Thursday, October 30, 2014

10 Musics



Well, here we go again. Last time it was hieroglyphs, now it is sounds. This damned number 10 is a very restrictive number; however number one is easy:

Pomp and Circumstance March # I in D Major, Edward Elgar, Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Daniel Barenboim.

Most people know this as Land of Hope and Glory but the words were set to the tune by a chappie called A.C. Benson at the request of King Edward VII after Elgar’s scoring. It used to be played as the national anthem for England at the Commonwealth Games but, for some stupidly ignorant, senselessly nonsensical, ridiculously irrational, ludicrously asinine and preposterously dumb reason ‘they’ changed it to Jerusalem for the recent Glasgow edition. I don’t know anyone who has represented England at the Games who thought it was a good exchange. Jerusalem is a wonderful tune and evocative of all the right upstanding emotions but the Women’s Institute can keep it with their jam; England is Land of Hope and Glory.

Back to Elgar.

The Last Night of the Proms always does a tremendous version and one of my bucket list entries would definitely be to be in one of the front few rows for that experience (There you go Peter – next up ‘My Bucket List’). However, my favorite recorded version is by the London Philharmonic and conducted by Daniel Barenboim but I couldn’t find it on Youtube so we have him leading the Berlin Phil instead. Some versions lack the differentiated tempo that Barenboim commands, especially the more adagio sections.


Elgar would definitely be number one; the other nine (hmm... fat chance of stickling to that number but we’ll try) are not ordered, they are just listed as I thought of them.

Eroica Symphony, Ludwig van Beethoven

If you could only chose one composer from history and no others were ever allowed then I suppose the coin flip would be between Mozart and Beethoven. I err on the side of the deaf guy.
Obviously not his most famous symphony but this one makes the hairs stick up and my arms go goosebumpy for a poignant reason. Simply by writing about it my arms and neck have gone cold and goosy. Yesterday I was telling someone about visiting the concentration camp in Auschwitz and the same thing happened. Always does. Funny things, strong memories.

Eroica was the chosen music for the memorial service held in the Olympic stadium the day after the murder of 11 Israeli athletes during the Munich Olympic Games.

Sally In Our Ally, Gracie Fields

I know! Music. Music? She actually had the most wonderful voice. I doubt that her accent during film dialogue was how she spoke in everyday life (would anyone want to keep a Rochdale accent?) but singing has magical properties, erasing stutters and disguising accents like a palette knife smoothing the finishing touches to Christmas-cake icing.

Mean Mr. Mustard/Polythene Pam/She Came in Through the Bathroom Window/Golden Slumbers/Carry that Weight, The Beatles

I view myself as a Sixties child and there is a strong ring of truth to the phrase, ‘If you can remember the sixties you weren’t there,’ but you don’t have to remember it because the music is still here. The 1960’s music revolution produced some amazing stuff. The Beatles’ catalogue, the Rolling Stones (more of which later), Bee Gees, Elton John (more of ...), and others produced stuff which is regarded as classic rock and is still played every day fifty years later.

The Rubber Soul-Revolver-SPLHCB-Abby Road quartet of albums contains some great, great music. I know the White Album is often quoted by ‘those that know’ as one of The Beatles’ classics but I wasn’t too impressed. Not as melodious as the preceding four (in release date terms – I know the tracks were recorded out of release sequence) and, without re-listening to them all again, not as indicative of The Beatles’ ‘hidden signature’, their harmonies.

To ‘bookend’ Our Gracie I should chose Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite because the actual, the real, the legendary, the immortal Pablo Fanque’s Fair which spawned the poster from which John Lennon wrote the song was actually, really, honestly and truly, in real life, held on Town Meadows at the back of Rochdale Town Hall. But I won’t. Instead I go for the Polythene Pam/Bathroom Window thing.
I know there are four titles but they all blend together and, in total, are less than 7:30 so I’m keeping them as one. Ringo’s drumming is as outstanding as ever (did you know he is left handed but has always set up his drum kit as a right-hander’s set? The subtle effect, combined with his already unique style, is to make him almost impossible to copy). If you want to see something remarkable watch Chris Bliss juggling to the Carry that Weight sequence – talent, talent, talent.

And walking across the zebra crossing is also on my bucket list. Peter and Trini could probably do it every day but I have never done it!

Something, Paul McCartney, Eric Clapton and a zillion others

The Lennon-McCartney partnership and its acrimonious disentanglement produced some of the highest quality music of the 20th Century but lurking in the background, hiding its light under its own bushel is George Harrison’s contribution. Frank Sinatra described Something as, “The best love song ever written,” and it’s pretty hard to argue with, or top, that opinion.

Another amazing fact is that three of the greatest love songs of the sixties (or any time really) were all written about the same woman! Patty Boyd. George wrote Something, Clapton wrote Layla (more of ....) when she was still married to George and he was secretly in love with her, and later wrote Wonderful Tonight after she’d untied the George knot and tied the Eric one. That’s a pretty impressive singalong CV. She must have had something!

