It is a little while ago, but here are pictures from my big sister's 50th birthday party. In truth I was not looking forward to it - 2 days away from renovation, sleeping in a different bed and 2 days away from the cats when we were already going to be spending loads of time away from them. As it turned out, the party was great.
We drove to Liverpool in a rented car, heading over the Snake Pass in Derbyshire, one of the most beautiful places in Europe and for motorcyclists, one of the most dangerous. The Snake Pass runs between Sheffield and Manchester and is a very ancient route, winding between craggy moors, past a large reservoir and is a joy to ride, as I once did on the Crosstowner's predecessor, a rusty cast iron contraption with three gears, two working. It always amazes me that tourist advertisements for the UK always show the worst parts - London, Blackpool, the Smelly White Cliffs of Dover, Liverpool, the Royal Family, Manchester, David Beckham, the New Forest and the vastly oversubscribed parts of the Lake District(although admittedly the more remote parts of the Lake District are stunning). In my humble opinion, there are parts of England never publicized that are much better - the Trough of Bowland, Northumbria, the Welsh Borders, Shropshire and the aforementioned Snake Pass.
After Snake Pass, a quick cup of tea with a legal Eagle and Great Margaret in Glossop, then we arrived in Liverpool mid-afternoon. And it was seeing Margaret that reminded me of another reason I was not looking forward to the party. She showed us photographs of the latest expedition launched by the Large's to a camp site in Wales that they have attended every year,apparently for decades. Every year the party consists of cousins, brothers, babies, sometimes friends, mothers, daughters, and of course dogs. It is a multi-generational, multi-ethnic at times, extended family holiday in tents, and despite the fact that they appear to be wet and cold with a frequency that has made the Red Haired Boffin eschew the experience on a regular basis(if it was in cabins she's be there like a shot), the tradition continues.
The result of this is that cousins are comfortable with cousins (one of RHB's best friends is her cousin Sue, in future to be referred to here as WW), and events like weddings, birthday parties and the like, do not just become exercises in asking other attendees "Who are you?". The fact is that I know RHB's cousins much better than I know my own as a result of this family dynamic. I tell Red as we drive away from Glossop, that I want to go to the Large gathering next year, and she says "Have fun". But in truth, I would be welcome to go without her, and not just greeted as my partner's partner.
When we arrive at Helen's house, a marquee has been erected, photos of H. throughout her life have been posted up and with the arrival of the children the party starts to swing. Pretty soon, Nel and I get bored talking, especially about Canada (I'm fighting off urges to go to the nearest travel agent and book a one way ticket at this point), and we start playing with the little people. Firstly, I organise that each child - Thomas, AllyPally, Ollie, Megan, Siobhan, Alice, Matthew, Shaun and a few others - be allowed a camera. Then the kids are given instructions to go round and photograph every person at the party. In recent discussions with a photographer friend, he mentioned that people react to kids completely differently than they do to adult photographers. The smiles seem more genuine, there's no posing, apart from silly poses. Most of the photos here were taken by Matthew.
Photoshoot over we get into a good old game of hide and seek. As an adult, there is a tendency to try and make sure games are played 'properly', so that when playing hide and seek, a full count of twenty is issued by the seeker, clearly articulated while the hiders hide very quietly in their respective hiding places. In reality, especially with very little kids, it is a little bit more like this:
"OK Ollie. You and me are 'it'. Lets count to twenty and then go find them, ok?"
"Ok. ONE, two, four, nine, six......er....."
We are interrupted by Megan who informs us that she is definitely NOT hiding in the wardrobe so there's no point looking there.
"OK, thanks Megan. Now where were we Ollie?"
Ollie screams "COMING READY OR NOT"and tears off.
Upstairs, where Helen's husband banned us from playing, everyone hiding very loudly. As soon as Ollie finds his first cousin (literally), everyone erupts into screams and laughter and we all run back down to the garden to begin the game again.
At the end of the party, Shaun has had a brilliant time and wants to know why he has to wait so long between gatherings to play with his cousins. I tell his dad to make sure he e-mails me the photos from the party taken by all the kids. I want to make a kind of collage of all their work - it would be a great documentary project.
