When should one write an autobiography? Timing it would seem is crucial. We see many young "famous"people writing, or more often having their autobiography "ghost written*" for them when they have barely commenced their careers, yet other long established names shun the idea of an autobiography because they still have lots to do, which would then end up with a second autobiography having to be written, which is a contradiction in itself, unless of course they are re-incarnated. A Biography is a life story. So you can't really have two of them. Unless like me you are burning the candle at both ends, but even that causes problems as one has to be written backwards.
*on the subject of "ghost written autobiographies - what is the point? If you get someone else to write it for you, it's not an autobiography at all, it's a biography. You have to write it yourself see, or it doesn't work. The problem there is that anyone interesting enough to have an autobiography worth reading is probably too busy to write one, hence the ghost writing thing going on. But anyone who employs a ghost writer to write for them, then pretends it was their own work is probably just a conceited git anyway. If it's that important, someone will write the biography after you've died. You won''t get to read it yourself, that's the downside. Because if they finish it before you're dead, they haven't finished it. So in short you should never read your own biography, unless you are re-incarnated, then you should never read part two. It is of course technically impossible to write you own autobiography, because even if you left a blank for the date of your death, you'd probably forget to fill it in when the big day finally came, as you'd be a bit busy what with the dying, being murdered, or assassinated to get on with. Unless you were a clairvoyant, but that's probably cheating anyway.
So, on to the next point of who should write, (or have written, or ghost written) a biography anyway? Obviously it should be famous people, people who we will be interested in reading about. Famous people of note, that is, people who achieved something, people who invented something and left a mark on the world. Elvis, Einstein, Beethoven those sort of people. Not bloody Jade Goody for example, who became famous only because she could fit her fist in her own mouth, didn't know what currency they used in Norfolk (pigs, obviously) and looked like a cross between Kermit, Zippy and the Ravenous Bug Blatter Beast of Traal.
Normal people shouldn't bother and by normal people I mean anyone who isn't already noted in their particular field or famous enough already that everyone knows about their life already. The problem there of course is that some people don't achieve recognition until well after their deaths. Take Shakespeare for example. In his day he was little more than a jobbing writer, his modern day equivalent would be the guys who write Eastenders. Okay his medium was different as TV hadn't been invented, but he merely wrote about events of the time in the language of the day, flowered up a bit to impress the posh nobs who paid to watch it. Born a few hundred years later his poetic soliloquy's would have been reduced to Grant and Phil Mitchell's lines and "sort it aught!" Beethoven, another unsung hero in his lifetime, is more famous for not finishing a song than anything else. His unfinished Symphony is the one everybody remembers. Well, I have a few unfinished DIY projects, but it's hardly likely to make me of interest if I write an autobiog is it?
No the way for common folk to achieve the status where a biography (not an autobiography) should be written about them is to keep a diary, as did Samuel Pepe's and Anne Frank. Or in these modern times, perhaps an obscure blog on the interweb. It will after your death, sometimes years after and that's fitting and correct. No-one should have a biography whilst they are still living. That's like buying your own tombstone.
Yes it's all about timing. Write your biography too soon, and you may well seal the end of your own career. Write it too early and you end up with the part two scenario all over again. No one is going to be too happy with a biography entitled "oh and I forgot to mention...."
But in the case of Jade Goody she had the foresight to write her biography before her premature death, even if she hadn't actually achieved anything much in the first place.
No, knowing if and when to write a biography is a tricky business.
It's rather like the distinction between being murdered and being assassinated. Anyone can be murdered of course, but you have to be a head of state, a politician or someone the world deems particularly important to qualify to be assassinated. Even John Lenon was only murdered and he was probably the third most important Beatle the planet has ever see, and not the fourth, as most people sincerely believed. Dianna Princess of Wales didn't even qualify for a murder, although of assassination status, she was simply killed, although if you believe the conspiracy theorists she was assassinated. Both were of Biography material, and would have doubtless have had additional chapters to add, given the chance.
