Planet Pride

I’ve noticed a lot of news lately centred around patriotism, nationalism and cultural identity. Usually these are tragic stories involving rebel groups in war torn international countries with political situations we could never hope to comprehend or wish to experience. This week, however, the UK amused me by creating a few of their own.

First we had UKIP’s latest campaign urging us to stop other Europeans crossing our borders and taking our jobs, which resulted in party leader Nigel Farage feebly fending off some awkward questions about his German wife, who he employs as his secretary. Then there was the announcement that Cornish people are now officially recognised as a national minority group, entitling them to the same special protections given to Scots, Welsh and Irish Celtic communities under European law. In the midst of all this came Saint George’s Day, when thousands of people (bear in mind we have a population of 60million) celebrate and display their national pride.

I’m not offended by any of the flag waving and singing (although if we’re going to have a national anthem, shouldn’t it be about the country?!) I just don’t get it. I’m not really sure what they’re proud of. I’m not even sure that they’re sure. And where does all that pride and affection go when there aren’t patron saint days, England football matches, or televised royal events? It seems to me that the favourite pastime of the English for the other 350 or so days of the year is moaning about the state of the country’s infrastructure, politics, economy, industry and society, its unpredictable weather, long working hours and how generally terrible it is to live here.

We’re not fighting for independence, or freedom, or recognition like the other nations that make the news for flying their flags. We’re not achieving much at all at the moment. It’s been a long time since the empire fell, and I question if a history of violently colonising 25% of a whole planet, only to leave many nations in social, political and financial ruin is really something to be celebrated in an enlightened and developing modern world.

I’m also confused by the way it’s celebrated. Surely the point of honouring your national identity is to preserve its culture and traditions, however weird and wonderful they may be, but there don’t seem to be many people spending April 23^rd enjoying high tea or garden parties, morris dancing and rolling cheese down a hill. It appears to be a celebration of a much more modern part of English culture - binge drinking imported beer, wine and spirits and getting rowdy in the streets.

The part of it I understand least doesn’t only apply to the English, but to humanity as a species, and that’s the intrinsic need to label and categorise themselves. I can see how a sense of belonging, heritage and roots might be comforting to some, but it seems crazy to me that millions of people with absolutely nothing else in common band together to celebrate social conditioning and boast about the totally random circumstances of where they were born.

Patriotism has also become dangerous territory in recent years. Nationalism always treads a fine line between pride and superiority, in whichever country it originates. In England, while the socially acceptable union flag can be found emblazoned on every household item, fashion accessory and tourist souvenir possible, the flag of St George has been associated with far-right nationalist groups for so long that the common man is now reluctant to bear it for fear of being labelled racist. While I have no problem with national pride, I do have a huge problem with anyone arrogant or deluded enough to think that the being born on a certain patch of land somehow puts them above everyone else. I can think of no more ridiculous excuse to start a war, yet it’s one that’s been used over and over again.

My own beliefs and sense of identity fit in much better with the other annual celebration of the week, which was sadly overshadowed.  The day before the nation revered its dragon slaying saint, it was Earth Day. Yes, I am of Scots Celtic descent, I am English, I am British and I am European, but above all, I am human, and a grateful citizen of Earth. Instead of continuing to segregate ourselves into small minorities and childishly argue about who’s the best, perhaps we should look at the bigger picture of the birthplace we all share. If living on the same portion of a tiny island is enough to bond people so deeply and enthusiastically, then surely sharing the mighty planet that sustains us all should take precedence over any of the man-made divisions of its land masses and their petty disputes. Now that’s a cause worthy of celebrating and preserving, and I hereby nominate Sir David Attenborough as its patron saint.

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Facebook Fail

Social media is a weird setting, when you think about it. An electronic world where individuals behave in ways they never would in the physical world. Where people gladly share personal information with complete strangers, or those they haven’t seen since childhood and never liked anyway. Where people comment, like, post, inbox and online chat with those they used to pick up the phone to or meet face to face, allowing everyone else they know to eavesdrop. A place where it’s no longer possible for passing, short-term friends or memories to drift out (or be cut out) of your life and get lost forever, as Facebook will always somehow bring them back.

Generally, in ‘real life’, people tend to rely on different facets of their character to get by in different situations – for example, most exhibit a different persona at work than they do on holiday. Behaviour will radically change between going out partying with close friends and going to visit grandparents. Nobody talks to their boss the same way they talk to their children. Yet on Facebook, all these boundaries blur, and all the separate components and companions in people’s lives come together in one very public space.

It started out as a great idea, but the longer it lives and the more it grows, the more potential it seems to have to bring out the worst in people, and the more distractions it produces to prevent them doing constructive, meaningful things with their lives. I’m also dismayed that it’s increasingly becoming all about corporate promotions and publicity seeking pages, rather than simply connecting ordinary folk.

