It may not be a very original thought, perhaps, but it struck me dramatically earlier this evening just how significant an agent of social change facebook has become. Many would say that this is a change for the worse, and no doubt there are many aspects of the darker side of FB that I prefer not to think too much about. One of the many positive aspects of FB (and other social networks, I imagine), however, is the way in which it has enabled users to rekindle - and maintain - friendships that have faded over space and time and to maintain social connections of varying degrees of intimacy, regardless of geographical distance, with an immediacy that allows for the sharing of the most joyful - and the most painful - moments in a very real (albeit virtual) way. Learning within seconds that the son of an old friend had finally graduated after several failed attempts and to be able to contact her and "chat" in real time to share her joy and relief was a wonderful experience. There are many such examples of significant emotional connections that would not normally have occurred without this ingenious 21st century phenomenon. And the connections are not only at an individual level. About a year ago I was sitting watching CNN in a hotel on the banks of the Loire in the early hours of the morning when the news of Barak Obama's election finally became a reality...In the moments that followed, FB friends across the world, like me, glued to their TV sets, rejoiced at the news... it was a wonderful moment of global connection with people I care about celebrating a shared hope for the future.
This derelict front shop is just a few mètres from the large cathedral in Angouleme. Angouleme doesn’t appear to be as prosperous as nearby Perigueux except for this week when it hosts its annual bande dessine festival.
One of the good consequences of our car accident is that Roger’s chest hurt so much, he couldn’t do much. Fortified by the good wishes of family and friends who drummed into us how lucky we were to have escaped being the mushed-up centerpiece in a concrete centre barrier, we have tried to be positive.
Roger, therefore has been reviving our Musical, Meatworks with the intention of putting 15 minutes worth on Youtube. This has not been a simple operation. First there had to be a painful lapse of 10 years. (Yet even now, looking at the footage of our 14 cast members, we have to fight back the tears.) Next, Roger had to learn the process of transferring our old video tapes onto his computer. These tapes have lain in the attic in the scorching heat in the summer and the freezing cold in the winter. They were in the last box that we looked in (by which time we had convinced ourselves that they had gone missing.)
They are not in perfect condition, but they are usable. Just. They were never any great shakes. They were shot using my ‘casting’ video camera. There was no budget to hire proper gear – but it does give us a record of the show (which was performed in a 700-seater theatre in Auckland, NZ.)
Meatworksis about a NZ freezing works which is owned by the English Lord Zesty (Many NZ freezing works were actually owned by Lord Vesty). His son arrives to close down the Works and meets with great resistance from the locals. Animal Rights Activists take the opportunity to arrive in their bus-loads. This song Toy Boy is sung by JanHellreigel (who plays Fifi, the spokesperson for the meatworkers.) She sings it to Herb (one of the Animal Rights Activists.)
The sound on our tapes could not be used because of the shortcomings in the ‘capture’ method. Roger has had to use the sound engineer’s mix off a DAT recording. He is not happy with the synch but we have to live with it until we find out how to perfect it.
We have got a couple of muso friends coming over to our (cold) house tomorrow evening to watch the video and hopefully give us some feed-back. This is a brave move on our part as the defeat of Meatworks (lack of funding and support from the NZ Arts Bodies)
severely traumatized us… sending us on our present slippery and extremely precarious slope. If J & J don’t totally rubbish it, we will feel sufficiently empowered by that and by avoiding the ‘big tragedy in the snow’ ,to choose another 3 or 4 songs to put on Youtube.
The aim of this being to attract interest in the project and see if we can kick-start it into life.
The original Book and Lyrics of the Musical were conceived and written by me. I then approached musician Stephen Small who composed and wrote and arranged all the music. Award-winning Director Roger Morton directed and co-produced it with me. Our Executive Producer was Jan Hay. We had a large cast (including Iranian actor Ferooz Afshar who played Abdul the Halal butcher). Our two main leads were Jan Hellriegel and Willa O’Neill.
I’ve just dug out the programme in which I had written:
Meatworks is an energetic and vibrant rock musical. Set in the freezing works, it tells the story of a bunch of ordinary New Zealanders facing the closure of their Meatworks. Political compromises and other serious issues are married with moonlit romances, love on the chain, vegetarian activism and women masquerading as blokes.
