...... this blog has provided me with inspiration during, about, seven years. When I changed my mind about the invasion of Iraq (supported it) in December 2002, Norm provided a place of refuge and he has inspired me now to "persevere and remain positive". What is more I astounded my son today when I told him that I had been a regular visitor to the blog home of Norman Geras, a man he has quoted, and recognised, in his dissertation. Thank you Norm, simply for your presence in this realm and for upholding the views from the left that are widely debated at your site and support freedom and democracy. And to underpin that I suggest yougo here to get a sample of what is available
Why would any self-respecting Ad Man agree to marketing a deodorant called Arctic Dive.
More of that later......
.......sharing my flat with my son as he nears the completion of his Master’s dissertation which is to run to about 20,000 words most of which are already etched into my life one way or another, has been an edgy business so far. Not renowned for self-restraint and having only a medium length fuse to my superficially amiable character the prospect of near nuclear detonation has not been far away these past 10 days. Which explains my paucity of words at WorthyHeights but as a novice blogger I now become aware of the psychological importance of blogs and the escapism that blogging provides. It’s keeping the safety catch engaged. No ominous mushroom cloud over Worthing quite yet!
On the positive side my flat has taken on an academic aura with the lounge floor now strewn with books mostly on or by Karl Marx one of which., I am reliably informed is an original 1960s printing produced in Moscow in the depths of the Cold War. That’s cool and if Sussex Uni would agree I would like to keep this volume as an interior design piece. A little statement of my pseudo-intellectual clout
However on the negative side, having recently delivered my son from the clutches of one of Brighton’s many dodgy landlords (does everybody in Brighton own a “buy to let” and have hair highlights – more of that another time) I now find my bedroom looks like the “returns” department of Currys. And my main bathroom, a previously personal and cherished space, is overrun by post-modernist ideas and its accompanying cosmetic products. Would Marx have approved of the politically ephemeral, bourgeois“eleastic shaping” hair wax by the stylist and head honcho of hair products Paul Mitchell. No known relative of mine
Eau d’Issy has now been ousted by Arctic Dive. Each morning my son is enveloped in a nimbus of this execrable detergent which reminds me of jock straps and rugger players. The aromatic collision between Issy Miyake and Addidas may not be as important as the collision between Marx and Engels but it matters to me.
Why name a deodorant after a cold continent. Do polar bears smell like this? Is there a polar opposite, Antarctic Ice? In which case the under-evolved penguin springs to mind
It is worth knowing about RICE with regard to minor breakages. According to the medical practitioner who attended me this week RICE is an "anachronism" for Rest, Ice, Cold Compress, Elevation,
Living in Worthing one can truly feel anachronic and maybe she was playing with words
WEIRD is Worthing's Existential, Interbred, Recondite, Disposition
At my age having a Carlos Casteneda’s moment on last Saturday morning came as a welcome release from the Saturday Guardian’s usual disconcerting sections – “Money” - not got any; “Family”- in decline; “Employment” - now unemployable.
For those of you who were not fixated in the 1970s with a “Separate Reality” or a ”Journey to Ixtlan” or finally “The Teachings of Don Juan” you need to know that Castenada claimed to have liberally experimented with mescalin in pursuit of his separate reality.
Having a mescalin experience without actually using the magic peyote was quite beautiful and rewarding. Listless in the penumbra of waking and sleeping, among other things I saw heavy, polished egg shaped stones laying in marble crucibles which surmounted doric columns
In such a state I was readied for a second visit to the Towner Gallery in Eastbourne, the South Coast’s new contemporary art flag carrier. The building I like a lot. Unsurprisingly uncomplicated, this is Eastbourne after all, The Towner swirls, unobtrusively yet lovingly around the Congress Theatre. I had principally come for the Jodie Carey exhibit which is extraordinary. More of that later. We, sadly, firstly chose a tour starting on the ground floor which turned out to be amazingly dull.