I remember being very reluctant to join Facebook at first. Although I was a late starter, I quickly became sucked into the strange land of social networking like everyone else. Before I knew it, I was a poking, status-updating, photo-sharing, friend-seeking, sheep-launching fiend. But I’ve found myself going off it more and more in recent times, and I’ve noticed a lot of my friends doing the same. Some have had the good sense to disappear completely. I don’t know if it’s about me getting older, social media getting older, human behaviour generally being a mysterious irritation to me, commercialism, or the constant and unnecessary format changes (does ANYBODY actually like Timeline?!) requiring constant reviews of privacy settings, but for me, the novelty has most definitely worn off.

Facebook does still have some merits. It’s great for keeping in touch with those faraway friends that I don’t often get to see or speak to, and for getting back in touch with those I genuinely miss. I enjoy seeing the odd captioned photo, beautiful landscape, inspirational quote, funny anecdote or touching status. It’s fantastic to be able to share photos and videos of places or events with friends and family. But with the evolution of the internet and its wealth of online photo albums, data storage, file sharing, email, Youtube and Skype, Facebook could now be considered redundant even in this respect.

Having said that, I still log in most days, nose my way through the recent news feed, post silly things and communicate with people that I see regularly anyway. It’s a strangely addictive force, but it doesn’t come without its regular annoyances. Here are just a few of mine:

Airing Dirty Laundry

This can range from taking a thinly veiled dig at someone in a status update, to having an intimate, full blown argument with them in the comments stream. It also includes risqué photos and any gratuitous display of TMI (Too Much Information). Some things really should be kept to oneself. I guess we westerners can thank our celebrity culture, and role models such as Jordan and the Kardashians for the apparent loss of any sense of privacy and dignity seen on Facebook on a daily basis. I’m not a prude, but I am equally not remotely interested in reading the detailed personal, sexual, emotional or medical histories of distant acquaintances.

Negative Nonsense 

I know everyone has their bad days, and I’m not exactly Little Miss Sunshine myself a lot of the time, but sometimes Facebook serves to reassure me that I have never plummeted to anything like the depths of a pessimistic few. It seems some people are incapable of noticing or appreciating any of the goodness and beauty in life. These frequent posters will not only ignore their many blessings to persistently moan about their comparatively minor problems, but they will also ignore all of those who are genuinely worse off, while spitting unwarranted venomous hatred at anyone they consider to be more fortunate. It’s painful and often infuriating to read, but simultaneously strengthens my resolve to always retain some level of relativity, compassion and hope, even in my darkest hours.

Ego Fishing

This is a common one, which most people (including myself) have been guilty of on occasion. But again, it’s the repeat offenders who cause the biggest nuisance and concern. The most widespread example is the culprit posting carefully posed or self-taken photos (usually in a state of being very over or under dressed) which they would not share if they genuinely thought it was as ugly as they try to make out in the description (in the hope that someone will contradict them with showers of compliments). Some even shamelessly beg for likes and comments. This also applies to those many needy, leading and pleading status updates that purposely prompt readers to offer affirmations of worth and attractiveness, or tell you that you obviously hate them if you don’t copy and paste it as your own status. If that’s the kind of thing people base their friendships on, I fear the human race is in terrible trouble.

Collecting ‘Friends’ as a Hobby 

Whether it’s for getting ahead in Farmville or some equally pointless game, or purely to increase perceived popularity, there are those who add ‘friends’ they’ve only met for 5 minutes, or never met at all. They might send a virtual fence post, or make you look good, but don’t forget that these people then have access to your profile, friends list, possibly even job details, email address and phone number. I wonder why there’s such a problem with hacking and identity fraud…

Dull Details of Everyday Life

What is it about Facebook that compels some to state the obvious or drag everyone into their daily routine with an hourly running commentary? I reckon about 90% of posts are about where people are (made worse by the addition of the ‘check-in’ facility), what they’ve eaten (sometimes with pictorial evidence), how many hours they slept last night (and the reasons for it), and what the weather’s doing (even though you are often experiencing it for yourself). Then there are the regular updates on TV programmes, work schedules, traffic, today’s chosen outfit/hairstyle and other mundane trivia. Conclusive proof that small talk is always boring and awkward, even online.

Sexism/Racism/Homophobia/Religious Intolerance/Judgement In General

Of course everybody has their opinions and is fully entitled to them. I respect that, and the right to free speech. That does not, however, entitle anyone to aggressively shove them in everyone's face, criticise or deliberately offend those with differing opinions, disparage whatever someone else may subscribe to or believe in, or try to influence the thoughts and actions of others. Especially not through Facebook - it’s a social networking site, not a militant political forum. Find an appropriate outlet.

