Merry Christmas! Fröhliche Weihnachten!¡Feliz Navidad!

 Its been a while hasn’t it?! I’ve been learning Bengali and knitting, watching Tolstoy performed live above pubs and meeting many friends for festive meals. I thought given the season I might share a little festive anthropology with you on Christmas Traditions.

The nights are closing in and its so cold you’re losing touch with your toes! It must be nearly time for a winter celebration; for a Merry Christmas! Ever since I first travelled to Europe as a teenager I have been fascinated by our shared European heritage and the way it is expressed in such different ways. Never was this truer than with our divergent celebrations of Christmas. So I decided to explore three different expressions of Christmas; from English, German and Spanish perspectives.

Disclaimer: Every family is different and doesn’t necessarily do the things listed below. In no way is this supposed to be an exhaustive description.

England

Christmas is quite a contracted celebration in England. Although children mark advent with Advent Calendars most of the focus in on 24^th-26^th December. The Christmas Trees are put up in family homes from the start of December. On Christmas Eve traditional families might go to Midnight Mass but most families start preparations for Christmas Day. Christmas Eve (24th December) is the time when Father Christmas visits overnight leaving presents for good children in stockings (large socks). He and his reindeer are often made welcome through the provision of food items laid out for them such as mince pies and a carrot for the reindeer. Both Christmas Day and the day that follows (Boxing Day) are national holidays in England. The 25^th December is the central event and the day on which presents are given and received. Christmas Day is also the day when the large Christmas meal is eaten, typically including; Turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce, ‘pigs in blankets’ (chipolatas wrapped in bacon) and Brussels Sprouts. These are followed by mince pies, a Christmas pudding (a fruit dessert) which is often set alight with warm brandy as part of the ceremony, and sometimes Christmas cake. Modern English Christmas Days are also accompanied by lots of seasonal television such as The Snowman.

Germany

The way other countries celebrate has always interested me and having a few friends with connections across Germany I asked them what made Christmas. One of the most popular activities was going to the Christmas Fair and drinking warm spiced drinks with friends. This activity has not been missed by the opportunistic tourism boards in England who advertise flights to German markets; where you can apparently buy authentic wooden toys and eat mountains of wurst, Stollen and gingerbread.  The Christmas Tree is an important tradition introduced by the Germans to European Christmas accompanied by its companion, mulled wine. Christmas extends out as far as St Nicholas Day, a day unrecognised in England. In some areas, the gifts from St Nicholas arrive on St Nicholas Eve. If presents have not been given on St Nicholas Eve, then it is on Christmas Eve, the focus of the Christmas time, when gifts are shared. Christmas also stretches out to Epiphany in January; when people, particularly children, join parades and other activities around the town dressed as the Three Kings. German Christmases seem much longer than English ones.

Spain

Spanish Christmases begin with the celebration of their patron saint, Mary on December 8^th, the day of the immaculate birth. As a thoroughly Catholic country the celebration of Christmas follows the church calendar quite tightly. On Christmas Eve (Nochebuena) the main Christmas meal is eaten often featuring lamb or seafood; quite separate from the American influenced Turkey. On the subject of Christmas food, Spain is famous for its turron or nougat. Most homes will feature a beléne or nativity scene and in some areas the scene also features the El Caganer, or defecating shepherd. The origins of this unusual onlooker to the nativity are cloaked in the mists of time. The Spanish never miss out on a chance to dance and so unsurprisingly have a Christmas dance, called the Jota. The modern world has had its impact on the Spanish too with the El Gordo Christmas Lottery. The 28^th December is also a celebratory day on Santos Inocentes which acts a bit like ‘April Fools’; often a child is made mayor for the day and his/her wishes are honoured as if they were the real mayor. This is just as well as children have to wait until the feast of Epiphany for their gifts in Spain. The night before there are processions of children dressed as the kings. The reindeer and St Nic are replaced by tired camels and kings who are the present givers. The camels are placated with straw left in shoes; a little reminiscent of the German tradition of food left in shoes. The 6^th of January is also a national holiday celebrated with hams and seafood.

The contrasting traditions of the three nations are neatly summed up in one little tradition; the Christmas Cracker. In Spain they appear not to exist. The first Christmas Crackers probably contained sweets and the ‘cracking’ feature was decidedly secondary. In England they are contextualised by their season, ‘Christmas’ and have lost all reference to sweets. An archetypal cracker would include; a Christmas hat, a tacky toy and a cheesy joke – the joke is meant to be bad, that’s the point! German Christmas Crackers are called ‘Knallbonbon’ a name which reflects both the ‘cracker’ and sweet components of the tradition. Although I have to admit I’ve never seen a German Christmas Cracker!

So, that’s my little walk around Christmas traditions in Europe; there are some interesting similarities and peculiarities I think you’ll agree! What do you do in your home that’s unique to your family, or country? Do you know where those traditions come from? Why not ask a family member or a friend about their traditions?

Have a very Merry Christmas and see you in 2012!

Top Boy: Good exposure for East London?

Recently I have secured a full-time job working with young people not in employment, education or training (NEET) in Tower Hamlets, London (this is a deprived part of England’s capital city). Working in this environment has made me view media on the subject of London's East End with quite different eyes.

Over the last two weeks Channel 4 have aired a four-part drama called ‘Top Boy'. It follows a few months in the life of a thirteen year-old boy called Ra’Nell. Ra’Nell’s life is far from easy; his Mum is hospitalised with a mental illness and his best friends get caught-up in selling drugs. Not every drug-dealer is stereotyped; there’s Heather, the pregnant mum seeking a better life for herself and her baby and will grow cannabis to get there, or the twelve year old pushers who join the gang for a little bit of pocket money and kudos. Neither is it wall-to-wall violence; the plot-line is nuanced, and addresses issues such as missing father figures and the desire to belong as well as the ‘reality of London life’.

The writer of the series, Ronan Bennett says he got the inspiration for the programme one afternoon walking through his neighbourhood in Hackney when he saw a twelve year old selling drugs outside the supermarket. Two-years of research followed, meeting all-sorts from dealers to journalists, social workers and school-children. The programme is deliberately not preachey. In the Guardian, Bennett writes, ‘We don’t want to discuss the issues thrown up by what I’ve seen and heard. That’s not drama. Drama is story, character, the creation of a world. We want to take viewers viscerally and emotionally to a place they have heard a lot about but don’t really know’. So in many senses it is a work of fiction, but it is going to provoke a reaction.

The photo at the top of the page was taken outside my work place in Tower Hamlets. Here it is almost as if the poster were a mere window onto the world. From my own new knowledge of this world I’ve ‘heard a lot about but don’t really know’ I’d say the characterisations were fairly accurate; the characters sound like East Londoners and their stories of broken families and peer-pressure are familiar. This is, however, only half the story. As Phil Hogan’s generous Guardian Review puts it, ‘the neighbourhood remained strangely benign: community thrived, kindly voices filled the market, mothers went to church and kept a tidy house. The sun shone on this picture of hardship’. And this is exactly my point, amid all the disaster there is great hope, rising from the streets of East London. When speaking to one local resident about the programme, interestingly he felt it was really unhelpful; when I asked about it he just said, ‘its not like that for everyone; its a bit too dramatic’. If this is a world we ‘don’t really know’ are we being informed by this programme or are we just being given new prejudices?

