..the unanimous not guilty verdict on Nick Griffin. How anyone can possibly say that what he said at a rally, secretly filmed by the Beeb and shown on TV, is not racist incitement, is beyond me. Mr. Griffin, here's a challenge for you; Do one of those DNA tests that reveal ethnic makeup. Odds on it shows you're a healthy melange of different racial groups, like a significant number of (nominally white) Brits. Then, after you've shown the results on TV and shared them with the slope-browed, slack-jawed, knuckle-dragging , workshy, pig-ignorant scum you're proud to call your followers, go home.
Wherever that may prove to be.
I am proud to live in a free and open country, even if it isn't perfect. I am proud that my grandparents and granduncles fought the shitty ideology you espouse during WWII.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Slightly safer.
..the world, that is. In covering his own cowardly simian backside, George W.'s done humanity a favour by ditching Rumsfeld - and good on the American Electorate, too, for putting the Democrats in charge.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Mid-term elections..
..and a feed back to a previous entry, asking the question, what is a head of state good for?
vote well, American chums.
vote well, American chums.
Monday, October 30, 2006
And Now For Something Completely Different..Does anyone know a good astrophysicist?
This is a serious idea, produced from my Science Geek side. Please treat it seriously. I came up with the core idea last week, and I've been bending it and testing it since. However, if it is true, the implications are genuinely enormous. If it is not, feel free to ignore it and mock me.
Spacetime and dark matter interaction hypothesis
I started this idea a very long time ago, as a child, ever wondering whether I’d ever be able to travel to other planets and times, a la Dr. Who. I entertained fantasies of exotic engines, warp speed and so forth, until I began to think that there might be a way of doing it without accelerating. About a week ago, an idea came to mind that I have been bending backwards and forwards every way I can, and I can’t find a problem at the moment, apart from the fact it uses a form of matter that is only just on the verge of being described. What is more, my idea seems to resolve a whole raft of complex issues regarding astrophysics and quantum physics, plus some other issues relating to religion and philosophy. It also implies a way to travel that could cover infinite distances and times, but without breaking any laws of physics. I know this is an outrageously enormous claim; This is why I must put this idea into the public domain, where it must be pulled every which way to see if it’s just crackpot or not. Let’s begin.
My current round of thinking about this concept began with the question ‘what would a universe look like if it did not have time?’, the answer, quite obviously, being absolute bloody chaos; everything would happen instantaneously. However, it also implies that a universe without time could not have a cogent space, as distance of any kind implies time between events. In other words, a timeless universe is an absurdity – it could not possibly have shape or substance. Rather like the singularity that led to the Big Bang. So far, so basic; I also started thinking along the lines of ‘what does time and distance look like in a universe devoid of sentience?’ – I wanted to understand what the absolute definition of time is, rather than the mathematical limits of seconds, hours, days, months etc that we place upon time. I also asked myself ‘what would the universe look like if it were smaller/bigger?’
It was this last question that set me following the white rabbit down the hole, or rather, an extremely large, at least light-year-wide, invisible bunny through spacetime.
Dark matter and dark energy have become increasingly accepted features of the universe over the past few years, even though we don’t know what they are, how big they are, or what they’re doing loitering around, being invisible. Dark matter does not seem to interact with the visible universe; we can’t see it, touch it, taste it, hear it or weigh it, which pretty much renders an impossible thing. Yet it must be there, because the universe and the structure within could not possibly exist without it. It is a thing that we simply do not have the capacity of perceiving, yet we can infer its existence.
And it does not interact with the visible universe.
However, what it does do is interact with spactime, simply because it is a fundamental part of the universe, just like gravity, mass, and electromagnetism.
Now here’s the idea:
The universe is far, far smaller than we actually consider it to be.
The reason it looks larger is very simple: dark matter dilates spacetime.
In other words, dark matter somehow acts as a kind of lens, distorting the actual fabric of the material, visible universe.
How on Earth is this provable?
Well, I’m still working on that one, but a couple of thoughts come to mind. Basically, dark matter may pervade the universe, but it should clump in gravitational centres, i.e. in galaxies and around black holes. The greater the amount of dark matter, the larger (and longer) spacetime appears to be. In other words, someone standing at the heart of the galaxy would see space, and the distance between stars, as being far more stretched out than someone standing at a point outside a galaxy. Not only that, it would also appear older than it is. So, you could send some people off on unimaginably long journeys to the centre of our galaxy and outside it, the compare their experiences, although might take a teensy-weensy bit too long – by several million years. Or you could try bouncing some kind of signal towards a system towards the centre of the galaxy, and another equidistant towards the outside, and measure the length of time it takes the signal to return. If my idea is true, it should take marginally longer for the signal aimed at the heart of the galaxy to return. Or you could try with the Pioneer probe, now hurtling away from the solar system and into deep space. If my supposition is correct, then our solar system should appear smaller than it does to us as a spacecraft enters deep space and less dark matter.
Now, dark matter appears to consist of enormous structures – current ideas suggest that a single particle may be more that a light year in dimension – but this helps the notion of the way it dilates spacetime. Although it affects the visible, material universe, what it does not do is affect matter at the subatomic, quantum level, simpy because of its sheer size. This could explain ‘spooky action at a distance’, or the way subatomic materials appear to have an effect on other subatomic particles regardless of distance and time. This is because the distance and time are the byproduct of spacetime dilation through dark matter. Dark matter behaving as I suggest would also explain why the Universal Constant appears to have changed, and why the speed of light possibly isn’t what it used to be. In fact, they have remained the same; what has occurred, from our perspective, is movement of dark matter, giving the illusion of change.
What are the implications of what I’m suggesting?
I’d argue that they are possibly enormous. Firstly, it suggests that we are capable of travelling vast distances without expending much in the way of energy. Quite simply, if you understand what dark matter (and dark energy, too) is, and how it behaves in relation to the visible universe – how it moves, how it clumps and so forth – then, in theory, and with an extremely fast computer and an extraordinarily accurate map, you should be able to avoid it – in other words, to warp through ‘real’ spacetime, rather than the dilated version. In terms of the kind of vehicle you’d need to do this, think more in terms of the Tardis than the USS Enterprise. This is because you would be able to move through time as well as space – hence the need for a really good map.
It also gives an insight into certain philosophical and religious ideas that the universe we live in is an illusion – that’s because it is: Our sense of space and time is a necessary illusion. I say necessary, because our senses have evolved to perceive spacetime as it appears to be, in its dilated state. This also implies that the rate of dilation would be relatively constant.
One thing I also suspect is that, not only does dark matter clump, the amount of it in the universe gradually increases as the universe ages. This would gradually increase the rate of spacetime dilation, leading to the visible universe appearing bigger and older.