‘Raising Awareness’ of Injustices

Albert Einstein once said: "The world will not be destroyed by those who do evil, but by those who watch them without doing anything." The operative word in that sentence is 'doing'. People seem to be under the impression that sharing a MEME, video, poster or petition of something worthy on their timeline means that they’ve taken action to change it. They haven’t. The problem remains the same, no matter how many more people see the post. In fact, it’s arguably a worse scenario when a growing number of people are made aware, yet still nobody acts to improve the situation. Some people don’t seem to see that passing on the burden through infinite cyberspace doesn’t absolve them, but rather implicates them.

Targeted Advertising

Firstly, I object to greedy companies snooping through my profile as a marketing tool. Particularly when they’re using it to torment me for being ‘32 and Single’ or suggesting I might want to buy a sweatshirt emblazoned with the words ‘Crazy Cat Lady’. Also, I’m sick of every other post these days being an advert containing the words: ‘All you have to do to be in with a chance to win this prize is like and share this post,’ thus ensuring that it will continue to contaminate my news feed in the days that follow. Make it stop.

Being told what I can and can’t like

I can live with (and ignore) the awful, cringey ‘pages you might like’ section, despite the suggestions being based on the fact that less than 0.02% of my friends also like them. What I can’t stand is the inability to list the things I do like. Some of my favourite books, films, artists, musicians and inspirational people can’t be named on my profile, simply because Facebook doesn’t recognise them, and I don’t want to take admin responsibility for creating a new page. It’s an online dictatorship, I tell you.

For now, I’ll continue my stale, love/hate relationship with Facebook, but I fear it’s reaching that stage where everything it does annoys me, and we may have to part company soon. Just don’t let me sign up to Twitter…

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ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL, BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS?

The UK has been subject to raging controversy and media hype this week following the discovery of traces of horse DNA in the own-brand ‘beef’ burgers of a certain national supermarket chain. To be fair, they weren’t the only company involved in this deception of the British public, it's not an isolated incident, and the term ‘traces’ has been used very inaccurately, given that analysis showed that some of the burgers consisted of 29% horse meat.

I’ve so far resisted discussing the meat industry in my blog, partly because it’s a very serious and highly inflammatory issue, and partly because as an almost lifelong vegetarian and somebody actively involved in animal welfare, I’m aware that my opinions may be considered biased and are often not well received. But I’m taking this opportunity to open up this important debate, and as everybody else seems to be having their say, I can’t resist weighing in…

Despite the media storm, I have to say it’s the public reaction to this apparently shocking revelation that has surprised me most. From what I’ve seen and heard over the last few days, both in person and on social media pages, it seems there are two major issues stemming from this shocking revelation, but I can only truly empathise with one of them.

I agree with the legal issue of ingredient listing to some extent, in that the labelling of processed food in general clearly leaves a lot to be desired if people aren’t aware of what they’re buying or eating, and this needs to be addressed. However, this is an ongoing issue that the public and the politicians have been aware of (and largely chosen to ignore) for a long time. In the last few years alone, we’ve had Jamie Oliver and his Turkey Twizzlers campaign highlighting the routine use of nutrition-free fillers and offal in food. We’ve had outbreaks of Tuberculosis and Foot and Mouth disease in livestock for human consumption, and beef cattle turned into cannibals, leading to the lethal BSE and its zoonotic variant, Creutzfeldt–Jakob (mad cow) disease. There have been reports too numerous to mention of dead rodents and birds, worms, and a large variety of other unexpected content found in pre-packed groceries and fast food over the years. The way I see it, everybody already knew that such products, especially cheap, meat-based junk food, are not entirely consisted of the main ingredient advertised on the packet. Most likely, they will also contain an awful lot of additives that don’t have to be mentioned on the packet at all, or can be disguised with those mysterious ‘E-numbers’ and scientific names.
If people cared as much about this issue as we are currently led to believe, then surely they would have questioned and objected to the impurities in their food more vigorously and the lack of income to this industry would have long since caused its collapse. Look into the legal standards for hygiene and content in processed food – you may be shocked to learn that there are surprisingly high allowable limits for such things as human skin and hair, dead animal parts and bones, insects, urine, faecal matter, chemicals, dust and debris, etc, etc, etc. Yet people continue to turn a blind eye to such undesirable additives, and to buy and consume these products in mass quantities, so unsurprisingly, the huge market for them remains. We have only ourselves to blame for corporations now pushing the boundaries as to what else they can get away with including in such food.