Today has been an interesting day for me in terms of East London and its reputation. Two young men from East London have been confirmed as dead, after being hit by a train on the line I use to get to work in the mornings.
This is a tragedy.
Two lives cut short by walking well-used railway lines. It has had a big impact on the local community who knew these lads and grieve for them. On the other hand; three Tower Hamlets heroes have today been received national recognition for their extraordinary progress into employment at the London European Social Fund Awards. All three winners are over-comers who battled against the odds of personal circumstance to achieve great things. We can choose which of these events we choose to publicise, record and turn into docu-drama and I know which one I’d rather talk about.

So, whilst Bennett did plenty of research to get his authentic East End it is important to remember that this, indeed, a dramatic representation of the truth; squished into just four hours of television and designed for impact. But is it sending the right message? And is any publicity good publicity?

You can watch Top Boy here.

St Paul's Tent City - whose voice is being heard?

This week I was set the task of setting up an online discussion on current affairs, aimed at 16 year olds in just 500 words. 

Here is my attempt:

Since mid-October, some 200 tents have sprung up around St Paul’s Cathedral. The tents represent the English version of a worldwide occupation movement with satellites in New York, South Africa, Rotterdam and Athens. The movement claims that the aim of the occupation is to reclaim public spaces, for the public, but has a strong ‘anti-Capitalist’ theme in London. The occupation represents a shift in the way the public protest, away from marches towards occupation or sit-ins. Although the genesis of the St Paul’s site came from the Occupy Wall Street campaign it is quite transformed by the location of the site, outside one of London’s most significant landmarks and religious sites. As there has been plenty of discussion as to what should happen to the tent city it is interesting to think about who has the right to have their own voice heard and why?

Protesters

The protesters outside St Paul’s have been non-violent and are camped on public property; as such they cannot be easily removed without a specific sanction. With increasing levels of legislation being applied to traditional methods of protest, criticism of the government has arguably become more difficult. Many of the protesters camped outside St Pauls continue to go to work and have created a learning environment. Is the occupation just an innovative way of getting through a legal loophole providing accountability for banks and governments?

Local businesses

For many local businesses the situation looks quite different! The tent city occupies a large space in the heart of the city from which it criticises, amongst other things, capitalism. This has had a detrimental effect on the sales of many businesses, but this occupation is particularly lethal for the small businesses. Local businesses often do not have the support of other outlets across the country or investors to support them like their larger counterparts. One of the occupation aims is to criticise these big commercial enterprises; is it possible that the protestors are actually having the inverse action to that which they planned, by cutting off small businesses and barely denting the sales of the big firms?

St Paul’s Cathedral

The location of the protest is just outside one of the most internationally recognised church buildings in the UK, St Paul’s Cathedral. When the tent city arrived the church had to shut its doors for health and safety risks. It has been shut for nearly two weeks now at a daily cost of £23,000! Buildings like St Paul’s cost a lot of money to maintain and £322,000 will take a long time to raise alongside ongoing costs. It is the first time the church has shut since the Blitz (1940’s) and tourists and worshippers alike have missed out on its services. Should protestors gathered for political reasons be able to stop other people from religious worship?

As the tent city looks set to stay, maybe it is time to consider whose voice is being heard?

What do you think? And what role do you think social networking plays in our understanding of these events? Write your comments below, but remember that only polite messages will be posted. Anything deemed offensive to any party will not be posted; democratic debate is encouraged.

Psychogeography on holiday

We’ve had some nice weather in Essex lately; I requested it for my ‘Summer holiday’; and no-one says no to this face! I’ve been using the lovely weather to explore local landscapes in new ways.

London and Love Lane

Psychogeography has enjoyed a long and fruitful relationship with England’s capital city; I have long enjoyed merely walking round  a part of London, with no cause but interest.

During some temp work in London I have been engaged in some urban wandering and it has got me seeing London from a completely different angle. Leather Lane, for example, is hidden just off Holborn Circus and is profuse with leather and lots of wonderful little coffee shops. Little Essex Road is in the middle of the law quarter; I’ve never seen a road that shared so little with Essex!
 Love Lane was a road I discovered by accident wandering towards East London. When I walked it, it seemed one of the least ‘Love’ filled roads in all of London; there are no front facing businesses on the road and there were very few people using the road. The only thing that seemed vaguely love related was Shakespeare’s Garden at the end of the lane. Traditionally  road names reflected usage; you can find examples of this all over London; you would have found chickens on Poultry, pork at Swinegate and so maybe traditionally people found love, of a kind on ‘Love Lane’. A little research suggested that historically ‘Love Lane’ was a hotbed of prostitution ; today the road plays host to a City of London HIV and Chlamydia clinic. Maybe I was looking for the wrong kind of love down ‘Love Lane’?

Cambridge, Maldon, St Andrews, Ely.

In the last few weeks I’ve had the opportunity to get out and about in the local (and not so local) area. I have been really indulging my early Medievalist; getting my hands on modern day settlements that retain their three-road Medieval structure. 

Cambridge, Maldon and St Andrews all qualify as ‘quaint little English towns’ and are based around three main streets. Such a simple settlement pattern not only makes it easy to get home if you are a drunken fresher; but also makes it much easier to direct tourists to the church/ river/ ice cream shop (delete as appropriate). It never ceases to amaze me, that a settlement system introduced over a thousand years ago can still provide the essentials for a modern town; even if we are no longer trying to hide our swine in the back streets (or are we?).  On the subject of settlements has anyone else realised that even though Ely has a Cathedral and Cambridge does not; Ely is in Cambridgeshire, why is that?

One day I drove the car out and around north Essex. I stopped off for some proper East Saxon jam in Maldon. Maldon is the scene of a semi-famous Saxon epic poem, the Battle of Maldon (that’s the one where Byrtnoth showed some fatal ofermod – whatever that turned out to be!); its got the three-street structure and some pretty, old buildings. I later enjoyed my East Saxon roots with another Essex girl in Cambridge; but I also drove through many other evocative Saxon settlements; Essex is full of them – Tillingham, Dengie (after the Dæningas, awesome name), Althorne, Osea Island.  Driving around rural Essex you could almost be forgiven for believing no one had arrived since those vicious Vikings of 991 (who arrived during the Battle of Maldon); its thoroughly unspoilt with lots of wiggly-roads and old field boundaries.

Essex is home to one of the best places in the world; Bradwell on Sea. It has been a Roman fort, a Saxon monastic community and now a nature reserve and hamlet on the shores of the Blackwater Estuary, where it meets the North Sea. This space has been a special place for me since before I can remember. Just to sit on the beach (in snow or sunshine) and watch the Thames barges/ windmills/ birds tumble in the breeze (delete as appropriate) is magical. It is a place I feel automatically more peaceful, able to notice even the drifting bird flying on the air current and the barge passing silently past.
What is it about this landscape that is so capable of making me stop and notice passing birds, to be peaceful? Which places are special to you? What is it about that space or landscapes that makes it special? Why don’t you share your special place with someone?!