"You guys should all get together again soon" I say, but I have no influence here, and rightly so. I have'nt been in touch with most of these people for twenty years or more, and had to be introduced to most of them. It looks to me as if this particular family is, in its own way, happy with the way things are.
Friday, 19 September 2008
Thursday, 18 September 2008
Knees up Mother Brown
Having recently tried to call a close friend to see how their recent operation went, I am devastated to find their telephone line constantly engaged for the last two days. There could be numerous reasons for this, telephone gambling, for example, or perhaps a gossip line is being utilized while my friend recuperates, or perhaps the person is ordering pizza, but whatever the reason, I find an engaged tone something of a challenge. Sense, and the Red Haired Boffin, tell me to leave the call for fifteen minutes or so, in order to give the other parties time to clear.
Much to the bemusement of my partner, I adopt a completely different approach, repeatedly re-dialling without any pause. This is similar to channel surfing, I think. When channel surfing, it becomes obvious very quickly that the same old dross is on the goggle-box and nothing I can do will change the situation. This however does not prevent me cycling repeatedly through the channels, more to get a result than because I believe the tv will change its programming. They never do......and now to try that number one more time before bed...........
Much to the bemusement of my partner, I adopt a completely different approach, repeatedly re-dialling without any pause. This is similar to channel surfing, I think. When channel surfing, it becomes obvious very quickly that the same old dross is on the goggle-box and nothing I can do will change the situation. This however does not prevent me cycling repeatedly through the channels, more to get a result than because I believe the tv will change its programming. They never do......and now to try that number one more time before bed...........
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
Of cats and dogs
Ireland's photographs have not yet been sanitized, the legends we wrote there have not yet distilled properly and I have the worst child-inflicted viral infection-thingy I have had for many years. SO the tale of Ireland's vacation may have to wait for a few days. But a story will be told thereof. Eventually.
Onto current affairs before today's main topic. NOT wanting to be the harbinger of doom, or to harbinge anything at all really, I draw attention to the current state of the World's financial markets with no pleasure, but with a feeling of some vindication. I believe that I was the first contributor to this blogsite to introduce readers to the notion that societies cause themselves endless difficulty by engaging in complexity, and while it is true that I may well be the only regular contributor to this site, I do not believe that this lessens my achievement at all. The world's financial markets are in chaos. The real problem with this is that the last time that this happened, it was a person who was super rich already who profited. Mr George Soros might well have opened hundreds of charitable institutes, and may well be a nice uncle, I have no idea, BUT the very artificiality of the type of speculation that 'players' on the stock market engage in is a real and present danger to everyone else, I believe, not to mention the environment, good taste and the advancement of human society everywhere.
My father used to equate the stock market with betting shops, and I believe that no matter how many stupid, unpoetic, poncy, plummy, small-mouthed euphemisms these stock market speculators use, they are in fact, no better than my illiterate alcoholic grandfather who spent the family income betting on the outcome of the 3.30 at Chepstow. Stock market speculation is gambling, full stop. The players might use their own language to describe what they do, a language used by breathless journalists and bad novelists as if they are describing foreplay, where words like "exposure", "liquidity", "remuneration"(possibly the worst word in the English language), "bear pit", "Bullpen", "dynamic" are used as if they actually describe something, but the fact is these people are nothing but common gamblers. They create wealth the way an alcoholic gambling addict will go to the pub after a big win and spend loads of money, but it's nothing permanent, nothing substantial, nothing to be proud of. The real problem has been that they are taken seriously, the way far too many addicts are taken seriously, and, again like drug addicts and alcoholics, when it all goes horribly wrong, they take a lot of people down with them. The only difference between these people and drug addicts and alcoholics is that alcoholics often recognize that what they are doing is bad for society.