But it’s the second issue that has baffled me most, and that is the disgust shown by consumers of these burgers simply at having eaten horse meat. The same burgers were found to also contain pig meat and assorted other nasties, but I haven’t heard anybody complain about these, despite also not appearing in the listed ingredients. The meat in the burgers poses no threat to human health, yet it seems from the appalled public response that despite all the things I've just mentioned, the worst possible additive in any burger is horse flesh. This I cannot comprehend at all.

I’ve been a strict vegetarian for 23 years, meaning I don’t eat meat, poultry, fish, anything containing gelatine, suet, rennet or other animal fats and derivatives. I don’t wear leather, fur or skin of any kind, nor use toiletries and cosmetics tested on animals or containing animal products. I do still eat dairy (only free range), although I know that the milk industry causes many calf deaths and I am opposed to many aspects of that too. But I’ve thought it through, and I know and accept my limits. It’s sometimes a nightmare of scrutinising labels, interrogating waiters, shop staff and manufacturers, and of sacrifice (especially when the scent of bacon reaches my nostrils), but to me it’s all worth it to be assured that my conscience is clear in adhering to my own moral compass and doing what little I can to protest against and change something I don’t agree with. I’ve never been militant or preachy about it, as my meat-eating family and friends will testify, I’ve even been accidentally served meat dishes by new acquaintances on occasion because vegetarianism is such an ingrained and normal part of my lifestyle that I’ve actually forgotten to mention it.

I’m not against eating meat per se, I recognise that it is perfectly natural to us as homo sapiens, but I also recognise that intensive farming, abattoirs and the questionable methods of the meat industry in general are wholly unnatural for humanity and all other species involved, and this is what I object to. If I was starving on a desert island, would I eat meat? Of course I would, because in that situation, my survival would depend on it and I would be required to catch, kill and prepare the animal for myself. But I live in the civilised, modern world, where it’s no longer necessary for me to take the lives of others in order to survive. Therefore, I see meat-eating as unjustifiable and my vegetarianism as part of my evolutionary process. I’m fully aware that it’s my personal choice, it may not be for everyone, and I accept that all those who are not me are free to live however they wish and I will never judge them for it.

As some of you know, I am also a trustee of a local horse and pony rescue charity, so I am obviously a horse lover, and through experience of livestock auctions, I’m only too aware that Britain has always been heavily involved in the supply and trade of horse meat for both human and animal consumption. Though it may not be a delicacy here, it is something that we as a nation have supported, traded in and financially benefitted from for many years, and there has been no previous public outcry about this. I fail to understand how it differs from the meat production process of any other animal, or why the consumption of horses has suddenly become such a problem for the meat-munching population.

As far as I’m concerned, the meat industry is the meat industry, regardless of which animal it happens to be processing at the time. I have a big problem with it, and thus I do not buy into it and have no part in it. But since this news story broke, I have heard so many people that I know are happy to contribute to and take advantage of the beef, pork, mutton and poultry businesses expressing out-and-out repugnance at the notion that they may have eaten horse meat. I find myself genuinely perplexed at the distinctions made between it being okay to breed one species of animal for meat, but not another. What makes the life of a horse superior to that of a pig, cow or sheep, or its equally edible flesh so much more disgusting? Simply that as Brits, we are not raised to view them as a traditional, meat producing animal, though they are widely bred and used as food here and in many parts of the world, as are cats, dogs, whales, deer, rabbits, guinea pigs and a variety of other species that the omnivorous peoples of our four home countries seem to irrationally object to eating. It seems that if the animal falls into the cute, cuddly, impressive, intelligent or pet categories, that only then does it become somehow morally wrong to eat them. Yet it’s still okay to eat the animals we’re more accustomed to eating, despite their many good qualities. Go figure. I wonder, with these standards, and the current craze for pet ‘micro pigs’, whether pork will suddenly become taboo? But I doubt it.

I have often been accused of double standards and hypocrisy during my vegetarian career, and it’s comforting to find that the meat-eaters are perhaps even more guilty of these charges. Vegetarians have been told for years that they can’t have it both ways, for example protesting about meat, yet wearing or using other animal produce, and that’s true – but the same thing applies in reverse. You can’t state that there’s nothing wrong in farming, processing and eating meat, then give certain species special dispensation from this. Vegetarian or not, it’s your responsibility to educate yourself about the origins and conditions of your food and to set your own boundaries, and to decide whether the industry and methods behind all meat production are acceptable to you or not. If they are, that’s fine, enjoy your steak. Just remember that if you buy it at a reduced price off a refrigerated shelf, you can’t then complain when you discover the glaringly obvious – that it’s not 100% beef - and that you're in no position to discriminate against whatever other species might have got mixed up in its production.

