Straight out of Canvey Island on the Costa Del Thames in the Deep South Dr. Feelgood produced some great rockin’ R&B!
Wilko Johnson on guitar and Lee Brilleaux on vocals – this was Punk Pub Rock!
St Michael’s Caves – Gibraltar – photos
We went up high on the rock with great views over the bay and towards Spain and across the straits to Africa. Then we went into the caves.
Gibraltar is a mass of caves. They have been hollowed out by water dissolving the limestone rock.
St Michael’s caves are a big complex. The main one is a big cavern in which they hold concerts. A fabulous setting.
The concert setting.
The caves are a mass of stalagmites and stalactites all lit up in bright colours (as seems the current trend to attract tourists). It is quite a spectacle.
Falklands War fever – extract from ‘Farther from the Sun’.
I have a dream of a world where enjoying yourself is not frowned upon and laws are just and equally applied to all – where a person has freedoms.
21.9.01
We hadn’t been back from America long when the Falklands crisis blew up. Those evil Argentineans had dared to land on a set of islands they arrogantly called the Malvinas when everybody knew they were really called the Falklands. For some obscure reason the Argentinians made some historical claim to these islands and, it seems, they have been a bone of contention in Argentina for years, just because they happened to be situated a short distance off the coast of Argentina and a whopping six thousand miles away from Britain.
Trust the Argentineans to get it wrong.
Didn’t they know the British had landed on those islands, run their flag up, and laid claim to them hundreds of years ago? They must have known that because that’s what the British did everywhere they landed, regardless of who was living there – particularly if the indigenous people were black or brown. In the days of the British Empire black or brown people obviously weren’t civilised so they did not count at all.
Now, I don’t mean to be too harsh on the British here. Not because I am British, you understand. Conquering was an evil practice that the British did better than anybody. It was not even a colour or race thing. Slavery and the conquering of other nations was what all humans did to each other regardless of race or colour. The blacks did it to other blacks, and browns to blacks and other browns, whites to other whites, reds to reds, and so on. Even the slave trade was inaugurated and sponsored by black tribes preying on other black tribes and selling black slaves to the Arabs who sold them on to the white traders. It was more that the British, and later the Americans, did it more thoroughly and efficiently. It was not something to be proud of, but we British conquered, enslaved and exploited better than anybody else at that point in history.
I don’t mean to digress, merely to explain. We had landed there and run up the flag, hence it was British forever. Those were the rules. We should know. We made up those rules.
Then again there were a lot of people living on the island and it has to be said that some of them were Argentinean but the majority were, or considered themselves to be, British. They lived a quiet rural life farming or fishing. There wasn’t an awful lot to do out there.
It all went along very smoothly with commerce with the mainland, ferrying goods back and forth between Argentina and the Falklands. Britain was much too far away to have meaningful commerce with, but the people still thought of themselves as British and the majority did not want to be ruled from Argentina. For some reason they wanted their masters to be British.
When the Argentinians landed and laid claim to the place people were up in arms.
In a democracy you ask the people.
Matter solved. Ask the Argentineans to go home.
After all, what was so important about a desolate island somewhere out in the ocean six thousand miles away from Britain? Why cause bother?
It surely wasn’t anything to do with the Antarctic, natural resources, oil, gas and mineral wealth? Surely not? No. This was democracy. The people had a right to choose. If they wanted to be British then British they had the right to be. Mrs Thatcher said so. The pesky Argentinians had invaded British sovereign territory. A lesson had to be taught.
A task force was rapidly put together and prepared for war as the British war effort swung into action.
Now back in England I decided to hold a debate in my classroom and explore the situation from all sides. To maybe weigh up the various options and apply a bit of logic to what was becoming a volatile situation. I gathered the class in and began a good old British debate where cool, calm reason was brought to bear, to tease out the possibilities and current intricacies of the situation and arrive at the best solution.
Before a few minutes had passed I found myself presiding over a bunch of hysterical demons baying for blood and chanting ‘Argies out!’ as if these people had always been our enemies and were the devil incarnate. Reason did not seem to be the main thrust of their argument. It was yet another scene from Orwell’s vision of the future. Of course, I repeated it throughout the day even though it was a bit depressing.