Anyway, that’s the idea, in short – I have a few more suppositions that can be added to that, some of which relate to other spheres of science, but I want to work them through. This is a serious idea, and I’d like other serious minds to look at it. If it’s wrong, please tell me and explain why it’s wrong. If it looks right, please test it to destruction.
Spacetime and dark matter interaction hypothesis
I started this idea a very long time ago, as a child, ever wondering whether I’d ever be able to travel to other planets and times, a la Dr. Who. I entertained fantasies of exotic engines, warp speed and so forth, until I began to think that there might be a way of doing it without accelerating. About a week ago, an idea came to mind that I have been bending backwards and forwards every way I can, and I can’t find a problem at the moment, apart from the fact it uses a form of matter that is only just on the verge of being described. What is more, my idea seems to resolve a whole raft of complex issues regarding astrophysics and quantum physics, plus some other issues relating to religion and philosophy. It also implies a way to travel that could cover infinite distances and times, but without breaking any laws of physics. I know this is an outrageously enormous claim; This is why I must put this idea into the public domain, where it must be pulled every which way to see if it’s just crackpot or not. Let’s begin.
My current round of thinking about this concept began with the question ‘what would a universe look like if it did not have time?’, the answer, quite obviously, being absolute bloody chaos; everything would happen instantaneously. However, it also implies that a universe without time could not have a cogent space, as distance of any kind implies time between events. In other words, a timeless universe is an absurdity – it could not possibly have shape or substance. Rather like the singularity that led to the Big Bang. So far, so basic; I also started thinking along the lines of ‘what does time and distance look like in a universe devoid of sentience?’ – I wanted to understand what the absolute definition of time is, rather than the mathematical limits of seconds, hours, days, months etc that we place upon time. I also asked myself ‘what would the universe look like if it were smaller/bigger?’
It was this last question that set me following the white rabbit down the hole, or rather, an extremely large, at least light-year-wide, invisible bunny through spacetime.
Dark matter and dark energy have become increasingly accepted features of the universe over the past few years, even though we don’t know what they are, how big they are, or what they’re doing loitering around, being invisible. Dark matter does not seem to interact with the visible universe; we can’t see it, touch it, taste it, hear it or weigh it, which pretty much renders an impossible thing. Yet it must be there, because the universe and the structure within could not possibly exist without it. It is a thing that we simply do not have the capacity of perceiving, yet we can infer its existence.
And it does not interact with the visible universe.
However, what it does do is interact with spactime, simply because it is a fundamental part of the universe, just like gravity, mass, and electromagnetism.
Now here’s the idea:
The universe is far, far smaller than we actually consider it to be.
The reason it looks larger is very simple: dark matter dilates spacetime.
In other words, dark matter somehow acts as a kind of lens, distorting the actual fabric of the material, visible universe.
How on Earth is this provable?
Well, I’m still working on that one, but a couple of thoughts come to mind. Basically, dark matter may pervade the universe, but it should clump in gravitational centres, i.e. in galaxies and around black holes. The greater the amount of dark matter, the larger (and longer) spacetime appears to be. In other words, someone standing at the heart of the galaxy would see space, and the distance between stars, as being far more stretched out than someone standing at a point outside a galaxy. Not only that, it would also appear older than it is. So, you could send some people off on unimaginably long journeys to the centre of our galaxy and outside it, the compare their experiences, although might take a teensy-weensy bit too long – by several million years. Or you could try bouncing some kind of signal towards a system towards the centre of the galaxy, and another equidistant towards the outside, and measure the length of time it takes the signal to return. If my idea is true, it should take marginally longer for the signal aimed at the heart of the galaxy to return. Or you could try with the Pioneer probe, now hurtling away from the solar system and into deep space. If my supposition is correct, then our solar system should appear smaller than it does to us as a spacecraft enters deep space and less dark matter.
Now, dark matter appears to consist of enormous structures – current ideas suggest that a single particle may be more that a light year in dimension – but this helps the notion of the way it dilates spacetime. Although it affects the visible, material universe, what it does not do is affect matter at the subatomic, quantum level, simpy because of its sheer size. This could explain ‘spooky action at a distance’, or the way subatomic materials appear to have an effect on other subatomic particles regardless of distance and time. This is because the distance and time are the byproduct of spacetime dilation through dark matter. Dark matter behaving as I suggest would also explain why the Universal Constant appears to have changed, and why the speed of light possibly isn’t what it used to be. In fact, they have remained the same; what has occurred, from our perspective, is movement of dark matter, giving the illusion of change.
What are the implications of what I’m suggesting?
I’d argue that they are possibly enormous. Firstly, it suggests that we are capable of travelling vast distances without expending much in the way of energy. Quite simply, if you understand what dark matter (and dark energy, too) is, and how it behaves in relation to the visible universe – how it moves, how it clumps and so forth – then, in theory, and with an extremely fast computer and an extraordinarily accurate map, you should be able to avoid it – in other words, to warp through ‘real’ spacetime, rather than the dilated version. In terms of the kind of vehicle you’d need to do this, think more in terms of the Tardis than the USS Enterprise. This is because you would be able to move through time as well as space – hence the need for a really good map.
It also gives an insight into certain philosophical and religious ideas that the universe we live in is an illusion – that’s because it is: Our sense of space and time is a necessary illusion. I say necessary, because our senses have evolved to perceive spacetime as it appears to be, in its dilated state. This also implies that the rate of dilation would be relatively constant.
One thing I also suspect is that, not only does dark matter clump, the amount of it in the universe gradually increases as the universe ages. This would gradually increase the rate of spacetime dilation, leading to the visible universe appearing bigger and older.
Anyway, that’s the idea, in short – I have a few more suppositions that can be added to that, some of which relate to other spheres of science, but I want to work them through. This is a serious idea, and I’d like other serious minds to look at it. If it’s wrong, please tell me and explain why it’s wrong. If it looks right, please test it to destruction.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Here's Sean!
..sleeping soundly just about an hour after birth. Although it's ridiculous to talk about first impressions of a child that's only been out in the open for two and a half days, it's already remarkable how much more settled he appears to be compared to his elder brother at the same stage.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
9.40 a.m.
...saw a rising wind, and the beginning of rain - proper autumn rain, carrying a chill in its wings. It also saw the birth of Sean Dogac Paul Gallantry, coming in at seven pounds on the nose, looking remarkably like his brother eight years previously, bawling for all his might for the want of a bit of food - after which, he settled into determined, peaceful sleep. And all my doubts melted like hoarfrost in the sun's steady glare. Photos to follow.
Monday, October 23, 2006
still tired.
...and about to get a damn sight more so. In 36 hours or so, I will be a father once more. Now, I know I should be positive about the whole thing, and in some ways I am - it won't be quite the rude shock that Angus' first appearance was - I find it difficult to work up any enthusiasm. No matter: it is one of those things that one becomes accustomed to. Whether this is good or bad, I don't know. I feel very, very uncertain.