I hope I haven't caused any offence, but much debate on this important subject. 

(Blog title quoted from ‘Animal Farm’ by George Orwell)

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So Christmas and New Year happened, blah, blah, blah, but the two main reasons I was excited in December 2012 were the film adaptations of The Hobbit and Life of Pi. It’s not often that two of your best-loved books of all time are released as movies within a week of each other.

Although I stand by my convictions that The Hobbit should have been made before the Lord of the Rings extravaganza of the early 21^st century; and that as a relatively short book, it doesn’t really merit three lengthy films all to itself, there was no way I was going to miss its long-awaited cinematic release. Having also read some less than flattering reviews, I went to see it with fairly low expectations. I had faith in Peter Jackson and Weta to make it look good, I just worried about it being drawn out so much, and about the forced addition of Lord of the Rings characters like Galadriel, Frodo, Saruman and Legolas, who technically shouldn’t be involved.

It did take a while to get going, as the ‘unexpected adventure’ didn’t really begin until Bilbo, Gandalf and the dwarves left the Shire over 40 minutes in, but the delay wasn’t caused by unnecessary padding, just by sticking closely to the original story. I’m glad that every detail of the book was included, unlike Lord of the Rings, which even in the unfeasibly long extended editions still managed to cut out huge, significant chunks of the plot.

The segment in the Shire served as a fun introduction to its many characters, and once the journey finally began, the action didn’t let up until the end. It rightly had a more comedic, family feel to it than LOTR and the CGI effects have noticeably improved even in the ten or so years since those films. The stone giants, the bunny sled, the destruction of the dwarf kingdom, the fleeting glimpses of Smaug and of course, Gollum, were among my favourite touches, and the casting was also inspired. Ian McKellen was, as always, suitably wise and good-naturedly devious as Gandalf, and I also particularly enjoyed Richard Armitage as Thorin Oakenshield and Sylvester McCoy as Radagast, the incredibly scatty and quirky Brown wizard. Seeing Being Human’s Aiden Turner smiling and wearing medieval costume with his hair even longer than usual was also a delight for me as someone already quite taken with his charms, although I do wish they’d let him keep his natural Irish accent. And Martin Freeman was just perfect in the title role. I was especially pleased about this, as I’ve loved him since The Office, but he let me down badly with his portrayal of another of my literary heroes – Arthur Dent – in the film adaptation of The Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (I always said he’d be far more suited to the part of Ford Prefect, but did anybody listen...). Happily, he has redeemed himself recently, first with his inspired modern TV interpretation of Dr. Watson, and now as a fantastically apprehensive yet brave Bilbo Baggins.

Overall, I’m happy to say that I was very pleasantly surprised, but a bit frustrated that I must now suffer the painful 18 month wait for the middle and end of the story. It’s like 2001 all over again.

Life of Pi, on the other hand, was of huge significance to me, and I went to see it with some trepidation. Without meaning to be dramatic, the book on which this film is based quite honestly changed my life, and I absolutely love it for all its multi-layered magnificence. It’s one of few books I’ve ever read that entered my top five favourites of all time immediately after the first reading, it touched my soul like no other book has, and for many years I have enthusiastically encouraged just about everyone I know to read it. The book also interestingly divides people into two distinct types - the dreamy believers and the sceptical cynics - which all cleverly ties in with its themes of faith and hope in an increasingly harsh world. It means an awful lot to me, and I could only hope that it would mean as much to Ang Lee when he set about directing the film. It’s a book with a lot of profound things to say for itself, and I would have been extremely disappointed if the movie didn’t uphold those standards.

Thankfully, watching it only made me fall in love with Life of Pi all over again. The CGI and 3D effects were unbelievable – from the colourful depiction of life in Pondicherry, through the storm and shipwreck, to the expressions of the zoo animals, the bioluminescent Pacific ocean and the carnivorous floating island, it looked absolutely stunning. Richard Parker the tiger’s appearance and behaviour was so authentic that I had to keep reminding myself he wasn’t real.

The casting also, was spot on. Rafe Spall, Gerard Depardieu and Pi’s family did wonders with their small, supporting roles, while the four actors portraying the different stages of Pi’s life did so better than I could have possibly hoped for. Suraj Sharma (teenage Pi) and Irrfan Khan (older Pi) in particular gave astonishing performances, completely embodying the character and effortlessly moving me through fear, laughter, joy, tragedy, supreme admiration and a lot of intermittent bouts of tears, even though I already knew exactly what was coming at every turn. 