What's in name?
I once worked with a Creative Director who was despatched to Sydney,
Australia on a job. When he got there he was told "you'll love it here - it's just
like LA. He then flew on to the real Los Angeles and realised it was not
at all - LA was the real thing, Sydney a mere impostor.So it is with Cape Town. New developments are described as ‘worldclass’, a new restaurant as ‘a touch of Manhattan’, noble (but extremely local) writer Ryan Malan is promoted as ‘South Africa's Hunter S. Thomson’. In their dreams.Estate agents are at it as well. Then they would be, wouldn't they?The Atlantic seaboard where we hang out becomes the CapeRiviera, thegorgeous wine country ‘a touch of Provence’. In Llandudno, surely the most expensive real estate here, (they got that name a bit wrong then) a flashy steel and glass fuck-you palace is most curiously and ungramatically branded as "Le Attitude" - somehow does not look or feel quite right to anyone who has passed even a little time in the real La Belle. Don't ya luv it?As an aside. Two years ago there were 79,000 estate agents in South
Africa. Today there are 36,000. Recession not entirely a bad thing Isay.Here ‘international’ is not a catch-all phrase meaning ‘just like everywhere else’ but an indicator of style and modernity.Restaurants for example, proudly boast of International Cuisine and anywhere foreign is labelled by locals as ‘overseas’ They do a similar thing in Canada but they call it ‘away’. Colonial chic perhaps. I suppose all of this, more than slightly obvious attempt at agrandissement is a throwback caused by South Africa's emergence into the light after all those years of bleak apartheid isolation. But wait, it's not all bad. In the early Mandela years there was a cinemain Cape Town Waterfront (Ok it was labelled as an International ArtHouse - tant pis) which bodly proclaimed "in the past South Africabanned over 6,000 films. We intend to show them all". Now that'sstyle, International or not.I can't close this piece without a reminder that the one-time notorious South African Censors Board banned both the book (50 million copies sold since 1887) and film of Anna Sewell's Black Beauty - nice to know they had a thing about horses as well.Richard French
The Leicester Comedy Festival, now in its 17th year, is the longest running comedy festival in Europe .This year the Festival has been extended to 17 days, starting on 5th February.
In addition to bringing the pick of the best comedy acts in the business to Leicester, the Festival also champions new comedy talent in their annual Leicester Mercury Comedian of the Year competition.The Festival Guide this year has a two page spread on past winners, in a sort of ‘where are they now?’ feature.
It’s a fascinating list - the first-ever winner, in 1995, was a young blank-looking chap called Stevie Knuckles. Stevie appears to have disappeared from the comedy circuit without trace, but subsequent winners have mostly gone on to dizzier comedy heights.
The first name which seemed to jump off the page at me was that of Johnny Vegas, winner in 1997, performing in an evening which was reported in the local newspaper as being "raucous and confrontational". Now that's a surprise!
Johnny later described his winning as "Fantastic - it was the only thing I'd ever won!" Johnny Vegas's career has successfully taken in stand-up, sit-coms and character acting - he was particularly good as Krook in the BBC TV dramatisation of Bleak House. A high in his career was a film appearance with Johnny Depp in the 2004 film Libertine and a low was surely taking on a role in a film which was reviewed as the worst film ever, The Sex Lives of the Potato Men and if you missed that one when it was released in cinema, I wouldn’t recommend that you try and catch it on DVD.
Other previous Leicester award- winners whose careers in comedy have gone from strength to strength include Mitch Benn ‘the Big Man with a small guitar’winning in 1998) Miles Jupp in 2001 (posh comedian who opened his act by welcoming all the "lovely Leicester ladies," announcing "I'm a single man, and I'm looking for…. um err… a cleaner" Cheeky upper-class git, but funny with it.
One of my favourites, the surreal Welsh comedian Rhodd Gilbert, was winner in 2003.
The winner for 2009 was Brighton-based Seann Walsh, who also performed in last Friday's preview show at the cavernous and fully packed-out 2,000 seater De Montford Hall. The preview show has been recorded for Radio 7 and our own comedy club producer, Simon, was also there to record interviews and some festival atmosphere. This is the fifth year in which Radio 7 has been involved in Leicester Comedy Festival, broadcasting a one hour programme of highlights from their preview show.