Even in death it is complicated. The famous will generally get an obituary, whilst the mere mortals amongst us have to satisfy ourselves with a "death announcement" in the local rag.
So, in summary, if you want an autobiography you are a pompous overstuffed conceited git. If you want a biography you need to be assassinated and get an obituary. Otherwise, write a blog.
Monday, 30 May 2011
Sunday, 15 May 2011
British Barbeque - Bulldog spirit
With Emma andJennaay for the dayat Flamingo Land, Emma's prize for the Lifestyle project last year, me and Thomas found ourselves alone and at a loose end.
Plans for a walk or a bike ride were shelved due to the overcast skies, the threat of rain and a sharp drop in temperature. So what to do on a dismall day? Well afer a morning tidying the shed, building some new shelves and generally doing Dad and Lad stuff with bits of wood, string, some old bike spares and a Landrover we realised that it was in fact perfect British Barbeque weather.
The garden has been suffering in the prolonged dry spell, and one of life's greatest certainties is that if you light a barbeque it will rain. If you were to translate the lyrics of an Indian rain dance, you'd probably find they were singing, "The sun has got his hat on, lets bake a buffalo." So, to be sure of a good crop of vegetables later in the year, a Barbeque was essentail.
My barbeque is shiny and new and has opnly been used twice before since I bought it last back end* in the sales. I've had a few false starts with it, first with the wrong type of regulator fitted for my gas bottle (some might say I had the wrong gas bottle for the regulator) then with a human interface error, when I didn;t realise that the new regulators had a double lock and tap mechanism. But I am now completely familiar witht he operation and can light my gas barbeque in a flash (quite literally) without all that tedious mucking about with charcoal.
A comic moment ensued when I asked Thomas to fetch a knife to curt the sausages for his butty* Perhaps I should have been more specific, because as an eight year old he has some rather Tackleberry views on knives. It was like Crocodile Dundee in reverse - "Jesus, that's not a knife!" This knife is around 16" long, with a thick and heavy blade and has no place in any kitchen. An abbatoir possibly, but not a kitchen. I'm not sure where it came from, I didn't buy it. I suspect it was passed down through the family on Jeny's side, possibly from mother to daughter, although the weight would suggest father to son is more likely. There is probably a matching shield stuck in the loft somewhere. The blade has been folded or at least bent many times, it is battle scarred and well used, with so many notches in the blade it could be used as a saw. It is the least suitable implement in the house for cutting sausages. I dare not think what Jenny would have said if she had seen him wielding it.
Having sucessfully barbequed a selection of sausages and chicken fillets we sat down to eat, in that brave British fashion we have - extra sweaters with the windchill dropping temperatures down to around 6 degrees, and sure enough the rain started. I expect you were expecting a saga about cremated food, but I'm pleased to report that everything cooked and tasted brilliant.
So how do you top a barbeque in the rain? Easy - we went swimming afterwards. In an indoor pool obviously - I mean, we wouldn't want to get wet would we?
*back end - a Yorkshire expression, meaning late autmn, or fall if you are reading this in American.
*butty - a Yorkshire word for a sandwich,, a proper sandwich with thick bread and a thumbprint in it.
Plans for a walk or a bike ride were shelved due to the overcast skies, the threat of rain and a sharp drop in temperature. So what to do on a dismall day? Well afer a morning tidying the shed, building some new shelves and generally doing Dad and Lad stuff with bits of wood, string, some old bike spares and a Landrover we realised that it was in fact perfect British Barbeque weather.
The garden has been suffering in the prolonged dry spell, and one of life's greatest certainties is that if you light a barbeque it will rain. If you were to translate the lyrics of an Indian rain dance, you'd probably find they were singing, "The sun has got his hat on, lets bake a buffalo." So, to be sure of a good crop of vegetables later in the year, a Barbeque was essentail.
