Dabs, letters and quitting the Stone Age (part Two)

Ask the average person on the street how humans lived before 'civilization' and the answer you would receive would probably be varied. Ask the average, reasonably well informed Scouse Canadian this question six months ago, and the answer might well have been that prior to Uruk in the Fertile Crescent of modern Iraq/Iran, humans were basically divided in to small hunter gatherer communities (think Borneo) or small nomadic bands of goat herds (think Sub Saharan Africa) or possibly small agrarian communities (think perhaps olive growers of the Meditteranean). Other people, might have the perception that over 5000 years ago, our ancestors were uncivilized cave-persons called Ugg.

Recent research indicates that none of these impressions could be farther from the truth. From findings at Catal Hoyuk in Turkey, to unearthing the conurbations of the Mississippian cultures of North America, it seems that civilizations, of one type or another have been a characteristic of human societies for much longer than previously thought, even by anthropologists. Not civilizations in respect of technology and urban living, but civilizations in the sense of ordered communities with cohesive social organization, belief systems, possibly writing of some sort and definitely art.

Indeed, recent anthropological and archaeological discoveries, as outlined in Richard Rudgley's book 'Lost Civilizations of the Stone Age', discoveries and sites that have been investigated using the most recent techniques would seem to indicate that from at least 10,000 years ago to about 5000 years ago, cultures existed across the world where spitting your chewing gum into other people's hair, living with mountains of mouse droppings or imposing inequitable contracts of employment on others was simply beyond the pale. Indeed, the whole trouble with spitting, or living with mice seems to have started round about the time that exploiting your fellows became acceptable.

Nel was in the local supermarket yesterday, quietly queueing for some milk and cookies when she became fascinated by a man in front of her with strange hair. She was trying to figure out whether his hair was an attempt to disguise male pattern balding, or just a bad hair cut, when the man, winking at his companion in the queue, spat his chewing gum into the unfashionable (but enviable) long lustrous hair of another, unrelated male who was next in line. Intolerant of this type of behaviour, the plucky boffin raised a hue and cry, drawing the attention of the store clerks, and other customers to this anti-social behaviour. A small debate ensued, in which the spitter denied all responsibility for the deed, and our heroine, sticking to her guns, maintained her accusations until she started trembling(a sure sign, she reports, that she's just about to start crying). Once the trembling commenced she just stared the offender down until he left the store in disgrace. Interestingly, he threw a parting shot at Nel as he left the store, turneing round and scowling at her before declaring "You're not even English". I told Nel she should be very proud of herself, but equally very careful about confronting wierdo's. The girl, though, can't help herself.

In the Stone Age, ie settlements from before Uruk and Babylon that have been investigated across the world over the last ten years, microscopic analysis of the human areas of habitation reveal an almost complete abscence of mouse droppings in areas of individual huts/houses/communal yurts. This abscence is reported amid a level of analysis that can identify particles as small as individual pollen grains. Humans, it seems, are not 'naturally' disgusting. Equally, and I admit that this next point is a stretch, it would be hard to imagine that in smaller communities, people who regularly piss-off everyone else in a band/community by spitting their natural liquorice or coca into everyone else's hair/face/back would be tolerated.

In work, Carra is about two weeks away from sentencing. Earlier this year, he attacked and beat up, a couple of guys who objected to his urinating at their back door. He is an impressive physical specimen - the type that I might have previously, and erroneously, labelled a Cave Man.

But now I realize that I'm wrong. My reading, and more importantly, other's well researched, scientifically based research into things Paleolithic, Mesolithic and Neolithic reveal that to associate the type of behaviour that we regularly label Neanderthal, or CaveMan like with the completely uncivilized, abhorrent behaviour that we have generated today is doing a massive dis-service to those earlier cultures. The Old European Culture of Malta, for example, existed in relative stability for 2000 years from about 4500 to 2500 BCE, while the Jomon culture of JApan probably existed from about 12500 BCE to about 450 BCE. There is every indication that both cultures thrived (NOT subsisted) in stable equilibrium for these periods, and planned their continuity. They did so without money, and without mice, and (again extrapolating, perhaps) without the social instability or anti-social behaviour that has it's root causes in fundamental inequality.