The role of the compere is key to the success of an evening in which eight comedians are introduced to entertain the audience with sample tasters from their own shows.
Last year's compere was Jenny Éclair and as you'd expect, she was completely outrageous - downright filthy actually. One example of Jenny's act that evening consisted of her lying spread-eagled on the stage, miming the indignity of a smear test whilst being masturbated by a speculum! Needless to say it wasn't exactly suitable for the wireless.
This year the compere was a total contrast - the King of Comedy himself - our own Barry Cryer. Barry has been writing and performing comedy for over 50 years, writing for dozens of comedians, including such big names as Ronnie Barker, Jasper Carrott and Billy Connolly. The veteran comedian strolled on to the stage, insisting that he is ‘a gag man’ and compere-ing was ‘not his forte’, but in fact he was brilliant, regaling the audience with anecdotes and shaggy dog stories, delivering even the corniest of jokes with great panache. It was a treat to listen to him.
The acts Barry introduced at Leicester varied from local stand-up, the anarchic Jim Smallman, revealing his many tattoos in weird places, to ventriloquist Nina Conti (Daughter of actor Tom Conti) . Ventriloquism on the wireless? Well Archie Andrews managed it for many years!
Nina, and her side-kick, a depressed, egocentric sex-mad monkey puppet named Monk were much more daring than Archie though, and their act was intriguing to say the least. It didn’t surprise me to hear that Nina has a first class degree in Philosophy, as she does weave philosophical musings into her act.
A performer whose set I very much enjoyed was a relative newcomer to comedy, Marlon Davis. His was an engaging and energetic act, peppered with plenty of sharp gags and skilful characterisations. Keep a look out for Marlon, as I believe he is a rising star.
You can find out more about Leicester Comedy Festival on their web-site www.comedy-festival.co.uk……..And for those of you can't make it to Leicester, you can hear the pre-view show with all 8 acts, wonderfully hosted by Barry Cryer, on BBCRadio 7 on Saturday 6th February.……..
The festival brochure on the web-site will give you tasters of their comedy treats - I can't guarantee that Jenny Éclair's ‘bits’ will be revealed, but why not have some fun imagining them?
Mary Kalemkerian Head of Programmes
BBC Radio 7
Barry sitting beside Mary at the 2003 Spoken Words Awards ceremony
"Thanks to all of you for listening to me.... oh, can't I do some more?" were Bobby Jaye's closing comments on a Radio 7 recording he did 6 years ago to introduce and discuss comedy programmes he worked on when he was Head of Radio Light Entertainment in the 1980s.
Bobby brought such great series such as Morecambe and Wise, Steptoe and Son and Yes Minster from television to radio and worked with the big comedy names such as Ken Dodd. One of the many anecdotes he regaled us with was that when he was told that he was to take over production of The Ken Dodd Show, he phoned the previous producer of the series to ask if he could give advice on how to tackle the Ken Dodd Show. "YES" yelled the former producer - "EMIGRATE!"
Thankfully, Bobby did not follow that advice, but went on to produce some terrific radio comedy, which still sounds good 20 years on.
Bobby was a delightful man, and there was always plenty of laughter when he was around. I would describe his appearance as "dapper", and with his little moustache, and his immaculate blazers, there was something of a Lesley Phillips air about him.
Sadly, just before Christmas, and after a long illness, Bobby died. His funeral was last Friday, 8th January, in a picturesque, snow-clad village in deepest Kent.
The lovely old church where the service was held was not quite as packed as expected, as so many people could not get there because of the weather.
I was moved when I picked up the Order of Service - the front page had a typical photo of Bobby in a BBC studio, and underneath the words, "Thanks to all of you for listening to me.... Oh, can't I do some more?"
A lump came to my throat, but didn't stay there for long; Bobby had specifically requested rousing hymns to be sung at his funeral, and rousing indeed they were.
We all belted out Onward Christian Soldiers with great gusto. The final hymn, Abide With Me, did bring a tear to my eye, as it always does, but that also disappeared, as when Bobby's coffin was borne out of the church, the organist cheerily burst into Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.
Smiles broke out and the gathered friends and family of Bobby almost skipped out of the church, making our way to the nearby Bull's Head Hotel, where Bobby had also requested that we were to be refreshed by oodles of champagne.
