Poor John

Keith has just taken his dad to the emergency centre.  It's all his fault because it's the cold Keith had when he arrived from HK only it's hit his dad very hard, with all sorts of aches and chills and ague. Nasty stuff.

In Keith's defence he did want to cancel his trip so he wouldn't infect John, but the cold appeared to have gone the morning of our flight, so he thought it would be OK ... only the flight brought it on again, much deeper in the chest and very hacky and unpleasant, and this is what John's now got.

I know I said I'd be furious if we also spent this NZ vacation sitting around the house, but this is different and if John's sick I think we have no choice.  Afterall, it is ALL Keith's fault!

Hello from New Zealand!

This computer runs so Third-World-Slow it's no fun to use so I'll keep it brief.

The biggest change down here in The Land of The Long White Cloud since our visit last Christmas is to be seen among the eco-refugees.  You may recall, in my report last year, how I talked about all the Pacific Islanders from the global-warming drowned islands, taken in by NZ because ... well, just because ..., and how sad they were, all sitting around shivering from the cold and with tragic dejected eyes, comfort-eating up the whazoo and tearing the heart out of you.

Well, I now have to tell you they are no more.  No, they haven't moved on.  They are there but, oh wow, what a difference a year makes.  These days, they have lost weight - well, lost those comfort-eating extra pounds because no one could accuse Polynesians of being a slender people.  AND they look happy, with dancing, alive "on the ball" eyes.  Apparently NZ took a lot of time with them, running free English and upgrading skills classes and finding them jobs and church-groups and boy, from what I can see, it has definitely paid off.

So that is the good news; from what I've been seeing these people are now fine, all prosperous and definitely OK, so don't worry about them!  In fact, one gorgeous little boy I chatted with couldn't even tell me what island group he originally came from.

But I'll tell you one thing about them that had me laughing: there was a shop in Henderson where, last year, some entrepreneurial Cantonese fellow, obviously in anticipation, had manufactured hundreds of extra large muumuus in garish Pacific-preferred colours and patterns.  I noticed them last year - long racks of them - and thought "Man, those Cantonese are chronically entrepreneurial!" however ... this year, because, throughout the streets of Henderson, I didn't see a single muumuu being worn anywhere, I went in to check on them, to see how well they'd sold, and they hadn't!  Not one! 

They were all still hanging there, just looking sad, dusty and old.

Seems our lovely Cantonese entrepreneur made a wrong call because none of these eco-refugees women bought what they would have at home.  What they're all wearing are the surprisingly chic below-the-knee bicycle shorts with a longish soft-wool tunic top, or those extremely chic "pregnant Angelina Jolie" dresses, which look amazing on them because Polynesian women have mighty shoulders and breasts and with those on view you really don't notice anything else about them. Instead of thinking "fat woman!" you think "Holy-moly, what a GODDESS!"

And while on this subject, I have to report that the new thing among extra-chunky Kiwi ladies is large Maori-moku style tattoos all over their shoulders, upper arms and breasts.  Worn with tiny, strappy tops, showing lots of cleavage, man, does it look good.  You don't notice the fat, because you're too busy thinking "I definitely wouldn't take her on in a fight!"  and I imagine even men think that!

Oh, and another new thing is how many 6'5" plus Maori drag-queens you see around who, when you get close, you suddenly realise are actually women!  Like, real women! Honestly!  Giant-sized, with shoulders on them like stevedores, every single one of them who looks like she could single-handedly row a trieme! 

Decades back, I was chatting with an elderly French embassy official who told me that NZ women were all so tall and broad-shouldered, he found them so scary he couldn't cross at downtown Auckland's zebra-crossings.  He'd take one step to cross the road, see the wall of them coming towards him and it would trigger his traumatic WWII "Ahhh, Nazi storm-troopers!" response and, in a blind panic, he'd have to instantly turn and run.

Well, in those days, Kiwi women seldom reached more than 6' in height, so I wonder what he'd make of this lot!  Especially with those new tattoos they're doing.  Perhaps "Ahhhh!  Goddess storm-troopers!!"

I know I certainly feel that way about them! 

Isa, Fiji! Fiji! Fiji!

It's lovely seeing my hometown of Suva on screen, but ... AHHHHHH!!!



Seems J. Deuce is some American rapper who made this clip in Fiji with our very own Underdog.

It's a little concerning that this American's claiming some major cultural identity thing happening here, especially considering his "The Lost Generation" style is completely out of sync with everything we are and stand for.  Hey, we ain't lost, Deuce! 

And, like, that line about wearing Prada and Gucci and DK!  Does he really think anyone is Fiji has the slightest idea what any of this means?  We're a Third World Country, Bro!  We're lucky if we have FOOD!

But just look at how beautiful downtown Suva is. And what I find really interesting is how he's used the seawall, which is something I've always thought of as beautiful but which never seems to enter the consciousness of everyone else.

And the floating restaurant in the background is Cardo's Steakhouse!  We were at school with Cardo and know him very well!  And that's Suva wharf. And Cummings Street.

And that's my first glimpse of the new Morris Hedstroms Department Store.  The old one was burned down during the 2000 coup and just sat there as a burned out shell for nearly a decade, making Suva look like downtown Beirut.  But it's looking mighty fine now, isn't it!

Guess Suva just needs to be seen with new eyes, so kudos to J. Deuce for having those eyes.

Off In New Zealand!

Going off to NZ shortly and don't know if I'll be able to update, so here's something for you all:



A Very Merry Christmas - or Merry Kissmas as the HK Buddhist/Taoists say - to you all!

See you in 2011, if not sooner!

The State of the World Today!

This is amazing!  You must see this:



Fabulous, right!  And absolutely enough to stop you feeling despair at "the state of the world today".

What Killed Us Last Week!

Isn't this the most beautiful thing you've seen in ages:



Things aren't that bad in Hong Kong, but our own chill definitely killed us last week. Seriously! Lots of us. All over HK, the elderly HK homeless died in considerable numbers.  Stopped now. It took only one night littered with a raft of deaths to get the police out in force gathering up our local homeless to take them off in vans ... probably to shelters because this isn't Mainland China!

Also noticed that, all week, the police were questioning shabby-looking elderly people in the streets. Have no idea what they were saying but from all the gentle and friendly "I'm on your side" body language,  I'm guessing they were trying to discover if they had enough heating etc.

So that was our big thing all last week: making sure the elderly poor were OK.  HK may not be a welfare state but everyone does care.  Kinda!  And eventually! At least after a swathe of cruel deaths!

And while on that subject, I do have to report the very sad news that I haven't seen Strange Little Wan Chai Man for nearly a year.  When I first moved to Wan Chai I used to report on his doings because he was so strange and odd and little, so he is known to family and friends.  But if you don't already know about him, he was the strangest little man imaginable. About four and a half feet tall with dreadlocks down to his thighs, he used to wander up and down the streets of Wan Chai, wearing only a loin cloth whatever the weather, obsessively looking through the bins for bits of silver papers which he folded into tiny little squares and carried for the rest of the day.

