For reasons I am not at liberty to explain, the wife needed a couple of masks, and this morning I was sent to get them. It’s amazing how many shops are completely full of total tat these days. But what the hell, I still bought two.
The poppy is a symbol of Remembrance for those lost in war. From mid-October onwards, anyone caught on British TV without having one attached to their lapel might as well have strapped a fake beard to their face and gone on screen ranting about the glories of terrorism.
I’m all for Remembrance. It is vital that we recall the cost of war. I just find it…. ironic… that one newspaper which very forcefully led the recent, virulent campaign that demanded the England football team be permitted to break FIFA’s rules on displaying political symbols on shirts was the same newspaper that up until about 1938 was a staunch supporter of Hitler, and is also now very keen that we go off and bomb Iran. For that rag, ‘remembrance’ is just something other people (must) do.
Busy but interesting weekend ends with a pleasant evening party among friends, chilling out by the bonfire and listening to Joe be enthused by access to an electric guitar – with amplification.
The party was a birthday do for another friend, Mick, 43 today (so happy birthday to him). There is a huge rush of birthdays at this time of year, at least 7 family members & 3 close friends within a month. Why? Because it’s 9 months after New Year, of course. ‘Darling, I will stop taking the Pill, but let’s wait until after Christmas, OK?’.
Never done one of these before. Having no idea what to expect it was a surprise to see quite how sour- or dead-faced many people are as they shuffle past, or how unwilling many are to acknowledge a ‘hello!’. Others (stallholders, customers) very friendly and encouraging, however. I did not lose money once all things were accounted for and it was an interesting learning experience.
I did very little today except print & frame a bunch of photos so I can try to sell some at this craft fair tomorrow (my first effort to do such a thing – you will doubtless hear more about it tomorrow). The light was poor, and there were few opportunities to get more than a mundane shot.
However, as these are supposed to encapsulate the day – it was 11/11/11 today, and this was taken in my home office at exactly 11:11:… and 14 seconds, by the camera’s clock. Well, I did my best. It doesn’t have a second hand.
After having got up at 4.30 (Norwegian time – 3.30am UK) to undertake this journey, I wish I could adopt this position on a plane. But I think those days are past.
This is the job… You find some time to do a bit of research, write it up, hope someone reads it. You go to as many conferences as your limited travel budget will stretch to, you network a bit, you publish a book and try to promote it. You eventually get invited to some other conference where you meet a nice Catalan academic who works in Norway and you write a proposal and eventually get an invite to do the work and suddenly you’re quite big in Scandinavia (or at least, among a very select audience of Scandinavians). It’s quite hard work sometimes but it’s probably better than being, say, a traffic warden.
The first time I came here, in September 2010, I developed an opinion that this might be the world’s most spectacular city – see this pic on my Flickr site for further evidence – and I have seen nothing this time to change my mind. If only things were half the price that they were, because this country sure makes you pay to enjoy its beauty.
Air travel is not a mode of transport designed to deliver many pleasures, but there is a beauty to being above the clouds and seeing them tinged by the setting sun.
The story behind this place is such a long and difficult one to tell – North & Hodson’s book Build a Bonfire will give you the first part, doubtless someone will write the second instalment one day. Suffice it to say that as a Brighton fan making my inaugural visit here this afternoon, when I first entered it, I cried. Just a little bit.
Today’s result: Brighton & Hove Albion 2, Barnsley 0. We won’t mention the failure of Southern rail to get me and a few thousand other fans back to Brighton because of a ‘staff shortage’. I mean, it’s not like they knew we were coming.
Being 42 