This thoughtless war fever could never happen here! But it did.
30.10.01
Sometimes it is necessary to keep restating the obvious otherwise what were once obvious ceases to exist.
29.10.01
I have a vision of a world where cultures are not homogenised into some twenty-first century plastic universe, where nature is not covered in concrete or fenced into reserves for human consumption.
21.9.01
The Iran Hostage situation and war fever – extract from ‘Farther from the Sun’.
Someone has stuck a huge pin in the map in my American classroom. That map is a map of the world, and I had stuck that map up on the wall deliberately. It was a statement of intent. I intended to broaden the minds I was temporarily in contact with, to widen their perspectives. A map of the world symbolised that. This was quite a strange thing to find in America for, when you are there, you could easily think that the rest of the world does not exist. All that is reported is American news. Even the sport is only a record of American victories with token mention of other countries. For fuck’s sake, they even call the baseball and American Football the World Series and World Championship despite the fact that no other country is allowed to compete. It is more than a little Americocentric. The pin has a big flag on it. Written on the flag in bold letters is: ‘NUKE IRAN’.
The pin is stuck in Tehran. You’ve got to give them credit for that. A few weeks ago and they wouldn’t have had a clue that there was even a country called Iran let alone a city named Tehran. At least they can now find it on the map.
These are my kids that have done that. We are in the middle of the Iran hostage situation. My great friendly American kids are all wrought up with war fever. They want to kill.
I am in a privileged position as a foreigner in their midst. I can be detached. I am not directly involved so I can bring logic to bear in the midst of emotion.
I look at the flag. The class look at me. I decide that today we will abandon Biology to discuss war.
I bring them around the front. Their eyes are already gleaming as they sense what is coming. If I had any sense I would have given up that stupid idea straight away and gone right on with the lesson I had planned but these were my kids. Some of them were very bright. We’d enjoyed good discussions. We’d gone through stuff on drugs, race and religion. We’d got through some difficult topics and built up a good relationship. I was sure I could handle this.
We were still in the midst of the cold war. I took the map off the wall and showed them where Russia was in relation to Iran. I asked them how America might react if the Russians took out Mexico. I mentioned Cuba. I talked of the effect of using nuclear weapons.
Unfortunately, it seemed that this wasn’t the time for reason.
They howled at me. They stood on chairs and pointed and chanted. There was a pack mentality. They gave off a scent of madness.
I stood there standing in front of them, taking in their hysteria and was amazed. These were intelligent students but they were full of adrenaline and as high as kites. This was naked aggression. It was not directed at me. I was safe. But I had set loose a pent-up force that was now uncontained and raging and there was no way of getting it back in the bottle. It had to take its course. It was just that there was so much power in their rage, so much hatred, and it was like a monster with many heads and no brain. There was nothing to reason with. It had no ears. Its brain circuitry was fused.
There could be no discussion. There was nothing to discuss. The Iranians had dared to insult America by taking their people hostage. It was an outrage. They wanted them obliterated.
I could certainly see how easy it was for dictators to wind up their people. I could feel the group dynamic. When I’d seen all those crowds on the streets in Iran, Iraq and Palestine it had been just like this.
I had never experienced anything like it before. I felt as if I was trapped within Orwell’s 1984 and they were beaming in that period of group hate. This was the half-hour of hate. The aroma of adrenaline filled the classroom. The crowd were all directing hate in some sort of hysterical, self-perpetuating cloud.
Debate was not possible. It was not open to question. They didn’t even care if the hostages were blown to atoms in the process just so long as the whole world knew, and revenge was seen to have been carried out.
I had never experienced the irrationality of war fever. It was foreign to me and very scary. At that moment, it was obvious that Carter could get himself elected by a landslide, simply by sending in the marines or actually nuking a few cities, and hang the consequences. Instead, he had a fiasco of a rescue mission in the desert that went horribly wrong and got himself kicked out of office.