Southend; walls, barges and berries.

One of the aims of the psychogeographer is to get people (including themselves) to see familiar places in a new light. Armed with only a camera, and with a whole afternoon to spare, I set out for Old Leigh; another special coastal place. I tried to essentialise the landscape in a few key images which took my eye; the images that epitomised ‘Leigh’. I tried to frame the images naturally and resist the urge to edit my photos; instead I wanted to focus on taking good photos, first time round, like we used to before digital. You can see how I got on here.

Leigh: sea wall, coast and blackberries

Looking for images made my other senses somewhat heightened; to the sounds of spinnakers flapping in the wind and the water lapping the shore; the crunch of sand in my trainers and of salt on my lips. Experiencing the environment holistically got me thinking not only about the beauty of the environment but, as ever, different perspectives on space and ideas.  I’ve never really seen myself as an arty-creative before, but looking at textures in my environment even got me thinking about bigger ideas; looking at a bench being engulfed by a hedge I started to think about what we let engulf us; and more to the point, why? 

Bench on the seafront, Leigh

What environments do you live in or pass through every day? How do you feel about them? How might you engage with your environment in ways that help you perceive it differently? And what about your special places? What connects meaning to space to make it place? Would you share that space with someone you care about? Would you share it with the internet?

Enjoy getting out into your communities this weekend and take great photos!

Luke Leighfield and Jose Vanders: Live at The Borderline

The astute amongst you will notice that I haven’t got any better at blogging weekly. I am really sorry. All I can say is that London is full of lots of bright lights and I am easily distracted...oh look shiny thing! One of the wonderful distractions of the big smoke is gig venues. Last Tuesday I went to The Borderline to watch Luke Leighfield and Jose Vanders; here’s what I thought.

I first saw Jose play at Jesus College May Ball in Summer 2008. My feet had been really hurting from wearing stupidly high heels for an all-night party; and come midnight I was resting my feet in the bar. In the bar a petite singer with a much larger voice was playing her original tunes about waiting at railway stations and going to the fair with a boy she loved. The combination of beautiful melody and silly lyrics about ordinary events reminded me of the songs my best friend Lizzie used to write when we were teenagers. Although the most memorable part of Jose's gig was her begging for a pint before the end of her set, I enjoyed it enough to buy her EP (Transactional Language) several days later.

So three years later she offered her fans cheap tickets to see her at a London venue, on a day I could do and I was there! The Borderline is a basement venue in Soho that is well suited to bands with few performers (the stage is quite small) and for intimate gigs (I reckon there were 150 -200 of us there). Playing a small venue was actually really beneficial for the audience as we could see all the facial expressions and the little details Leighfield and Vanders throw in. It provided quite a different atmosphere to other gigs that I've attended.

I actually went to this gig on my own but it really wasn’t a problem. They’re a nice crowd at The Borderline and Vanders’ voice quickly picks you up and wheels you away far beyond the venue. She played a great set with a combination of the old greats, ‘Puppets’ and ‘Faces Going Places’; the latter, where she played piano and provided the ‘clap’ percussion simultaneously, being very impressive. She also played the playlist from her Blue Notes EP and ‘Man on Wire’. It was really interesting to see how Vanders’ music has developed; she still writes about break ups, romance and other frivolity, but she’s also developing a more mature edge to her lyrics which deal with big issues; I liked that. The poetic language is still there too, ‘I’m like the sun without the shine, a long road without any signs’ (Me Without a You) and you know how I enjoy unusual similes! (cf my post on Mornings in Jenin). She also owned the night really well; the personal touch of understanding the context of her lyrics gave them a new depth of meaning.

Jose was the reason I went to the gig but she was well complemented by both Luke Leighfield and Marcel Legan. Jose and Luke have just released a split EP which is the basis for their tour. I’ll admit I had not researched either of the other artists before I went; but Luke’s music was really uplifting. He played the set preceding Jose’s which I caught almost by accident. He sounds a bit like Get Cape Wear Cape Fly crossed with the Rend Collective (make up your own mind here) both in his love for brass to complement more traditional instruments and big chorus lines; all used to address everything from romance to loneliness, hope and despair.

I bought Luke's latest album and the EP of Marcel Legan. On the night Marcel provided backing vocals and guitar for both artists but he is also an artist in his own right. I bought his EP because his vocal on the other artists’ tracks (such as Metal Detector) was sensational. His voice sent shivers down my spine; and I was unsurprised to find that several of my friends, of both genders, had serious crushes on him; that voice is magic! Real Gone reviewed his EP and said ‘those great moments only really present themselves after two or three listens’. I agree that the EP is not ‘instant gratification’ but as it has played on my MP3 this last week it has grown exponentially on me.

All three artists write about lying in bed, amongst other things, anyone would think they were students (!). They also do a good line in quirky videos (see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slBDsoQH9kM and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USUhT1sDvJs for reference). Their coming together for the split EP has definitely been good for the UK music scene. If you remain unconvinced can I encourage you to check out their cover of Bon Iver, Blindsided. It is hauntingly beautiful, and has a gorgeous backdrop of London at night; a very fitting tribute to another great band. Jose and Luke are currently touring Europe with their split EP but you can still check ‘em out online!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCN5yxFI7wc

Mornings in Jenin

Any of you who know me personally will know what a hectic month it has been! But in the midst of all that activity, I have found the time to read three great books. C.S. Lewis’ autobiography, Surprised by Joy which I made reference to last week, made great travel reading (on the slowest train to London ever!). The second great book was Pete Greig’s, God on Mute which provided a theology on suffering and unanswered prayer that I could get my head around. But the subject of today’s post is the third book I read, S. Abulhawa’s Mornings in Jenin.

Afternoons in Southend

I did not go purposefully looking for this book. It was a rainy afternoon in Southend (Essex, where I live at the moment) and I was looking for research material for my MA dissertation. When I remembered that I was to have some holiday soon (what a mythical resonance that little word, ‘holiday’, has!) I allowed myself to be drawn towards the library’s ‘new additions’ section. The copy of Mornings in Jenin that I borrowed features a little girl in an Oriental doorway on the front cover and it reminded me of the cover of Hosseini’s, Kite Runner. The reference to an ‘International Bestseller’ also encouraged me to take a look inside.

Image credits to: spiderednews.com <---- and mergingreflections.blogspot.com ---->

David or Yousef

‘Mornings in Jenin’ tells the life story of a girl called Amal who is born into a Palestinian refugee camp in 1955; but the story begins before her birth in 1941 and carries right through to her death. The content engages with several intense political themes; investigating the nature of Israeli/ Palestinian relationships, cases of mistaken identity, terrorism and the impact of dislocation. It is only fair to tell you that there is quite a lot of violence and disaster in this novel; such that the Daily Mail called it; ‘Disquieting, discomforting’. I beg you not to let the political undercurrent prevent you from reading the book; it is about so much more than a well-written polemic; this is a story about what it means to be family, the definition of a ‘good mother’, love and loss and a good dose of friendship.