He was obviously mad but so strangely beautiful and charismatic I had to find out about him, and it turned out that he lived in the trashcans behind a Wan Chai restaurant - a three-star one so he had good taste - and had done so as long as anyone could remember. And I also discovered that he never ever spoke so no one knew anything about him.  He was just there!  Always was, always would be, and never aging nor looking any different. Just part of the streetscape.

He's even in "The World of Suzie Wong".  Honestly. There's a sweeping shot of Wan Chai in that film and you can see him right on the screen, looking exactly as he does today -  oops, I think I mean "looking exactly like he did this time last year." - and that film was made in 1960 so that's at least 50 years he's been wandering these Wan Chai streets, so much part of the landscape no one noticed him anymore.

Actually, this strange little man is the reason I always tell people that Christianity IS the best religion, undoubtedly and outstandingly, because "by his deeds you will know him". What happened is that, about five years ago, I noticed Strange Little Wan Chai Man was crying as he obsessively walked our streets, and then one side of his face got all red and swollen and he began drooling.  He was so obviously unhappy, I was very worried, so kept asking Chinese people if they'd do something to help.  Not one!  Not a single one would lift a finger!  Kept saying he must have done bad in his previous lives so this was his destiny.

But then he vanished, and, after being missing for weeks, suddenly he was back on bin-duty looking right as rain.  It was so odd, I had to ask around and, as I heard it, the locals from "The Old China Hand"  had been seeing what I saw, so kidnapped him off the street to take him to the doctor.  Turned out not a single Buddhist, Hindu or Muslim doctor would examine him.  Finally, they got a Christian doctor who willingly took him on and, when it turned out to be an impacted wisdom tooth, they had the same problem with finding a dentist!  Finally, again, they found a Christian dentist who willingly took him on, extracted the tooth for free and then a Christian charity looked after him until he'd healed and was able to resume his obsessive walking, this time also wearing a sweater.

This really brought me up short and got me thinking.  Of all the great religions, only Buddhism has no remit to charity. Buddhists believe you get what's coming to you and so you don't interfere when people are having a bad time! That's just wrong, isn't it!  Hinduism does have a remit to charity, but they also believe in reincarnation and karma and that you get what you deserve and so, again, you don't help people when they're in trouble!  Charity is something you do for yourself - to gain karma points - and not something you do as a result of the needs of others. Islam also has a remit to charity but ... oh lordy, have you ever read the Koran? ... only in the Mecca Doctrines (can't remember if I've got this right.  It's been many years!) all of which is contradicted in the Medina Doctrines which are said to supersede the Mecca Doctrines so who knows what they're meant to do.  All I know is that the local Muslim Charity wouldn't lift a finger to help Strange Little Wan Chai Man.

So I came away from all this with the conviction that, given the principle of "by his deeds you will know him", even really bad Christians, like those to be found in "The Old China Hand", were ultimately better people than the best of believers in the other major religions, and that's all down to a single line in the Christian doctrines "Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you!"

That's an amazing evocation, isn't it! "Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you!" Until the kidnapping of Strange Little Wan Chai Man, I'd never given the line a moment's thought, but after this incident I came away simply blown away!  It's HUGE!  It's powerful.  It's the single reason why Jesus should be considered the greatest philosopher EVER.  Even Gandhi said so and he never had a reason to like Christians.

"Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you!"  I guess that's why HK Police - and do remember that the Hong Kong Police Force was set up by Christians - have been spending our week of hideously chilly nights out there trying to do right.

But back to Strange Little Wan Chai Man!  He hasn't been out on the streets since last Christmas.  I wonder if I should go to "Old China Hand" to find out what happened to him!

But to choose what we're obsessing over this week in HK, it would have to be:

THREATDOWN

Hideous cold weather in a country 

that isn't used to it, 

doesn't expect it, 

and isn't set up for it.

Hah!  You thought I was going to say something about Christianity, didn't you!

Songs You Want to Sing!

I've been thinking for some time that the way to support yourself while you struggle towards a difficult-to-get-into career, is to compose a Christmas song that then goes international so you can live off the royalties.  (So, again, congratulations to Kevin because, with the right marketing, I think he has a winner here.)

Talei and I often have this conversation:  how to come up with a song that people want to sing so you can live for years off it and don't have to worry about money as you go about pursuing the career you really want. 

Yeah, Talei too wants to be writer.  In her case, it's a novelist. And she's already started. Her first novel was completed when she was 16 and when she gave it to me for "first read" I kinda thought "Oh boy, please, please, please, let this show merit.  It's what she wants to do with her life, but what will happen if this only shows me she can't write." 

It only took a few pages before I realised I had nothing to worry about.  Not only did she show promise, she even went beyond "showing promise" because she was already fully THERE; "Just like a real one!" as we say in Fiji. She can plot, she creates great characters, great mise en scenes, great dialogue, but she can even take it beyond by throwing in structural motifs and deeply embedded symbolism.  AND her words feel nice to read because she's got an instinctive feel for syntax, narrative beat and rhythm, and, as a bonus, a rich dolche.

She hasn't got a publisher for this novel yet.  The poor darling screwed up her courage, sent it to one, got rejected and was pulled down into a months-long deep, deep funk - "Think of it like she's just been dumped by her boyfriend." I explained to her mum who simply didn't get what her problem was! -  and hasn't yet dared to try again.

She has, by the way, had short stories published since and I think that's her way of getting known in the market.

But, altogether, the kid's really got it and she's going to make it.  But, in the meantime, she's got to set herself up in another career to support herself, which really doesn't interest her at all. And thus we have this very cynical conversation: What song can we come up with that people will WANT to sing?  And what are the existing songs that fill a niche on particular occasions that folks can't help but sing.

Number one on our list is the obvious:  "Happy Birthday to You!"  You can't top that one for a song that fills a niche on a particular occasion.

However, with all the others, it's only the chorus that counts:

But Number two is also obvious:

 See what I mean?  

Last Thursday night, the lawyers 

leap on the bar to let loose 

 a spirited rendition of

"We are the Champions"

In fact, Queen has written so many of these "must sing" songs, I think they were probably the most cynical songwriters EVER!!

Number three:



Number four:



Number five: 



Number six:



There are dozens more, but I guess that's enough so you get the idea.

Now, here's the hard bit:  what occasions exist that have yet to have their very own song?

And let's be very cynical about this because this whole exercise is a throw-away and thus IS cynical!

Another Amazing Composer!

I am constantly amazed at the sheer talent of our children.  I mean, this song is written and performed by Edwina's daughter's friend Kevin and, well, to be honest, you always expect music by people you know to ... require a sense of indulgence as you listen.  But listen to this.  It's by 'just a guy' but could get radio play in a heartbeat.



Love?  And isn't it "just like a real one", as we say in Fiji.

Holiday Plans!