Well, I've wrapped more or less everything up at work, including sorting out a rather complex situation involving exams for the ESOL students, and marking 40+ sets of papers today, on a variety of topics; letters to a friend, descriptions of countries, descriptions of graphs. Some good ones:
'The people og Togo are famous for their love of sport, particularly football, hanball, and athletics. Even though that most Togos are afraid to swim.'
' South Africa has wonderful views of magnificent waterfalls and spectacular mountings.'
'Mortality has been a matter of concern to many countries for some time'
'Since 1960. people have died more dramatically.'
'Many countries have joined the EU in the past twenty years. For this reason, infant mortality is under the control of Brussels.'
These are the kind of things that make my job worthwhile.
Before going to work, I drowned some tomatoes in oil - or rather, stored my dried tomatoes, the last of this year's crop. Here's the recipe, variations of which can be found all over the place:
OVEN DRIED TOMATOES
Cut tomatoes in half - if big, quarter them. place side by side in an overproof dish.add garlic, finely chopped, plus sage, thyme, oregano and basil. drizzle with olive oil and add plenty of salt and pepper. Then, put the dish in an oven set to its lowest possible setting - 50 degrees max. let the tomatoes dry out; for the small plum tomatos I used, this took something like five hours, but it can take up to 24, depending on the size of your tomatoes. They're ready when the jelly has evaporated. Let cool, then pack in a sterile jar with chnks of garlic and fresh herbs, then cover in olive oil and store in the fridge. Taste bloody delicious and last up to two months.
Well, I've wrapped more or less everything up at work, including sorting out a rather complex situation involving exams for the ESOL students, and marking 40+ sets of papers today, on a variety of topics; letters to a friend, descriptions of countries, descriptions of graphs. Some good ones:
'The people og Togo are famous for their love of sport, particularly football, hanball, and athletics. Even though that most Togos are afraid to swim.'
' South Africa has wonderful views of magnificent waterfalls and spectacular mountings.'
'Mortality has been a matter of concern to many countries for some time'
'Since 1960. people have died more dramatically.'
'Many countries have joined the EU in the past twenty years. For this reason, infant mortality is under the control of Brussels.'
These are the kind of things that make my job worthwhile.
Before going to work, I drowned some tomatoes in oil - or rather, stored my dried tomatoes, the last of this year's crop. Here's the recipe, variations of which can be found all over the place:
OVEN DRIED TOMATOES
Cut tomatoes in half - if big, quarter them. place side by side in an overproof dish.add garlic, finely chopped, plus sage, thyme, oregano and basil. drizzle with olive oil and add plenty of salt and pepper. Then, put the dish in an oven set to its lowest possible setting - 50 degrees max. let the tomatoes dry out; for the small plum tomatos I used, this took something like five hours, but it can take up to 24, depending on the size of your tomatoes. They're ready when the jelly has evaporated. Let cool, then pack in a sterile jar with chnks of garlic and fresh herbs, then cover in olive oil and store in the fridge. Taste bloody delicious and last up to two months.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Tired. Hungover.
I can't do this any more. The regular nightly necking of a bottle of wine that is. It takes me longer and longer to recover these days, and increasingly I notice how much of my time boozing has occupied. Last week, I didn't touch a drop for five days: I found myself at a loose end each evening, not wishing to watch crap TV, and so free to get on with all the other stuff I should be doing. However, I didn't. I more or less sat in a state of mental doodling, flitting from one idle activity to the other. It illustrated how much time is taken in pursuit of doing worthless things. Sure, I sorted out my email inbox, but so what? Yep, I did a bit of mass recycling - yeah, whatever. What I didn't do were the things I value - read a book, do my diploma, create new class materials and above all, WRITE.
And now there is the impending birth of sprog no.2; This wednesday, to be precise. How much more of my time will have to be sacrificed, doing all the newborn stuff? As I said in a previous post, I am most certainly not looking forward to all the mind-numbing boring crap that comes with babies and toddlers.
And now there is the impending birth of sprog no.2; This wednesday, to be precise. How much more of my time will have to be sacrificed, doing all the newborn stuff? As I said in a previous post, I am most certainly not looking forward to all the mind-numbing boring crap that comes with babies and toddlers.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
and the prize goes to...
..Orhan Pamuk. Congratulations on getting the Nobel. Actually, I'm curious as to what the reaction will be in Turkey to it, especially considering his recent trial (and its subsequent collapse on the grounds that it was bloody stupid in the first place) for insulting Turkishness, just for having the temerity to mention the deaths of Kurds and Aremenians. I suspect that the reaction will be one of proud bafflement; pride for the fact that a Turk has won a Nobel, baffelemnt as to why anyone would read, and prize, his works. I'm a big Orhan fan - he's an absolutely superb writer, although I think he took his eye off the ball a bit in Snow.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Following the last post, I've received a bit of stick, quite rightly actually, about women who choose to wear hijab or more, rather than having to because of pressure from anxious misogynists. And I apologise for not having thought through what I was writing carefully enough. Fair enough, of course one can choose to wear what one likes, from the tiniest thong through to the most accommodating burqa - but it must be free choice. Two things strike me though: If the Creator made everything, and everything that the Creator makes is essentially good, why is it then necessary to cover it up? Secondly, if there is an injunction to dress 'modestly', surely this applies equally to men? In other words, in a land where the burqa is king, shouldn't men and women both wear it?
Friday, October 06, 2006
Oh Dear. Another week, another labour politician getting into a bit of bother about Islam. And, of course, a few attention-seeking shouty hotheads calling for his resignation. I do understand his point of view though: It is difficult communicating with people when you can't see their faces - try talking in a foreign language on the phone. When it comes to hijab, obviously there has to be a personal choice involved, although my personal opinion is that stuff like the chador and burka is utterly absurd. Also this seeming fear of a woman presenting their face to a man who is not a relative or husband - this strikes me as saying far more about a father's, brother's or husband's fears, weaknesses and sense of low self-esteem than anything; The need to utterly control another's life because you can't control aspects of your own. This is peculiar, as Islam means 'submission' (to the Will of Allah). In other words, trust in the Creator because you can't stay in charge of your own destiny all the time. If you are willing to submit in such a way, why then should anyone feel that they have the right to take absolute control of another's life?
Monday, October 02, 2006
In Death, as in Life...
