Protests against those coming and against those leaving

Increasing amounts of attention in Europe has focused on the refugee crisis, especially with the resolution (for now) of the Single European currency imbroglio. With 200,000 crossing the Mediterranean in 2014 and 300,000 doing so in the first eight months of this year, Italy, Greece, Spain and Malta feel at ‘breaking point’. Land crossings are problematic for some countries like Hungary and Slovakia while 71 people were found dead in a truck on the Austrian border. Even Germany, with a history of permanent ‘guest-workers and taking the largest share – Angela Merkel promising to admit 800,000 – has led to disgruntlement in some quarters.
Of course, it is all a matter of perspective. While the numbers are real, the portrayal by the media and certain politicians and activists of limitless hordes not only dehumanises the people arriving but unnerves indigenous populations. Italy, Greece, Spain and Malta have all had severe economic issues to do with the Euro, not those that are smuggled onto their shores. Moreover, to label all as ‘migrants’, while correct from a dictionary standpoint, robs many of the dignity for the reason of their flight – persecution or the fear of persecution. Al-Jazeera has also opened up the debate on the designation of such unfortunate people. The latter seek refuge from war-torn homelands, hence they are refugees. Other than desertification resulting from climate change, there is no reason that such an upswing in numbers is would be primarily from those crossing continents for economic reasons. Further, the term ‘asylum seeker’ was created to make it seem people fleeing from strife were imposing themselves on the native population, rather than being allowed entry through the generosity of the local people.
The increase in the movement of people can be directly attributable to increased instability in countries like Libya, Syria, Iraq, Eritrea and Afghanistan. On 27th August alone. Daesh – also known as ISIS, ISIL or IS – killed two Iraqi generals in a bomb attack. The week before, the beheaded the keeper of antiquities in Palmyra, Syria. Their actions and extremist policy carried out by other militant groups and individuals claiming to be acting in the name of Islam has led to an upsurge in Islamophobia in many European societies.
As in other countries, Norway has seen some of its citizens decamp in the opposite direction to many of the travellers – to the Middle East to fight for Daesh. While around 50 is small compared to the numbers leaving, say, the UK, a radical group in Norway has angered moderate Muslims by publicly mounting demonstrations in support of Daesh. To counter this, on 25th August, thousands attended a rally in Oslo protesting against both Daesh and their Norwegian sympathisers. It was an initiative by young Norwegian Muslims to show a common front and saw Norway’s prime minister – Erna Solberg – and other politicians join with Muslim leaders to register their unity. According to Associated Press, Mehtab Afshar, head of the Islamic Council in Norway, told the crowd, “They [Daesh] stand for terrorism, they stand for terror… and we condemn that in the strongest terms.”
Worthy in its objectives, the rally reaffirmed the principles of mainstream Islam in Norway, showing Norwegians another side to that often portrayed in news reports – crucial in a land where the shadow of mass murderer Anders Breivik still looms large; however, it is unlikely to have turned heads among disaffected youth whose lives have not worked out as expected and for whom fighting for Daesh is a way to find validation. The presence of Solberg, leader of Norway’s Conservative Party, and others of her political class, would in the minds of radicals, position those Muslims who shared a common platform as sell-outs. In that regard, it may have been more successful in stemming the appeal of Daesh within Norway had it been a Muslim-only event. There are no easy answers though.