The Hong Kong Weather Gods deserve to be dragged off in strait jackets for their strange and erratic behaviour.  For weeks it's been 24 C one day, 8 C the next, 34 C the next, 0 C the next, 30C at noon and 13 C by sunset, and so, right across HK, beds were piled high with everyone's spring, summer, autumn and winter wardrobes because no one could work out how to dress.

But yesterday an icy wind from the North (which sounds like it should be a metaphor but isn't.) ousted our own capricious W.G.s and now the weather has settled into downright-freezing and they are, for the first time ever, factoring in "wind chill" temperatures along with the regular temperature in the weather reports.

Normally, at this time of year, we'd be whizzing off to holiday somewhere warm except, instead, we're going to New Zealand in a few days so Keith can spend time with his dad.  And yes, it's in the Southern Hemisphere and so it should be summer down there, but we're talking about NZ so it's going to be cold, cold, cold! It always is.

You'll recall that we went to NZ last Christmas and I spent the entire holiday sitting around a freezing house that no one would admit was freezing, wrapped up in blankets and reading Helen's interior design magazines while Keith, Reuben and Paul helped John install and set up his new computer. It was like endless days of watching paint dry and so I've told Keith that I will be very unhappy if this happens again and have insisted that this time I'd only come if WE DO STUFF.  Lots of stuff!

New Zealand is truly one of the world's most beautiful countries, and growing up in Fiji where constantly beautiful landscape and scenery is our idea of wallpaper, I count myself as an authority on this subject, and so it means something that NZ definitely gets my tick of approval because it's endless "chocolate for the eyes".  Yet there I was, last year, for endless days, NOT seeing any of it!

This holiday I want to go to Waiheke Island for several days, and into Central Auckland, and maybe see Great Barrier Island, although I don't really care so much if we miss that one.

And I want to go to the Auckland Museum because it's nearly 30 years since I last saw it and back then it was just soooo SAD  I want to know if they've finally got their act together!!

Back then, in the early 80s, they were clearly going through an identity crisis of enormous proportions.  Like, can you believe that they had all these exquisite Greco-Roman artifacts - including dozens of epic-sized Ancient Greek marble and bronze statues, hidden in dark corners and all facing the walls - stacked up in jumbled unsorted messes in little side rooms, while their halls were full of really icky and third-rate statues of Indian gods, all spotlit and on pedestals?

Everything on display was so genuinely bad I asked important-looking sorts to explain and was told "We don't want to perpetuate the myth that Culture is something that is owned only by Old White Men as in the Western Cultural Tradition. We want to show a more representative culture in here." which put me in a right snit and forced me to give a testy reply "Indian art has as much to do with NZ as Greek art. From what I can see, all you're doing is replacing first-rate objects obviously collected with great taste and an eye for what is good, with these truly tacky bits of tat that show no taste or relevance whatsoever.  Whoever is now running this place should be taken out and SHOT!!!"

Hopefully I was being horrible to the right people because they deserved it, but I felt really mean when we went to the next floor and saw the brand new Pacific Island Culture wing because they definitely got that right. I recall thinking "Ah, here they know what they're doing."  because the entire Pacific was represented, and in beautiful cleverly-thought-out comprehensive comparative displays that winged the viewer straight into all the different histories, societies, mores, and all that other stuff that make up the Pacific's Polynesian and Melanesian island cultures. 

And, from what I could see, our myriad Island Groups surrendered their best because every artifact was first-rate and beautifully wrought. And it's right too that we'd see this as our very own Culture-Keeping Place since New Zealand, as the largest and richest of all the Pacific Islands, should take the responsibility for showcasing everything Oceanic because the rest of us are too poor to do ourselves justice!

Kudos, Auckland Museum, at least for this part! 

As for the rest?  Mmmm?  No, wait a sec.  I loved their wing of 19th century scientific stuff; all those cases of mummified, taxidermy-ified now-extinct species and I particularly loved all those giant moas. They were very impressive.

But that was all 30 years ago, so it will be interesting to see how much the place has changed.  I think I've given them enough time to work through their problems and I'm hoping to see something great and grand and relevant and RIGHT!

So Auckland Museum is definitely on the agenda.

I'll let you know!

Go Robert! Go Robert! Go Robert!

Wonderful news!  Have you heard?  My old Bestie, Robert Oliver, has just won a major award.

 Robert!

Here's the press release:




Me'a Kai wins Best New Zealand Cookbook in the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards
Random House is extremely excited to have Me'a Kai: The Food and Flavours of the South Pacific by Robert Oliver with Tracy Berno and Shiri Ram win the Best Cookbook of the Year in the New Zealand category and to subsequently qualify to represent our country in the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards 2010.

The awards are extremely prestigious and this year 154 countries participated in the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards, entering books in 53 categories. All countries, authors and publishers, big and small, have the same equal opportunity, so it is a big honour to be included in the list. The overall winner will be announced at a lavish award ceremony on March 3, 2011, on the first day of the Paris Cookbook Fair at the Theatre Le 104, within Le 104, the new Artistic Center of the City of Paris.

Me'a Kai: The Food and Flavours of the South Pacific is a beautiful book which celebrates six South Pacific nations, their culture, cooking and traditions. The book brings together the 'farm to the table' concept and lets the reader get excited by the easy and delicious local foods which exist off the typical tourist route. Robert and Tracy decided to put together a gorgeous recipe book that would say to Pacific chefs: “This is who you are! Your food is as great as any.” They approached Fiji’s best photographer, Shiri, whose response was “If it’s good for the Pacific, count me in!” And so began the journey that has led to the creation of the stunning Me’a Kai.

Their goal is to improve the quality of food offered to the South Pacific region’s tourism market and to contribute towards rural prosperity in the Pacific by creating an increased demand for locally grown foods.
Underpinned by a philosophy of sustainable tourism, sustainable agriculture and sustainable cuisine, Me’a Kai is much more than just a cookbook, it is a fundamental part of this process.
Random House has a strong stable of food writers on our list. This has been really recognised in the New Zealand category of the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards 2010. We commend all of our authors for achieving such success.
Our winners and categories include:

New Zealand Best Book of the Year 2010

 Me'a Kai: The Food and Flavours of the South Pacific by Robert Oliver with Tracy Berno and Shiri Ram
Best Chef Book

Martin Bosley by Martin Bosley
Best Design

It’s Easier Than You Think by Jo Seagar
Best Fundraising Cookbook

A Treasury of New Zealand Baking by Lauraine Jacobs
Best Foreign Book

Me'a Kai: The Food and Flavours of the South Pacific by Robert Oliver with Tracy Berno and Shiri RamBest Health and Nutrition

100+ Meals under $10 by Sophie Gray

For more information and a full list or winners visit the Gourmand International website, click here.

Something from an old letter!

I've discovered something jaw-dropping amazing. Were you aware that "Ow now" is Cantonese for "brown cow"?

Remember those ghastly elocution teachers, when we were children, making us say "How now, brown cow." so we'd develop those full, round English tones. Bet they didn't know where that line obviously came from.