But looks and talent aside, I was mostly concerned about the heart and spirit of the book being put across correctly. I’d seen a shot in the trailer of Richard Parker’s head resting in Pi’s lap, and this mere millisecond of footage alone terrified me. The anti-anthropomorphic element of the book is one of its most important themes, and I felt extremely concerned that the lifeboat scenes may be turned into some Disney/Dr. Doolittle/Jungle Book-esque message of ‘we can all get along’, which would have completely ruined the film, and undermined the genius of the novel. Thankfully, this brief shot was justified when put into context, and Pi and Richard Parker retained their delicately balanced relationship of not-so-peaceful coexistence and healthy respect for each other without ever becoming friends. I also had a small heart attack when the older Pi mentioned that he was a ‘Catholic Hindu’, and worried that the all-important Muslim third of his multi-religious practice had been cut out, perhaps for political reasons, but much to my relief, this also later proved to be unfounded.

My only slight disappointment with the film, and it really is slight, was the toning down of the brutality between the animals, and of Pi’s reluctant descent from animal-loving vegetarian to savage hunter when his survival instinct kicks in. I totally understand why a PG rated film couldn’t be too graphic in its depiction of animals tearing each other apart, or of Pi beheading endangered sea turtles to hydrate himself with their blood, and haphazardly starting an on-board fight to the death between tiger and shark, as going by the audience in my local cinema, it really wouldn’t have been very well received or understood. But for me, it did detract a little from the animalistic side of the story, and I feel that if those characters had been human, no gore or gruesome detail would have been spared. Of course, as a peaceful vegetarian and conservationist myself, I would never condone violence or cruelty to any animal, but they are crucial and symbolic parts of this story, the animals are computer generated, and from experience of the real world and wildlife documentaries, we all know that nature can be very, very cruel, even if we don’t like to see or admit it.

Life of Pi is a beautiful, well made, intelligent, emotional and inspirational cinema experience. It’s become the first of my top five favourite books that is now also a favourite film (adaptations are usually so disappointing to me), and I think Yann Martel should be proud. If I were him, I would be swiftly enlisting Ang Lee as director of all future novel adaptations.

Anybody who saw and loved this film who hasn’t read the book, I urge you to go and do so. Immediately. I guarantee it’s even more mind-blowing and thought-provoking than the film, and if you’re one of the dreamy believers like me, then maybe it’ll change your life too.

If this is the calibre of novel adaptations this year, then I say roll on Baz Luhrmann’s treatment of The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald, and Jonathan Glazer’s version of Under the Skin by Michel Faber!

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Season’s Greetings

As I’ve mentioned before, the onset of winter is just about my least favourite time of year, but I’m not just going to rant on about the cold/damp/dark/frost/dry skin/static hair/chapped lips/sense of impending doom (delete as applicable or select all of the above) and all the usual wintry woes. This year seems to have developed several specific annoyances all of its own...

Bug Bites

I know it’s rained for 6 months and it’s almost Halloween, but by natural law, there shouldn’t still be evil little vampiric flies and midges everywhere. And don’t get me started on the mosquitoes. I’m pretty sure they never used to exist here even in summer, so why are they now hanging around in 6 degree autumnal darkness? Shivering under 3 layers of clothing and scratching insect bites simultaneously is a biological oxymoron and is causing unnecessary trauma to my brain. Make it stop.

Worldwide Webs

...and on the subject of creepy crawlies – is it just me or has there been some kind of spider population boom? I know from panicked facebook updates I’m not the only person to find a creature with far too many legs invading my bed recently, and they seem pretty determined to take over the rest of the house too – I even found something worryingly resembling a funnel web in the bathroom. I’d recommend the UK as the perfect destination for any arachnophobics currently wishing to partake in immersion therapy.

Headlight-Happy Drivers

I’ve long held the theory that my car sometimes randomly turns invisible, judging by the actions of other drivers towards it. However, conclusive proof has arrived on these dingy nights, when it seems like every single driver heading in the opposite direction to me fails to turn down their full-beam lights, despite my own (dipped) headlights glaring in their faces. Seriously, if you’re so visually impaired that you can’t see me coming from 50 feet away, you shouldn’t be driving in daylight, never mind in pitch dark. And however bitter you might be about your condition, it’s really no excuse to attempt to scorch out my retinas until I suffer the same affliction.

Waterworld

I think our island might be in danger of sinking a lot sooner than we thought. I live on the coast, and there is now hardly any distinction between land and sea. Roads are closed, crops are ruined (I’m thinking farmers should take up rice-growing from now on), new streams and lakes are popping up in the most unexpected places. Yet the clouds are still 10 feet off the ground, thick enough to block out the entire sky and pumping out more rain with unstoppable force on a daily basis. My wellies are usually reserved for mucking about in fields with horses and dogs, but I’m now seriously considering devising the all-in-one-full-body-welly-suit for all occasions. Or building an ark.