The guide announced that he had not had the chance to study the exhibits for longer than 30 minutes but he was very familiar with the artists’ other work. The key to the ground floor exhibits, evidently, was German Romanticism and in one piece a fog filled fish tank by Mariele Neudecker was a modern manifestation of the classic Romantic tradition, inspired by the “…greatest philosopher of the last 300 years – Immanual Kant”. Kant is a philosopher of the last 300 years, not the greatest.
The fog of the fish tank remained resolutely undisturbed, as did I and so the hidden landscape of this work remains a mystery. Perhaps lurking behind the fog was the grim neglected urban landscape of 1960s London which featured later in one of Mariele’s photos. Neudecker is probably a fine artist but the Towner, to my mind does not serve her well. It was a full hour before we emerged in to Room 2 where the ground floor livens up.
The first floor exhibition is relatively small but entertaining and literally eclectic. But if you are heading to Eastbourne, the work byJodie Carey on the second floor isawesome. The central pieces are three immense chandeliers, each weighing a tonne, made from cast human bones. These pieces being surrounded by the detritus of media overkill. Piles of newspapers, magazines and cardboard boxes
Psychotropic state re-installed we emerged from the Towner after a decent piece of cake and a dodgy Chardonnay. I did like the girls who work in the café though. So down to earth after all the pretentious guff endured on the tour
Then the Red Arrows descended on Eastbourne, as if on cue, did some aerial pirouettes, let loose some red, white and blue vapour trails at various angles, delivered from dangerously close formation flying and then left almost as quickly as they arrived. G-forces; gee whiz. Beat the hell out of static fog.
In the evening, blagging access to the That’ll be the Day at the Worthing Pavilion put the day in perspective. Here was a show that should only be attempted on mind altering drugs. Alcohol would be pointless. Reprise shows are one thing but to include Shut Uppa Your Face as a foot stomping, hand clapping finale makes out a good case for the arts in their most extreme and self indulgent form.
Really good writers have a habit of providing the antidote to misery simply by piling on more misery with their well observed work and so it was with Sally Vickers’ “ Mr Golightly’s Holiday” which I finished last night
The book is not wrist-slashingly depressing by any means. In fact it is extremely amusing at times but what I loved was the perception and neatly written allegory upon allegory. The Book of Job played out on Dartmoor……enough, please read it
Apart from slamming my head mercifully between its pages and waking me up from a strong attack of self- pity, Ms Vickers, most propitiously, introduced me to the word “flexion”. My flexion toe being the cause of some of my misery. Job I clearly am not
Monday morning, mid Vickers and Golightly, I decided to pay some bills on line which lead to a fit of pique, an angry stroll through my flat and the resulting crack of the foot against a wall. And crack it surely did after which my right little toe was pointing in an unfamiliar direction.
Being alone and un-mithered (no woman to heal the fallen warrior or something like that) I had to call NHS Direct. For the benefit of non-locals this is a DIY telephonic health service through which one gains emergency guidance
The conversation went like this:-
NHS Direct: Good morning how can I help you Me: I think I have broken my toe NHS: Do you have symptoms of swine flu Me: If a pain in my toe is a symptom then I may have swine flu NHS: I see Me: (with a touch of irony) Will you be sending an air ambulance? NHS: Not on this occasion
After much turning of pages at her end the conversation continued
Me: There is no woman at hand to help me. Could you send a woman? NHS: No we cannot send a woman. This is not an escort service Me: More’s the pity NHS: (After more page turning) Bind the toe above and below the knuckle. Do you have any frozen peas? I crawl to the freezer Me: Only frozen asparagus NHS: Place the frozen asparagus on the foot and secure with a towel. Call us again after 24 hours if there is no improvement. Oh! and don’t refreeze the asparagus or consume after it has been tied to your foot Me: Thank you NHS Direct: Thank you for calling NHS Direct – have a nice day
Maybe they had NHS Direct at the time of Lazarus. It’s amazing what a bit of faith will do
Worthing, the World and Maybe Something Cosmic This is all about the arts, literature, politics in Worthing and beyond
(Scroll down for a letter to the Worthing Herald regarding the media coverage of the Open Houses Event 2009 in relation to the ludicrous coverage given to Jim Davidson's recent gig)
21st November 2006–9th August 2009 Flying time!!