Anyways, I digress. My favorite version of Something is from the Concert for George which was organized and directed by his best friend Eric C, one year to the day after George died. Fantastic concert; Tom Hanks even dresses up as a Mountie and joins The Monty Pythons for The Lumberjack Song and another combination of Pythons emulates Gracie Fields’ Sing As We Go with a bare-assed naked Sit On My Face. Awesome stuff.

Anyways, again, I digress. I’ve never been a fan of McCartney. Smug, smarmy and chocolaty- smooth. Wouldn’t trust him. I was, and always will be a Lennon man; raw edges are much more interesting. So, all through the Concert for George I was patiently waiting for Something and along comes the slippery, slimy, oily Poily and starts plinking Something on a ukulele! You can sense the dismay of the whole audience in the Royal Albert Hall; George’s greatest song and it is going to be bastardized by this Plinking Paul. They bravely force themselves to join in but then, then, then ... Clapton brings in his Stratocaster, Mincy Macca swops the uke for a piano and is joined by Joe Brown, Jools Holland, Sam Brown, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, Heartbreakers, Billy Preston, Ringo Starr, Gary Brooker, Andy Fairweather Low, Klaus Voorman, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Neil Innes, Tery jones, Michael Palin and Carol Cleveland to produce a sensational crescendo-ing working which must have made George smile. Just outstanding. Turn it up to 11 and let it wash over you – an experience to equal Pomp and Circumstance or Nessun Dorma.

George’s lyrics get overlooked but they stand comparison with probably the greatest lyricist of the 20th Century, Cole Porter. Porter’s grasp of language is astounding. In olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking ... who could write that nowadays?

Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen

In my book this may be the best rock song ever written. The very least position I could give it would be joint top with Layla and Like a Rolling Stone. As the Blessed Brian Clough almost said, “It may not be the best song ever written but it’s definitely in the top one.” Awesome lyrics, very complicated musical construction, and fantastic arrangement. Some of these rocky people never cease to amaze me; Brian May has a PhD in astrophysics and he has an asteroid named after him.

Eloise, Barry Ryan

Marion Ryan was an excellent ‘journeyman’ singer in her day and her twin boys, Barry and Paul, The Ryan Twins, did a reasonable job of continuing the family tradition with ballads and sweet, love me-leave me easy-going tunes. However, when Barry broke out with this solo number, written by brother Paul, it was a revelation. Hard hitting, orchestrated, soaring, tempo-changing from slow and gentle to thumping, biting, vicious and violent it took the happy-family image and crushed it underfoot like an attack on an irritating cockroach.

Like a Rolling Stone, The Rolling Stones

The Stones are, without doubt, The Greatest Rock and Roll Band In The World, and Dylan’s masterpiece was judged the best/greatest/most influential rock song of all time by Rolling Stone magazine. So three stones all rolling together and they definitely don’t gather moss but they do gather plaudits.

The ‘storyline’ of the song is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, and the wordsmithing and imaginative juxtapositioning of concepts is possibly Dylan’s greatest ever achievement. It is unusual for The Rolling Stones to do cover versions even though they made their breakthrough with a Lennon-McCartney number, and Dancing in the Street by Jagger and Bowie doesn’t count.  This, however, is the obvious one for them to do but it took a long time. The result, however, is tremendous. A fusing of the best song ever, with the best group and the ‘best front-man in the business’. One Youtube version features the man himself as well but he sings about as equally worse as he ever does and Jagger looks really worried about the quality of the concert.

“Alright, let’s stop messing around.” Rolling Stones

I am definitely cheating here. Flashpoint (1991) is a series of live recordings taken from the Steel Wheels/Urban Jungle tours in 1989 and 1990 and, somewhere The Immortal Keef is obviously a tad pissed off with the boring approach used so he commands a change. The album launches Keef’s rifs into a non-stop barrage of some of the best rock songs ever: Paint it Black, Sympathy for the Devil, Brown Sugar, Jumpin’ Jack Flash, and (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction. 25 minutes of rock perfection. Yes, Honky Tonk Woman is missing but we have to accept that perfection sometimes has elusive elements.

Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding, Elton John

Some artists should gracefully retire after producing what is their career masterpiece. Reg Dwight is one of those. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road is a stunning compilation of music and EJ is one of the best rock-ists ever. I am one of the millions of peoples who want this double-track played at their funeral (Peter – another top ten list idea!). I’ve seen him three times in live concert; once very good, once totally crap and once, ok-ish, but this version is on my iPad and gets full treatment every time I’m stuck on a budget plane with no seat-back video.


That’s ten titles and arguably 19 songs but I insist on keeping calm and carrying on.

Nessun Dorma, Three Tenors

If my religious beliefs were conventional I would vow that Luciano Pavarotti’s voice was delivered by angels. Vincero, the crescendo-ing climax to this Puccini masterpiece means I will win, and, indeed, he and they do.