Mass destruction

Freak accidents, by their nature, are invariably shocking.  It's not everyday that the front of your house is wrecked along with four other houses.  I had just finished reading to my little daughter The Tale of Jemima Puddleduck and was gazing idly out of my front window when a vehicle whooshed past like a bullet train followed instantaneously (the differential in the speed of light and sound immaterial so close was the distance) by a huge bang and then the scraping of much metal.  I immediately looked out my front door and a liquid nitrogen truck had destroyed my brick boundary wall and steps over an old coal pit gully plus that of the houses further down and totalled three cars.  Seeing the words 'liquid nitrogen' and remembering what it could do from documentaries and Terminator 2: Judgement Day, I ran back inside instantly to call 999 and to get my family away from the danger to the back of the house.  All the emergency services were on the scene in a matter of minutes.  A policeman (using a stepladder) jumped over our garden wall and hammered on our back door, telling us to evacuate - even the garden wasn't safe.  We stood on the field opposite watching with an air ambulance on standby nearby.
What had occurred, I learned today, was that the driver had suffered a medical attack of some kind and, like in the case of the Glasgow bin lorry driver who killed half a dozen people last Christmas, had his foot slumped on the accelerator.  He had shunted the black Mondeo car directly in front of him and careered off the road onto the pavement.  Thankfully, there were no pedestrians because they would have been almost certainly killed, one parked car ending up at a diagonal angle.  The owner of this particular car had only just put her dog leads in it less than a minute before.  For a fairly busy road, it is amazing that there were no cars coming in the opposite direction.  The driver of the Mondeo could walk away from the accident (thought must be subject to recurring random panic attacks); the driver of the truck had to be cut out of his cab and remains in a serious but stable condition in hospital.
I wasn't minded to take pictures while the emergency services were present, feeling it inappropriate while the status of the driver was unclear.  When they fished him out, he was wearing only boxer shorts and socks - reminding of an old Dr Pepper advert, where a nerdish consumer is buried under a deluge of soft drink cans and bottles and the firemen have to remove his clothes to extricate him while news cameras roll.  In this instance, the ambulance crew removed his clothes to see if he had any wounds.
The number of emergency services at the scene recalled the early verses of The 12 Days of Christmas. Four (actually five) police cars, three ambulances (including the helicopter), two fire engines and a liquid nitrogen truck.  After about twenty minutes waiting in the field, I phoned my dad who was in the next house - he hadn't been told to evacuate his undamaged house so I trusted it was fine to return to mine, of course via the garden.  This will be the regular entrance and exit until the stone steps are rendered structurally sound again.  Thinking of all that could have happened, it could have been so much worse - the truck in demolishing my stone steps narrowly avoiding severing my gas pipe and interrupted the supply of houses further down.
The brick boundary wall that used to be in front of my house is an anomaly in a street lined with railings.  There used to be a weaker boundary wall beforehand so my grandmother (who previously owned the property) was within her rights to build a sturdier brick wall.  Given the way the iron railings of the other houses just crumpled at the impact of the truck, had the brick boundary wall been instead railings, the truck would have crashed through my lounge and front door - the wall slowing it down and glancing it away off down the street.  Saving the house is now an additional part of my grandmother's legacy.
My daughter, without a frame of reference for the disaster, was more shocked by the trail of destruction - "so many bricks, everywhere" - but she had been scheduled to go with my mum to the library an hour after the incident.  Had it happened then doesn't bear thinking about.  We are all very lucky there were no fatalities.