...Naff rules. Look at this list of the top ten most requested songs for a funeral:
TOP POPULAR FUNERAL SONGS
1. Goodbye My Lover - James Blunt
2. Angels - Robbie Williams
3. I've Had the Time of My Life - Jennifer Warnes and Bill Medley
4. Wind Beneath My Wings - Bette Midler
5. Pie Jesu - Requiem
6. Candle in the Wind - Elton John
7. With or Without You - U2
8. Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton
9. Every Breath You Take - The Police
10. Unchained Melody - Righteous Brothers
Source: The Bereavement Register
Dear God in Heaven. Who'd want to be sent to the harp farm to the strains of James 'Rat-faced posh tit' Blunt? why would I want the dull thud of earth on my coffin lid be accompanied by some really, really bad 80's pop song? why? If I played these at my own funeral, and by and large it is the deceased's choice, you would have to kill me if I weren't dead already. It just proves the generally utterly execrable taste of most people in this country, and their sentimentality, which is the last bastion of those with no sense of emotion. Instead, they are encouraged to think that love, hate, pain, sorrow, the whole gamut, is expressed through some shoddy three minute songs; Readily-available emotions on your iPod.
TOP POPULAR FUNERAL SONGS
1. Goodbye My Lover - James Blunt
2. Angels - Robbie Williams
3. I've Had the Time of My Life - Jennifer Warnes and Bill Medley
4. Wind Beneath My Wings - Bette Midler
5. Pie Jesu - Requiem
6. Candle in the Wind - Elton John
7. With or Without You - U2
8. Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton
9. Every Breath You Take - The Police
10. Unchained Melody - Righteous Brothers
Source: The Bereavement Register
Dear God in Heaven. Who'd want to be sent to the harp farm to the strains of James 'Rat-faced posh tit' Blunt? why would I want the dull thud of earth on my coffin lid be accompanied by some really, really bad 80's pop song? why? If I played these at my own funeral, and by and large it is the deceased's choice, you would have to kill me if I weren't dead already. It just proves the generally utterly execrable taste of most people in this country, and their sentimentality, which is the last bastion of those with no sense of emotion. Instead, they are encouraged to think that love, hate, pain, sorrow, the whole gamut, is expressed through some shoddy three minute songs; Readily-available emotions on your iPod.
Eat, Drink and be miserable.
Mnnurggh. Monday morning. I have had three hours’ sleep, so I am not exactly the shiniest-eyed bunny in the warren this a.m. I woke at 3.30; Nur still hadn’t come to bed, although she did so shortly afterwards, leaving me to turn first one side then the other until light started leaking through the curtains. In fact, I haven’t slept well for the past week or so, mainly because of this bloody student-induced cold I’ve had. That, and I’ve felt generally rather miserable over the weekend. The sense of melancholy was triggered by, of all things, drinking too much fresh coffee. Now you might think I’m joking, but I have become increasingly aware over the past few years of how certain foods and drinks can affect my brain chemistry in spectacular ways. Too much coffee leaves me anxious, aggressive and depressed (although decaf and instant do not have the same effect); certain lagers and bitters can do the same, and just for good measure, fuck up my guts for a fortnight - but ale and spirits I can drink with impunity; Certain foods leave me grouchy and miserable, and so forth and so on.
The point is that there is a very clear link between my moods and what I consume – well, no shit, Sherlock! – but I cannot see what is the exact link between the things that leave me feel shitty. If I could identify exactly what chemicals are involved in causing that, in particular the hideous, temporary bouts of depression (and I really do mean temporary; they can come and go in five hours), then I’d be a happier person.
Fortunately, when these moods appear, I am now much more aware of them for what they are, and know that they will disappear, meaning that I’m far better at handling the situation than I used to be.
The point is that there is a very clear link between my moods and what I consume – well, no shit, Sherlock! – but I cannot see what is the exact link between the things that leave me feel shitty. If I could identify exactly what chemicals are involved in causing that, in particular the hideous, temporary bouts of depression (and I really do mean temporary; they can come and go in five hours), then I’d be a happier person.
Fortunately, when these moods appear, I am now much more aware of them for what they are, and know that they will disappear, meaning that I’m far better at handling the situation than I used to be.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Old Times in Bakirkoy
An old colleague from my Istanbul days emailed me today, praising the accuracy of an old post that related a typical day for the gang of teachers in Bakirkoy, circa 95-96. Jimmy was, at first encounter, a tough, hard-drinking Irishman. He used to go round with Kevin, the former DOS at Antik English, the pair of them getting spectacularly drunk. Kevin would sing folk songs of his own making at some point in the evening, before going home to his long-suffering Japanese wife, Keiko. He once set fire to Jimmy, mistaking him for his sofa - this is what led to him being fired.
Jimmy once related to me one of his more bizarre jobs he'd had whilst travelling round Europe; hurling stones at children.
'So you see', he said, sipping a konyak and coke, which was the winter drink of the time in the Cicek, ' There was I and my mate in Italy, no money at all, when this circus appears. A proper fucking circus, all horses and performing elephants and all that. They also had, as it happens, a tiger. A female tiger, she'd just had cubs, so all these wee kids from the town they were in are trying to sneak up and have a look at them. Anyhow, me and my mate pitch up and ask your man if he's any jobs going, and he says, 'yeah, look after the tiger. If any of those little bastards try poking their nose near the cage, heave a bloody stone at them.' And I did.'
Anyway, Jimmy, in honour of days past, here's a few more descriptions of times and events back then, including a vignette of Kevin in full throttle. They're extracts from a book I started writing but then gave up on, thinking that there were quite enough novels and memoirs written by TEFLers already.
THE FISH BAR
The Dilhan was the pub we d frequent in my first year in Istanbul. It was situated over several floors above a fishmongers, hence us always calling it the Fish Bar. It stank like it, too. Actually, it stank of all sorts of things. Fish was probably one of the nicer smells. Inside, the decor was decidedly on the basic side, although the fishy theme extended as far as the odour did.There was netting festooned on the walls and ceilings, along with the odd pufferfish, floating blankly in a sea of booze, nicotine and fried things, as well as one or two stuffed lobsters and fishing buoys. There were also cats. One tabby had made a nest somewhere on the top floor, and seemed to be continually having kittens. In the evenings, the kittens would stare at us from the stairs, like naughty children who can‘t go to sleep until theyve seen what the adults are doing. The bolder cats would actually race across the netting, running across our heads from stair to wall and back. We ‘d occasionally play cat racing, where we‘d bet on which cat could go fastest round the nets. The furniture consisted of long wooden tables with benches and stools. This meant that whenever we were drinking, we all sat on one big, long table, shouting, singing and banging our glasses, which meant we‘d inevitably have up to forty people on the same tab, which inevitably led to huge bills, which inevitably led to huge arguments .