My barbeque is shiny and new and has opnly been used twice before since I bought it last back end* in the sales. I've had a few false starts with it, first with the wrong type of regulator fitted for my gas bottle (some might say I had the wrong gas bottle for the regulator) then with a human interface error, when I didn;t realise that the new regulators had a double lock and tap mechanism. But I am now completely familiar witht he operation and can light my gas barbeque in a flash (quite literally) without all that tedious mucking about with charcoal.
A comic moment ensued when I asked Thomas to fetch a knife to curt the sausages for his butty* Perhaps I should have been more specific, because as an eight year old he has some rather Tackleberry views on knives. It was like Crocodile Dundee in reverse - "Jesus, that's not a knife!" This knife is around 16" long, with a thick and heavy blade and has no place in any kitchen. An abbatoir possibly, but not a kitchen. I'm not sure where it came from, I didn't buy it. I suspect it was passed down through the family on Jeny's side, possibly from mother to daughter, although the weight would suggest father to son is more likely. There is probably a matching shield stuck in the loft somewhere. The blade has been folded or at least bent many times, it is battle scarred and well used, with so many notches in the blade it could be used as a saw. It is the least suitable implement in the house for cutting sausages. I dare not think what Jenny would have said if she had seen him wielding it.
Having sucessfully barbequed a selection of sausages and chicken fillets we sat down to eat, in that brave British fashion we have - extra sweaters with the windchill dropping temperatures down to around 6 degrees, and sure enough the rain started. I expect you were expecting a saga about cremated food, but I'm pleased to report that everything cooked and tasted brilliant.
So how do you top a barbeque in the rain? Easy - we went swimming afterwards. In an indoor pool obviously - I mean, we wouldn't want to get wet would we?
*back end - a Yorkshire expression, meaning late autmn, or fall if you are reading this in American.
*butty - a Yorkshire word for a sandwich,, a proper sandwich with thick bread and a thumbprint in it.
Friday, 6 May 2011
Strange lights - it's not paradise by the dashboard lights, that's for sure
I've possibly written before about how impressed I am by the Skoda Octavia VRS I occasioanally get to drive at work. If I had expressed such an opinion 20 years ago I would have been certified as insane and probably awarded the Iron Curtain equivalent of the George Cross. Of course these days the sensible cost efficient Skoda makes a valid alternative to any of the VW/Seat/Audi models in the sister range of cars. It is to all extents a VW Passat without the badge. Lift the bonnet and parts are stamped with Audi, VW and SEAT labels as well as the Skoda mark. And with a VRS badge the Skoda becomes another beast altogether.
Fortunatley I am in one of the few ocupations that allows, and indeed demands that on occasion we push vehicles to their limits. I can honestly say I haven't found the limits of the VRS yet. Give me a closed motorway and an unlimited petrol budget and I might, but I've had this little beauty up to 140 with plenty of travel left on the acceerator pedal giving me the impression it would go much faster if demanded. Not even my regular Volvo T5 gives that performance, topping out at 147 with foot firmly planted in the carpet.
Now don't get me wrong, the Volvo feels far more stable at those speeds, and whilst you wouldn't choose to crash at over 100 mph, if you had to, you would chose the Volvo over just about anything else on the roads. The Skoda, by comparison, feels like tinfoil against the Volvo's aluminium. It's a Ginsters Pasty in a world of Steak and Kidney Pies. And this is possibly why having crashed through a pothole on the A63 at around 60 mph it decided to throw up a strange warning light, the meaning of which perplexed and confused me. It appeared rather like a goldfish bowl, with an exclamation mark in the middle of it.
Aware that an exclamation mark on a road sign relates to an otherwise unspecified hazard I was immediaetly concerned as to the welfare of my Goldfish, some unknown fate was about to happen to my fishy friend - until I remembered that I have no Goldfish or aquatic pets of any kind. So what did this mysterious pictogram warn of?