Dearly departed part three

There are some prominent people that have passed on who are in my cultural orbit but in relation to Neptune from the sun.  Stephen Lewis was most famous for the generally execrable On The Buses, portraying 'fascistic' middle-management in the form of Blakey.  I remember from my schooldays that there was an experiment in having televisions onboard buses and some bright spark thought it would be appropriate to have re-runs of On The Buses to increase the existing discomfiture of the passengers.  The televisions outlasted Blakey and co but they too, like Lewis's era of humour, joined the discards of history.  Maybe not surprisingly, Lewis became a recurring face on Last of the Summer Wine until ill-health forced him to step down.
George Cole of Minder notoriety in frankly in the Kuiper Belt for me.  I know of Minder, I know Dennis Waterman was also in it and I know people who hold the series in great affection, but that's as far as it goes.  Sorry George.
Of more consequence was the death of Patrick Macnee.  The Avengers is one of the all-time classic British serials, though only after his character Steed came to the fore in series two and a series of glamorous assistants from Honor Blackman to Diana Rigg did more than help out.  Although I haven't seen The Avengers, its cultural impact has been immense.  I did catch repeats of The New Avengers from the 1970s with Joanna Lumley and Gareth Hunt - that only last two series is held by many to be inferior to the original.  As an act of charity (for certainly it was no tribute to Macnee) he made a guest appearance in The Avengers movie with Ralph Fiennes, Uma Thurman and Sean Connery - a film held to one of the worst ever released in cinemas.  As a star of the British acting establishment, Macnee found his way into appearing in a Bond movie, like Blackman (Goldfinger), Rigg and Lumley (both On Her Majesty's Secret Service) and, of course, the Edinburgh milkman and mortician Connery.  This was in the largely lamentable A View to a Kill (though as a James Bond film it still has a special place in my heart), Roger Moore's swansong where Moore realised he had become too old for the role of 007.  Christopher Walken waltzes away with the reel as the supervillain Max Zorin and there are some good action sequences (partially spoilt through plot flaws or gauche musical interludes) but unfortunately Macnee doesn't appear in them, much as he slots urbanely into his character.  Him and Moore fighting two heavies in an underground packing facility is simply ridiculous and ultimately is another murdered Bond ally whose misbegotten fortune provides 007 with the righteous kill of the main nemesis.
Christopher Lee was another British actor accepting service for Queen and Country, except as the villain Francisco Scaramanga in The Man with the Golden Gun (a film I feel to be unfairly underrated, though I can see why people might draw that conclusion).  His extensive work with Hammer I can't claim to have seen bar Frankenstein and The House That Dripped Blood.so his turn as Scaramanga stayed long in my memory.  Lee had a late renaissance, appearing as Count Dooku in Star Wars: Episode II and Star Wars: Episode III (noted film critic Alexander Walker said that when Lee entered the scene in Episode II the IQ of the flick was raised) and also in The Lord of the Rings trilogy.  After the director of the latter, Peter Jackson, had put a foreword in Lee's last memoir, the two of them fell out after Jackson cut Lee's contribution from The Return of the King, salt rubbed in the wound as this was the Rings film that won all the glory at the Oscars.  They reconciled for Lee to appear again as the wizard Saruman (before his corruption) in The Hobbit trilogy.  Lee's last major role therefore was in The Battle of the Five Armies, a film where the most interesting character (Smaug the dragon) was killed off before the title card.  The Battle of the Five Armies isn't a terrible movie but it is a bit repetitive with multiple onslaughts of CGI hordes, the best bit the episodes of humour that is synonymous with Guillermo del Toro, a consultant on the film.  So it could been a better place to bow out, but Lee did provide the continuity in this film prequel and that is to his credit.

Dearly departed part two

It was Cilla Black's funeral yesterday, processing through the streets of Liverpool and concluding in 'Paddy's Wigwam' - the Roman Catholic Cathedral in Liverpool.  A working-class lass who became a millionaire by the age of 25 through the delights of her singing and the highest-paid female television presenter in the 1980s and 1990s.  As William Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy observed as they wandered through a cemetery as children, none of the dead had anything bad written about them.
The coroner said that Priscilla White (her real name before a newspaper once got the colour of her surname wrong) was "a daughter of Liverpool and loved by all in the city."  But this is not true.  Indeed in many ways quite the opposite.  I remember, back in 1998, The Daily Mirror did a write-in survey asking for the 50 most hated people in Britain.  Unsurprisingly, given The Mirror's left-leaning slant and the make-up of its readership, Margaret Thatcher ('a quiet, unassuming old lady pensioner' as The Mirror disingenuously described her) topped the bill, followed by plenty of Conservatives e.g. John Major. William Hague, etc. Tony Blair also made the list as some saw beyond the smile, even then and, curiously, so did Richard Madeley (of Richard and Judy fame).  Yet I also remember Cilla Black featured prominently there, The Mirror surmising that many in Liverpool thought that she had betrayed her roots by going down south and living in Buckinghamshire.  Having a political journey from backing Harold Wilson to voting for John Major, along the way being an enthusiastic supporter of Thatcher along the way, would not have helped, especially in Liverpool.  Controversially trying to make a TV show out of the Zeebrugge Ferry Disaster by getting the survivors and medics to have a jolly sing-song through Bruges would have counted a black mark.  And then there may be those simply turned off by what they regarded as the tackiness of her televisual output (yet it found a home).
72 is a young age to go in our society and the tragic accident that led to the fatal stroke lends greater poignancy.  Despite the tributes though she was not universally loved.  I though would not put myself in either camp, acknowledging her singing career was the best part of her in my opinion.
Someone who certainly not claim to be adored everywhere is Stuart 'The Brand' Baggs, who has also died of unnatural natural causes, namely as asthma attack, compared to Cilla slipping over and banging her head on swimming pool tiles.  Only 27 (a palindrome to Cilla's age).  He blagged his way through The Apprentice until finally coming unstuck in the interview stage, prompting a furious Alan Sugar to gnash, "My advisers tell me that... you're full of shit!"  A richly deserved comeuppance, especially as more competent candidates had fallen by the wayside through his braggadocio winning the day for himself.
Since that most unceremonious of exits from the reality show, Baggs has actually built on his undoubted technical promise (via a few 'celebrity' appearances on gameshows like Pointless).  From his Isle of Man base, his internet service provision business was on the threshold of taking the next big step, mostly through his endeavouring industry. To be cruelly denied through not be able to reach his asthma inhaler in time makes one re-evaluate his public persona more kindly.