It's actually 'ow nouh' ... but isn't that just the most astonishing thing you've heard in ages?

And "One Bowl" sounds exactly like their "congratulations"!

Do you reckon you'll remember that?

Later: And just because I can, I've stolen Joan's photo of the cow washed into her old pool during the Nadi floods: 

Click on people's faces in the photo to tag them.

Not brown, but still pretty amazing.  And, no, it isn't photoshopped!

Children to Sponsor.

Collette - she of 'Worst T-shirt in the World' fame - writes that she is helping Ulamila find education-sponsors for the Nadi orphanage in Fiji.  She says:

"I have been speaking with Ulamila, the Director of the Orphanage here in Nadi.  Treasure House has 21 children resident at the moment, three of whom are babies under the age of 9 months.  The Orphanage is run by the Assemblies of God Church. 

I expressed an interest in pursuing a sponsorship programme for the older children’s education.  As we all know Education is really cheap in Fiji and so this would not be a lot of money to outlay.  There will be uniforms and books and shoes.  She will put together a package and let me know the details. 

In the meantime if you, or anyone you know, is interested in sponsoring a child from the orphanage could you please contact Ulamila directly on treasurehousefiji@yahoo.com or mobile 9853831.

Vinaka"

Since we already know Collette, if only from this blog, we know this is honest and real and, if you are in Orphan Sponsoring Mode, you shouldn't hesitate to contact Ulamila at Treasure House.

Another Random Photo!

Nothing in particular to write about today, so I'll go for another random photo.  Usual rules: eyes shut, click, and if it's interesting I'll tell you about it and if it isn't, I go off to do something else.

Ah yes, I remember these.  They are the rag dolls the orphans make for sale in Lao's royal city of Luang Prabang.  Love those colours! And, despite the simplicity, those dolls are remarkably sophisticated, aren't they.

Man, the entire Indo-Chine region has an exciting take on colour; so daring and yet they so often get it really right.

I took this photo while deciding whether I should buy them or not as a Christmas present. Our dear friend Marg collects gollywogs - yeah, I think it's politically incorrect too, but she's so clever and so into post-modernism and can do all that discursive analysis stuff with such ease and skill, that if you pointed out her "incorrect" she'd just have fun wrapping you up in words and ideas until you'd realise that collecting gollywogs is undoubtedly a triumphant act of "politically correct" and you're a total idiot for not already knowing that! - and I didn't know if she'd like them or if she'd go-snitty because I hadn't chosen within the precisely right paradigm or something.

In the end, I decided it was all too fraught and went off for a massage instead.

The Lesbian Vampire Killers.

Talking yesterday, on a rooftop at Lamma, about Brisbane's 1989 Lesbian Vampire Killers and was shocked that, while such a huge international outrage back in their day - there was even a reference to them in that ultimately unsatisfying novel - and very unsatisfying film - The Shipping News. - they are so completely forgotten today.

Keith thinks forgetting they ever existed is great but that's because he always thinks murderers should always be forgotten forever.  Also, he has this big thing about never saying the name of anyone who murders, especially if it's a political assassination or a particularly brutal killing, because he thinks it gives the murder/s a power they don't deserve; that only people who create should have their names spoken aloud and never those who destroy.

Nonetheless, and with the greatest respect for his views, I must tell you I found this Vampire Killers story extremely compelling at the time, followed it avidly, and still recall all of it today.

There were several reasons I found it so memorable, the main one being that it happened on the very day the population of the world reached statistical stasis; the day chosen to represent that the number of people now living was equal to the number who had ever died.

The papers had been full of this for weeks and it had me pondering the idea of Reincarnation and what would happen once there were more bodies than souls to go around and if they'd now be folks born without souls and wondering if and how they'd be different from everyone else.

So back in '89, out of these musings, I was writing a Goth novel based on the idea: a dark and gory tale about a bunch of soulless lesbian vampires who go around killing folk in order to steal their souls ... only to keep discovering that their victims don't have one. "Such a useless waste of our time and trouble!" they'd all say after a particularly nasty and wolfish 'take-down'.

But then, while I was still pondering on how my vampires would decide on who to kill while ensured beforehand that this particular victim indeed had a soul, AND on the very day designated as Population Stasis, my fictional Lesbian Vampire Killers appeared in the flesh and killed a man on the banks of the Brisbane River ... so naturally it completely freaked me out and the novel was tossed aside with great vehemence and, out of deep feelings of guilt, never finished!

This happens to writers all the time, you realise.  Our fictional imaginings constantly manifest out in the world and we are left with horrible, guilty "Did I make this happen?" feelings. My mum was writing a novel that included race riots in Little Rock, Arkansas when those riots actually started happening for real.  Naturally, it rocked her world and she immediately stopped writing anything fictional. And Keith was writing a film script - a comedy - about a fellow who thinks he's John Lennon and is so outraged that the real John Lennon still exists, sets off to kill him ... and then, right when Keith's half-way through writing that hunt-down and stalk part, that disgusting fellow (who must not be named out of respect for Keith's views) killed John Lennon for real and, needless to say, it left Keith reeling!  Yet another half-finished text tossed aside with great vehemence.

And isn't there a book written about Herge and how he was constantly being investigated as a spy because he was always so spot on about everything BEFORE things happened? Like, it was noticed by the power-that-be how frequently Herge's drawings would suddenly appear as real-life photos on the front page of newspapers.  And how he was forever creating Tintin adventures that actually, later, happened to someone for real. And, in yet another example, didn't Tintin encounter a problem in his "Destination Moon" comic that, when stumbled across by accident by some NASA scientist, had him calling an immediate meeting because he suddenly realised that it was a genuine problem they hadn't taken into account - hadn't even realised would be a problem - and which NASA eventually solved the exact way Tintin did? 

And Jules Verne? Wasn't he another writer who constantly did this type of prescient thing?  And isn't there a novel of his that he refused to have published that is said to pretty well accurately map-out the main events of the 20th century?

Anyway, over the years, I've met so many writers who have had these strange prescient-writing experiences, I'm surprised there aren't a great many novels written about it.  

Oh, and here's another particularly strange thing:  over the years I have actually met other writers - and, in some cases, avidly read their pieces - who, back in 1989, also read about Soul Stasis Day and who also responded by writing stories about soul-stealing vampires and who were also shocked reading about the Brisbane Lesbian Vampire Killers and who also were rocked by horrible "Did I make this happen?" feelings.

Seems I was only one of many.

But how is it possible for writers to forever write about things before they occur?

Back when I was a child and the Little Rock race riots thing happened to mum, and later when John Lennon thing happened to Keith, we talked about this: Do writers actually make things happen?

Mum's thoughts on the subject were that there was something in the Hindu philosophy of The Eternal Now, wherein Time is an illusion and everything is always happening somewhere, sometime within The Now, and that there are sensitive souls who can pick up on happenings in a different and only-perceived-as-future Now and sometimes they incorporate this into their fiction.  For me, this is as good an explanation as any so I argue this one ...