I cannot any longer take seriously any argument that begins with "Well, that's human nature..." in relation to justifying/explaining the inequalities we all witness on a daily basis from Burma to Iraq and from Indian Sweatshops to Donald Trumps' hairdo, because I do'nt believe anymore that there is any such thing as (genetically programmed) human nature. If pressed, I would be specific, and declare a belief that states that the current organisation of our society where profit is a God, therefore the 'natural order of things' and 'competitiveness' (in the narrow sense of acheiving higher/better/faster than my neighbour and then profiting from that advantage) is inherent in humans, is a belief only. A dogma, just like any other religious or superstitious belief. I think that as humans we have the capability to CHOOSE the society that we live in, and at some stage, in some societies, we chose to adopt the current model. But every piece of evidence I see suggests this current model will not last, and it will not last even as long as the culture of the builders of Stonehenge lasted. It will never be possible, or desirable, for humans to get 'back to nature', but back to the Stone Age?

Dabs, letters and quitting the Stone Age(Part One)

Quick round-up because I'm off this afternoon to the pile....

House: After our third break-in, security measures at Large Villas mushroomed. Mr Bush would have been proud of me. Indeed, after the tenants returned again, (this time while Nel was resident, and gave her their full postal address), I considered applying the Bush Doctrine of dealing with threat by visiting them in turn. This plan got hung up on the issue of Proportionate Response. I considered the items that the Estonians have taken:

4 cans Stella Lager
4 Cans Oranjeboom Lager
4 cans John Smiths' Smoothflow Bitter
1 Ordance Survey Map of Market Weighton and area
1 mop head and extendable mop handle
1 pair of I-pod speakers (originally given away with FHM magazine and given to us by Chris in Barcelona)
1 notebook containing a brief outline of several story ideas and some important info (to wit: one sci-fi adventure starring Joey Mac and some talking cats, one contemporary Dickensian novel that ruthlessly exposes the dark underside of a fictional Leeds based custom exhibit company , one "Clan of the CAve Bear-esque" historical novel set in Mesolithic Liverpool, a record of train times (Nov - Dec 2007).

How does one plan a proportionate response to this theft? We reject the nuclear option and decide to ask the British police to issue a stern warning, given that we know the address of the culprits. It is more likely that this family are in need of help than of criminalization, as our continued renovations reveal how life in the previous household was obviously problematic.

Third time's a charm....

We returned to the future site of Large Villas last night to do a final measurement check of our plans, as we had contractors to meet the next day. As soon as we entered the rear room, future site of gossip and parties, we saw that the windows I had attached locks to on Sunday had been forced, and the former denizons of the pile had returned again.

Our good humour on being burgled for the first time has begun to evaporate. Now, the principal thought on my mind is revenge. It may seem that we are quick to assign blame to the previous tenants, but once again, the case against them is solid. I applied a new lock to the front door, window locks on all ground floor windows, and put padlocks on all the internal doors so that movement within the house is impossible.In the case of the back door, I installed two sliding bolts, but I left the original lock intact. My reasoning was that the front door was now impregnable, the windows were screwed shut and the sliding bolts on the rear door made it impossible to open, except from the inside.

Unfortunately, I had not counted on the tenacity, and stupidity, of the tenants. They broke one of the window locks climbed through, mithered around the back room for a minute (because of the internal padlocks they could'nt go anywhere else), they then unbolted the sliding bolts on the back door, unlocked the door and let themselves out, before politely locking the door again.

Once again the police have been called. In perspective, this activity represents no more than minor hooliganism, probably by one of the over muscled teenagers. My concern though, is that if this activity becomes too easy for the lad, he will extend and amplify his operations, and not confine his activities to our derelict. The possibility is that the street we propose moving to, which currently has one of the lowest crime rates in this benighted city, becomes subject to a minor crime wave affecting the whole street.

I improved ground floor security as well as possible this morning, met a very nice contractor, and now am heading off to Leeds, where, once again I will attempt to hand in my notice.