Dearly departed part one

Batgirl is dead.  Not a joker's bullet to paralyse Barbara Gordon and make her Oracle.  Yvonne Craig, the actor who portrayed the original incarnation of Batgirl in the 1960s Batman TV series, has passed away aged 78, on 18th August, having been treated for cancer in recent years.  Whereas Burt Ward, eight years her junior, who played Dick Grayson/Robin, has some more modern photographs of how he has really filled out when Googled, Craig is indelibly associated with her Batgirl persona, despite roles in the The Man From U.N.C.L.E., The Wild Wild West and Star Trek (the original series) and two Elvis Presley films (she briefly dated 'the King').  She was past 30 when she got the job but her youthful looks meant she could pass off as the ten years younger of Barbara Gordon - it is a common trope to hire experienced actors that don't really age to play younger roles, as Buffy the Vampire Slayer amply demonstrated.  At 35, she reprised the Batgirl role, along with Adam West as Batman (who phoned in his performance) and Ward as Robin in a humorous skit of a US government advert notifying people of the law mandating equal pay, still as fresh as daisies (Ward played it well too).
Given the era of the show, the exposure of it and the series of pretty women who had appeared on Batman, Ward has admitted that he and West were 'sexual vampires', admitting that while bedding one lady who had an extras' role, a previous fling from a walk-on part on the show was banging on his front windows.  When Craig joined as Batgirl, Ward claims West said to him, "Burt, let's have a bat sandwich," to which Ward says he drew the line.  Craig divorced in 1962 and didn't remarry until over a quarter of a century later and, with her beauty, I am convinced would have had no problem with the years of 'free love'.
Craig did have one complaint of Batman in that though the screen test showed Batgirl the equal and sometimes better than the men, in the episodes she did appear, she was little more than a sidekick.  Maybe had the series gone on, the screen test side might have got an airing.  Then again it was 50 years ago and sexism was still quite ingrained - the producer, to preserve Batgirl's femininity, refused to allow her to punch enemies, utilising high kicks (Craig's usefulness in previously being a dancer coming into play) and objects lying around to lay low criminals.
One obituary I read wrote Batgirl was introduced as a gimmick to revive flagging ratings but could not arrest the slide, leading to Batman's cancellation.  Like with the original series of Star Trek, this merely ensured it as a cult classic, making it look a foolish commercial decision in hindsight.  Ward, however, claims that ratings were only an oblique factor - Batman was syndicated for a certain run and when that was concluded, the syndicate was not renewed as television networks wanted to do other things.  So Batgirl's appearances were curtailed yet the character was here to stay in other mediums, thanks in large part to Yvonne Craig inhabiting the role so well.