I reduced speed, and havug deaklt with the incident I was responding to, I return gingerly to the garage. There I was advised that this symbol was a tyre pressure warning, and that by depressign a button under the4 radio for two seconds or more I could determine whether this was a false alarm, caused by a momentary alteration in pressure, caused by, for example, crashing through a pthole at 60 mph, or soemthign ore sinister, like a screw in the tyre.
Okay, fair enough, but why the Goldfish bowl symbol? If the tyres in cross section resembled a Goldfish bowl, I could understand this, but given that they are ultra low profile tyres, and resemble at best a very shallow washing up bowl or maybe even a thin baking tin in cross section, Ithink the symbol was a little misleading. So, Skoda, must try harder.
I think I have lost the point now, but I'll conclude that it is not paradise the dashboard lights, more a case of confusion by the dashboard lamps.
Fortunatley I am in one of the few ocupations that allows, and indeed demands that on occasion we push vehicles to their limits. I can honestly say I haven't found the limits of the VRS yet. Give me a closed motorway and an unlimited petrol budget and I might, but I've had this little beauty up to 140 with plenty of travel left on the acceerator pedal giving me the impression it would go much faster if demanded. Not even my regular Volvo T5 gives that performance, topping out at 147 with foot firmly planted in the carpet.
Now don't get me wrong, the Volvo feels far more stable at those speeds, and whilst you wouldn't choose to crash at over 100 mph, if you had to, you would chose the Volvo over just about anything else on the roads. The Skoda, by comparison, feels like tinfoil against the Volvo's aluminium. It's a Ginsters Pasty in a world of Steak and Kidney Pies. And this is possibly why having crashed through a pothole on the A63 at around 60 mph it decided to throw up a strange warning light, the meaning of which perplexed and confused me. It appeared rather like a goldfish bowl, with an exclamation mark in the middle of it.
Aware that an exclamation mark on a road sign relates to an otherwise unspecified hazard I was immediaetly concerned as to the welfare of my Goldfish, some unknown fate was about to happen to my fishy friend - until I remembered that I have no Goldfish or aquatic pets of any kind. So what did this mysterious pictogram warn of?
I reduced speed, and havug deaklt with the incident I was responding to, I return gingerly to the garage. There I was advised that this symbol was a tyre pressure warning, and that by depressign a button under the4 radio for two seconds or more I could determine whether this was a false alarm, caused by a momentary alteration in pressure, caused by, for example, crashing through a pthole at 60 mph, or soemthign ore sinister, like a screw in the tyre.
Okay, fair enough, but why the Goldfish bowl symbol? If the tyres in cross section resembled a Goldfish bowl, I could understand this, but given that they are ultra low profile tyres, and resemble at best a very shallow washing up bowl or maybe even a thin baking tin in cross section, Ithink the symbol was a little misleading. So, Skoda, must try harder.
I think I have lost the point now, but I'll conclude that it is not paradise the dashboard lights, more a case of confusion by the dashboard lamps.
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Eco-commutting (a walk on the wild side)
I have over the years tried various alternative transport arrangements to get me to and from work, including Diesel, Hydrogen assist, LPG and electric vehicles. This morning, or arther yesterday night I decided I would cycle into work today. Human powered ultimate in green living. And so it was that powered only by a single banana I set off for the first time this year to commute to work on the trusty iron horse.
What a bloody idiot. We've had no frost for weeks, and I pick the one morning when the thermometer has plummetted and there's ice on the ground as I set off. I'd only done half a mile when I almost turned back for some gloves - dressed in shorts and T shirt with a thin hoody top I was warm enough in myself but my hands were freezing. However all discomfort was forgotten as nature put on a dazzling morning display with the rising sun (it was just after 5 a. m.) setting the fluffy white clouds aflame and a lone stag appearing alongside the disused railway track I cycle down. Against the backdrop of Kelsey Lake with the mist burning off the still water, it was a sight to behold. If I was at all poetry inclined I'd write much better prose, but I'm not, so all I'll say is it was bloody beautiful, a moment frozen in time as I stopped to watch the stag, and he watched right back. It was almost like nature was tipping her hat in a thank you to me for not using the diesel car this morning, and worth the £2.20 I saved in fuel over the 20 mile return trip.