In the interests of clarity....

I re-read last night's blog, and feel I should clarify something. I have frequently given reference to the question we are most frequently asked, which can be summed up as "Why did you move back to England from Canada?". In truth, the first few months were difficult, but even then, the reality, is that, despite the continual question, we both knew, and know, why we moved back. In fact now, 18 months after returning here, we are having a ball.

I say this with as little soppiness as I can muster, but while I think that Canada undoubtedly offers a better quality of life for the majority of it's population than the UK, and is consequently a much happier place to live for relatively more of its people than the UK, Nel and I are priviliged to be both relatively secure and, more importantly, completely barking mad. The security means that it does'nt really matter where we live and the barking madness means that we are adaptable enough to take our cats for walks wherever we happen to be geographically. The result is that we meet good people, and consequently enjoy life wherever we are. By applying a 'life philosophy' of "If it ain't broke, then change it" ensures a variability of life that has helped keep us interested.

Additionally, since we have been in England, it has been great to meet up with old friends again, as well as meet some new ones, especially the Humberside Police with whom we now have a special relationship. I write this because I re-read my last sentence of previous entry and realized I sounded a bit anti-UK. I apologize unreservedly to the UK for this. I except from this apology the following people:

1. Alex Ferguson - Manager of Manchester United Football Club.
2. The person that knocked me off my bike.
3. The preious tenants of Large Villas.
4. The staff of Jobcentre Plus.
5. Newspaper editors.

Estonian Concerns

Unfortunately, I did not fit new locks quite quickly enough. As last night's rather bland report was being written at Nickson Towers, events were, as they say, afoot over at the future site of Large Villas.

We left Nickson Towers just after tea last night, took a leisurely, good humoured walk over to Large Villas, looking forward to having a few of the cooling beers that we'd left in the rear room of the new place before heading out to a bar with a couple of Red HB's work cronies. We entered the wreck, walked 8into the back room, and much to my surprise, in the scant hour and a half that we'd been absent, the beer had gone. Disappeared. Stolen.

There was no sign of forced entry, so the mystery before us appeared to deepen. What criminal mastermind would be so brilliant as to be able to enter a locked building, without damaging any exterior doors, or windows, and with no apparent signs of tunnelling, effect a heinous act, and exeunt pronto, all within an hour, disappearing into the night, like a stealthy person who's gone to Stealth School and graduated top of "Stealthiness". We puzzled the crime for a full microsecond.

"Cheeky bastards" I said.

"THE BEER??? THE BEEER???They've stolen the beer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" cried Red HB, full of anguish, and giving every appearance of someone who is just about to rend her garment.

Red HB, always the more resilient of our partnership, recovered first, and got to the point quickly: "Who's going to get more beer? Matt and Will are coming round."

The vote fell with Red, as I'm soon to be an impoverished student, and am trying to get into student habits (never buy beer if you can scrounge it, never carry cash, always be just about to do something when expenditure threatens). As she was leaving, next door neighbour popped his head out of his door.

"The tenants were back", he told us, "They walked out with a large cabinet, a rug, a saw and some beer."

We are stunned. Firstly, because if they'd wanted any of the junk that we'd spent the day piling up in the back yard, they only had to ask, but secondly, because surely in any language, in any culture, in any strata of society, regardless of language ability, regardless of immigration status, regardless of rich and poor, what they have just done is Stupid Theft, and (this is the point of our surprise) they have done the deed while being viewed by about half a dozen people, who know who they are and where they have moved to. (They also took my saw, a couple of our I-pod speakers and possibly some small hand tools). The stupidity amazes both of us, but it does fit with what we know of these people - the unsanitary conditions of the property are revealed to be on a massive scale as today's work has progressed.

The police arrive the next day, and take the situation very seriously, because as I arrive today, the back door is open - the tenants have been back for further pickings. We are treated to two constables, a forensics team, and over the phone, a Community Liason Officer. The officers we meet are impressive - intelligent, helpful, professional, and they explain that to them, the size of the theft is not important, the act is. They also ask the question that every new person we've met since we came to England asks "Why did you come back?".