We shared many tales and laughs as we remembered happy times with Bobby - then at one point, a rather distinguished looking, white-haired gentleman rose to his feet, banged on the table and demanded our attention. He proclaimed that he had received a text, which he wished to read out to us.
He read out "Drink up, you buggers, you're not drinking nearly enough! - Bobby!"
And we did, as we all toasted our dear friend and Comedy Great, Bobby Jaye ( 1925 - 2009) and a life well-lived.
So there I was lying around doing nothing and being paid a huge amount of money for it. They were buying my time I thought. The scene was the MatsuPlaza, Cairns.
Downstairs there were Japanese tourists sitting around doing nothing, or more accurately, sleeping. They were waiting for their bus to come and take them somewhere where they could do nothing or maybe look. Or maybe waiting for a plane, where they could experience collective amnesia - by travelling at speed inside an aluminium tube, through space at 500 or so kilometres an hour.
Well I was thinking about this assignment for cultural studies and the word ‘nothing’ kept coming up.
NOTHING. (nuth) n nonexsistence, nonentity, zero, nothingness, extinction, obliteration, no thing, not anything, nought, not at all, in no way. (Collins Gem. Australian English dictionary)
Then out of the nothing of my hotel room on the invisible radio waves came an American voice (Community Radio annoucer, Cairns. American accent.)
"Coming down from Karanda this morning. The sky was so blue; here was no industrial pollution; no native cooking fires, just nothing."
Now here was another human being talking about nothing. Now I know it was the media and what could you expect, but this guy said ‘nothing’ like it was the elixir of life.
I read an article in the newspaper.
The pilots of a Boeing 747 began their descent into Seattle Tacoma airport on August 11 last year. Checking their instruments, they notified the control tower of their position. Then ... nothing.
(A computer software failure) I don't know about you dear reader but the idea of a 747 coming into land losing its guidance system does not represent 'nothing' to me. Panic maybe, but certainly not nothing.
There you are - in collective amnesia - travelling at speed having nothing to do because the guidance system is doing ‘it’ for you when suddenly - it 's wake up time. Start doing something. The pilots on that flight had to resort to looking out the window, an ancient method of flying, and thank God ( another form of nothing) they still knew how to do it.
In the '80s a British Airways 747 flew into a cloud of volcanic ash that stopped all the engines. Nothing. Whilst the crew ran the start engine's procedure over and over, the passengers seized this period of nothing to write farewells to loved ones and then got to know the people around them so well that after the fifteen minutes of nothing, before the engines restarted, they formed bonds so deep that they formed a club to stay in contact with each other.
Nothing is something but what? A Jain monk (India) has a loincloth and a small brass pot that he pisses into and eats out of. Apart from this he has nothing. I ask my five year old son what he did at school today " Nothing." is the reply. What are you doing for the holidays you ask a friend. "I'm going to just lie around and do nothing" might be the reply. Nytchananada, Guru to my Guru, Muktananda said nothing for months at a time.
An Automatic transmission in my car means I have to do nothing to change gears. A remote control means I have to do almost nothing to change channels on my TV. An automatic washing machine means that after I have loaded it, apart from unloading, I have to do nothing in the washing of my clothes.
In meditation the ideal is to think of nothing. They say to look for the space between the ‘in’ breath and the ‘out’ breath. (Try it!) My lot offer a mantra so you can think about something so you don't spend the whole meditation trying to think about nothing.
Nothing is around us all day, every day. Under the name of space nothing affects the way we react to buildings. It is something we aspire to " I'm going to lay on a beach and do nothing.
It is something some of us loathe. People on the dole do nothing and get money for it. Dire Straits had a big hit with a song that had the refrain money fornothingand chicks for free (purportedly a comment by a worker about pop stars that the songwriter overheard). Teenagers complain about having nothing to do. "I'm bored shitless "said my 13 year old daughter as she sat on a rock by the Ocean.
The poor say - "We have nothing." The nun swears a vow of poverty.
Peter Brook, Guru of the theatre in the 1960's, '70's and 80's wrote a book entitled The Empty Space. When questioned as to what he had in mind for a requested meeting with Tribal Koori people, he talked for an hour on the subject of having nothing in mind when embarking on a project. The fact that he requested such a meeting indicated to me that he had some desire, but his initial response was "I never have anything in mind."