I respect him for that decision though. The alternative, if he had have gone in with full force, might have been another Vietnam or could have easily blown out of control into that fabled third world war. But it didn’t.
I repeated the lesson throughout the day with every class I taught. I never learn. It always met with the same impassioned response. America was beset with war fever.
I came home shaking my head.
That could only happen in America. The British were far too level-headed and rational to get carried away on such a jingoistic tide of emotion I thought. How wrong I was.
29.10.01
I have a dream of a world where enjoying yourself is not frowned upon and laws are just and equally applied to all – where a person has freedoms.
21.9.01
Poetry – It should be easy
It should be easy
It should be easy.
If we all work together –
There’s more than enough.
There’s plenty to go around
If we shared it reasonably.
It’s not too tough.
Some want too much.
They’d take it all
If they thought they could.
Not caring
About the damage they do
Like they really should.
It should be easy.
If we all work together –
There’s more than enough.
Opher – 8.8.2020
If it wasn’t for the greedy people the world could be a wonderful place.
There wouldn’t be any wars.
There would be no poverty.
The planet wouldn’t be wrecked.
Nature would be looked after.
If it weren’t for the greedy people.
Poetry – Hibernation’s over
Hibernation’s over
Hibernation is over!
We’re out from in our shell!
The sun’s peeping out
From over the top of the hill.
It was just a mirage.
We’re not really doing that well.
We weren’t oven-ready
Or as world-beating as hell.
We are behind the curve
Falling for Johnson’s hard-sell.
When will we emerge
From under his spell?
Opher – 8.8.2020
For all the cheerleading and enthusiasm, the soundbites and lifting of lockdown, we’re not doing anything like as good as we’re told.
We’re being lied to.
Johnson sells us a vision that isn’t true.
There is no magic 350 million a week. It was a lie, yet he continued to tout it around on his bus.
These trade deals with other countries are not a piece of cake.
There was no oven-ready Brexit.
There was no world-beating app.
There was no protective ring thrown around care homes.
It won’t all be over by Christmas.
We haven’t got a world-beating track and trace system.
We are not coming out of hibernation.
Dominic Cummings dreams up these snappy little soundbites and his puppet Johnson recites them ad nauseam (with a splatter of Latin thrown in to make him seem clever). Unfortunately, they are all lies.
They are all enthusiasm and bluster with no substance.
Those lies won him Brexit.
Those lies won him a big majority and gained him a Prime Ministership.
Those lies do not solve any problems what-so-ever!
Those lies have cost 46,000 lives.
Why is it that when the country’s crying out for a straight man, they send in the clown?
The Corona Diaries – Day 138
While the deaths are going down (8 yesterday) the number of cases is steadily going up (1062). This doesn’t bode too well for the future, though, I suppose, if it is mainly young people, and most of them don’t get too ill, it might not be so bad. It could build up a bit of that herd immunity that they were going on about at the beginning of the pandemic. The main problem is that the young pass it on to the more vulnerable and, even though they do not tend to get it too bad, some of them do.
Johnson is saying that schools will open in September. He claims that there is no evidence that the virus is passed on in schools. He lies so much I don’t know how many people will believe him.
Fortunately, it was another beautiful day in Yorkshire – 27 degrees and sunny. So far the Spring and Summer have been good to us. We’ve been able to get out for long walks every day. That makes such a difference. I worry about what might happen when the weather changes and people are indoors much more. That will be a real test of mental stability and our powers of social distancing. This virus loves people being indoors with poor ventilation. It can jump about on the air currents and infect more people. That might be when we get the real test.
Johnson seems to have realised that his wonderful world-beating track and trace system isn’t up to the job. He’s going to do what he should have done in the first place and work with local healthcare to trace infected people – about bloody time. Local people know how to deal with their own patients better than some anonymous central scheme of amateurs.
In the States there were another 48,769 cases with 554 deaths – I guess there are a lot of people achieving real liberty! Until they start realising that social distancing, hand washing and face masks are a biological necessity and not a commie plot and the pandemic isn’t a hoax, they are going to find out the hard way.