The place was definitely on the unsanitary side. Apart from the smell, there were the cockroaches everywhere. I wouldn t touch anything apart from the booze. On the top floor were the toilets, which didn t work, and whose rank stench would ooze and dribble down to where we were sitting. These toilets were, however, preferable to the one down in the basement, in the kitchen. This one was a hole in the floor type, stowed in a kind of cupboard under the stairs. It was pitch black inside, and the smell was indescribable. It was better to try and piss in the dark: once I lit a match to try and get a better aim, and saw cockraches, shit and fish heads and guts everywhere. One look at the kitchen made me swear never, ever to eat there. Despite the smell, despite the cockroaches and cats, we all quite liked it, because it was dirt cheap, and it stayed open later than most other places. The staff were generally friendly, although the owner, Toad Mehmet, was a fat old bastard. He looked a bit like Jabba the Hutt with a moustache. He d sit in the corner of the first floor, all lardy and constipated looking, a cigarette forlornly dangling from his mouth at all times. He hated foreigners, I think: He looked at us with a bleary eyed contempt, but we paid well. You d be lucky to get a good evening out of him.
THE OLD MANS PUB, EARLY 1996
I got into the Bakirkoy birahanesi, nicknamed the old mans pub, a little later than the others, due to sharing a raki in the cicek. This wonderfully horrible place is closed now, but suffice to say it is what disrespectable spit and sawdust pubs strove to escape from. It stank of stale beer, sweat, millennia of fried things, piss, and rank stale poverty: the ideal place for the average EFL teacher, then. The toilets, whilst not so bad as the fish bar, were pretty rank. There was one for the blokes, a waterless urinal, then another, locked, toilet for the occasional female visitor, which in effect meant the women English teachers. There were ten of us around one large table, made from a beer barrel with a disc of wood shoved on top: Myself, Graham, Carol, Launa, Craig, Mel with her boyfriend Luke(y-wukey), Cath and Tabby, and Matt. The talk was, as usual, quite varied. Grimbo was chatting about football with Matt and taking the mickey out of Carol, I was vaguely talking philosophy and applied bullshit with Craig, While Mel was loudly declaiming on how we weren’t fit to kiss Antonias boots. Of COURSE its hard for us, she said. Were in this country, we don’t know the language, everyones trying to rip us off....
Another round of drinks arrived at the table.
...quick, mark it down as nine, not ten, hell never notice, cant count can he?, but you imagine what its like for Antonia! I mean, she went to OXFORD, didn’t she? It must be just absolutely ghastly for her!
This was greeted by exclaimations of disdain from the blokes, but quick, defensive yeses from a couple of the women.
What the fuck has where you went to University got to do with anything, Mel? Come on!, said Graham.
What I mean is, said Mel, holding on to the edge of the table and rocking back and forth on her bar stool, is that shes used to a more privileged life than us. Shes been to balls and everything! We don’t have a clue what her lifestyles like- I certainly dont.
As she said this, she was leaning further and further back on her stool, while still clutching the table top. Lukey-Wukey picked up his pint, upsetting the delicate poise of the top, which we suddenly realised wasn’t fixed to the barrel. Mel went further back then and began crashing to the ground.
Im goiing! She squealed, and fell over backwards, bringing the table top with her. All the drinks on the table queued up to fall off and bounce off her skull , covering her with beer, vodka and raki. Everyone in the bar turned round to see this sight. Ayhan, the barman, rushed over with a bucket of sawdust, and began to scatter it all over her, so that she became covered entirely in wood shavings. The only drink to survive unscathed was Lukes, whod been laughing his head off. You alwight love? Cmon Ill help you up....
He extended his hand whilst still sitting on his stool. Mel took it.
Here you gooo.. He pulled her up, then himself fell backwards, pouring his pint directly over himself and pulling Mel diretly on top of him. More silence in the bar, more sawdust.
THE SCHOOL PARTY AND ITS AFTERMATH
…by this stage, we were all pretty horiibly drunk. Andy was having a difficult time staying upright: Mad Mark and Dappy Mel had disappeared, Mark yelling something about scoring some cannabis up in Beyoglu: John was staggering around the tables, bellowing ‘Right, who’s got it? Who’s got my fucking TAPE? I am SERIOUSLY unamused….c’mon you cunts…I mean it!’
The Turkish members of staff, those who’d remained, looked on bemused and disgusted. Finally, there were only a few drops of wine left. What now? The pub, of course. Ann, the two Grahams, Simon, Phillipa and my good self all lurched into the Cicek and clomped upstairs. Fehmi immediately cleared a table for us.
‘Beer, Fehmi…..and food, lots of food’.
‘Yesyesyesstraightawayanythingelseohandhowareyou?’
‘I’m fine’
He scurried away.
‘What the fuck did he just say?’
‘Nothing much’.
He came back, carrying a tray of beer and a tray of mezes and nuts. At first, we could hardly drink. Evening was drawing on and slowly thunderheads began to crowd the sky. The air closed in too, and soon became oppressively humid. We chatted feebly of this and that, or watched the football on the tv perched dangerously in the corner.
Even the cockroaches didn’t want to move. Strangely the beer seemed to bring sobriety.
It was at this point that Martin weaved his way to the table.
‘Well, hello lovecats, what’s going down tonight?’
Talk moved on to what everyone was doing that evening. A couple of people had to get the seabus back to Kadikoy, two others decided to dolmus it to Taksim, and someone else was almost unconscious. Martin looked at me.
‘What about..?’
‘Oh no, oh no no no..’
‘Oh go on, we can get tooled up on gin and eat loads of food’.
‘Martin, I’m too pissed for the casino’.
‘C’mon, we’ll go there for just an hour or so’.
‘We’’l need to go home and get togged up first’.
‘No problem. Then a taxi, then booze and food’.
‘just for an hour, yeah?’
‘Only an hour.’
Picture us, then lurking by the casino bar at 2.30 in the morning. I had very nearly been picked up by some overdressed middle-aged woman who looked like her hairsyle had picked a fight with a hedge and lost, while Martin had been casually propositioned by some fat businessman over the electronic geegees. We were deep in our G & Ts and eating out third breakfast.
‘right’. Said Martin, ‘I think it’s time to go.’
‘Yeah…….right……….good idea’
‘…After we play a teensy bit more. I think I’ve cracked the roulette…c’mon’.
3.30. I was still at the roulette table, having lost loads. Martin weaved his way across the floor, his tie somewhere around his waist, spilled G + T, whisky, red wine and vodka over his clothes, and lunged at me.
‘the bastards, the thieving, perfidious bastards!’
‘Calm down, what’s the matter?’
‘Some CUNT has stolen my POT OF CHIPS!’
‘Sure you didn’t leave it somewhere?’
‘Course I fucking left it somewhere! On a fucking table! Next to a fucking machine! I go for a leak, I come back, there’s a pot-shaped fucking HOLE where the fucker should be! They’re a bunch of thieving bastards in here, they all are!’
He stared around balefully, with the mad, paranoid and above all red eyes of the terminally drunk.
‘ Course they are mate, it’s a fucking casino, you daft tool!’
‘I’m not staying in the same ROOM as these, these..fucking fucks…..it’s all a SACK OF WANK!’