The implication was that nothing is a good starting point. No preconceptions, well, not admitted to, at least. In the theatre an empty space is what the actors or the performers must occupy.
Terra Nullius, the legal theory by which the British and other Europeans were able to occupy and subsequently dominate Australia. According to the British there was nothing here. ie. No British laws, no British land deeds, no obvious defence force. Easy Peasy. Nowadays we are beginning to get an idea of just how much nothing the indigenous population suffered and lost.
To become an astronaut must require immense motivation - certainly you don't get there by doing nothing well not yet anyway. I read somewhere that most astronauts start with a medical degree and work up. Ann Mujchrzak writing in her book The Human side of Factory Automation tells us “In 1973, Apollo 3 astronauts conducted the first day-long sit-down strike in space, closing down communications with mission-control for 24 hours.”
It seems that the regime the astronauts had to follow, occupied all the scheduled time during the flight and allowed them virtually no free time. These super achievers were so frustrated by not have moments of nothing to do, that they went on strike and did nothing for 24 hours. Mujchrzak quotes the costs to NASA as $2,520,000 and that was 1973 dollars.
So nothing can be expensive. I once worked with a Greek labourer who gave me the advice "don't spend your money for nothing."
In the introduction to the book Cultural Studies, Cary Nelson, Paula A. Treichler and Lawrence Grossberg attempt to discover what 'Cultural studies' is/are. At one point they say 'At Birmingham (Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies), a central goal was ‘to enable people to understand what [was] going on, and especially to provide ways of thinking, strategies for survival, and resources for resistance.’
Now if cultural study is a way of getting a handle on things, then my aim in this piece is to get a handle on what is this ‘nothing’ we talk about, and why do we seem to be so attracted to it, or indeed need it so much and how come we have so much trouble getting enough of it.
‘Work’, that four letter word that pervades the world seems to have a fair amount of influence on keeping us from doing nothing.
work [ wurk] n. labour; employment; occupation; task; toil; something made or accomplished; production of art or science; book; needlework, factory; total of persons deeds, writing's etc; inf. everything, full of extreme treatment (Collins Gem. Australian English dictionary)
Bertrand Russell in his Essay 'In Praise of Idleness' (Why Work?) says “A great deal of harm is being done in the modern world by the belief in the virtuousness of WORK, and that the road to happiness and prosperity lies in the organised diminution of work.”
He talks about the two types of work ..first, altering the position of matter at or near the earth's surface relatively to other such matter; second, telling other people to do so. The first kind is unpleasant and ill paid, and the second is pleasant and highly paid.
On leisure: The wise use of leisure, it must be conceded, is a product of civilisation and education. A man who has worked long hours all his life will be bored if he becomes suddenly idle. But without a considerable amount of leisure a man is cut off from many of the best of things. There is no longer any reason why the bulk of the population should suffer this deprivation; only a foolish asceticism, usually vicarious, makes us insist on work in excessive quantities now that the need no longer exists. So let's leave Work for at moment and look at Leisure.
Leisure n (opportunity to do for, afforded by) free time, time, time at one’s own disposal. (Collins Gem. Australian English dictionary)
Leisure is probably what those Japanese tourists were engaged in (you engage in leisure not do it) when they I saw them sleeping in the Foyer of the Matsu Plaza, you've probably seen them yourself sleeping on buses, on their way to, or coming back from, Bondi or the blue mountains. A lot of us nowadays like to take eckies and at the same time get out of it and into it. (nothing? The groove?) This is a form of leisure currently being rationalised in the media in the way that forms of carnivale or marijuana and heroin come up from time to time. As they say in the film Trainspotting, "Why choose life ? Chose heroin.”
Look at Carnivale and the Mardi they are examples of sanctioned leisure or free time. Leisure is the time outside of work. To have Leisure without working first is hard to achieve, ask any housewife/husband. I didn't have a job with holidays and weekends until my mid thirties and I used to wonder how people who worked had time to do anything. When I finally got a regular job I realised,
they just did very little.