... whereas Keith's position is that when you create something in your imagination and put it down in black-and-white, it feeds into the Collective Unconscious and becomes a possibility.  I don't like his explanation because it means the writer is indeed guilty and I can't feel comfortable about that.

Of course, it could be completely chance.  On the same principle as "a hundred monkeys typing for one hundred years.", maybe with so many writers writing, some of them will, totally by chance, hit on something which actually comes to pass.

BUT ... I once met a German guy who'd just, a day earlier, written a scene about something that happens in the Paris Metro and he had just come from there and seen that exact scene for real. And, when I met him, he was definitely freaking out about it.  And there was also the time my friend Sylvia was writing a story set in the Greek Islands where she was trying to exactly describe the sound of a tempest on a Greek tiled roof and was making it all up, and then, a year later, while in the Greek Islands herself, was hit by a tempest and heard how it hit the roof and was frightened at how accurate she'd got it and so was having odd thoughts about time-bends.

However, to get back to that events on the banks of Brisbane River, on Soul Stasis Day, maybe that's the explanation. Perhaps those Lesbian Vampire Killers were simply responding to the exact thing all we writers were.  Maybe scientists and statisticians choosing a Soul Stasis Day meant that particularly weak-minded non-writers felt what we felt and decided to act it out for real.

Who knows!  Of course, thinking all this does make it worrying that so many folk born after 1989 are so into vampires and soul-stealing ... maybe there is something in this Reincarnation idea after all.

Now THAT'S a really big Who Knows! and I have to say I really don't have any answers!

Another Random Photo!

Off to Lama for the afternoon, so I'll do a random photo and hope, fingers crossed, that it isn't interesting and therefore I won't have to talk about it:

Ah, sweet, another Melbourne photo; this one from the Open City Day.  And you can see for yourself it's a window from a cathedral, although I can't recall which one.

Another Jacinta's Burning!

Someone mentioned how funny they found my post "Jacinta's Burning" and my mind completely blanked and I said "I'm sure I've never written anything about Jacinta's fire stories!"  However, I've just realised I was thinking of an entirely different Jacinta and an entirely different set of fires, and that the Jacinta R. fire story was even better than the Jacinta G. story.

What happened there was, many years ago, in the late 80s, Jacinta R. was one of my students; a truly nice kid who was exceptionally creative, clever and, in the three years I taught her, did some exceptionally exciting work for me ... but ...

... one day in class she said she hadn't got her latest assignment finished because her neighbour's house burned down the evening before, and it was such a good excuse I willingly gave her a weekend's extension.

But then, only weeks later, the very next assignment, she said she hadn't got it finished because her neighbour's house had burned down. It was very far-fetched so I said "You do realise you've already used that excuse." but she swore blind that this was a different neighbour and a different house.

OK, strange things do happen so I accepted it and, reluctantly, gave her another weekend's extension.

But again, only several weeks later, she said she hadn't got her assignment finished because her neighbour's house had burned down, and this time I lost it. "I am not stupid!" I shouted at her "And I'm deeply insulted you think I am.  No!  This is not good enough.  You are on detention lunchtime today and this afternoon, and you're staying on detention until this assignment is complete."

So that's what happened and when it was finally handed in, I snarled at her. "And don't you EVER try to use this excuse with me again!"

But ... again, again several weeks later, she brought along a note from her mother saying "Jacinta hasn't got her assignment finished because our neighbour's house burned down."

Usually, these sorts of notes are written in a kiddie hand and this one wasn't, but nonetheless "You wrote this!"  I said, almost not angry because it appeared to becoming a running gag.

"Ring my mother and ask her." Jacinta snarled, very sullen and cross.

I did indeed ring her mother, a lovely lady who greatly impressed me as an artist, but she too was sullen and angry.  "Jacinta told me to expect your call." she grumbled.  "My daughter is very honest and would never lie.  When she says our neighbour's house burned down, that's exactly what happened!" and she slammed the phone down.

All too weird for words, right?  And I definitely didn't believe a word of it, but because I respected her mother and didn't want to call her a liar, I granted another extension.

Next due assignment, she didn't even bother to come to school and, on Monday, when she again mentioned the most recent neighbourhood's burned-out house and said she stayed away to avoid the screaming, I marked her excellent assignment down to barely a pass.

But shortly after I was at a party at the famous House on The Hill and looked down from the patio onto the houses way down below ... and spotted a set of burned out houses in the shape of a cross with a single unfired house in the center.  "Who lives in that house down there?"  I asked.

Yup, it was indeed the family home of Jacinta R.

OK, so she hadn't lied afterall, but my first thought was that we should really take David Maulof's beautiful novel "Johnno" off our high school's reading list because the heroic central character Johnno, with his sophisticated, philosophical and almost-sacred burning down of different buildings, was clearly too much for an impressionable teenage mind to handle.

And, rather worried if this book was indeed responsible for ... umm, Jacinta's continual need for extensions, I approached our friend Gary-the-Firechief for a secret, off-the-record clarifying account of what actually happened with these fires.

I had nothing to worry about.  David Malouf was blameless.  Seems this was an artistic little enclave where everyone was forever doing interesting things, and there was a recent new product on the market they'd all taken to heart:  White Knight's Easy Paint Removal.  This amazing product is a liquid you just rub onto any surface and you can, within minutes, paint over the top and it stays forever, no flaking, chipping, peeling, anything, bonded into whatever is underneath for all time  Try it and you instantly swear by it ...

... BUT ...
 
... it tells you on the jar that it's highly inflammable and this is one occasion when you really DO have to read the instructions.  And take them deeply to heart too. When they say "Don't let any two surfaces of the rag you've used touch each other." they mean it completely.  And when they say "Don't place your used rag next to paint or any other flammable liquid"  this is something you should treat with religious fervour.  And where they say "Don't bundle the rag up after use" and "Drop it into water before leaving it overnight."  and "Dispose of used rags in a sealed container."  they mean it with a vengence.

So it seems this is something Jacinta's neighbourhood needed to learn the hard way, and over and over again because they clearly had a cretinously-slow learning curve.

But it also seems other folks don't learn from experience either.  Baby Jane has recently discovered White Knight's Easy Paint Removal and now swears by it and watching her use it was a nightmare; all that bundling up of used rags and casual tossing down next to open tins of paint.  "Stop doing that!" I'd yell at her.  "Highly inflammable MEANS highly inflammable!"

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen!"  I was told repeatedly.

So, without a choice, I hid the can!

I mean, taking out five houses in three months, this is SERIOUSLY a dangerous product ...

... so I seriously cringe at the memory of how I first doubted and then blamed David Malouf and that gorgeous Jacinta R. for what went down!

Strange things really do happen, don't they!  And, yes, sometimes dogs really do eat your homework!

Another Random Photo!

It's a bit like cheating, choosing random photographs for the day's post, but I'm enjoying it so let's do it again.  Usual rules: eyes shut, choose photo, and talk about it only if it's interesting. 