Arriving in Worthing about 3 years ago and observing a much changed scene from the inner suburbs of London I decided a blog would at least record, for me, the day to day issues of my life by the sea before heading for the beach one last time in anticipation of a huge playful wave which may suck me back the several million evolutionary years whence I came. Thereby upholding my strongly held Darwinian and humanist beliefs. God, not my favourite person of fantasy or fact, had a major humour bypass on the day that he invented the extremely lethal tectonic plate but it would be a suitable way of dealing with his less worshipful subjects
This past week(1st-9th August 2009) has been a Big Dipper of a week rolling over Joyce and Byron, Sally Vickers and Talking Heads, the death of a dog and a little “walking in the mind”. It therefore seemed like the perfect time to resuscitate the latent early words some of which were a little uncomplimentary to my new community and I have spared myself the embarrassment and possible reprisals by deleting the most offensive stuff. Although I must say that many more women wear Puffa jackets in Worthing than South Molton Street!
The blog only reached template form and progressed no further than a few idle paragraphs which never made it to cyber vellum. I was diverted by various campaigns which seemed to be worth fighting, the best of which was to help secure the Desert Quartet for the town of Worthing. On the masthead is a close up of one of these wonderful sculptures which remind me, not always effectively, “….to be silent unless what I have to say is better than silence”.True to myself and the blogosphere I must have the courage of my convictions and let loose the paragraphs written in draft on 21st January 2007. Although as I have already stated this really starts in earnest as of now, 9th August 2009
In Italics is where I was going with my blog on 21st January 2007
It is precisely 2 calendar months since I arrived in Worthing. 21st November 2006 I washed up down here having sailed my simple craft safely from the suburban, stultifying vortex of Teddington TW11. More of Teddington later
So I enter the blogosphere later than I intended but I can barely tell you how joyful it is to be here. The initial buzz of blogdom is the knowledge one can write knowing full well ones “work” will be published. And what is more I am saved the indignity of being edited by some juvenile with a 2/2 media degree from the University of Nowhere.
Early last week I learned from an Andrew Marr Radio 4 prog ( I can be deceptively high brow) of an interesting book by Brian Appleyard entitled “How to live forever or die trying”. It just seemed such an interesting contemplation particularly now that I live in Worthing which has one of the oldest populations in Britain. Harvests to be grimly reaped
The activities of joggers along the sea front suggests that they are either on the personal trainer’s “live forever” exercise programme or they can’t afford the personal trainer and are now just hurrying the whole death process along a little
ENDS!!!
The week which finally ran the project down the launch ramp 1st-8th August…..
…Walking in My Mind
James Joyce, Byron, Sally Vickers, David Byrne and Talking Heads plus various interactions both positive and negative, The Hayward Gallery’s summer show, Bergson’s impact on Futurist founder Marinetti and the death of a much loved dog have finally got me going on my blog. This stuff of life broadly tends to present ideas in abstract form and they joined forces in my head and have helped to deliver this slightly meandering stroll through my mind. As the Hayward’s summer show is called “walking in my mind” it all seems neatly encapsulated under that heading
Big Books
Quite recently I decided that, each year, I should read one large tome of literature which is widely recognised as a classic. So far I have amazed myself with Marcel Proust’s finding time again , Russel’s History of Western Philosophy and currently Don Quixote. Cervantes’ knight errant being a little bit close to my own character for comfort!
2010 has to be Ulysses year and I was delighted to meet an old contact, last Saturday, who provided me with the inspiration to get it on. Having read the Joyce novel three times and heard it recited on tape quite often he has dispelled the near mythical impenetrability of the Joyce work which runs to 260,000 words. Thanks Brendan. 2010 will be busy – right into 2010 probably. Anodyssey. The Joycean Epiphany!!