Adrian Furnham, author of The Protestant Work Ethic book, writes ‘Puritan asceticism preached against the spontaneous enjoyment of life and all it had to offer, such as sports. Sport was condemned because it is purely a means of enjoyment, an awakening of pride, raw instincts and irrational gambling instincts.
You would have to be very successful in the area of nothing not to have noticed the recent acceleration of the ‘commodification’ of sport. Ironically the latest push for this is so that the pay TV companies can seduce a paying audience into doing nothing at home, ie watching, what some people might call nothing - television, which they used to get for 'free' (the cost of advertising accepted)
but will now pay monthly for the service. Sport used to be primarily thought of as a 'leisure activity’ (either doing it – or watching it). However now that sport
is being ‘commodofied’ we get stories in the media of how we are coping with life after sport.
Under a banner of ‘WHAT THE FUTURE HOLDS BEYOND THE GAME’
(SMH 1/6/96.) there is an article in which the author writes of one Darren Donaldson, a former member of the Australian volleyball team who joined the Commonwealth bank of Australia under OJOP (Olympic Job Opportunity Program) for three years as a trainee. "He had to train about six hours a day, five days a week and trying to accommodate him into our organisation was initially quite difficult" recalls Mr Hughes from the CBA. " But once we sat down and worked it out, he just adapted his life around it and we were adaptable too. He would train until lunchtime and then come and work for us until 8 or 9 at night.
Donaldson has since retired from elite sport and Hughes believes he is a good example of how OJOP can work for both employee and employer.
"He's already progressed through five grades and he's now on our first rung of manager level and he's only been with us about three years." Says Mr Hughes.
So if you are an oddity and put sport before work then its ok thanks to OJOP. Maybe they will do the same for authors and singers as well.
My son used to say he is not going to get any older because when you grow up ‘you have to do hard work’. It's hard to argue with this. Stephen O'Rouke
Only in France really. Not your average pissoire. This one is built into the thick stone ramparts of the medieval city of Angouleme. Photo Joselyn Morton
Wish I could belt out Edith Piaf’s ‘Je ne regrette rien’. I can’t. I regret the whole split, nano-second when our car whacked into the centre barrier. It was so fast, I didn’t have time to be scared.
We had stopped to have soup and sandwiches and then I started driving. I saw a sign ‘ Le Mans 97k'. It was about 8.30pm, so I figured we would probably be home around 1am. We didn’t have to hurry. We didn’t have a ferry to catch. The conditions had been worse when we drove to Dunkerque on the 18 December. It was now 6 January and I still had hopes that 2010 was going to be ok.
The impact of hitting the centre barrier was so severe it destroyed every innocent and optimistic nerve-ending that my body contained.I felt deep despair. My door wouldn’t open. Roger got me out. I heard him say how much his chest hurt. I realised mine did too. We had no other injuries.The air bags had done their job. The car was facing the wrong way on an autoroute, that had only one lane operating. The other two were over-flowing with sludge. Snow was drifting down. The dark was broken by traffic travelling on the other side.
I clutched my handbag. Roger went back and got his wallet and phone. Some maintenance men arrived in a large machine and took charge of us. They took the car keys. Our damaged car started up and they drove it to the edge of the road. They were going to wrap us in silver covers but the pompiers and the gendarmes arrived. Everyone was gentle and kind. I was in a cocoon of self-anger and disbelief. They put us in the fire-truck-ambulance.
That night we slept in Argentan hospital. Mitch had rung as the accident happened and we’d missed his call but Roger pressed the redial and we got through and he helped us contact the insurance.
I didn’t sleep. I lay and tried to blank out my thoughts. Roger was in the bed next to me. The room was cosy and quiet. We had our own bathroom. In the morning, they brought us breakfast.The snow outside was thick. Eventually a taxi arrived to take us to Falience to pick up a hire car. Our driver drove fast and overtook often. I guess he hadn’t cottoned on that we’d had an accident and could be a bit fragile.(In the head anyway.)
Roger then drove us back to Sees to find our car at the garage and get our belongings out.
The garage guy was diffident and pre-occupied. We ploughed backwards and forwards through the deep snow, emptying out our possessions. The orchids Mitch had given me for Xmas looked very reproachful. I don’t blame them. I blame myself. Roger says I mustn’t. Accidents happen.