‘No soldiers here’ (page 179)

Not only does this novel have interesting content but it is so well written. From the start, I was wrapped up in the safe Mediterranean world of 1941; ‘a small village east of Haifa lived quietly on figs and olives, open frontiers and sunshine. It was still dark, only the babies sleeping, when the villagers of Ein Hod prepared to perform the morning salat’ (page 1). The description of landscapes reminded me of Steinbeck’s work particularly Grapes of Wrath;  ‘Along the dusty road, the land rose in sylvan silence, charmed with the scents of citrus blooms and wild camphires’ (8)  The attention to detail is also reminiscent of Steinbeck; ‘There was some oil, but mostly almonds, figs, a variety of citrus, and vegetables. Hasan put the grapes on top so they would not be crushed’ (7). Abulhawa creates evocative scenery through her creative use of poetic language; one image that has stuck in the two weeks since I read the book is that of Amal being read to by her father, ‘My life before the war returns to me now in memories bracketed by Baba’s arms and scented with the tobacco of his olive-wood pipe....I never knew a playground nor swam in the ocean, but my childhood was magical, enchanted by poetry and the dawn’ (page 60). The Palestine at the beginning of the book was a wonderful place to escape to as a reader.

Rupture: ‘I think of those years with nostalgia’ (page. 164)

This poetic, charming world and style of narrative, however, does not last. As the novel continues, the reality of the 1960’s encroaches on the lives of the characters and that is the end of peace for the rest of the novel. The sentences get shorter in recognition of the reality of Amal’s later life. The prose gets grittier, like life in the present has not got the nostalgic rosy hue of childhood (see page 164); if you could stomach the second half of A Thousand Splendid Suns (Hosseini) then you should be ok. I will admit I did not enjoy the second half of the book as much; but that is mainly because Abulhawa denies any more access to that glorious, contented landscape. And maybe it would be wrong to describe atrocity in gentle, poetic terms?

Biographic ‘Amal’

I did not realise that Mornings in Jenin drew from some of the life-experience of the author until I got to the end (I know, not so quick on the uptake). Maybe the biographic link is what makes Abulhawa’s work so authentic; the reality of life experience fuels the passion in her writing. I also did not discover the dictionary of unfamiliar terms until I got to the end. Abulhawa could have replaced those words with English synonyms but the use of terms in their original language contributed to the authenticity of the atmosphere created. One of the other things that really impressed me, once I realised the story was biographically influenced, was the storyline of the novel. Its compassionate portrayal of the Jewish community is surprising when Abulhawa's identity as a Palestinian refugee is recognised.

Novels from beyond the familiar

Writing this blog post has got me thinking about novels written beyond the European context. There seems to be a growing number of novels written by authors from the Middle East who move to English speaking countries and then publish on their homeland. Neither Hosseini nor Abulhawa moved to America as novelists but as science students. The later development into writing is interesting, I wonder what motivated it? Is novel writing acting as a therapeutic reaction to migration and dislocation? And what impact does writing novels through an Anglo-culture have? Both Hosseini and Abulhawa have also created charitable foundations for their countries of origin, as if introducing the world to their native cultures through highly successful prose was not enough.

I’ve also been thinking about why I enjoy books written by such authors. It is not only that I love the writing style, the rich descriptions and poetic language. I think it is also that they provide a window onto the unfamiliar, a world to escape to, where I have never been before and that is quite attractive.

It was a great read!

I really did enjoy this novel, I doubt this review does it justice but it was so good I just might buy it when I return my library copy. Mornings in Jenin is a conversation-starter; as recognised by the publishers who include a discussion section at the back of the book. Have you read this book? What did you think? Have you read anything else lately that was particularly good? And have you considered sharing it with a friend?

Have a great week folks!

Uncivil Rest and Education

Good afternoon! I’m back, and like many school boys ‘towards school with heavy looks’ I have realised; the Summer holidays are over and term has begun (that said, I’m still in my PJ’s and midday was a while ago!). In recognition of these facts, and to neatly complete my discussions on the recent civil unrest, I present: Uncivil Rest and Education.

Uncivil Rest
On 27th August I had the great pleasure of working alongside the Buffalo Tank Crew in bringing a small part of comic South America to Colchester’s Castle Park. The Buffalo Tank are an independent arts collective who produced 16 installations in the park; taking a light hearted look at recycling and the carbon footprint for the Colchester Free festival.

My job was to man the ‘Uncivil Rest area’ which featured crockery smashing (of political figures faces) and a water gun area complete with riot shields, helmets and protestor signs (all whilst wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and a fake moustache!). The area was conceptualised several months ago and way before the riots in London took place; but in the current political climate it produced some interesting results.

The children were straight into the fray; perhaps unaware of the connotations of wearing a riot helmet, or recognising that the world is chaotic. The adults on the other hand were more reluctant to throw sponges at one another. Not only because that would risk infringing rules of decent behaviour in a park; but maybe also because it would involve confronting bigger issues like equality of access to resources. One particularly interesting case was that of the security guards who were patrolling the site. Like any man presented with the opportunity to soak his best mate the men were keen to play with us; but their role, as security guards and  figures of authority they could not join in whilst in uniform. They promised they’d return later and join in, I don’t know if they ever did!

Recycle? Image: Buffalo Tank 

Whilst running the 'Uncivil Rest Area' I happened to notice an unassuming little monument right next to me, within the compound. The monument read, ‘This stone marks the spot where on August 28th 1648, after the surrender of the town, the two royalist captains Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle, were shot by order of Sir Thomas Fairfax, the Parliamentarian General’. The Buffalo Tank were getting people to think about politics (and soaking one another to the skin) in a politically significant place; surely the location and topic weren't coincidental.

The number of people who had completely missed this little monument reminded me of all the research into how futile memorialising in concrete or stone can be. The memorial itself was a Victorian construction; I wondered what context made that pro-Royalist-recognition suitable for that time and am fascinated that the people of Colchester deem it still suitable for exhibition. Given its location, in the shadow of a large Norman castle, maybe it has simply been forgotten? In 1648 two men were killed by the authority of the time in shame and haste, but later their lives were celebrated; I wonder how the conflicts of today will be reinterpreted at the same distance (200 years); whether the monuments will be to the royalists or parliamentarians?

Uncivil Rest Area. Images: Buffalo Tank 

Education, Education, Education
During the riots there was plenty of rhetoric about the role of education in the creation of a peaceful society. I recently had two German couch surfers to stay who had attended a Waldorf School. For those of you who don’t know what one of those is, (I’ll be honest I didn’t until Wikipedia provided the answers) Waldorf schools are based on the humanist educational approach of Steiner (that famous Austrian philosopher). The schools favour variety and holistic learning to the more traditional basic key skills, they lean towards the encouragement of creativity and uniqueness in each child. My German guests and I had great fun comparing the systems; when Dad perceptively asked if the girls would send their children to a Waldorf the answer was ‘yes, but not our one’. ‘Yes’ because the Waldorf mark has a good reputation for CVs and Uni places, but ‘no’ because they weren’t great fans of their teachers.