Sally and Cosmic Journeys
Why this is relevant to my week and to my blog is that the arts and literature can bind together people of similar views and ideas which is a coalesced planetary group orbiting various individual works. Occasionally us planets are pulled together for a quick natter about our stars and I notice that the like-minded are guided to these happy gravitational collisions which are luckily not fatal or indeed dangerous comings together
Sally Vickers is one of those stars around which I evidently, occasionally orbit, and this week I found a copy of Mr Golightly’s Holiday which has led onto much conversation about her very special story telling style. I first encountered Sally Vickers at Kendal and to the very good friend who led me to her I tip my hat! To the two other people I know who enjoy this amazing writer’s skill with a story I say, “Glad to be in your galaxy”. To my Kendal Baptist I offer these words from “Golightly” – “But it is a sad fact that a zest for human psychology is not always sharedby the objects of its concerns”. Please see the humour in that.
Just a rant
Now my interest in all these illustrious people who compose write paint and present themselves through often quite abstract ideas might suggest that I am a bit of an intelligent beast with some seriously pretentious overtones. Well I am not. I am just the living evidence that everything in the arts is available to everybody. Those who would turn the arts into an arcane world specifically for the educated middle and upper classes are dismantling social cohesion with their own ends in mind.
One Great Talking Head
Monday 4th August was the long awaited arrival of ex Talking Heads front man David Byrne. Last time I saw him was around September 1979 when they had just released their early album, Fear of Music. Working as a part time coach driver for Len Wright Travel I toured with them for 2 whole days of roadie fame!!! But I became a huge fan of a band that proved themselves to be not only extremely talented but very likeable and unpretentious people off stage.
The white haired Byrne still rocked it up for a largely middle aged audience in a theatrical style which is unique, intelligent and downright bloody good entertainment. Even my son Luke recognised some numbers and enthusiastically put his hands together - bravo
The gig at the Barbican was unforgettable for me and he kindly sung “Heaven” which is the song which I want at my funeral please. You need to see the Byrne humour in this so here is a lyrical sample.
“Everyone is trying to get to the bar, the name of the bar is Heaven. The band in Heaven play my favourite song. Play it all night long .
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens
There is a party. Everyone is there. Everyone will leave at exactly the same time. When this party’s over it will start again. Will not be any different It will be exactly the same………..
Heaven
When this kiss is over it will start gain. It will not be any different……
It’s hard to imagine that nothing at all could be so exciting could be this much fun
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens”
Art that Eats Itself
Bertrand Russell has become one of my heroes for his witty and intelligent presentation of some very often obscure philosophical ideas in his History of Western Philosophy. Anybody who reads this wonderful book cannot remain certain of any “truth”. I kissed the cover when I finished it. And his prescient essay “In Praise of Idleness” and the other essays under that title written during the big financial wind down pre WW2 should be read by all bankers spending their exorbitant pensions while sunning themselves on exotic beaches
Russell, therefore being my philosophical torch bearer, was who I turned to unravel the Tate’s Futurism show. Russell was less than complimentary about the rather prescriptive Bergson who was the philosophical inspiration behind Marinetti and the Futurist movement
Some of the paintings were exciting and energetic and I particularly liked Boccioni and Severini but it does occur to me that Futurism is a handy label but the movement officially established by Marinetti was thankfully dead almost before it had achieved puberty. Artistic movements luckily consume themselves, serpent like, before they can do serious political damage
Walking in the Hayward Mind
The Hayward’s summer show was nowhere near as enticing as, say Gormley in 2007 but Walking in My Mind had some intriguing work which I liked. Thomas Hirschorn’s literal walk in his mind, if mechanised, would have made an exceptional attraction at an adult theme park. But Piplotti Rist’s work, outdoors, was right on the money when it came to the exhibition theme and I reckon it justified the admission fee.
And of course these artists have an awful lot of sex on their minds and good for them!!
R.I.P Lawrence
Last weekend was so sad for several reasons but probably the loss of Lawrence the dog that I lived with for about 5 years walked for a further 3 approximately and visited too infrequently when he started to become less active. I wasn’t sure how to express my respect for an animal so I wrote him a poem……
Lawrence
Dog, lived, played, wagged
Dogs don’t brag
Dog that smiled even when he was sad
Chin and jowls on the floor
Eyes set for the door
Dog free to leap, and swim
Fuck the gym
Dog that knew the way, every day
Silent friend that may just stray.