Why are the so called stock markets gambling, I hear you ask? Well, my father's explanation is a good one. It goes like this:
A market trader dealing in fish, fresh fish, will, if he or her, is reputable, only sell you fish that is available today, on the stall. They WILL NOT say to you
"OI, Governer. Give us ten quid now and I'll reserve some of tomorrow's catch in your name. Given that everyone loves a bit of haddock, we just know that I can sell your tenner's worth for twelve quid, so when I do sell it at that price, we'll make two quid profit"
THey will NOT say this to you because someone who operates in a real market deals in reality. The stock market, heavily dependent on "Futures" and "confidence", is anything BUT a real market. It is gambling.
OK. Polemic over. Back to cat and dogs....
Many thousands of years ago, similarly to that humans did definitely NOT gamble that the herds of wildebeest would sweep majestically across the 'prairie', bets also were NOT taken on which child would survive being mauled by the vicious predator 'we' had just domesticated. I say 'we' because if I am wrong, I want no part of 'we' and want instead to be a different species, perhaps 'homo cataffiliaticus'. The sense of this segment, if sense there be, is that I dispute strongly the outrageous claims made by some anthropologists that dogs were the first animals domesticated by humans. Domesticating dogs first is just gambling.
I should lay out the arguments. As I believe I have already proven, humans are, by nature NOT gamblers. Gambling is usually associated with an illness, with being a sociopath,with playing the stock market etc etc, and is, I would suggest, a pasttime dependant on a certain amount of luxury. Living on the brink between hunter gathering and an agrarian existence is not a place to risk one's existence, yet certain anthropologists would have us believe that these early humans traipsed out into the wild blue yonder, trapped a she-wolf, killed it, and then took the wild cubs back to camp with the specific intention of breeding Shitzu's as soon as they could find another litter(from a different she-wolf) with paqrticularly attractive eyes,. They would also have to kill the second she-wolf. Then , the same ganf of starving humans would have to invest a huge amount of resources on feeding all the pups. And, the same anthropologists would have us belive that they did this on a whim - as a trial run, as an invention. They would have us believe that ancient man woke up one night and decided to domesticate things that were wild, that did'nt want to be domesticated, and that required a huge amount of resources.
Consider, if you will, the original moggy. Sneaking round the sandhills of pre-civilization Egypt, hunting bunny-rabbits (sorry Grasshopper), when lo and behold, there, right in front of it's eyes is a whole family of mice feasting on a pile of grain collected by the homo sapiens. For the cat, this is a good gig - a regular supply of food, protection from predators, warmth. For the human, their precious grain is protected, and the amount of effort they have to put into the venture is limited.
I do not think there could be an argument. I do love dogs, and we are going to get a dog as soon as we can to enhance our menagerie, but as an introduction to risk-free domestication, cats are the way to go.
Onto current affairs before today's main topic. NOT wanting to be the harbinger of doom, or to harbinge anything at all really, I draw attention to the current state of the World's financial markets with no pleasure, but with a feeling of some vindication. I believe that I was the first contributor to this blogsite to introduce readers to the notion that societies cause themselves endless difficulty by engaging in complexity, and while it is true that I may well be the only regular contributor to this site, I do not believe that this lessens my achievement at all. The world's financial markets are in chaos. The real problem with this is that the last time that this happened, it was a person who was super rich already who profited. Mr George Soros might well have opened hundreds of charitable institutes, and may well be a nice uncle, I have no idea, BUT the very artificiality of the type of speculation that 'players' on the stock market engage in is a real and present danger to everyone else, I believe, not to mention the environment, good taste and the advancement of human society everywhere.
My father used to equate the stock market with betting shops, and I believe that no matter how many stupid, unpoetic, poncy, plummy, small-mouthed euphemisms these stock market speculators use, they are in fact, no better than my illiterate alcoholic grandfather who spent the family income betting on the outcome of the 3.30 at Chepstow. Stock market speculation is gambling, full stop. The players might use their own language to describe what they do, a language used by breathless journalists and bad novelists as if they are describing foreplay, where words like "exposure", "liquidity", "remuneration"(possibly the worst word in the English language), "bear pit", "Bullpen", "dynamic" are used as if they actually describe something, but the fact is these people are nothing but common gamblers. They create wealth the way an alcoholic gambling addict will go to the pub after a big win and spend loads of money, but it's nothing permanent, nothing substantial, nothing to be proud of. The real problem has been that they are taken seriously, the way far too many addicts are taken seriously, and, again like drug addicts and alcoholics, when it all goes horribly wrong, they take a lot of people down with them. The only difference between these people and drug addicts and alcoholics is that alcoholics often recognize that what they are doing is bad for society.