Ah, the Community Garden in St Kilda, in Melbourne. Loved that place.

When we were on holiday in Melbourne earlier this year, Keith wanted to visit St Kilda since it was one of the places on his radar for where he'd like to retire. I went along because ... well, as a spoiler really, because Melbourne is cold and I DON'T LIKE COLD!!! so I wanted to find a great many reasons for why this particular plan shouldn't even be on our agenda.

But I couldn't be completely horrible because St Kilda is really quite lovely, and I loved how many bookshops the area had, all with comfy reading chairs and the dozens of people sitting around reading poetry, and the individual-owned shops were rather special and the beach was nice-ish,  and the cafes were very chic, but it wasn't until I saw this Veg Out Community Garden that I thought I too could live there.

I think it was all the mosaics that sold me because I loved the way folks had mosaic-ed all over these old storm water drains and planted inside them.

My mum used to plant in upright old storm-water pipes at our beach-house because the soil was too saline for most plants, but she never did mosaics on them. Molly, however, did. At her river-side house, she also has a problem with saline soil so followed mum's lead, but thought they didn't look right so did amazing mosaics on them, and I've always loved how special that section of her garden looks.
 
And here at St Kilda Community Garden, the idea has really taken off and it was so nice seeing such lovely examples of the genre.

I meant to do a post on them so took lots of photos, but then, as you know, I lost all my photos and have only just found them again, so maybe I should think of doing this post afterall.

Only not today.

Another Random Photo!

OK, just because I can, let's do another random photo today.  Usual rules: eyes shut, choose photo, if it's interesting I talk about it, if it isn't I don't!

 

Ah, the Caroline mermaid.  

Isn't she beautiful.

This mermaid is the spitting image of our friend Caroline and I took this photo so I could sent it to her, but never got around to it.  

I'll do that now. But ... do you think I'll be able to find it again?

Random Photo!

I have no idea what Keith has done, but this blog now appears to link with Aperture and not i-photo.

However, annoyed as I am, because I can't post recent shots, I will celebrate again having access to my 28,000 photos by shutting my eyes and choosing one at random. As usual,  if it's interesting I'll tell you about it, and if I isn't I'll go for a walk around Wan Chai instead.

 

Ah, that's funny!  Julie from Korea taking yet another of her very weird photos.  

Julie was the nice lady who, about three years ago, when we were holidaying in Far North Queensland, offered to come down to Townsville with me to help me oil my decks (and no, that's not a euphemism for anything smutty). She was backpacking alone around Australia and was out of money but didn't want to hitchhike alone, so we hitched lifts down The Great Green Way from Cairns together, despite not being able to talk to each other.

However, for the entire journey, I could never understand why she'd always photograph the strangest things and her English wasn't good enough to ask so I mostly had to remain in a state of perpetual be-flummox-ment.

Although there was one occasion when I thought I saw her shoot something so off-the-wall I simply had to know, so willingly went through the struggle to communicate ... and it turned out that I'd seen it wrong because she actually had the camera turned around the other way and was really snapping herself against the backdrop of Hinchinbrook Island.  I felt very silly!

However, that isn't what's happening here, is it!  She really is photographing her coffee, isn't she!

Oh, wait!  Maybe I do know what that's about!  Something really awful had just happened. We were dropped off at a town called Rollingstone, at a roadside cafe, and went in to order and the owner refused to serve Julie.  Took one look and went all rigid and hard-faced and said he didn't wait on Asians.  I was totally and completely taken aback and I wish I could tell you I did or said something very clever but I can't!  I didn't know how much Julie understood so I just stalked out with Julie lagging behind looking confused.  Then I made her wait at the tables outside the cafe while I walked over to the petrol station and got us something there instead!

So maybe that's why she's taking this photo. She understood a lot more than I realised and wanted something for her records!  Perhaps that's it ... or else she's a great and misunderstood artiste who will one day be recognised for her quirky Warhol-ish art!

And I wish I could recall the name of the cafe ... but if you too are outraged and want to boycott the place or something, I'm sure you can recognise it from the background of this shot.

Again with the Hi-jacking!

My blog appears to again have been hi-jacked and by someone who appears to be doing it for nuisance value, because it simply won't do what it's told.  It won't give links and it's doing strange things with colours, size and fonts. Look, whoever you are, sweetheart, it's not getting to me because I really don't give a toss!

Later:  How cool am I?  I solved my computer problem all by myself.  No "Save me, Michael!" this time.

Wish I could say I did it with skill and intelligence, but I can't.  I simply went into the HTML and deleted and replaced lots of code until I hit on something which appeared to work!

So I'm feeling very chuffed with myself although I know I will never recall what I did and definitely won't be able to do it again!

Still, go me, go me, go me!

GO PAT! GO PAT! GO PAT!

So overjoyed, I'm happy-dancing all over the house! Just read that old friend Imrana Jalal has been nominated for Amnesty International's 2010 Human Rights Defenders Award.

Yayyy! Go Pat! Go Pat! Go Pat!

Oooh, look, Imrana has a profile page in Wikipedia. How cool is that! Obviously, it's going to have to be updated in the very near future. Go Pat! Go Pat! Go Pat!

But what this page doesn't tell you is that Imrana is a true darling and a true beauty, so very like Indo-Fijian pop star Tanita Tikaram in appearance, I wonder if they're related.

And that page definitely doesn't tell you that, oh boy, she is so naughty! And so achingly funny too with an abundance of that wonderful Wodehouse insouciance and a gift for perfectly phrased inappropriate one-liners delivered at exactly the wrong time!

We were at St Joseph's together, many moons ago, and, in among hordes of goodie-two-shoes, to-the-bone-convent-girls, destined to become excellent secretaries and personal assistants, she always stood out because she was always the naughtiest wee thing. I too was a naughty wee thing but I admired the way she went about it, always with courage to burn, a wicked sense of humour, a stubborn refusal to conform or surrender, and always having fun with it. That was her truest gift; the ability to have fun anytime, anyplace, under any pressure, no matter who the people or what the circumstances!

Fiji backstories are never the most accurate because details change in the telling, but I have always believed Imrana's grandfather to have been one of the lawyers sent out from India by Mahatma Gandhi to act against the British Colonial Government in Fiji on behalf of The Girmit. This may or may not be true, but probably IS because it explains a lot; mostly that Imrana comes from a family with a long-standing tradition of resistance to and defiance of authority in defense of the greater good so her future was in her genes and being a Human Rights Advocate was long cast for her.

But we're talking here about Imrana, and even if she were born into a family of anti-authoritarian resisters, she was in a league of her own, mainly because she never resisted in the usual conventional, "worthy", stand-up-and-be-counted way. She resisted in ways that were always naughty and definitely always FUN! Oh boy, the stories I could tell you ... but won't because I don't want to jeopardize her chances of getting this award ...