If I was younger and fitter and had more hours in my day I'd cycle every day, but practicalities mean that's not really on. The track is treacherous in the dark for a start, what with potholes and muggers at the City end, and during the summer stolen mopeds are raced recklessly at you as you try to avoid the broken bottle glass strewn across the paved section at that end. But leave the city behind, and travel the East Riding section and nature abounds. The whole track could be so different. It is a straight run, almost all on the level and the right of way extends from Hull to Withernsea. With a little investment a light railway or electric tram/monorail or similar could serve commuters and tourist to and from Withernsea, with a cycle track properly maintained running alongside, verges trimmed back a little and replanted with wild flowers, and the little copses and glades maintained and seeded....... it could be a real wildlife haven stretching from city to coast. As it is the city end is a mess, and the county end is a poorly maintained and haphazard haven which supports some wildlife purely by chance.
20 years ago I was posted to Bruche, near Warrington, where a similar old railway line had been sympathetically and sensitively transformed into a little paradise, and I never once visited it without seeing it teeming with wildlife and being enjoyed by cyclists, hikers, picknickers and families. So a message to Hull City and East Riding of Yorkshire Councils - get your acts together, get some lottery funding and do something with the goldmine on your doorstep. Even if it means getting the Community Service bad lads out here planting bulbs and trimming verges - do it, because it might just encourgae more to get on their bikes and enjoy the countryside.
What a bloody idiot. We've had no frost for weeks, and I pick the one morning when the thermometer has plummetted and there's ice on the ground as I set off. I'd only done half a mile when I almost turned back for some gloves - dressed in shorts and T shirt with a thin hoody top I was warm enough in myself but my hands were freezing. However all discomfort was forgotten as nature put on a dazzling morning display with the rising sun (it was just after 5 a. m.) setting the fluffy white clouds aflame and a lone stag appearing alongside the disused railway track I cycle down. Against the backdrop of Kelsey Lake with the mist burning off the still water, it was a sight to behold. If I was at all poetry inclined I'd write much better prose, but I'm not, so all I'll say is it was bloody beautiful, a moment frozen in time as I stopped to watch the stag, and he watched right back. It was almost like nature was tipping her hat in a thank you to me for not using the diesel car this morning, and worth the £2.20 I saved in fuel over the 20 mile return trip.
If I was younger and fitter and had more hours in my day I'd cycle every day, but practicalities mean that's not really on. The track is treacherous in the dark for a start, what with potholes and muggers at the City end, and during the summer stolen mopeds are raced recklessly at you as you try to avoid the broken bottle glass strewn across the paved section at that end. But leave the city behind, and travel the East Riding section and nature abounds. The whole track could be so different. It is a straight run, almost all on the level and the right of way extends from Hull to Withernsea. With a little investment a light railway or electric tram/monorail or similar could serve commuters and tourist to and from Withernsea, with a cycle track properly maintained running alongside, verges trimmed back a little and replanted with wild flowers, and the little copses and glades maintained and seeded....... it could be a real wildlife haven stretching from city to coast. As it is the city end is a mess, and the county end is a poorly maintained and haphazard haven which supports some wildlife purely by chance.
20 years ago I was posted to Bruche, near Warrington, where a similar old railway line had been sympathetically and sensitively transformed into a little paradise, and I never once visited it without seeing it teeming with wildlife and being enjoyed by cyclists, hikers, picknickers and families. So a message to Hull City and East Riding of Yorkshire Councils - get your acts together, get some lottery funding and do something with the goldmine on your doorstep. Even if it means getting the Community Service bad lads out here planting bulbs and trimming verges - do it, because it might just encourgae more to get on their bikes and enjoy the countryside.
Sunday, 1 May 2011
Alternative Voting?