I always used to be on top of things. Now I feel like a big fat loser. That’s why I’m doing the blog today. It’s my first step towards fighting against the ‘failed-human-being’ syndrome. This is no reflection on our kids and friends. They have been so loving. It is some testy, trait of my own that I have to train and combat.
On our first night back in the Dordogne, we stayed at Chez Camille and ate the most delicious moussaka I have ever tasted. Paradise food. Jon and Jax were so comforting and I realised I could smile again.
Since then, we’ve had lots of phone calls and I now have a purpose. Pretty feeble at the moment but as my chest heals and the weather warms up, I plan to somehow get my life back on track.That means finding some work where I can earn money. That is not going to happen if I am in the depths of depression. I mourn our reliable, well-designed car. I want to take my family and friends advice and just be thankful that we are still alive. Petit a petit. Joselyn Morton
The cold and snow which Europe has been experiencing and I have been expecting has failed to materialise here in Kabul. Mid-December we had some snow and the mountains in the distance looked spectacular with their white blankets which provided such contrast to the brown hue of the surrounding landscape which make up most of the vistas of Afghanistan.
It has still been cold with temperatures dropping to -10 degrees Celsius at night. People say the snow will still come but maybe while I am away over the next month which suits me fine!
The fallout of the election process is still being felt with only 7 of Karzaiâ’s proposed 24 MPs being voted into Parliament. From the people I talk to they say it is just power plays as most of the proposed candidates were good candidates, but the opposition are trying to exert their power and influence over Karzai. This could continue for some time and stymie many proposed changes that may be beneficial to Afghanistan simply because the government has not been formed yet. As the government has not been formed they cannot agree to the makeup of the ministries which run the country so everything is waiting for the government to form and this may have some negative flow-on effects in the long term especially in terms of foreign investment. But as Afghanistan is still in the news and the US troop surge has begun the Afghan Government will be pressured in certain directions by the real power players. How the Afghans react will be interesting!
The security situation changes in winter with usually a quiet period in the frontline. But with the ever increasing use of car bombs and suicide bombers the violence has not abated.
We had a large Car Bomb on the 15th of Dec which I felt 1 km away, smaller incidents have been occurring weekly and other large car bombs are expected. These events are routine and the danger is to become complacent but apart from being security-conscious there is nothing more you can do until something happens.
I think of it like flying in an aircraft - once you have taken off you have no control until you land. In that time anything can happen and I always feel the relief of touch-down, as I will again once I have landed back home.
Ireland has gone mad it seems. main water pipes burst, houses pipes burst, running out of water because those who do have it have been leaving taps running so it doesnt freeze, schools closed. Thankfully i am in sunny thailand. I have been zip lining today (flying foxes we used to call it) going through the top of the canopy in the forest in chiang mai. I am heading to the beach tomorrow. Wish i could be there to make a snow man though as I have not been in proper snow for some years. Daren Blake
Journey's Beginning When I was a mere infant in the advertising business there was a most famous American television commercial. A tiny speck, gradually getting bigger all the time, zig-zagged across a snowswept tundra until it became a Volkswagen Beatle. It eventually stopped and parked beside a huge shed. Driver exits car, throws open massive barn doors and explodes at wheel of enormous snow plough blasting great plumes of the white stuff skywards. Voice-over: "Now did you ever wonder how the man who drives the snow plough gets to the snowplough?"
It was a bit like that last Wednesday morning getting to Heathrow, bound for sunny South Africa, Cape Town. If only we could get to the Tube station, let alone Heathrow - and then would the flight actually leave? We decided to cut and run (well try and run) at 11.00 in the morning -a tad early for a flight scheduled for wheels- up at 19.20 and one that might be cancelled anyway. The mini- cab despatch person told us that flights were still landing and some were departing but that nearby Gatwick was shut down completely. Neither could she promise, but would do her damnedest to get us a car. Miracles do happen. Within half an hour a knight in shining armour heavily disguised as a tanned chap in a heavy overcoat arrived at our door saying "No problem, let's roll'. And we did.