Why are the so called stock markets gambling, I hear you ask? Well, my father's explanation is a good one. It goes like this:
A market trader dealing in fish, fresh fish, will, if he or her, is reputable, only sell you fish that is available today, on the stall. They WILL NOT say to you
"OI, Governer. Give us ten quid now and I'll reserve some of tomorrow's catch in your name. Given that everyone loves a bit of haddock, we just know that I can sell your tenner's worth for twelve quid, so when I do sell it at that price, we'll make two quid profit"
THey will NOT say this to you because someone who operates in a real market deals in reality. The stock market, heavily dependent on "Futures" and "confidence", is anything BUT a real market. It is gambling.
OK. Polemic over. Back to cat and dogs....
Many thousands of years ago, similarly to that humans did definitely NOT gamble that the herds of wildebeest would sweep majestically across the 'prairie', bets also were NOT taken on which child would survive being mauled by the vicious predator 'we' had just domesticated. I say 'we' because if I am wrong, I want no part of 'we' and want instead to be a different species, perhaps 'homo cataffiliaticus'. The sense of this segment, if sense there be, is that I dispute strongly the outrageous claims made by some anthropologists that dogs were the first animals domesticated by humans. Domesticating dogs first is just gambling.
I should lay out the arguments. As I believe I have already proven, humans are, by nature NOT gamblers. Gambling is usually associated with an illness, with being a sociopath,with playing the stock market etc etc, and is, I would suggest, a pasttime dependant on a certain amount of luxury. Living on the brink between hunter gathering and an agrarian existence is not a place to risk one's existence, yet certain anthropologists would have us believe that these early humans traipsed out into the wild blue yonder, trapped a she-wolf, killed it, and then took the wild cubs back to camp with the specific intention of breeding Shitzu's as soon as they could find another litter(from a different she-wolf) with paqrticularly attractive eyes,. They would also have to kill the second she-wolf. Then , the same ganf of starving humans would have to invest a huge amount of resources on feeding all the pups. And, the same anthropologists would have us belive that they did this on a whim - as a trial run, as an invention. They would have us believe that ancient man woke up one night and decided to domesticate things that were wild, that did'nt want to be domesticated, and that required a huge amount of resources.
Consider, if you will, the original moggy. Sneaking round the sandhills of pre-civilization Egypt, hunting bunny-rabbits (sorry Grasshopper), when lo and behold, there, right in front of it's eyes is a whole family of mice feasting on a pile of grain collected by the homo sapiens. For the cat, this is a good gig - a regular supply of food, protection from predators, warmth. For the human, their precious grain is protected, and the amount of effort they have to put into the venture is limited.
I do not think there could be an argument. I do love dogs, and we are going to get a dog as soon as we can to enhance our menagerie, but as an introduction to risk-free domestication, cats are the way to go.
Saturday, 13 September 2008
7000km Part 4 (or 7000 words, whichever comes first)
We weren't sure where we were going after Sturgis. We didn't know how many rain days we would have, but with 45 minutes of rain over the entire two weeks, we were free to go a little further. South was our first thought, but a heat wave was pushing temps into the 40's so we decided west and North into the canyons of Wyoming and Montana. Again, the scenery was amazing. Devils tower, finger canyon, and more badlands. ok.... Out of room for pics, and typing fingers are tiring (only 2 fingers sharing all this work). Stories about running out of gas, and our only rain/hail storm on the 401 back in toronto will wait till a nice beer and a good talk. :)
7000km Part 3
So yes, Sturgis was a circus. But you have to run away to the circus at least once in your life. :) Stayed their two days, went to the worlds largest drive-in/through biker bar, and bought a couple of tacky souvineers. We spent mostof the time on the road checking out the windiest roads and most beautiful scenery outside of Cape Beton. Mount rushmore was creepy, but the roads the park were amazing, especially 'needles' highway. Every road was filled in bot directions with motorcycles, mostly Harley's and the lack of time behind the wheel was obvious with most of them. I started calling them the first gear club, but to be fair, no-one was taking the road beyond their skill level - which was good.