He stomped off towards the exit, muttering oaths and curses, and swearing never to come back again.
5 minutes later, he returned, wearing a sheepish grin and holding his pot of tokens.
‘They found it for me! I was going out and I told them, and they produced it out of nowhere. Aren’t they great!’
By now it was nearing 4 in the morning.
‘Martin, we should get going. We’re teaching in the morning’.
‘Yeah, in a minute’.
‘OK’.
The minute passed, as did lots of others.
‘Paul’
‘Uh?’
‘Shit, man, it’s 6.45!’
‘Uh?’
‘Shit!’
The kind of sobriety that hits you only when you’re really, really pissed and have been up all night hit me. Repeatedly.
‘We’re teaching at 9.30..’
‘I think, perhaps, we should…’
‘..go?’ I hazarded.
‘Yes’.
We oozed down the stairs and into the lobby, where bright shining lights and a crisp dawn mocked our wretched state. We retrieved coats and passports and were poured into a taxi by unnecessarily gleaming, shiny, smiling casino personnel. We got home by 7.
‘Right, quick hour’s sleep and then class’.
‘Yeah’.
....
‘Paul’.
‘urg?’
‘Paul, its 9.10 man! C’mon!’
‘bluuhh’
Another taxi boarded, another day beginning.
How on Earth did we survive that day?
Sunglasses, aspirin, the odd shot of whisky and some mouthwash helped.
KEVIN AND THE GYPSIES
........I Saw Kevin, The DOS from Antik English, staggering up the road towards the Yesil. Hed been on the wagon for several weeks, on strict orders of his wife, Keiko: He had now most emphatically fallen off it again. His jacket was mired and dusty, and torn at the elbow. His hair, wild at the best of times, was utterly tangled and bespattered with whatever hed been drinking. He was also in the terminal state that required him to sing at somebody. His target was the gypsy flower sellers outside the cafe. Great banks of flowers in every colour were being bundled, tied and sold by the gypsies. In front of them, Kevin did a vague kind of dance, and then started on some kind of folk song rendition.
OHHHHHH LOL de ROL
YOUR flowers ARE
COOOOOK GUUUUZEEEL
ON A fine SunnY DAAAY
COOOOK GUUUUZEL
CICEKLERRRRR
YOUR FLOOOOOOOOOwers are
VERRRY beautIful...
This went on for five minutes, to the general amusement of passers by. He danced and jigged, staggered, tripped over and rolled in the dust, singing and pointing at the flowers in a drunken spastic ecstasy. Afterwards, he weaved off in another direction.
I saw him again about half an hour later, while I was tucking in to a pide and ayran in the Karadeniz pidecisi. He was walking in a trance state down the road, eyes gazing at the rooftops, while behind him was a small wake of cars, beeping horns and trying to get past. He remained unaware of them, until the car directly behind him actually nudged into the back of his legs. Heturned round, smiled beatifically, then climbed on the bonnet, and began licking the windscreen. The driver sat and cursed, then got out of the car and chased Kevin down a side street.
The next day, I heard about his further exploits: Hed found a bar that would let him in, and he continued to get increasingly pissed up on raki.There was a match that night to decide the championship. Fenerbahce won, and The meydan was crowded with supporters. Kevin apparently staggered into the middle of this, and started shouting Fenerbahce are fucking shit! Boring, boring Fener! Chelsea, Chelsea.... He was lucky, apparently, to escape with only bruises.
Such was the Director of Studies for Antik English.
Jimmy once related to me one of his more bizarre jobs he'd had whilst travelling round Europe; hurling stones at children.
'So you see', he said, sipping a konyak and coke, which was the winter drink of the time in the Cicek, ' There was I and my mate in Italy, no money at all, when this circus appears. A proper fucking circus, all horses and performing elephants and all that. They also had, as it happens, a tiger. A female tiger, she'd just had cubs, so all these wee kids from the town they were in are trying to sneak up and have a look at them. Anyhow, me and my mate pitch up and ask your man if he's any jobs going, and he says, 'yeah, look after the tiger. If any of those little bastards try poking their nose near the cage, heave a bloody stone at them.' And I did.'
Anyway, Jimmy, in honour of days past, here's a few more descriptions of times and events back then, including a vignette of Kevin in full throttle. They're extracts from a book I started writing but then gave up on, thinking that there were quite enough novels and memoirs written by TEFLers already.
THE FISH BAR
The Dilhan was the pub we d frequent in my first year in Istanbul. It was situated over several floors above a fishmongers, hence us always calling it the Fish Bar. It stank like it, too. Actually, it stank of all sorts of things. Fish was probably one of the nicer smells. Inside, the decor was decidedly on the basic side, although the fishy theme extended as far as the odour did.There was netting festooned on the walls and ceilings, along with the odd pufferfish, floating blankly in a sea of booze, nicotine and fried things, as well as one or two stuffed lobsters and fishing buoys. There were also cats. One tabby had made a nest somewhere on the top floor, and seemed to be continually having kittens. In the evenings, the kittens would stare at us from the stairs, like naughty children who can‘t go to sleep until theyve seen what the adults are doing. The bolder cats would actually race across the netting, running across our heads from stair to wall and back. We ‘d occasionally play cat racing, where we‘d bet on which cat could go fastest round the nets. The furniture consisted of long wooden tables with benches and stools. This meant that whenever we were drinking, we all sat on one big, long table, shouting, singing and banging our glasses, which meant we‘d inevitably have up to forty people on the same tab, which inevitably led to huge bills, which inevitably led to huge arguments .
The place was definitely on the unsanitary side. Apart from the smell, there were the cockroaches everywhere. I wouldn t touch anything apart from the booze. On the top floor were the toilets, which didn t work, and whose rank stench would ooze and dribble down to where we were sitting. These toilets were, however, preferable to the one down in the basement, in the kitchen. This one was a hole in the floor type, stowed in a kind of cupboard under the stairs. It was pitch black inside, and the smell was indescribable. It was better to try and piss in the dark: once I lit a match to try and get a better aim, and saw cockraches, shit and fish heads and guts everywhere. One look at the kitchen made me swear never, ever to eat there. Despite the smell, despite the cockroaches and cats, we all quite liked it, because it was dirt cheap, and it stayed open later than most other places. The staff were generally friendly, although the owner, Toad Mehmet, was a fat old bastard. He looked a bit like Jabba the Hutt with a moustache. He d sit in the corner of the first floor, all lardy and constipated looking, a cigarette forlornly dangling from his mouth at all times. He hated foreigners, I think: He looked at us with a bleary eyed contempt, but we paid well. You d be lucky to get a good evening out of him.