 In C.S. Lewis’ autobiography ‘Surprised by Joy’ he describes at least 4 different schooling systems which influenced him as he grew up. They had varying degrees of interest in the right answers, discipline, cultivating his mind, ability to argue, the importance of religion or sports, and whether eating or ‘fagging’ were sins or virtues. These opinions created different school ‘cultures’ or societies in which he was more or less successful depending on his ability to fit the model. It is not the systems, societies and cultures, however, that loom largest on C.S. Lewis’ narrative; it is the teachers themselves, the lilting of their voices, their individual characters and the authors who they introduced to Lewis.

In both cases, for the Waldorf girls and for Lewis, it was not the ‘system’ which made a difference but the individual teachers. Perhaps there is something to be learned from this when educational reform is under consideration; of the importance not of systems but of encouraging teachers to be at their best, creating positive relationships with pupils and cultivating their unique interests. These contexts might in turn produce school cultures which produce happy, rounded young adults. I am not suggesting that education on its own produces happy, peaceful young adults but transformed school environments would be a good start.

If you teach, or are still at school, have a great start to the term! Don’t forget to pack your smiles in your satchels! I’ll be back next week to chat about a book I read recently, it was good :)

Social digital media – root of all evil?

Several weeks before the riots were even rumbling there was a hubbub all over my internet streams about the joys, and more noticeably ills, of social media.

Bad for breakfast

The first place I came across these concerns was on BBC Breakfast, they were discussing the impact of smart phones on family meal times. An academic report had noted a correlation between words spoken between family members at the dinner table and the number of smart devices present. The argument being made was that smart devices are detrimental to conversation and relationships between the family members who are so engrossed ‘LOL’ing at someone else’s video.

I am lucky enough to live in a family none of whom own a smart phone or tablet device; but I have had conversations with people who do own this equipment, and they have spoken of the need to ban the devices from the dinner table and the bedroom. The influence of these devices are so often associated with a rhetoric of corrosion; but what is it about these devices that makes them so potently destructive as opposed to, a newspaper or any other older technology? Surely the problem of families failing to engage with one another is deeper than the technology they bring to the table (which I agree might (or may not) reflect their commitment to developing these nuclear family relationships)? The questions concern time, commitment, and ways of expressing love for other people as much as the technology in use; that allows people to be ‘elsewhere’ whilst being ‘here’ with us.

I check my private messages at lunch, I've no time to eat!

Following the release of what I presume was some form of government/ thinktank report there was a huge spate of blogs and facebook posts on the subject of digital communications and the ways in which they might damage both our individual and collective identities. I have seen social media blamed for a self-obsessed generation; allegedly pretentious enough to believe that other people will find what they have to say interesting enough to read (http://phil-blogs.blogspot.com/2009/06/facebook-is.html). The self-esteems of a nation misplaced in the number of wallposts achieved or how many people ‘like’d a profile picture.

On occasion these sites are linked to other perceived evils, tweeting to our ‘culture’ of self-aggrandisement; private messaging to the growth of illicit or ‘immoral’ activity. But again I make the point that the blame is misplaced. Sure, the technology is successful because people demand it and it may make evil easier to carry out, but for millennia people have found ways to feel insecure and to have illicit liaisons, without the internet. And whilst digital media might have provided the language with which we talk about these things; relationships being ‘facebook official’ as code for legitimate; saying ‘LOL’ instead of actually laughing, the insecurity, the grandstanding and the independent journalism also happens outside of the internet. So which came first? Its a bit of a chicken and egg situation.

Rioting Raspberries

One of the most frequently discussed things this week both in my real world and in my ‘internet community’ is the link between the recent riots in London and use of the Blackberry smartphone, used for its untraceability. Its funny how law and morality step in and make some hacking decidedly unethical (News of the World anyone?) and other hacking as legitimate...
I’m going to sit and ponder that for a bit...
Anyway, there has been plenty of discussion about how evil digital technology must be because of its usage in terrorism and rioting. Again I don’t think the technology is the problem, if you have a problem with its usage then you must address the ideas and the people behind the usage, merely restricting access to the technology will not help.


I agree that digital technology can be used to facilitate ‘bad’ things; but so can paper and pen, leaving a voicemail (that you regret in the morning) or meeting up for coffee with someone (who may, or may not be as trustworthy as you thought). None of these things are intrinsically bad, in fact they can be used to great ends; to maintain relationships over long distances, to introduce two of your friends who could be great business partners/ spouses/ just friends, to let the important people know that you love them. And the same is true for social digital media; its just a new medium for human interaction.

And now you’ve massaged my ego by reading my self-aggrandised drivel, I can happily take a few weeks off, basking in my own reflected glory and some Somerset/Scottish sunshine. See you all in a few weeks.

'Time Passes' part II

And so I find myself yet again apologising for the tardiness of this blog. I have a great excuse though! I’ve been doing lots of other writing and thinking this week and even designing this cute little venn diagram! But I haven’t forgotten to think about time.

Flying high

Last weekend I had the pleasure of going on a flight in a little aeroplane big enough for just four including the pilot. We flew a round trip to the south coast; right over the cliffs of Dover, Canterbury Cathedral and Dover Castle. Flying over our little town, the Thames Estuary and all of Kent, in a matter of minutes, provided me with quite a different perspective on life. It got me thinking about how reliant we are on our pyschogeography in our everyday life.

Canterbury Cathedral from the plane.

I took my digital camera on the flight and even ten years ago my photographs of England from the air would have impressed people. It is not every day you get to see England so well from above! But with the rise of digital technologies anyone can look on google maps at what England looks like from the air. So although for me this photograph of Canterbury will forever be special; to the rest of you time and technology has probably robbed you of its specialness. So, instead of trying to capture once in a lifetime shots of the county from above, I took other ‘arty’ photos expressing something a little more abstract.

Sunset over the river

One Bright Spot
The Kursaal of Southend on Sea is the subject of my dissertation. It used to be called ‘One Bright Spot’ although it had lots of illuminations it was also a beacon of fun for the working classes with a large amusement park. There were loads of rides and side shows to experience and people from Essex and London would take a day-trip to the seaside. Many of the people I’ve interviewed for my work have spoken about the attachment they have to the 'bright spot', romantic nights at the ballroom or the Tunnel of Love. This got me thinking about how the ‘Kursaal’ space has changed function over time; from field to trotting park, amusement park to housing estate. Although with the passing years people no longer dance at the ballroom (it was demolished and sold, much to the chagrin of Southend’s over 70s); it is still an important place to the local community because of what it represents.

There have been other elements of Southend culture that time has been unable to steal. People still visit Southend for the amusement park, its just on the other side of the road; and the 1930’s arcades have been replaced by illuminated ‘grabber’ games. East Londoners might do different things in Southend, but the majority of our visitors are still East Londoners down for a day at the seaside. All is not lost; ice cream and spades still sell!

Not much changed over 60 years - seaside amusements.

‘I’m fine! I’m fine!’
Was what I said when I came round from a faint at a BBQ recently. After that I was rushed to A & E and spent the evening lying on a bed in the department, I'm fine by the way. I was helpfully positioned in front of the staff desk so I could watch all the comings and goings. Hospital departments can be quite interesting to watch when you aren’t on death’s door or worrying about someone. When I first came round in the house I moved from one room to a stairwell, through another room and I actually don’t remember it. My brain has failed to store that memory. Although in the main I’m not bothered ; a part of me wonders where those few minutes went, who stole my time and what they did with it (and me!) in the meantime?