Shearing day

Again, things pile up, on Monday, it was my daughter's hair-cutting ceremony, a Mongolian rites-of-passage that signifies the child's progression from being a baby.  Given the ructions over washing her hair, I had real concerns how Kimberley would react; however, her vociferous protests and ferocious anguish over the wetting of her hair had died down in recent days, perfectly timed for the event to take place.
It can only occur when the child is in their first or third year (or every odd year after that) - Mongolians count the actual birth as their first birthday (reasonable enough) and so for them, it is when the child is one or three.  Kimberley was born with an extensive barnet and her hair had inevitably grown considerably in the last two and a half years - left to hang down, it was around about her diaphragm.  From my point of view, it was a shame in a way to shear that off but I had negotiated with my wife that it wouldn't all be shaved off.  Twins of some friends of ours, who had their ritual hair-cutting around about the same age, said they hated their 'boy' haircuts.
Hair-cutting can only be done on certain days and Monday 17th August 2015 was a doubly special day through alignments in the lunar calendar.  Altaa, I and my sister-in-law took turns to cut off a snippet (or a little more than a snippet) of the locks, then my parents, sweetened for Kimberley on each occasion by the donation of money and presents.  Altaa kept her family in Mongolia informed through numerous texts and posts and Altaa's sister was also on hand to help supervise.  We then all had a traditional Mongolian lunch.  Later, Mongolian friends (and significant others) of ours came round for dinner and they too snipped further sections away.  It generally concluded around the normal bedtime for Kimberley which was ideal.
Kimberley is quite at ease with her shortened mane, her new look drifting along her shoulders like bullrushes in a river brushing the earthen bank.  Although her personality is the same, it is a striking change enough to make me perceive as different, though still loving.  The hair removed was less than even I had thought it would be however and though it is not a mess, I suppose that gives more for the hairdresser to play around with on the imminent trip there.

Regime continuity

Ah, things pile up, even when there is little to do - the act of vegging saps energy from other pursuits.  First up, China, specifically Tianjin, where the death toll from Thursday's devastating blasts soared past the 100 mark and authorities evacuated everyone in a three-kilometre zone for fear of burning sodium cyanide at the site.  China's state television channel has had to indulge in precarious editing after questions were asked as to why residential homes were so close to a dock storing hazardous materials and families reacted angrily to contract firefighters (as opposed to regular firefighters) not listed among the missing.  However, even their reporters are complaining of stinging eyes when they, unprotected, accompany units kitted out in hazmat suits.
China's Communist Party are wary because they know their history.  In 1911, an accidental blast at an army barracks initiated a mutiny that quickly spread to the whole country, sweeping away not just the rotting edifice of the Manchu Qing dynasty but the entire concept of imperial government.  President of the People's Republic and General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, Xi Jinping, has been vigorous in his anti-corruption drive, taking out big-name 'tigers' as well as low-level 'flies', but corruption is still at epidemic levels and coupled with the plunging stockmarket and a slowing economy, the shipboard explosion and the subsequent chain reaction must chill the senior cadres to their bones.
Xi has bound the army ever closer to his personal authority, purging politically unreliable (to him) commanders in a so-called efficiency drive (which admittedly the People's Liberation Army needed).  So while the Tianjin explosion has eerie echoes of a century ago, as long as the PLA are on the side of the senior communist authorities, in particular Xi, a change in regime is unlikely.

The rise and fall of mirth in Reginald Perrin

When you die, you have to have done something special to avoid being forgettably replaceable.  That was the fate that befell Reggie Perrin but not David Nobbs, who wrote The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin.  The Today programme was eulogising Nobbs' passing but such a landmark in British comedy will resonate with few under the age of 25.
I remember catching a re-run of the series on BBC2 in the late 1990s and though a few things are noteworthy (the progressive parents who insist on calling their brattish progeny not children but 'little adults', more out of ideology than parental pride) and it is observational comedy, it is one captured in aspic.  The only way it is observational now would be viewing a dig at an archaeological site.  All of which is a roundabout way of saying it hasn't aged well.
One guest on Today exclaimed that "anyone can write a gag" (not true) but what Nobbs did was create a magnificent comic character.  In this, the series was blessed with Leonard Rossiter, a man born to play Reggie Perrin as much as Rigsby in Rising Damp, but it speaks to truths of its milieu - the dreariness of the workplace and home life of an office drone in the late 1970s - rather than eternal ones of character traits.  The workplace and home life of an office drone can still be dreary with bragging bosses and shrewish spouses, just not in the same way anymore.  Which is why Dad's Army, written about much the same time but referring to an age even further removed, garners so many more repeats as the jokes stem from the timeless attributes of people (coupled with first-rate acting).
When I watched it in the late 1990s, I felt compelled to laugh out of decency rather than from an irrepressible geyser in side of me.  The Today presenter in charge of the tribute to Nobbs, cited a line that had stuck with him from The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin as thus: "The train will be delayed by five minutes due to wolves on the line."  It speaks to the absurdity of excuses cooked up by the rail authorities that are announced straight-bat (which could be said to timeless as long as public transport lasts) but it wasn't the delivery that failed to evince a smile from me.  It was stimulating, yes, but not funny.  It really needed a rider to cap it such as, 'just as sheep mow lawns, at least that will take care of the suicides' or something of that ilk (I'm just thinking on spur of the moment; this is a blogpost after all, instead than something goes out on national television).  This summed up ...Reginald Perrin - jokes in which there was much to be admired, through meta-context and construction but, like reactions to solemn statuary crowning a tomb, they induce respect rather than laughter.