THE OLD MANS PUB, EARLY 1996
I got into the Bakirkoy birahanesi, nicknamed the old mans pub, a little later than the others, due to sharing a raki in the cicek. This wonderfully horrible place is closed now, but suffice to say it is what disrespectable spit and sawdust pubs strove to escape from. It stank of stale beer, sweat, millennia of fried things, piss, and rank stale poverty: the ideal place for the average EFL teacher, then. The toilets, whilst not so bad as the fish bar, were pretty rank. There was one for the blokes, a waterless urinal, then another, locked, toilet for the occasional female visitor, which in effect meant the women English teachers. There were ten of us around one large table, made from a beer barrel with a disc of wood shoved on top: Myself, Graham, Carol, Launa, Craig, Mel with her boyfriend Luke(y-wukey), Cath and Tabby, and Matt. The talk was, as usual, quite varied. Grimbo was chatting about football with Matt and taking the mickey out of Carol, I was vaguely talking philosophy and applied bullshit with Craig, While Mel was loudly declaiming on how we weren’t fit to kiss Antonias boots. Of COURSE its hard for us, she said. Were in this country, we don’t know the language, everyones trying to rip us off....
Another round of drinks arrived at the table.
...quick, mark it down as nine, not ten, hell never notice, cant count can he?, but you imagine what its like for Antonia! I mean, she went to OXFORD, didn’t she? It must be just absolutely ghastly for her!
This was greeted by exclaimations of disdain from the blokes, but quick, defensive yeses from a couple of the women.
What the fuck has where you went to University got to do with anything, Mel? Come on!, said Graham.
What I mean is, said Mel, holding on to the edge of the table and rocking back and forth on her bar stool, is that shes used to a more privileged life than us. Shes been to balls and everything! We don’t have a clue what her lifestyles like- I certainly dont.
As she said this, she was leaning further and further back on her stool, while still clutching the table top. Lukey-Wukey picked up his pint, upsetting the delicate poise of the top, which we suddenly realised wasn’t fixed to the barrel. Mel went further back then and began crashing to the ground.
Im goiing! She squealed, and fell over backwards, bringing the table top with her. All the drinks on the table queued up to fall off and bounce off her skull , covering her with beer, vodka and raki. Everyone in the bar turned round to see this sight. Ayhan, the barman, rushed over with a bucket of sawdust, and began to scatter it all over her, so that she became covered entirely in wood shavings. The only drink to survive unscathed was Lukes, whod been laughing his head off. You alwight love? Cmon Ill help you up....
He extended his hand whilst still sitting on his stool. Mel took it.
Here you gooo.. He pulled her up, then himself fell backwards, pouring his pint directly over himself and pulling Mel diretly on top of him. More silence in the bar, more sawdust.
THE SCHOOL PARTY AND ITS AFTERMATH
…by this stage, we were all pretty horiibly drunk. Andy was having a difficult time staying upright: Mad Mark and Dappy Mel had disappeared, Mark yelling something about scoring some cannabis up in Beyoglu: John was staggering around the tables, bellowing ‘Right, who’s got it? Who’s got my fucking TAPE? I am SERIOUSLY unamused….c’mon you cunts…I mean it!’
The Turkish members of staff, those who’d remained, looked on bemused and disgusted. Finally, there were only a few drops of wine left. What now? The pub, of course. Ann, the two Grahams, Simon, Phillipa and my good self all lurched into the Cicek and clomped upstairs. Fehmi immediately cleared a table for us.
‘Beer, Fehmi…..and food, lots of food’.
‘Yesyesyesstraightawayanythingelseohandhowareyou?’
‘I’m fine’
He scurried away.
‘What the fuck did he just say?’
‘Nothing much’.
He came back, carrying a tray of beer and a tray of mezes and nuts. At first, we could hardly drink. Evening was drawing on and slowly thunderheads began to crowd the sky. The air closed in too, and soon became oppressively humid. We chatted feebly of this and that, or watched the football on the tv perched dangerously in the corner.
Even the cockroaches didn’t want to move. Strangely the beer seemed to bring sobriety.
It was at this point that Martin weaved his way to the table.
‘Well, hello lovecats, what’s going down tonight?’
Talk moved on to what everyone was doing that evening. A couple of people had to get the seabus back to Kadikoy, two others decided to dolmus it to Taksim, and someone else was almost unconscious. Martin looked at me.
‘What about..?’
‘Oh no, oh no no no..’
‘Oh go on, we can get tooled up on gin and eat loads of food’.
‘Martin, I’m too pissed for the casino’.
‘C’mon, we’ll go there for just an hour or so’.
‘We’’l need to go home and get togged up first’.
‘No problem. Then a taxi, then booze and food’.
‘just for an hour, yeah?’
‘Only an hour.’
Picture us, then lurking by the casino bar at 2.30 in the morning. I had very nearly been picked up by some overdressed middle-aged woman who looked like her hairsyle had picked a fight with a hedge and lost, while Martin had been casually propositioned by some fat businessman over the electronic geegees. We were deep in our G & Ts and eating out third breakfast.
‘right’. Said Martin, ‘I think it’s time to go.’
‘Yeah…….right……….good idea’
‘…After we play a teensy bit more. I think I’ve cracked the roulette…c’mon’.
3.30. I was still at the roulette table, having lost loads. Martin weaved his way across the floor, his tie somewhere around his waist, spilled G + T, whisky, red wine and vodka over his clothes, and lunged at me.
‘the bastards, the thieving, perfidious bastards!’
‘Calm down, what’s the matter?’
‘Some CUNT has stolen my POT OF CHIPS!’
‘Sure you didn’t leave it somewhere?’
‘Course I fucking left it somewhere! On a fucking table! Next to a fucking machine! I go for a leak, I come back, there’s a pot-shaped fucking HOLE where the fucker should be! They’re a bunch of thieving bastards in here, they all are!’
He stared around balefully, with the mad, paranoid and above all red eyes of the terminally drunk.
‘ Course they are mate, it’s a fucking casino, you daft tool!’
‘I’m not staying in the same ROOM as these, these..fucking fucks…..it’s all a SACK OF WANK!’
He stomped off towards the exit, muttering oaths and curses, and swearing never to come back again.
5 minutes later, he returned, wearing a sheepish grin and holding his pot of tokens.
‘They found it for me! I was going out and I told them, and they produced it out of nowhere. Aren’t they great!’
By now it was nearing 4 in the morning.
‘Martin, we should get going. We’re teaching in the morning’.
‘Yeah, in a minute’.
‘OK’.
The minute passed, as did lots of others.
‘Paul’
‘Uh?’
‘Shit, man, it’s 6.45!’
‘Uh?’
‘Shit!’
The kind of sobriety that hits you only when you’re really, really pissed and have been up all night hit me. Repeatedly.
‘We’re teaching at 9.30..’
‘I think, perhaps, we should…’
‘..go?’ I hazarded.
‘Yes’.