... but I will tell you that none of them are bad and all are along the lines of her being a very naughty wee thing, and all definitely demonstrate her astonishing ability to become enormously silly at the exact wrong moment and to say exactly the most-wrong thing at exactly the wrong time ... but which seemed to always turn out to be right thing at the right time because everything she did was sooo wrong, folks would immediately talk about it, first in shocked whispers and then with enormous belly-laughs, until - pow! kazam! - before you knew it, it was all Instant Legend, and she'd ultimately win the day.

So this was the Imrana I'd always known. But then, about 10 years ago, in Townsville, Lucy was telling me about how she'd been dragged along to the university to hear a speaker from Fiji, and had come away burning and inspired by a lecture from "An Angel", determined now to become a Human Rights Advocate and spend the rest of her life fighting for justice for all. She went on and on about what this "Angel" had said, and it sounded indeed inspirational, but then Lucy mentioned the speaker's name ...

"PATRICIA???? You're talking about PATRICIA!!! Oh my God!!! She's not an angel; she's a very naughty girl!"

"Her name is IMRANA!!! DON'T call her Patricia! And don't you DARE call Imrana a very naughty girl! Imrana is a SAINT! She's an ANGEL OF GOD doing god's work on earth!"

Mmmm, I could indeed see Imrana I'd known having a great big bellylaugh over that one. However, it did make me wonder if, over the years, she'd changed into a good, solidly-worthy citizen and it did make me rather sad!

However, the very good news is that I caught up with her last time I was in Fiji and was thrilled to see she's still exactly what she'd always been: all Wodehouse insouciance, inappropriate one-liners, hilariously funny and a mind still as naughty as it had ever been.

And to be all this and yet still be an "ANGEL OF GOD doing god's work on earth"? How can you NOT love and adore her!

Ah, Imrana! The Incredible Power of Naughty! Of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun!" The power of insouciance and fabulous one-liners! Of Getting-It-Right by Getting-It-Very-Very-Wrong!  And have you any idea how potent a force this is when bundled up and aimed straight towards injustice and tyranny!

Imrana is indeed in a league of her own and I'm with Lucy here, thinking maybe this is the Tao we should all be following.  Amnesty International obviously thinks so too, and I cannot be more pleased to hear this latest news and, well, the nuns constantly projected "doom and gloom" futures for us both, I'm so very, very pleased to see that, in Imrana's case, they're the ones who got it so very very wrong.

Go Pat! Go Pat! Go Pat!

Lovely Neighbour, RIP!

Just heard that our beautiful neighbour died two months ago and that no one thought to tell us.

 

 The sweetest Tai-Chi-er in Wan Chai!

When we moved into our apartment here nearly 8 years ago, all the other Kaifong (neighbours) took one look at us, twisted up their faces and said, in Cantonese, the equivalent of "There goes the neighbourhood!".  However, their immediate dislike wasn't only for racist reasons. Rather, it was because these mostly elderly, retired working people knew we were paying much higher rent than they were and they could see their own landlords rubbing gleeful hands and promptly tossing them out in order to renovate and refurbish in order to bring in other higher-rent-paying Foreign Devil types ... which wasn't entirely wrong-headed because a lot of that indeed went on.

Since we started living here, our neighbourhood has become most chic and cosmopolitan and there is a lot of renovation going on, especially since the apartment above us just sold for $5 million - which had half our Kaifong cheering loudly and the other half weeping bitter tears.  Seems there was a buy-option in this building back in the early 60s and only 50% took up the offer!  And the 50% who didn't make the right choice back then chose to blame us for everything.

But this charming lady wasn't one of them.  She was nothing but nice, nice, nice to us from the start and fought all our wars for us.  We wouldn't have even known about them if we hadn't, back then, had Albert, our very chatty and charming English-speaking doorman.

Now, of course, everyone in the building always smiles and nods at us which is always the best one can hope for when you have no language in common, and we owe it all to Our Own Darling Champion!

Fighting for us could, of course, be because she owned her own apartment so wasn't afraid of eviction like 50% of the others but it could also be because she was a charming darling with a beautiful heart and a strong sense of justice and right.

I believe it was the latter.

Over the years we became good friends. We didn't have a single word of language in common, sure, but we always exchanged courtesies on our various holidays.  I gave her Easter Eggs and she gave us Mooncakes; that sort of thing. And we always held the lift for each other and we always smiled and nodded to each other when throwing out the rubbish, and when our truly ugly Thai ladyboys moved in down the hall, and all the other kaifong refused to even step into the lift with them, the two of us joined forces - there's a particular sort of conspiratorial look that transcends language, did you know? - to demonstrate to the building that no one was going to catch kooties from them and so to play nice!

Oh, and there was the time a young Italian man got into the lift with us who was, sincerely, the best-looking man I have ever seen in my life. And that includes Pierce Brosnan. Both of us, with eyes widening, promptly inhaled and we both held our breaths for the entire ride, and when he got out on the floor where the Italian family had just moved in, both of us stuck our heads out of the lift door to watch him walk away, and then, weak-kneed, mimed fanning ourselves as we finally exhaled. It was hilarious how we both, without consulting, behaved in an identical way, so we both fell about laughing over how like silly-teenage-girls we'd behaved when, really, we were both old enough to have known better.

When we moved in, she was one of the very vigorous elderly Tai-Chi ladies you see every morning down in Southorn Park, practising their Fan Dancing, Sword Dancing or going through their Tai-Chi routines.  But ... over the years we watched her grow frail and fragile and now this.  Our good friend is no more.

It was a beautiful friendship and I'm very sad we've lost her.  And I'm sad the world has lost a truly Great Soul.  And mostly I'm very sad that no one told us before this because both Keith and I would have liked to have shown our deep respect and love for her by attending her funeral.

Lovely Kaifong, RIP!

A Fiji Iguana!

The Blue House!

Sometimes I don't get Hong Kong.  The Blue House is one of those times.

 The Blue House

A recent list of Hong Kong's Greatest Cultural Icons went like this:

#1  Star Ferry, 

#2  The Peak Tram, 

# 3  The Blue House, 

#4  Bruce Lee.

I thought this list had to be yanking our collective chains because there is no way on earth The Blue House is a greater Cultural Icon than Bruce Lee.

I think we're all being played for fools.  I think what really happened is that the late great Wedding Card Street ...

Wedding Card Street today.  

Literally.

Snapped it just this minute.

... applied for "Tangible Cultural Heritage Living Museum" status back in 2000 and was punished by being torn down. (Told you that story HERE.) However, it must have eventually got the ever-unimaginative and cretin-slow Hong Kong Heritage Council thinking "Mmmm, a living museum.  That's an interesting concept." and thus, too late to save Wedding Card Street, they must have looked around Wan Chai for some other set of buildings to be turned into A Tangible Cultural Heritage Living Museum.

I guess the colour caught their eye ...

From Queens Road East,

spot The Blue House.

 ... and so now, with all those surrounding buildings being torn down (although they think they may also keep the orange and yellow ones) and replaced with The Cube Project's all-glass luxury apartment high-rise, The Blue House is to be kept, given heritage status, and, by 2013 will be operating as A Tangible Cultural Heritage Living Museum, right in the middle.