What a load of baloney (another contaminated product?)

I checked out my local Aldi today after it abruptly closed over the weekend.  "We are currently being restocked and will re-open 8am Monday 10th August [their underlining].  Sorry for any inconvenience caused."  I'll say they need restocking, particularly in the bread aisle after a widespread rodent infestation was found there on Friday morning, leading to officials from Medway Council issuing a formal closure notice.  That notice affixed to the Aldi store has been replaced by the disingenuous one currently on display and an Aldi spokesman said the decision to close the store was theirs and did not deny it was due to the infestation.  I wonder what legal strings Aldi had to pull to re-open as soon as possible.

Considerate timing

It was decent of Australia to concede the Ashes before the football season started so the England cricket team could have their unalloyed, if brief, moment in the sun.  They cut it fine, refusing to implode in the second innings of the fourth test as they did in the first innings but England hurried them along.  Such has been the curtailed nature of all four tests (including the one the Aussies actually won), there has no been no play on a Sunday - keeping the Sabbath holy, nice.

Paved part of paradise, put up a parking lot to see the rest

My viewpoint on the context of the killing of Cecil the Lion, that the loss to the incomes of the people of Hwange, to science and to biodiversity and my criticism of the journalist who was primarily responsible for the story to Reuters, has been slammed as patronising and contemptuous of the real views of Zimbabweans - that the people of the country are surprised at being told how famous a lion was and how they have bigger fish to fry than conservation and safaris.  While I take issue with the notion that there is a single, unified, Rousseauian Zimbabwean viewpoint (is there a single British viewpoint, a single French, a single American?) and still believe that the article was poorly constructed agitprop rather than honest reporting, I may have not have been as forensic as maybe I should have been, to avoid charges of seeing things from a western 'privileged' perspective.
It was Joni Mitchell in Big Yellow Taxi bewailing the fact that 'they paved paradise, put up a parking lot'. This hippy idealism would also be seen as hailing from a western privileged background and thus the critique that I have been under thus paints Zimbabweans who do not hail from Hwange national park in the role of Alan Partridge, baldly dismissing the heart of the song as "a measure that would actually have alleviated congestion on the outskirts of paradise."   To be in the role of Partridge is unenviable but I think it is pertinent.  Of course, Zimbabwe shouldn't just be kept for conservation and safaris and indeed not need to revert to its former reputation as the breadbasket of southern Africa - that would be patronising.  I believe development can go hand-in-hand with conservation - they are not mutually exclusive.  Whether the government is competent and lacking in corruption to achieve that balance is another matter - for instance, Turkey, a country in an infinitely better state, has a government in hock to coal interests, planning an extra 80 constructions or expansions of coal-fired power plants as soon as possible, despite a Bloomberg New Energy Finance Report finding that expanding Turkey’s wind, solar and hydropower could meet its energy needs for the same cost as the coal rush, while keeping carbon emissions level.
On another note, the American hunter who killed Cecil had his second home in Florida (another million-dollar property in his portfolio - being a dentist is coining it) vandalised, with spray paints and pigs trotters in hot sauce.  It seems odd that in protesting the death of an animal, you should profane body parts of other, once living animals - presumably the pigs to whom the trotters belonged are not mounted on wheels.  This is when outrage tips into rage just so people can feel virtuous in their anger.  It does not matter that the pigs would have been slaughtered anyway - it is forgetting the fundamental principles the anonymous protesters are supposed to be upholding and is virtue signalling at its most crass.