We oozed down the stairs and into the lobby, where bright shining lights and a crisp dawn mocked our wretched state. We retrieved coats and passports and were poured into a taxi by unnecessarily gleaming, shiny, smiling casino personnel. We got home by 7.
‘Right, quick hour’s sleep and then class’.
‘Yeah’.
....
‘Paul’.
‘urg?’
‘Paul, its 9.10 man! C’mon!’
‘bluuhh’
Another taxi boarded, another day beginning.
How on Earth did we survive that day?
Sunglasses, aspirin, the odd shot of whisky and some mouthwash helped.
KEVIN AND THE GYPSIES
........I Saw Kevin, The DOS from Antik English, staggering up the road towards the Yesil. Hed been on the wagon for several weeks, on strict orders of his wife, Keiko: He had now most emphatically fallen off it again. His jacket was mired and dusty, and torn at the elbow. His hair, wild at the best of times, was utterly tangled and bespattered with whatever hed been drinking. He was also in the terminal state that required him to sing at somebody. His target was the gypsy flower sellers outside the cafe. Great banks of flowers in every colour were being bundled, tied and sold by the gypsies. In front of them, Kevin did a vague kind of dance, and then started on some kind of folk song rendition.
OHHHHHH LOL de ROL
YOUR flowers ARE
COOOOOK GUUUUZEEEL
ON A fine SunnY DAAAY
COOOOK GUUUUZEL
CICEKLERRRRR
YOUR FLOOOOOOOOOwers are
VERRRY beautIful...
This went on for five minutes, to the general amusement of passers by. He danced and jigged, staggered, tripped over and rolled in the dust, singing and pointing at the flowers in a drunken spastic ecstasy. Afterwards, he weaved off in another direction.
I saw him again about half an hour later, while I was tucking in to a pide and ayran in the Karadeniz pidecisi. He was walking in a trance state down the road, eyes gazing at the rooftops, while behind him was a small wake of cars, beeping horns and trying to get past. He remained unaware of them, until the car directly behind him actually nudged into the back of his legs. Heturned round, smiled beatifically, then climbed on the bonnet, and began licking the windscreen. The driver sat and cursed, then got out of the car and chased Kevin down a side street.
The next day, I heard about his further exploits: Hed found a bar that would let him in, and he continued to get increasingly pissed up on raki.There was a match that night to decide the championship. Fenerbahce won, and The meydan was crowded with supporters. Kevin apparently staggered into the middle of this, and started shouting Fenerbahce are fucking shit! Boring, boring Fener! Chelsea, Chelsea.... He was lucky, apparently, to escape with only bruises.
Such was the Director of Studies for Antik English.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Ill.
The students have returned, dragging knuckles and viruses in their wake, plus the peculiar odour of stale biscuits, BO, and neglected body that only teenage British bodies have. Of course, everyone's started to go off work ill. I have contracted the first cold of the year - actually, I'm glad in a perverse way, as it means I'll be unlikely to contract another for at least a few months.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Watch Out! Watch Out! There's a (mad bombing Jihadi extremist bloke) bogeyman about!
...or not, as the case may be.
For the love of God, or however you wish to name your creator, what the Hell is John Reid on? His speech and the subsequent heckling are the last thing needed right now. How idiotic:
"These fanatics are looking to groom and brainwash children, including your children, for suicide bombings, grooming them to kill themselves in order to murder others."
Sorry, but this is just another, new variant on the Scary Bogeyman line. You could take this bit from his speech, amend it slightly, and apply it to paedophiles, catholic priests, members of any given cult or opposition political party, or indeed anyone who just happens to look a bit weird, and to pretty much any given epoch in history. After all, the Romans said pretty much the same of the early Christians.
So, how do you look out for a neophyte Islamist fanatic? Apparently, the signs include dropping out of studies, changes in appearance, and hanging out with new friends. Well, that's more or less every single teenager in the UK packed off th Guantanamo Bay, then. I dare say that'd please the average Daily Mail reader.
It is, to put it mildly, deeply irksome to see political leaders who are supposed to know better spout idiotic garbage about subjects on which they are poorly informed. The same, by the way, goes for certain leaders of organised religion. Holy Joe's apparently bumbling lecture, quoting from a medieval Byzantine emporer, helped to push back Christian-Muslim relations by at least a decade, and looks incresingly like a deliberate ploy by a man more than well-crafted in the arts of Vatican sophistry.
As I have mentioned before in this blog, I would far rather see a priestless God than all these Godless priests; That would save us all the collossal fuckups we endure from people who assume their view of the world is infallible, and all other comments are anathema. Have you ever met a faultless person?
Thought not.
For the love of God, or however you wish to name your creator, what the Hell is John Reid on? His speech and the subsequent heckling are the last thing needed right now. How idiotic:
"These fanatics are looking to groom and brainwash children, including your children, for suicide bombings, grooming them to kill themselves in order to murder others."
Sorry, but this is just another, new variant on the Scary Bogeyman line. You could take this bit from his speech, amend it slightly, and apply it to paedophiles, catholic priests, members of any given cult or opposition political party, or indeed anyone who just happens to look a bit weird, and to pretty much any given epoch in history. After all, the Romans said pretty much the same of the early Christians.
So, how do you look out for a neophyte Islamist fanatic? Apparently, the signs include dropping out of studies, changes in appearance, and hanging out with new friends. Well, that's more or less every single teenager in the UK packed off th Guantanamo Bay, then. I dare say that'd please the average Daily Mail reader.
It is, to put it mildly, deeply irksome to see political leaders who are supposed to know better spout idiotic garbage about subjects on which they are poorly informed. The same, by the way, goes for certain leaders of organised religion. Holy Joe's apparently bumbling lecture, quoting from a medieval Byzantine emporer, helped to push back Christian-Muslim relations by at least a decade, and looks incresingly like a deliberate ploy by a man more than well-crafted in the arts of Vatican sophistry.
As I have mentioned before in this blog, I would far rather see a priestless God than all these Godless priests; That would save us all the collossal fuckups we endure from people who assume their view of the world is infallible, and all other comments are anathema. Have you ever met a faultless person?
Thought not.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
All hands to the pumps!
It's a very busy week - enrolments and queries rolling in, queues of sullen-looking teenagers loitering in the corridors, the sudden smell of old biscuits that appears at this time of the year, people flapping around with bits of paper to no apparent purpose, a small mountain of work appearing on my desk, to stay there ignored till I can safely file it away in the recycling bin at the end of the year - and so, not much time to blog with impunity. I must also say that there is a hiatus in my thinking process at present. I have stuff to say, I just can't seem to squeeze it out.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Genius?
Took part in the BBC's Test The Nation quiz on saturday - got only 6 wrong, putting my I.Q. at over 146. Apparently. So if I'm so clever, how come I earn bugger all?
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