Oh well. Only 4 more months to go...

P.S. My apologies for the formatting of recent posts, I have attempted to repair the gaping holes in the black background, but so far to no avail. It seems Google, in their infinite wisdom, have unnecessarily changed something, and now nothing will ever be the same again...

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So much world, so little time...

Some time ago, I contracted a terrible disease. It’s not life-threatening, but it does seem to be lifelong, causing persistent, aching discomfort and inconvenience. There is no known cure, and treatment can be very expensive.

I was bitten by the harmful and highly infectious Travel Bug.

For many years, I was oblivious to the misery of this condition, as being just a poor girl from a poor family, I never left the tiny cluster of islands I call home until I was 21 years old. Until that point, I’d rarely even left the minuscule corner of England I grew up in.

My first trip away was a two-week holiday to southern Italy, and I cried at the shock and strangeness of it all on the day I arrived, but never wasted a moment after that. I was determined that my short break wouldn’t be wasted on beaches and bars, and it turned into such a jam-packed opportunity for exploration and discovery that I was exhausted when I left, and cried far more on the journey to the airport that brought me home. I’ve never been quite the same since.

Subsequent but sadly sporadic expeditions eventually took me outside Europe and into parts of the third world for increasingly longer visits and unprecedented experiences of personal growth. While these temporarily eased the symptoms, they ultimately stretched my mind out of shape so badly that it could never return to its original proportions and now barely fits in my head, which only worsens the long-term, skull-splitting effects of my ailment. This is not helped by the fact that I made a fantastic bunch of free-spirited, globe-trotting friends who regularly make me jealous of their amazing exploits, stories and photos.

I try to remind myself that travelling does have its downsides – it takes a lot of courage to leave for another country or continent alone, and it’s often hard to be away from the people you love and the familiarity of home comforts. I’ve seen some traumatic things, understood what poverty really means, been disturbed by alien cultures, felt lonely, endured some terrifying modes of transport, been robbed, got sick, got lost, slept in some painful places. As a vegetarian, I’ve had difficulty finding food, and as a redhead, I’ve suffered sunburn, reverence and ridicule, but none of that is enough to stop me yearning to suffer it all again in new places.

Because the truth is, the tough times are more than balanced out by absorbing every bit of spectacular scenery, seeing proper wildlife in its natural habitat, meeting interesting and like-minded people, engaging in cultural exchange, conquering fears, challenging limitations, appreciating the simple life and its simple pleasures, and learning more in a few short chapters of my life than I ever did in years of formal education. Then there’s the untold bliss of being completely off the oppressive media, telecommunications and internet radar for substantial lengths of time.

My return from three months volunteering in South Africa at the end of 2009 marked the point when the virus really took hold, and I became totally unable to settle back into ‘ordinary life’. I'd quit my flat and job before I left, and have never replaced them. Ever since then, I’ve wanted nothing more than to pack a bag and dedicate myself to similar endeavours for the foreseeable future. They might sound like lofty ambitions, but I want to do my bit to conserve endangered species and environments, teach underprivileged kids, improve disadvantaged communities and learn valuable lessons and new perspectives from everyone I meet along the way. It’s more worthwhile, fulfilling, rewarding and character-building than any career I’ve come across, restores a sense of childlike wonder, and inspires my writing more than any classroom-based workshop ever has.

In an ideal world, my therapy would involve voyaging to different places and volunteering on different projects, with occasional visits home in between. Alternatively, I sometimes wonder if I set aside a year or two to get around a few or all of the places and things I want to see, I might get the pesky germs out of my system once and for all and finally be healed. Unfortunately, the lottery win required to make either dream possible is not forthcoming.

It’s now been a whole year since I travelled outside the north-west of England, so my feet are infuriatingly itchy, my muscles jittery, and my restless mind is either going insane, becoming catatonic, or swinging violently between the two. Adventure doesn’t so much beckon as pester like an over-excited child in a toy shop, and the call of the wild is deafening. My underlying disorder of chronic neophilia only heightens this desire for new experience, and it’s a constant struggle to find a way to reintroduce that into real life, with all its obstacles, attachments, commitments and financial responsibilities.

So this blog is an appeal for the cure, or at least some extensive scientific research for which I would happily offer myself as guinea pig. Even if it doesn’t come in time to help me, then it may spare the poor, afflicted bohemians of the future.

Failing that, a generous donor willing to sponsor my ongoing treatment would also be most welcome.

Until then, I will just have to do my best to accept that the rest of the world will be there for the rest of my life, and believe that I’ll get to explore it when the time, circumstance, and preferably companion, are right. Oh, but it hurts so bad...