7000km Part 2
So we escaped the land of corn by the husk of our ears (yeah, that was corny, but if you cob something that bad together, you have to field it...). Acyually, by the time we hit western Iowa, we found some great back country roads riding through the first hills we had seen in days. There were old clay, grassy hills that resembled the 'fingered' hills you often see in pictures of China. And set the stage nicely for Nebraska. There we found more rolling hills, and we had our first night couchsurfing staying with Joe, a student who discovered couchsurfing while studying in Poland. the first of two cool couchsurfing experiences. We didn't stay long as we were close enough to our first goal South dakota, the bad lands and Sturgis.
The badlands were stunning, and even these pics don't do the justice. We detoured through them on the way from Nebraska to Sturgis, and spent the beter part of the day twisting through kilometres of badlands national parks.It was also the first time this entire trip that we saw a sign
of the 100, 000 bikes that were supposed to be at Sturgis. We went from seeing 2 bikes per day on thge road to two cars per day. We found out how this worked by the end of the rally. It seems no-one really drives their bike to Sturgis anymore. they put it in the trailer behind their SUV, tow it to Sturgis, park it on main street and pose by it.
7000km
Anna and i have posted our vacation pics on facebook, but I've just been told we've neglected our friends on this blog.
The idea was 2 people, 2 wheels, 2 weeks, very little luggage, no roof and 7000 km.
The story starts with packing, of course. Last year we upgraded the size of our saddle bags, and bought a 'sissy bar' bag which tripled the amount of space we had. This being our first motorcycle trip together, though, a civilized debate ensued regarding what consituted 'a neccessity' on a trip like this, and whether a hair dryer fit that category. Being the skilled orator she is, Anna argued that a hair dryer is nothing more than a 21st century towel. Being high tech geek and a Douglas Adams fan, I couldn't argue with this and room was made.
We set off on a Friday, early morning. Now my usual mode of travel on bike is to find the smallest, windiest road that gets us close to the destination and take it, but knowing how flat, industrial and boring the scenery was going to be early in the trip, we hit the big highways trying to get as far south and west as could on that first day. While we didn't quite hit 'iron butt' status (1000miles in under 24 hours) we were well into chicago territory, and that was even including a heartfelt, though somewaht lengthy, welcome from the US customs guards. Now don't go blaming Anna for this one. I have a 100% success rate at being pulled over for 'random' checks when trying to drive into the states.
So the first day was industrial, the second day was all about corn. It took us a while to find a decent road off of the interstates, but we eventually hooked up with the 'US' grade highways which are typically 2 lane and go decent distances. US 66 is probably the most famous, but we found US 20 and 30 going fairly cleanly east to west. unfortunately. my maps were a bit out of date, and these 2 lane highways had in large part been twinned and now resembled nterstates themsleves. Even compared to my last trip 5 or 6 years ago, it was getting harder and harder to find a nice country back road. If the road went anywhere, there was a good chance it had been or was being upgraded. Now the price of this went beyond my own annoyance. A lot of these highways were twinned very recently and we were seeing instant effects when we tried to pull of the roadfor gas or lodging. Two lane roads used to cut through towns and the few people that took them would stop for lunch or gas, creating small local economies. With these new bypasses, we were finding ghost-town after ghost-town.
So, here we are heading through michigan, illinois, indiana, iowa (and the other 6 states that start with I that I can't remember). We were doing an average of 600KM a day, back roads and no hurry when possible. On the first day through, we were amazed by the amount of corn. By the third day, the corn god was speaking to us directly, telling us to abandon our motorized contraptions and live in the fields wearing corn husks for clothes...
We did manage to escape, but at a cost too gruesome to mention her.
The food in these small farming towns gets mixed reviews. Portions were enough to feed us for an entire day, of course, but the steaks were some of the best i ever had. Anna was understandably confused when told hat 'soup' was a seasonal dish...
More to follow.
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