Say what?

I mean, Wedding Card Street was a living museum.  It was a street of old shops that had dozens of centuries-old-and-still-operating printing presses out the back and a traditional and long-standing community who knew how to operate them. AND they turned out the most exquisite small-order printed works like cards and invitations. AND people from all over the world came to have their wedding invitations printed in Hong Kong, right there in the shops in Wedding Card Street, because of the standard of workmanship and special care given.

I mean, even the Tongan Royal Family would regularly rock up to have work done, thinking that these chappies did the best hand-printing they'd ever seen, PLUS it was fun dealing with the community.

The Blue House, on the other hand, once used to have a Chinese Herbalist and Bone-setter ...

 A cleaning lady finds these Foreign Devils mighty funny!

... and 500 other inhabitants who lived atop each other, cheek-to-jowl, in tiny apartments without bathrooms or running water.

As for the rest, built in 1920 it was "one of the first tenement buildings in HK to be built with reinforced concrete" and ... no, that's it!  The one claim to fame.

And it seems it didn't even want to be The Blue House.  Back in the 1990s, the Water Supplies Department had some vivid blue paint no one wanted to use and thus was going to waste and so, with this particular this tong lau (building) under a council maintenance order, used it here, outraging the kaifong (the local community) because they saw the colour as representing "bad luck, death and funerals" and thus shocking Feng Shui for the entire neighbourhood.

And if you look closely at the building, you can see the section farthest away remains unpainted because the locals got so very vocal it was stopped.

Anyway, they've now moved everyone out and will shortly be moving in a brand-new kaifong consisting of people with tangible cultural old-skills and who are willing to work as a traditional kaifong in order to show the world what a traditional kaifong actually is.

Seriously, they MUST be yanking our collective chains!

Nonetheless, I am more than willing to be won over and so, next week, will be going on a walking tour of the area, to listen to everything the Heritage Living Museum proponents have to say on the subject and hope I will walk away, inspired and thinking "Hot dang!  That indeed is a worthy #3 for Hong Kong's Greatest Cultural Icons!"

And if you too want to come on this tour, the booking number is 2835-4376.

Phil's Script!

Keith says the Phil story I included in a post below didn't really belong in that story and told me to take it out.  BUT as a scriptwriter myself who is constantly having her scripts changed and pulled apart by people who claim they know about film, but who never seem to know that the structural parts of any script is not up to change without killing the story, I feel it's important that this story is told so I'm putting it here instead:


"Side-tracking a lot, I have a scriptwriter friend, Phil, whose film was underway when a newly-on-board producer made him remove the scenes where the kiddies break into a medical laboratory to liberate the animals. And the reason why he wanted it taken out was because he himself owned shares in several medical laboratories and didn't want to encourage that sort of behaviour.

Normally, scripts are very flexible and things are always being changed and most of the time it doesn't  matter what stays and what goes EXCEPT that break-in was STRUCTURAL. It was the actual motivating event that set up EVERYTHING that came afterwards!

Phil tried to explain but writers are treated so desperately badly in the film industry and never taken seriously, so after a lot of yelling, Phil, with the greatest reluctance, did what he was told and the film ended up with all these sinister men in black cars chasing after a bunch of kids for no reason whatsoever, and the kids were hanging around with a bunch of strange mutated animals with no explanation for them whatsoever!

Needless to say, it went against all logic and reason so bombed horribly, went straight to video and has now sunk without a trace.

Poor Phil!  For him there was no pleasure in saying "Told you so!" because that was actually a wonderful script, so clever and so funny, before the industry got hold of it."

The Last Decent Man in The World?

Ever since that little girl asked me "Why did all the world become evil at the same time?" and I was stumped for a reply, I've been casually toying with memories of The Honour Code, Virtue and The Honest and wondering whatever has become of it! 

I grew up in The British Colonial Service where, despite what everyone thinks today, a spotless reputation and a Good Name, being seen as "A Person of Honour and Virtue", were the highest prize and The Honour Code and being Pukka and Doing Right were held up not just as ideals but TO BE LIVED AT ALL TIMES, and all our maxims "Behave the same in your private life as you do in your public life" and "Act without Fear or Favour", "Deliberate without Fear or Favour", "Judge without Fear or Favour" and "The man who makes the rules must be the first to keep the rules." and "Make sure your compass always points to True North." were the very foundations of how we lived our daily lives.

Today? Whoosh!  All gone!  And not just gone but the very memory of who we once were is now being trampolined on by the hob-nail boots of hideous little people who just don't get it and hate us because we once did!

This Cowardly New World we all now live in, where we're all being dictated to by commercial enterprises, judged by what we possess and whatever we own isn't good enough after only a few weeks, and it's all so squishy and vile and "fashionable".  And even what we think is like in that David Bowie song "Fashion. Turn to the Left. Fashion. Turn to the Right." and we never ever even allowed to believe that there's some IDEAL right there At Bedrock Level that is Good and Decent and Honourable and True and For-All-Time Worth The Effort!  And even mentioning the idea that there has to be something worth believing in is, these days, liable to have you scoffed and sneered at by Clever-clever "Fashion. Turn to the Left. Fashion. Turn to the Right." types!

And now it's all come down to a little girl asking "Why did all the world become evil at the same time?" and I don't know what to reply.

And don't talk to me about god!  Yesterday, Jason sent me some little news story about the Atheists and Christians going head-to-head over some issue and all I could see was two sides each as ugly and as dogmatic as the other and it made me shudder. 

Once, several decades ago, when I was in a similar state of despair, I went all Diogenes and tried to hunt out An Honest Man. I selected those I thought would make the cut and went on a deep search into their lives. And I hate to tell you this but with every biography I read, the Possible Suspects went down, one after another:  Ghandi?  Are you kidding?  Albert Einstein?  What a PIG!!!  Nelson Mandala?  Hate to say this but NO!!! 

In the end, I did find An Honest Man, and in a place I didn't suspect:  Captain James Cook.  Dig all you want!  Scratch down to the bone!  Look anyplace you like, you will never find Captain Cook ever acting with less than the greatest honour.  The worst I ever heard was a snippet in some ridiculous American biography that said Captain Cook considered animal buggery a perfectly reasonable topic of conversation perhaps because, as a farm boy, he was into sex with animals himself.

I was so completely taken aback I immediately hunted up the reference cited.  It was from his log where he says he met a group of South African farmers and had a very pleasant conversation with them about the various ways Africans husbanded animals!  Since we sane people know the word "husband" here refers to "take care of", it was just such a stupid mistake I laughed uproariously!

But that was in the past.  Is there An Honest Man alive today?

Susan is talking about this fellow, American Senator Bernie Sanders from Montana, and the speech he recently made in Washington.  I've checked it out and I have to say I am so impressed.



Is it possible that there is finally a decent person in the American Senate?

However, being Diogenes here, and thus A Cynic, is he The Honest Man I'm after?