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Superhumans

After my tribute to the Olympians, it seems only fair to honour the Paralympians for providing a fortnight of excitement, entertainment and inspiration that equalled if not excelled the previous games, or the ‘warm-up’, as it was billed in the adverts.

It was officially the biggest and best Paralympics in history, with record numbers of countries, competitors, ticket sales and TV viewing figures so high that coverage was increased after the initial events. Once again, I was sucked in from the beginning and got so involved in the days that followed that the final event moved me to tears.

The opening ceremony literally brought us the moon on a stick, with Stephen Hawking speaking typically wise, moving and inspirational words from the stage beneath it. I had noted his absence during the celebration of our nation’s greatest achievers at the Olympic opening, and was so glad to see the Einstein of our times given such a big part in his rightful place – as a paradigm of triumph against adversity, mind over matter and living, awesome proof that disability definitely doesn’t equate to debility. As he said himself:

“We are all different. There is no such thing as a standard or run-of-the-mill human being, but we share the same human spirit....However difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at.”

We were then treated to a celebration of enlightenment and empowerment, scientific discovery, books, and a spectacular amateur production of The Tempest starring a very non-amateur Shakespearian actor in Sir Ian McKellen, whose Prospero encouraged the wheelchair-bound Miranda to rise and break through a glass ceiling. It was all tied together with the outstanding music and circus skills of disabled performers and the unofficial British mascot that is the umbrella, which symbolised everything from the Big Bang to a sailboat and from the globe to the newly discovered ‘God’ particle.

Though the Channel 4 coverage lacked the slick professionalism of the BBC, the games themselves were every bit as emotive as their able-bodied counterparts and perhaps even more inspiring and motivational for all the extra effort and determination required to compete in them. Films and interviews about the athletes’ experiences put the self-pitying, sympathy-seeking sob stories of the X-Factor to shame and again redefined and set higher standards for role model status. Just as importantly, they educated the world about various physical conditions and allowed everyone to see the incredible ability behind the disability.

Team GB did us proud with valiant efforts, records and medals across the board, and gave us new heroes in the shape of David Weir, Jonnie Peacock, Sarah Storey and Ellie Simmonds amongst many others. It was also great to watch Brazilian gold medallists such as runner Alan Oliveira and the fantastically colourful blind sprinter Terezinha Guilhermina emerging ahead of the Rio games in 2016.

And the moment that made me cry? South African  ‘bladerunner’ Oscar Pistorius’ extraordinary defence of his 400m title on the final night, after a week that had seen him lose his titles in both the 200m and 100m and lose his head in displaying some uncharacteristically diva-ish behaviour (for which he later apologised) following his first defeat. His victory was thoroughly deserved, not only for his astonishing performance in the race, but also for the years he has spent fighting the corner and raising the profile of disabled athletes worldwide. He has personally shattered the glass ceiling between the Paralympics and Olympics for all those who follow him and is a true champion of the games in more than one sense of the word. He may not be 'the fastest man on no legs' any more, but wherever his career goes from here, his past successes and wider accomplishments should never be forgotten.

Again, the only disappointment was the closing ceremony. Although it brought us a gothic ‘festival of fire’ which was admittedly visually spectacular, it ultimately turned into a Coldplay concert. Am I the only person who just finds them overrated, bland, whiny and dull?! But even that didn’t detract from the much greater performances seen in that stadium over the last two weeks, or a ceremony that paid tribute to the athletes and volunteers who truly made it possible. Head of the IPC, Sir Philip Craven’s impassioned, down-to-earth, humorous, endearingly northern-accented and above all uniting speeches came as a delight after all the stiff-upper-lipped formality, excessive patriotism and occasional thunder-stealing of certain British politicians and public figures. After the handover, Rio did a great job of generating excitement for their sporting carnival in 2016. Hopefully by then, further developments in medicine, technology and humanity will make it possible for even more nations to provide the training, equipment and support necessary to compete and advance the Paralympics even further.

If we had a lot to learn from the Olympic games, then surely the Paralympics had even more to teach us. Though the flame has now died out for the foreseeable future, the fire lit by these games will hopefully burn on. There is much more progress to be made, plenty more ceilings to be smashed, attitudes to be changed and spirited Paralympians to make it happen. It can all be summed up with some more great advice from Professor Hawking:

“There ought to be something very special about the boundary conditions of the universe, and what can be more special than that is there is no boundary… And there should be no boundary to human endeavour…Look up at the stars, not down at your feet.”

Regardless of mental or physical ability, we could all take something from that.

If you like this blog, please feel free to comment, or become a follower over here à

If you’d like to learn more about me, and read more samples of my writing, visit http://www.shelleyirving.com

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