Klingons on the Starboard Bow

Well, Friday came and went, and the Global Economy did not collapse, so on Friday evening Red and I went to our new pile. No additional damage has been done by the tenants so we brace ourselves for Saturdays's labours. As described in our Project Plan

http://spreadsheets.google.com/ccc?key=pNlJIzk1Ot7pbxY74GstWIg&hl=en

Saturday's work involved removing all the detritus left by various tenants and the previous owner, the odious Mr Gold. We knew coming into this project that it would be tough, but today's work has to rank among the most difficult first day's start to a project I have had. Friday's visit highlight's the nature of the project, so Red HB stays at home base, drawing up accurate plans, while I set to clearing out the first few rooms. Mouse droppings everywhere, dirty mattresses and bedding, old clothes, several dead mice. It is disgusting, and I write this as one who recently cleared out an Airstream trailer, and has had previous experience, in Ontario, cleaning up houses after drug addicts have overdosed.

An album will be published but for today one photo sums up the visual experience, although not the olfactory one. The room pictured is as slept in by the previous occupants. The mixture of aromas is "interesting". By the end of the day, though, we have magnificently cleared out the following:

6 mattresses and beds
5 large wardrobes
3 couches
2 fridges
4 televisions
10 bags of assorted clothes and unidentifiable stuff
torn up and removed all the carpet in the place (apart from one room)
bleached and swept the place
begun partial demolition of one wall

One incident occurred during the day which was surprising. I was dragging the third great big wardrobe down the stairs, when the front door opens and a youth enters. I look at him, and ask what he wants. He says calmly "Any mail?".

I reply in the negative and he walks out. It occurs to me immediately that he is one of the previous tenants. I had noticed a lack of mail when I entered the house that morning, and I now realize that the tenants are still visiting regularly, and letting themselves in with keys. Fitting new locks asap goes to the top of the task list.

In Bed with Sharon

Even though, technically, the fat lady has not yet sung, the chickens have not actually hatched, and Bill's bespoke stumbling block has not yet been removed from the floor, in respect of the putative purchase of our slum, operatic voices have been tuned, chickens are pecking at the inside of their shells and the linseed oil has been brought up to room temperature ready to give the old block a good polish before returning it to storage.

In short, the tenants of the future location of Large Mansions have gone, vacated, exited stage left, done a bunk and cleared out, leaving a selection of disgusting old mattresses, chipboard cabinets, sundry electronica and an old tyre behind. However, they have not done any damage to the property, which was a great fear of mine, and have presumably been relocated in safe, affordable public housing.

I know this because tonight, the Boffin and I went round for an inspection. This visit was sans false moustaches, over-sized trench-coats and any other disguises that we may have considered in previous visits. We met the agent of the odious Mr Gold. The agent was an affable enough man, hollow-eyed and desperate, who immediately began attempting to sell me the property, stating that I just "had to see past the grime". I pointed out to him that I had indeed seen past the grime and we were just inspecting it to ensure no new damage had occurred, BUT that when 'my partner' showed up , she would freak out about all the stuff the tenants had left, as our agreement was for 'free and clear' possession.

Red Head showed up, had a minor freak, and probably (after six months of trying to sell the place and thousands of pounds in court costs) gave the agent a minor heart attack, as she gave every impression of being about to make an issue, and withdraw from the sale, over this latest breach of agreement by the seller. However, in this case, the man got lucky, because we now have a limited time in which to complete our renovations(actually for renovations, read 'complete rebuild'), and Red, I think, decided pretty quickly that right now, every day counts and more delays are not in our favour. He looked distinctly relieved; Boffin's reputation has probably spread around the offices of Gold and Son Ltd, and this house has already caused one agent a nervous breakdown .

So provided there's not a global financial meltdown before Friday, we should have the keys to the pile on Friday afternoon. Obvioulsy reports will be published on this blog, but to make matters more fun, I've decided to publish our weekly task lists. These can be found at :

http://spreadsheets.google.com/pub?key=pNlJIzk1Ot7pbxY74GstWIg


If you're interested bookmark the link and check it out. It will be updated every week or so.