Much has been reported in the press about alternative voting, but little has been explained. I mistakenly thought that it might mean we had an alernative to voting - maybe a raffle or some sort of sweepstake. Maybe just put all the names in a hat and someone draws out the winner?
But no it seems that what itreally is is a sytem by which the losers get to win.
Imagine the Grand National. A simple race with horses leaping fences and running with the first past the finishing post usually, subject to any stewards enquiry at least, being the winner, providing of course it has a rider still on top. 2nd place goes to the 2nd past the post, third to the third past and so on. And this might be a good way to elect our politicians - making them leap fences and run.
Under alternative voting however, if enough people vote for the 2nd place horse, even though the first horse passes the post first and gets more votes 2nd place wins - in effect the person more people vote for NOT to win, wins unless more people vote for the person top win than vote for other people not to win. How could this possibly be fair? At present we have an unelected government, but at least we all voted for one of them, and as a coalition we got a compromise.
Under AV, as I understand it, if voting is not compulsory,then more people will fail to vote than will vote so logically we end up with no one elected. And that may be no bad thing. I have just worked two weeks without any body in charge, and my job has gone smoother than ever. I've had no Sergeant because he's on Leave, my Inspector takes every school holiday off, and the Admin staff who used to think they run the job, when in fact these days they actully do, have been absent with weekends off and Bank Holidays with extra days tagged onto them, with no appreciable effect to my working life. No, I tell a lie, my inbox has not been filled with the usual countless and pointless emails about public satisfaction surveys, quality assurance, Health and Safety, outdated intelligence repots, stupid taskings and requests to do woprk that we employ Admin staff to do, but they can't do them because they are too busy sending emails asking other people to do them. So if my job can work without anyone apparently in charge I think the country could muck long nicely without a Government mucking things up.
After all if I were on a boat under full power, I'd want someone at the helm who knew what they were doing - a professional. But given that the economy is barely idling along I'd rather have no one at the tiller than someone with no idea what the hell they were doing and just kept us going round in circles.
So, that's my advice. AV - Bring it on, and then vote for no-one.
But no it seems that what itreally is is a sytem by which the losers get to win.
Imagine the Grand National. A simple race with horses leaping fences and running with the first past the finishing post usually, subject to any stewards enquiry at least, being the winner, providing of course it has a rider still on top. 2nd place goes to the 2nd past the post, third to the third past and so on. And this might be a good way to elect our politicians - making them leap fences and run.
Under alternative voting however, if enough people vote for the 2nd place horse, even though the first horse passes the post first and gets more votes 2nd place wins - in effect the person more people vote for NOT to win, wins unless more people vote for the person top win than vote for other people not to win. How could this possibly be fair? At present we have an unelected government, but at least we all voted for one of them, and as a coalition we got a compromise.
Under AV, as I understand it, if voting is not compulsory,then more people will fail to vote than will vote so logically we end up with no one elected. And that may be no bad thing. I have just worked two weeks without any body in charge, and my job has gone smoother than ever. I've had no Sergeant because he's on Leave, my Inspector takes every school holiday off, and the Admin staff who used to think they run the job, when in fact these days they actully do, have been absent with weekends off and Bank Holidays with extra days tagged onto them, with no appreciable effect to my working life. No, I tell a lie, my inbox has not been filled with the usual countless and pointless emails about public satisfaction surveys, quality assurance, Health and Safety, outdated intelligence repots, stupid taskings and requests to do woprk that we employ Admin staff to do, but they can't do them because they are too busy sending emails asking other people to do them. So if my job can work without anyone apparently in charge I think the country could muck long nicely without a Government mucking things up.
After all if I were on a boat under full power, I'd want someone at the helm who knew what they were doing - a professional. But given that the economy is barely idling along I'd rather have no one at the tiller than someone with no idea what the hell they were doing and just kept us going round in circles.
So, that's my advice. AV - Bring it on, and then vote for no-one.