Brazil is similar – another 23,010 new cases and 572 deaths – and still Bolsonaro is being a complete jerk.
The world has changed. Already there is a huge amount of economic damage. We might well have to live in this strange surreal unreality for some time to come. At times it feels like a farce – and nothing is really happening, that we’ve all been conned – at other times it feels a bit scary. You could catch this bug and that’s it – finito. It creates a constant tension.
Liz was telling me that she read a report where they sedate people to put them on a ventilator and tell them that it is possible they won’t wake up. I’m not sure I’d like that!
We were discussing today the effect this was having on us. Both of us were noticing a loss of energy, a lack of motivation coupled with an inability to concentrate.
When we first went into lockdown, nearly twenty weeks ago, it was OK. We had to cancel everything. We couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. That was sad but it was also liberating. You didn’t have to think about what you were going to do today or remember appointments. It felt like you had lots of time. We decorated the house. I wrote a couple of books. There was a frenzy of activity. We have energy, time and inspiration.
That seems to have dissipated.
Today I went for a wonderful walk around Driffield, out on the common, past the old mill, through woods, past streams and out on to wildflower meadows. Gorgeous.
Back home I did a little bit of writing and played some Joan Baez.
Right now I’m off to have a meal, a glass or two of wine, and watch some football.
Life isn’t too bad, is it? Stay safe!!
Today’s Music to keep me SAAANNEEE in Isolation – Joan Baez.
I first heard Joan in the early sixties but I was too young to really appreciate it. An older girl down our street (Daphne Pesco) was a bit of a Beatnik. She used to dress in black polo-necks and play Joan Baez.
Those early albums were mainly traditional Folk songs. They were OK and I guess her success propelled the Greenwich Village scene into something a lot bigger.
But for me, it was when she discovered Dylan that she flourished. She recognised his talent and promoted him at her gigs. In many ways, she was the reason he became so successful so quickly.
I love some of those covers she did of Dylan’s songs.
Then there was all that political activism. I like people who are prepared to stand for things.
So today I’ll be playing my Joan Baez:
Roy Harper – Another Day
One of the most beautiful love songs ever written with a perfect production. David Bedford’s strings are so brilliantly arranged that they really augment the performance.
I was twice privileged.
I was among the first to hear it performed. At that time I was going to every gig I could get to – and that was most of them – two or three a week. When he introduced it into his act I was there.
‘Another Day’ knocked me out the minute I heard it. He won’t like me saying but I remember thinking at the time that the warble in his voice sounded a bit Donovanish. The song instantly quietened the audience. They were rapt. Everyone recognised that it was special right from the off.
Those early gigs were such a range of contrasting songs. Roy had his rousing songs of anger and fury, like ‘Whiteman’, which he sang with great passion, he had his zany humorous pieces, like ‘Feeling all the Saturday’, which he peppered the gig with, he had instrumentals like ‘One for Al(l)’ and he had these haunting love songs like ‘Another Day’. Perfect.
He never used a setlist back then. He intuitively moved from one to another, with lengthy diatribes, discussions, observations, explanations and comments in-between, as the mood suited – altering the tempo and feel of the gig accordingly. Those gigs were often up to three hours long and sometimes a third of them would be Roy talking. I enjoyed the talking as much as the playing. Roy shared. It wasn’t your standard performance. If it came into his head it came out of his mouth. There were humour, wry observation and all manner of asides.
I was also there in Abbey Road studio when Roy recorded it. I remember watching him from the control room willing it to be perfect. It was. I don’t remember David Bedford and the strings though. That must have been added later.
‘Another Day’ is still one of my favourite songs these fifty years on.
I felt like I’d been fortunate enough to witness history being made.
Arriving in Gibraltar with a super-yacht – photos
We slid into the harbour at Gibraltar on a beautiful sunny day. Behind us, Africa loomed. We weaved through the many ships moored in the bay.
Ahead the sun was rising to the side of the rock.
A super-sleek modern yacht slid past us – seeming to effortlessly glide with no noticeable means of propulsion.
It looked incredibly luxurious and modern. There was much speculation regarding its purpose. It looked futuristic.