Our driver, we discovered had recently decided that cold, grey, miserable London was a better bet for family life than cold, grey miserable downtown Kabul. Reassured by the knowledge that these Afghanis know a thing or two about snow we tackled Muswell Hill and a blessedly empty North Circular. White sand, blue beaches, purple skies lay ahead. Maybe Well in fact they did and here we are. But after a day which went something like this:
12.30 arrive Heathrow.
13.00 win argument with BA who (finally agree to check in our bags 5 hours before departure. Bravo. Richard Roger's magnificent Terminal 5 (ignore Brit-whinge) even more fun Air-side.
13.30 Remove shoes,belts all dignity before being allowed to roam free in BAA's super-mall designed to relieve passengers of as much holiday cash as possible before they leave the ground. We have lengthy debate on whether to spend next two hours in Gordon Ramsay's caff or W H Smith. As ever fishcakes, rocket salad, ultra-fresh spinach and Sauvignon-Blanc win the battle. They always will. Ramsay verdict: Disgusting man, pretty decent grub. 10 out of 10 for handsome Polish waitress.
15.30 Hit W H Smith with new passion and plastic money. Paper back and magazine loading for long flight
(maybe) ahead and long wait (certain) ditto.
16.30 BA lounge, for we have, for us, snooty tickets care of super deal and Air Mile excess. Chaos reigns. Over 200 flights cancelled. But can this be true? Not BA 320 to Cape Town. All around us the milling throng on cell phones trying to get hotel rooms, calling friends, lovers, mistresses - wives even. Flurries of uniformed ground staff (grounded cabin crew and hosties too old for the game perhaps?) being firm as only they can. The (non) departures board flashing red - only our BA32O will leave. Strange but true. We smug but nervous, drinking tea and white wine, reading all the papers, saving W H Smith booty for later.
18.30 Most have gone home or to hotels or wherever. Now, miraculously our flight still hanging in - with one to Houston, another to Hong Kong but that's about it. Can this be true?
19.30. It is. Flight called. Escalators, corridors , jet-way, on-board. Champagne (snooty seats remember). Never mind that we sit for four hours on the Tarmac waiting for the de-icer. Never mind this takes another hour - in airline circles you can never have too much de-icing. Never mind we left the W H Smith parcel in the departure lounge ... That's another long story.
12.30 (next day) La Perla, Cape Town. fresh grilled fish, white wine, sunshine et al. As the Man from Michelin says "worth the detour"
Hello Cheeky, The Ken Dodd Show, Morecambe and Wise, Steptoe and Son, My Music, Gerald C Potter, all of those great shows and many, many more from the 1970s and 1980s were brought to BBC radio by former Head of Light Entertainment, the wonderful Bobby Jaye.
On Tuesday 15th December, the day we were celebrating the 7th birthday of Radio 7, the news came through, via Peter Donaldson, that Bobby, who had been ill for some time, had passed away that morning. We all felt a deep sadness, as even the younger members of the Radio 7 team are familiar with and enjoy the huge variety of comedy programmes which had been commissioned or produced by Bobby Jaye. Possibly the last interviews with Bobby were recorded six years ago for Radio 7's Radio Heads series. Our producer, Sarah, who produced the series, recalled the charm, fun and generosity of Bobby.
We will be repeating Radio Heads on 23rd January as a tribute to Bobby.
Bobby began his long career at the BBC in his teens, as a studio manager, moved on to become a comedy producer, and was later promoted to become Head of Light Entertainment. What an appropriate appointment.
He was a natural performer, and his warm-ups, prior to recordings, were recognised as often being funnier than the acts he was introducing!
In his retirement Bobby was a regular on Radio Goes to Town, a marvellous BBC initiative whereby a large marquee was taken around various cities throughout the UK, with producers making programmes and meeting the public at the same time. And of course Bobby was in his element meeting the public.
I clearly remember Bobby on stage at Radio Goes to Town in Dundee, introducing the audience to sound effects techniques in radio productions, with coconut shells forming an impressive part of his act.
Many of Bobby's former colleagues have emailed us with their memories and I'd just like to mention Ned Chaillet, who said: " Bobby was one of the delights of the BBC." and Lyn Took, who fondly recalls dancing a quickstep with Bobby from The Playhouse Theatre to The Sherlock Holmes pub, after a Sunday evening recording of Round The Horne.
So many warm memories of the talented and charming Bobby Jaye, loved by all who knew him.