I predict a riot!
I couldn’t write a blog post this week without passing comment on the recent riots this week. I’ve enjoyed reading the vast amount of e-comment on the subject and the growing number of acceptable reactions. When I first heard about the riots it reminded me of the work I did on the Miners’ Strike of the 1980’s; of the multi-vocality of the time and what happens when you put cuts on public spending. When I did my research on the Miner’s Strike I had the benefit of hindsight to see the build-up, the strikes and the aftermath, including the effect ten years on. I’ll have still made a partisan judgement but it will at least be a little detached. What is so interesting about the riot reportage today is the immediacy of the comment; academics are able to publish journal length articles online within hours of incidents taking place. I will watch with interest to see what the generation twenty years behind me makes of all this when they consider it all with ‘academic detachment’.

p.s. I hope you noticed my reference to Under Milk Wood in the title, I'm going on holiday a bit over the next few weeks so expect my blogging to be even more sporadic! And I'll be back soon to talk about digital tech, its pros and cons for life and the universe!

'Time Passes. Listen. Time passes' - part I

This week I’ve been thinking about the passage of time, a small subject for discussion(!). And a little ironic given how late this post is this week.

Baby Love: House Clearance as Heritage
I have been clearing my great uncle’s house with some relatives. He was born in 1920 and lived in a world where sealing wax, the Britannica Encyclopaedia and a record player were everyday items in life. This 1950s kitchen cabinet with inbuilt pastry board represented a thoroughly efficient and necessary part of the kitchen.  Even just a few photographs show how life has moved on since he was my age!

Text from a really old first aid handbook!

The house-clearers represented three generations of family with three different perspectives on what we were doing.  For the oldest generation the objects we were sorting did not represent anything exotic or unfamiliar; they were quite everyday and not worth keeping. For the middle generation also, objects were not valuable due to their aesthetic or tangible worth. The objects the middle generation chose to keep were based on intangible, emotional connections bundled up in the physical object - the record he used to play as they danced around the front room (Baby Love), the tea towels from exotic holidays, the hat he always wore. For this generation salvage was communing with (the memories of) their uncle; as was the upkeep of his garden, one of his favourite pastimes.

For the younger generation, at one more remove from 1920, many of the objects seemed exotic by way of their unfamiliarity. The stamp album with the old fashioned spellings and all sorts of kitchen implements which looked almost alien they were so unfamiliar. The distance from the emotional connection for this generation also made room for experimentation. I took the china collection for a friend’s wedding where the cups became one off candle-holders; several other kitchen items went to form the staple objects in my cousin’s new home. The writing desk joined my collection of wooden furniture in my room and now happily holds, amongst other things, a laptop. For this younger generation objects from the house were not viewed as objects for veneration but candidates for reinvention, of use in the future world.

One of the objects that had us all intrigued was my uncle’s wartime diaries. The subject of what he did in the war was always kept hidden; deemed too painful to be on public display and discussed in public. But it transpired that throughout his very busy period of active service he kept diaries; detailing every film he saw, the towns he visited and the situations he found himself in. Some of the entries were funny; ‘Italian dies from drinking antifreeze’, ‘won a cow, milked it’ and others were profound in their simplicity, ‘Our Wedding Day’. The detail provided enough information to trace his steps across Europe and beyond. Something felt a little bit transgressive in reading that which was always deliberately kept hidden; it is morally ambiguous to read the diary of a dead man; akin to clearing out his underwear draw! I still wonder whether it would it have been more honouring to burn them on sight?

I’m not sure, but they made some jolly good yarns and explained why he’d kept a copy of ‘Algiers to Austria’ on his bookshelf.

Wedding Day, 1945

All of this reminded me of some of the things we’ve been thinking about on the course for my MA. Lowenthal’s attitudes towards the obligations and behaviours of family and legacies; Pearce’s On Collecting; the many philosophical musings on the necessity of treasuring the past for our present mental health. Does collecting/ curating /saving things from the past inhibit our moving on in the future? And how do we keep our memories of our own pasts without the objects? What happens when we run out of space in the (family) archive? What filters can we put on that collecting process? I don’t have that many answers...yet!

In part II I will discuss the impact of time on what is impressive digitally, our own aging and some more insights into my current work. For now, have lovely weekends everybody!

Engaging the Public

Over the last few weeks my work has included doing a survey with the general public. I don't know how many of you out there have ever been tasked with approaching the public, and trying to persuade them to answer your questions, but it can be quite a daunting prospect.

In order to manage the nerves I've developed a number of ways to approach strangers. Here are my top 5...and yes the doodles are an accurate representation of the demographic I've been speaking to...

1. Straight out bribery/ Incentivise

2. If that fails, try distraction, 'Oh look shiny thing!' - *steals brainwaves!*

3. Use any situation and bring it round to your questions...yes even if you are waiting for a bus...

4. Do the blonde stupid thing.

5. And if all else fails just be honest! I found this to be the best policy and people genuinely wanted to help me.

If you've ever done any market research what tricks did you try to get the public involved? What worked? What didn't?

I'll be back to my usual format next week...

The Old Man and the Sea

This weekend I had the great fortune to attend ‘Shorelines’; the first literary festival celebrating the sea. The press eagerly anticipated the event and weren’t to be disappointed. The programme was varied including public readings of works old and new, literary discussions and some memorable theatre (who could forget an open air production of ‘The Tempest’ actually in a tempest!). It was good just to get people talking about the rich inheritance of being ‘people of the sea’; even if visitors weren’t from Southend, we all share this little island.

For me, the most memorable experience was watching a three-man performance of Hemmingway’s ‘Old Man and the Sea’. I like Hemingway and enjoyed reading ‘The Sun Also Rises’ and ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ but I have to say, with ‘Old Man and the Sea’ I never got past page three. For some reason a story of one man fishing didn’t capture my imagination in quite the same way as some of his other tales. That was, until Rob Young adapted the story for stage and Laura Casey directed his show; injecting the story of an old man’s delusions with life and vigour.

At base this is a story of one old man, on a boat at sea; not much to write home about. But Young has made it come alive; building a dynamism between the Old Man and his wife, or is it the sea? Either way he builds an exciting, playful tension between the two players. Young has made the story more accessible by introducing two characters alongside the old man who represent temptation and good, in the shape of the wife and fisherman’s boy. We’ve all been confused, tempted and uncertain in decision making. But it was more than a sympathetic plotline that drew us in; there was magic.

The concept for the show is quite simple; three actors, one stage, simple lighting and human percussion; but the effect is impressive. The sounds of water slopping against the boat, created by a boy with a partly filled water-cooler; or the skimming of stones recreated in a bucket of water with a few rocks. The plot weighs in on the psychological and the Old Man’s hallucinations, which recreate both his dead wife and fisherman’s boy; prime the imagination to fill in the other details of sea and sky. The actors also helped us to imagine other parts of the seascape sometimes taking on the role of say, birds in the distance. Special mention goes to Vernon Kizza Nxumalo for his portrayal of the fisherman’s boy, the Old Man’s conscience, a fish, the sounds of the sea and narrator extraordinaire. Such competency in being so versatile is an unusual skill in so young a man, he has the makings of a great storyteller; having the audience in stitches telling tales of the Old Man and his wife.

