” (ie. a photo a week) I’m doing this year. I hope I can keep up the standard of getting something off-beat each week. Watch this space.

Poor Match, Good Result

“We was robbed!”
“Oh no you weren’t.”
“Oh yes we was.”
“Behind you!”

So Russia, not England, is to stage the 2018 Soccer World Cup. Thank <insert deity of choice> for that.

How can we seriously want to host these appalling international competitions?

First off, I thought we didn’t have any money left. In 2018 we’ll still be reeling from the mountainous debt run up by the last government and the money being spent on the 2012 London Olympics – which is what, four times over the original budget with almost 2 years yet to go? Especially as we seem to be totally unable to deliver these projects anywhere near the original budget even if we do manage to just about deliver them on time.

If,as is always said, we produce such fantastic bids, why don’t we win them? Are our bids really so good? Do the decision-makers actually understand our inability to deliver? Or is it that we don’t pay the decision-makers big enough bribes? – Oh no, sorry of course it can’t be that. Or maybe it’s because in our heart of hearts we don’t actually believe that we can win the bidding (despite all the bullish talk), and of course this will subtly transmit itself to the decision-makers.

Do we even put the right people up to front the bid. Who did we have this time: Prince William, David Cameron and David Beckham. None of them have probably ever had to give a business sales presentation in their lives. No, political speeches don’t count. If we really want to win these bids shouldn’t we be paying an experienced, hard-hitting salesman to present out front? Someone who can not only talk the talk but also walk the walk and get the project delivered on time. Someone who can really understand what is driving the key decision-makers and sell to their predilections. Someone who will really “establish the need” (for our solution) in the minds of the decision-makers and lead them to choosing the solution which satisfies that need (ie. ours). I bet we never think of doing this, yet it is standard sales practice. You need these bids fronted by someone who can do all this and has some charisma. Someone like the late John Harvey-Jones or Sir Stuart Rose or maybe even the beatified Richard Branson. Petty princes, preoccupied politicians and pansy footballers who’ve never had to sell anything to earn their bread and butter in their lives just won’t cut the mustard.

Besides why would we even want to do any of this? Why do we insist on trying to play the games of self-serving organisations like FIFA, the ICC and the IOC, loaded as they are with self-pompous stuffed shirts who care nothing for their so-called sports, everything for their own grandeur and their bank accounts? They’re all self-perpetuating oligarchies of the self-important, pompous and inept.

So let’s rejoice that this circus isn’t coming to England. And just think of the money we’ll be saving! “My life, already.”

Freedom to Disrespect

Several friends have today posted this on Facebook:

Yesterday a group of Muslims broke the 2 minutes silence in central London, with banners “British Soldiers Burn In Hell” & the burning of a poppy. If you don’t like us English people paying respect for our brave fighters, then you know where the airport is. Disgusting, disrespectful b***ards. Copy and paste this if you’re English, and proud. RIP all those who lost their lives.

Much as I dislike the current sycophantic “poppy-fest” (see here) I too find such reactions (by anyone) disrespectful and even obscene. However the objectors have every right to their opinions and to voice them – however distasteful it is to us. Just as we have every right to call them (probably untruthfully) “b***ards” etc. – however much they dislike it. It is called “freedom of speech” and is what we pay our “brave fighters” to defend and uphold. Freedom of speech works both ways! And to see it thus makes me no less proud to be British.

Let’s keep in mind the words of two old-time great Americans, perhaps two of the world’s greatest ever statesmen …

Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults.
[Benjamin Franklin]

Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?
[Abraham Lincoln]

… and finally …

The best thing to give to your enemy is forgiveness; to an opponent, tolerance; to a friend, your heart; to your child, a good example; to a father, deference; to your mother, conduct that will make her proud of you; to yourself, respect; to all men, charity.
[Benjamin Franklin]

Here I Am

Having last week quoted the opening couple of lines from Roger McGough’s poem Here I Am it seems opportune to post the whole poem as it isn’t very long.

Here I Am

Here I am
getting on for seventy
and never having gone to work in ladies’ underwear

Never run naked at night in the rain
Made love to a girl I’d just met on a plane

At that awkward age now between birth and death
I think of all the outrages unperpetrated
opportunities missed

The dragons unchased
The maidens unkissed
The wines still untasted
The oceans uncrossed
The fantasies wasted
The mad urges lost

Here I am
as old as Methuselah
was when he was my age
and never having stepped outside for a fight

Crossed on red, pissed on rosé (or white)
Pretty dull for a poet, I suppose, eh? Quite.

Now OK, one knows that here will likely be a degree of poetic licence and tongue in cheek, but it is interesting what one even might consider it important that one hasn’t done (or would have liked to have done) in a lifetime.

So what would be on my list of things I’ve never done, and feel I want to have done? Hmmm … well … OK …

  • Visit Japan, Iceland, Norway and Sweden
  • Discover that I’m entitled to a coat of arms
  • Had a lot more sexual partners (what a waste of the 60s & 70s not to have done!)
  • Had sex in a hot, sunny hayfield
  • Travelled on the Orient Express and the Trans-Siberian Express
  • Not been depressed
  • Known what it’s like to be female

Well there’s still time to tick off some of those; better get going!

You can also check out my list of 111 Bucket List Things To Do.

From Youth to Paradise

I was reminded today of that lovely GK Chesterton poem The Rolling English Road.

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.

His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.

My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.

What could better summarise the English countryside, the fun of youth and the eventual wisdom of age!

Tube Strike Poetry

It’s an ill wind … at least today’s tube strike in London means Noreen is at home (albeit working) on her birthday. Mind, she is currently out taking Harry the Cat the the V E T again. And it’s wet here which is unusual for Noreen’s birthday.

On the subject of the tube strike I just have to repost this from the BBC News website. I love the Liverpool poets, especially Roger McGough.

Poet Roger McGough has written two poems in response to Sunday and Monday’s London Tube strike to mark National Poetry Day.

Millions face disruption during the 24-hour strike, which is in protest at plans to cut ticket office staffing.

The theme for Thursday’s poetry day is home, and McGough suggests his lines may help commuters see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The Liverpudlian poet presents the BBC Radio 4 programme Poetry Please.

He was also a member of The Scaffold, which topped the charts in 1968 with Lily the Pink, and was an uncredited writer of some of the humorous dialogue on the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine film.

Along with Adrian Henri and Brian Patten, McGough was one of the Mersey Poets and they published two best-selling volumes of verse during the 60s and 70s, having started out giving readings in Liverpool’s clubs and cafes.

Here are his two poems:

A Striking Soliloquy

tu be

or not

tu be

Tube strike Haiku

trains that are side-lined

idling in rusty sidings

fear the knacker’s yard

* * *

tunnels empty now

can see the light at both ends

birds risk a short cut

* * *

rails sleeping, dream of

a parallel universe

a new perspective

* * *

platforms yawn and stretch

enjoying the holiday

mice minding the gap

I must look at the Liverpool poets again; haven’t read them for ages. They’re brilliant!