Always there at the end
Dog of restraint, buttoned strength
Eyes of infinite depth
Dog has no words or human thought
Rarely a response to a whistle
Thanks Lawrence – hence this epistle
Letter The Worthing Herald
31st July 2009
The Editor
Worthing Herald
The Arts or Jim Davidson
Over the weekends of 18-19 and 25-26 July the arts community of Worthing staged its annual “Open Houses” project with 22 venues showcasing a variety of arts which was an amazing and inspiring insight into the talent that exists in this town. Talent both professional and amateur which is dependant, virtually entirely on its own resources, imagination and determination. The second weekend happily collided with the Lions Festival. One major feature of that festival being the transformation of Montague Place into an acceptably lively environment delivering us from the execrable, demoralising, architecturally outrageous intrusion which is the wall of death, once of Woolworths soon to be the wall of H&M. I wish to be the first person to ask that new and very welcome arrival in town, H&M, to give artists of Worthing the opportunity to change that dismal flank wall
The arts in Worthing are hopelessly under-funded and under-represented. The business community and the media in Worthing have overlooked the value of a vibrant arts community to the economy, the living environment and the prestige of the town.
My heart sank when seeing the front page of the Herald entirely devoted to a has-been entertainer and career bigot, Jim Davidson. And then the inside pages being littered with pitiful responses to his juvenile invective. Not one journalist managed to review what was, without doubt a true highlight of the Worthing arts year. The Open Houses event had evidently tripled in size in participation and visitors and to my mind had a vibrancy and energy which positioned the efforts of Arundel’s equivalent programme into a kind of “twin set and pearls” mind set. Worthing’s Open Houses provided everything from a beautifully restored 1960s caravan to a Madonna and Child by the alter ego of an ex-patriot Polish female fighter pilot. From the erotic to the truly esoteric, there was no creative stone unturned
MORE/
The Arts or Jim Davidson ………….
From Gateshead to St Ives to the South Bank in London and across the SouthCoast in Hastings, Bexhill, Eastbourne, the arts have started to re-generate a variety of areas, many of them previously depressed. Worthing has not even officially recognised the Desert Quartet, “one of Europe’s finest monumental public sculptures of the 20th Century”. There exists no information about the Desert Quartet in any tourist office. I personally know of a group of 45 people coming to this town in September to view 20th Century art and architecture and obviously the Elisabeth Frink sculptures. Worthing provides no cultural visitor information whatsoever and evidently has no cultural strategy
This town has to identify certain events and areas where it can promote itself not only to the public from inside and outside Worthing but also to major sponsors who can see an opportunity to be associated with quality events.
Splash FM bemoaned the loss of major sponsors Norwich Union for its Garden Party. Hits from the 1970s and 80s probably work for the Lions Festival and who can resist clapping their hands for the “Dancing Queen” but Splash FM could be doing better for the local music scene and this town has a decent contemporary music heritage. If I was holding the purse strings at Norwich Union in this financial climate I would be looking to something more challenging than tribute bands and one only has to look around at the big ticket projects to see what attracts the sponsors. Local bands need local support and this town occasionally deserves something other than regurgitated tunes from another era.
The choice is stark. Stick with the image of this town lost somewhere in past times or give people the inspiration and a helping financial hand to deliver us from the banal criticism levelled at us by Mr Davidson and ably supported by the front page coverage in the Herald. This town has creative talent in narrative, performing and visual arts and it was all on view during Worthing’s “Open House” weekends as it is each year at Northbrook’s end of year arts show.
There exists an opportunity for Worthing to alter its image but there is an urgent need for an arts policy that is well administered, that interacts with the community and that is allowed to pervade all areas of influence in Worthing.
Central government’s Sea Change project has provided £1/2 million for the regeneration of Splash Point. If the town gets this wrong then we can start engraving the headstone for the arts in Worthing and we could have a plot set aside for the decrepit Jim Davidson because he should surely theatrically “die” in Worthing.