Old Man and the Sea, 04/09/10. Photo credit: K. Koziel

The location and circumstances within which this story was told also added to the sense of drama and seafaring. We were in a tent, in a storm. The roof of the tent was billowing in the wind and the performance was nearly hijacked by a failing generator which threatened the show with mere candlelight for lighting. Despite these distractions, the performance was impressive and a thoroughly memorable finale to a thought-provoking festival. As one guest said, ‘Technical difficulties? What technical difficulties?’.

Now I’m going to go and read Hemmingway’s novella; thank you Magpie Productions for the inspiration to give ‘Old Man and the Sea’ a second go!

Aachen (Kultur + Kaffee) Part 2

If you are looking for tourist info my 'top 5 places to visit in Aachen' is at the bottom of the page.

And this blog is unusually lengthy today, sorry.

As I’ve previously mentioned, in May this year I worked for a Cathedral in Germany. It was my first prolonged stay in the country (previous visits amounting to 2 hours in total!) and as such the people I met were very interested in my first reactions to what ‘Germans were really like’. Its strange how we often feel outsiders can categorise our own nation groups isn’t it?! Of course I came to Germany with all the standard stereotypes, that Germans would be intensely scientific and down-right Prussian in attitudes of the heart or displaying emotions; actually I found quite the opposite, warm-hearted, caring people who weren’t all engineers – although I did meet several scientists.

Aachen is in North-Rhine-Westphalia, the last town in Germany before Belgium. It calls itself ‘the heart of Europe’ and one can see why; its a true fusion of Franco-Germanic culture with a good dose of Flemish (from the Dutch and Belgian) thrown in for good measure! It is a place where many worlds meet.

What follows are some musings I had whilst thinking about ‘Aachen Culture’ which wouldn’t fit into my 3,000 words on ‘German Cathedral Culture’.

Kaffee
Being a student in a foreign city there was plenty of time for coffee, most of which, mercifully, I drank with German friends who guided me through the process. In the cafes and bars of Aachen paying for coffee is quite different to England; there is none of the theatrics around leaving the bill on your table and paying whilst the waitress pretends to look away. Instead, the fact that one is paying for a service is made quite explicit; the waiter comes to the table, presents you with the bill and then you pay him directly, even negotiating the tip, ‘that will be 12 euro 50 cents’, ‘oh call it 13 euro’, ‘thank you’. This sort of procedure is fairly unheard of in England.

It amused me watching the process the other way round when a friend from Aachen visited England and we went for coffee. She was most baffled by our ‘complicated’ system for paying and leaving tips. This whole charade reminded me of Kate Fox’s hypothesis in her book ‘Watching the English’ (which I highly recommend) where she suggests the English will go to great lengths to avoid the discussion of money. Maybe our receive bill, walk away, now I pay system is just an elaborate ruse to do the same thing? Avoiding the uncomfortable reality that we are paying for a service. And that’s not even to start on the fact that bars serving coffee and hot chocolate are open til 2 am, even on a school night, what a brilliant idea!

(Maibaum in Aachen)

Maibaum
Now to move on to something totally different. The photo above is of a slightly dilapidated Maibaum. A Maibaum is a birch tree felled close to the 1st of May; they are erected across the city on the eve of the month of May by men seeking to impress their current or future loves. They decorate their birch tress with colourful crepe paper and as you might expect the imagery is all decidedly phallic, how big’s your tree? Not all men fell trees, creating a small hand-crafted gift is also acceptable; and with the growing eco-agenda there is increasingly upset with the felling of all these trees for such a silly tradition.

As some of you may have already guessed this maibaum tradition is not so far from the pan-European tradition of the Maypole. In fact when I searched ‘maibaum’ on Wikipedia, Google translated the page as ‘Maypole’. But there are also differences. In England the Maypole is the sole preserve of young children and old Morris Dancers, who are encouraged to dance round the poles. It is also an almost exclusively rural pursuit, there are few Maypoles erected in the centre of towns. In Aachen it is a very different process; owned by the young as a courting game of the 20-something. It is a highly devolved process every man for himself; there is little to no state involvement and there are as many Maibaum in cities as the countryside. In Aachen, Maibaum is not a quaint tradition maintained to lengthen the tourist season in sleepy villages; it is a living tradition that has evolved over the centuries to suit its new market. Caviat: You will notice I don’t refer to ‘German’ tradition here as my experience was only in reference to Aachen. But for the record, I like the tradition.

Dreilanderpunkt
Within an hour’s walk of the city centre is the ‘Dreilanderpunkt’ the place where Belgium, Germany and Holland all meet. Over the past century these borders have at times felt very solid; with passport check points throughout the Cold War period and the use of three separate currencies until the arrival of the Euro in 2002. The three nations still speak separate languages but physically crossing the boundaries is easy. On a cycle ride to the north of the city we passed down one road where the row of houses to the left were Dutch and the houses on the right were German; although their architecture was different it seemed almost ridiculous that you would have needed two currencies to shop on one road less than ten years ago! The Dreilanderpunkt is a physical place where you can go and have your photo taken, but in some ways I also think its a metaphor for Aachen as a whole! Bringing the efficiency of German transport, Dutch artistic flair and the joys of Belgian food (yes I mean chocolate and beer).

Unmissable Aachen – top 5 must-sees.

1. Aachen Cathedral – Everything about this part of Europe boils down to one key man, Charlemagne, Emperor of Europe in the eighth century. And you can’t get more Carolingian than Charlemagne’s own royal chapel (and coronation church for more than 30 German kings!) If you like shiny, golden Cathedrals with impressive treasuries and tall Gothic architecture (without buttresses), you’ll like Aachen Cathedral. If you have been to San Vitale or Sainte-Chapelle you might get a strange sense of déjà-vu.

2. Ok, so you’ve got to eat somewhere! Here are two great, contrasting eateries, to ensure you don’t go hungry. The people of Aachen are great fans of icecream but arguably the best place to eat icecream is Del Negro. Huge portions, low prices, and quality ice cream; there are always queues outside this kiosk and after you’ve tried one of their ice creams you’ll understand why. They also let you go half and half with flavours, see nice too!

The other place is a funky bar which sells both the warming bedtime drinks, and beers and wine into the early hours; the Egmont. I was taken to the cafe several times by different people and its proved popular across generations and interests. Particularly good if you are looking for European philosophers and artists, or somewhere quiet to read a paper in the afternoon.

3. The Elisenbrunnen on a Sunday night – In the summer, Sunday night is salsa night at the Elisenbrunnen. For the smallest of fees you can dance the night away, outdoors yet undercover at the picturesque Elisenbrunnen park. With thermal springs in the background and a pina colada in your hand – you could be forgiven for thinking you weren’t in Germany.

4. The Dreilanderpunkt. I already mentioned this place in the blog but its the border-land of three European nations. Set in large quantities of woodland its also great for a day’s walking with pretty panoramas that stretch for miles. They also hold events at the Dreilanderpunkt itself; I saw a medieval joust on an epic scale, complete with re-enactment village and honey beer stall.

5. My friend Simone’s House – OK so this one’s cheeky and you’d have to ask me for her details but I’ve got a great German pal called Simone. When I was complaining at work that I hadn’t tasted German food because it looked decidedly dodgy she invited me to her house and cooked all the German classics from Sauerkraut to Schnitzel; and all in the beauty of the very nearly, almost Dutch, countryside.

'It was fun for me; but it wasn't funny for you'

The above platitude of proverbial depth was uttered by a four-year old. I met him walking along a road a few days ago. He had just pulled a crazy face in public and his Mum was not impressed; he'd enjoyed expressing himself but his Mum disapproved.
Why?
If it was so funny for someone directly related to her why didn't she find it funny? What life experience or character traits meant she had a different response? Was she embarrassed?  Should she have laughed? This blog is about the divergence of human experience, how we can view the same place or event from completely different perspectives.

Southend is bonza!
This week we have had a couchsurfer staying with us. She is from Queensland, Australia and is currently touring Europe, staying on people's sofas and earning a buck or two. She came to us for a few days on a seaside holiday; she enjoyed visiting a castle ruin, the coastline and an impressive thunderstorm. She thought Southend was a great place to stay for a few days. Now, I know we never really appreciate where we live but she was disproportionately positive. At home she has the rainforest in her backgarden and Australian coastline out front and yet she thought Southend was great...needless to say its got me seeing my home town in a different light.

Auctoritate mihi commissa admitto te ad gradum
This is one of the many pieces of Latin uttered over graduands at the Cambridge Graduation ceremony. I had the pleasure of taking part in this ceremony last year.

I remember feeling a strong sense of achievement when my name was called and I received my degree, but I also remember quite a lot of hassle. Before I even got to the day I had to find articles of a very specific uniform which included suitable shoes (no buckles, less than three inches, black or blue) to graduate in. On the morning of my graduation my failure to provide a jacket with my suit nearly resulted in my not graduating, but that's another story for another time.

When the day is in full-swing there are two groups of people who want to spend time with you and they don't usually meet. These are your proud but occasionally demanding family, and your friends, your comrades in arms who've battled finals at your side and who you might not see for a while. These groups can be combined by the skillful but for me I found them mutually exclusive. It was also unbearably hot under all the layers of fur and black robes. If you survive all of that you then have the pressure of doing all the right actions whilst the important people utter Latin and you attempt not to trip over your gown. One Mum remarked she thought this bit was actually the hardest bit of getting a degree! I was pleased to graduate but you couldn't call it unadulterated joy.

This year though I experienced the ceremony from a quite different perspective, I returned to watch dear friends graduate. I wore what I wanted; so I wasn't overheating. I got to be a proud friend enjoying a day in the sunshine with familiar faces and, most importantly, I didn't have the threat of falling over in front of loads of people. It was much more pleasurable. I suspect swapping places with this year's graduands would have produced a different experience again...

Graduate joy?! Photo credit: Kenichi Udagawa
'I do enjoy identifying plastics'
This immortal sentence was uttered by my little sister on a Friday night. We'd just played our first joint-gig and were winding down from the buzz of a great night and she just kinda came out with it. And I thought, how strange, we're from the same genetic background and yet we have such different interests.

 I categorically do not enjoy identifying plastics; I like words and people, music, languages and food, but not plastics. When I was little I used to frequently ask my sister, 'What are you thinking about right now? What's it like in there?'. She would always roll her eyes at me and say, 'I don't know how to answer that'. (I tried the same question recently and got the same response all these years on.) We're similar and yet we're so different. I want to know how it is in someone else's skin and she likes identifying plastics!

For those of you that are interested, I failed my driving test again, but for completely different reasons and I feel quite different about it this time. Last time I was devastated and thought I'd never pass. This time I realise I can always try again and there were many parts of the test I did well; my three point turns and the way I treated a bus being particular highlights. The same situation, but 10 weeks later can feel quite different can't it! A conclusion I also reached from walking the Camino...

Camino (the track, path or journey)

Last Saturday I was part of an interactive art installation at Leigh Beach as part of the Leigh Arts Trail. The task was to move large quantities of dry sand from the beach onto the mud flats to form a sand labyrinth; visible and sanctified for a time and then reclaimed by nature through the tide. The project was spearheaded by Miss Joanna Hartle, a woman of many talents, but with a particular penchant for art and nature together.

The creation of the piece began at 4.30 AM, and I admit I wasn’t there for that, but I participated by ferrying sand, laying it down and walking the Camino (as well as eating the bacon sandwiches!). Jo wrote a blog about the whole process which you might want to browse: http://www.naturespacecreative.com/camino-days.html

(photo credits to: Jo Hartle, Dee)

Since last Saturday I have been ruminating on the Camino:

tierra sagrada (holy ground, sacred space)
When people walked the Camino they responded in various ways, but most people remarked that it had ‘been special’; helped them gain perspective or just a bit of peace. In a way this seemed a bit strange; all we had done was move some sand from one part of a beach to another. It was a public beach, there was nothing special about the weather or the location; but through all our toil in the early morning we had created something special. This got me thinking about other ways we can create places or times to find peace and a bit of perspective...

camino: the track, the path, the journey
There came a time when I got to walk the Camino for myself and I noticed several things. It is important to state the obvious at this point: the Camino route is a metaphor for life’s journey. The first thing I noticed was that we all walked the same path, but had quite different experiences - shaped by our choices, like our footwear (or lack of). Barefoot enabled sensations such as heat and cold, rough and smooth which augmented the overall experience of light and movement experienced by other path-walkers.

Secondly, as I walked along the paths I found my feet fitting into the footprints of previous walkers of the Camino. Sometimes these were other people’s footprints, people who had already been here and moved on; maybe those who have apprenticed me on my journey. But sometimes I realised with surprise that my feet were fitting into my own prints, imprinted when I had been creating the piece. It reminded me of those times when you find yourself in exactly the same situation as before, but the circumstances feel quite different.

aguas turbias (muddy waters)
This week has been full of contemplation regarding the past, present and future of my journey; from pints of cider with old flames to scary Careers talks, and promising looking PhD offers that then fall through. Similarly with the Camino, some parts of this journey are easier to walk than others; some areas were near flooded, walking them was messy and progress was slow, but an entirely necessary part of reaching the end goal; sometimes we had to stop to repair the banks of the Camino as it broke under pressure, other parts of the path were easier to traverse. Isn’t life just full of this same wonderful variety; hard times and times when the going is good, of smooth paths and muddy water!

¡dejar su impronta! (Leave your mark!)
If you go back to Leigh Beach now the Camino will be invisible, reclaimed several days ago by the tide. But its mark lasted several tides, and its imprint was still visible 24 hours later!
Several hours of blister inducing digging completely erased; but I am sure the effort was worth it if only for the journey I went on. Thank you Jo for inspiring us to do something great!

Just in case you are wondering; I submitted that culture essay, yesterday. It took many more bacon sandwiches, lively debates and early mornings to knock it into shape. Interesting, as opposed to essay relevant, cultural comments on my trip to Germany coming soon...