Layla, Derek and the Dominoes

See above for the amazing story of Clapton’s writing of this. The storyline is based on Persian folklore about forbidden love. The long version with the piano coda – added in complete isolation by the drummer the day after the other instrumental passages were recorded – is what transforms it from a great, great piece of rock history to its legendary status amongst the genre’s immortal pantheon of musical god-scores.

Anything by Frank Sinatra

That’s not a song called Anything sung by Frank Sinatra, it’s any song sung by Frank Sinatra. Undoubtedly the best singer of popular songs of the 20th century, his phrasing is so unique that it is impossible to accurately sing along with him. Try it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2srU38V8pI

Yes It Is, The Beatles

I have nothing exclusively Lennon-ish here which is unfair on the poor guy so I’ll chose this little known number. It was originally the B side to Ticket to Ride and, although, credited to the L-McC partnership, it was a Lennon exclusive original.

The Youtube link is to a rare version from some out takes. The particular YT channel has some absolute gems.


Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Ten Books. Plus or minus a few.



I read voraciously.


Mostly I have at least three books on the go at any one time, often four. One I’m currently wading through is Surfaces and Essences (Douglas Hofstadter & Emmanuel Sander) and finding it very hard to settle in to. The sub title is ‘Analogy as the Fuel and Fire of Thinking’ and they hypothesize that analogies are the key, THE key, to understanding human intelligence. Don Norman, possibly the leading light for many years in the drive for design simplicity, sums it up as, “The key is to recognize that analogies and concepts are the same things ...” He says it’s, “easy to read, but deep to comprehend,” but I think he has his adjectives contrapositioned. That may be why Amazon have it discounted from $35 to $6.70!

I have books in storage in New Zealand and Hong Kong, and since I came to Bali 12 months ago I have accumulated at least another 58. “At least” because I have a weak habit of lending books and then forgetting who I have lended them to. Goodbye book. It must be too early for my brain (6.00 am) because I originally wrote “Good buy book”. True, indeed, but not what I intended. And apologies for the “lended” but I’m writing offline in MSWord and “loaned” made Bill Gates upset and produced a red wiggly line – there it is again.

Anyways, ten books, eh? Easy. But wait, not quite so fast there. Ten greatest books of all time? My ten favorite books? Ten of the most illuminating, provocative, irritating, stirring? 

Do they have to be books? Can they be essays? Articles from Journals? Speeches? I adore Churchill’s speeches but his writings fall short, I think. Difficult not to, I guess. Do they have to be novels? Biographies ? I’m not an avid reader of biographies but I’ve noticed a trend in my political collection which is disturbingly Conservative with a big C: Ted Heath (sorry); Enoch Powell (did he really wish he’d been killed in the War as he said?); and, hiding head in embarrassment, That Bloody Woman. 

Another one which could (and I hesitate to use the phrase given what is coming next), come back and bite me on the ass, is Big Cyril. You may know him as the grossly rotund Liberal ‘member’ (can’t resist these puns) for Rochdale who, it turns out, was a fellow-traveller with Jimmy Savile. Only with little boys though – Savile was AC/DC I think. Anyways, I like to think Big Cyril was a friend; in the purely platonic sense, of course. He signed my copy of his autobiography with something like, “Happy memories … blah, blah, blah.” (It’s in storage!). Very embarrassing.

Fiction.
Fiction?
Fiction!
FICTION!
FICTION!

I just re-read Pete’s post and it says ten works of fiction. Bugger. That scuppers my list. Checked back at the original posts and one says “top ten books”, another “ten favorite books”. What-ev-er. Ke sera sera. Looking through the titles I see my subjects matter includes magic, mysticism, prayer, religion, philosophy and fantasy, so I’m sure someone will interpret those as fiction.

I tend to go for language rather than narrative. When I’m writing I will often stop and wander around the room or house to allow the ‘correct’ word to find its way to the surface. If that doesn’t work I put a place marker of XXXX’s and color them red so that they don’t creep, unreplaced, into the final version. Invariably the following day produces precisely the right word. And it has to be precise: I will rewrite tens of tens of times before being satisfied.

Once, surprisingly, a word literally ‘popped’ into my head and it was precisely, exactly and miraculously the correct one. I say miraculously because I have no recollection of ever previously encountering it, let alone using it. If you’re interested, it was transliteral.  I had to look it up and it was a perfect fit. Peter and Trini are probably its best friends but, for me, it was a total stranger that serendipitously arrived in my time of need. Unexpected, and asking no reward save that of being temporarily immortalized in metaphorical ink.

Peter mentions opening sentences and they do instantly set the scene, don’t they? Athole Still, who holds the dubious distinction of being the only Glyndebourne opera singing/Sunday Times sports journalist/ITV commentator/agent to Sven Goran Eriksson that I know, came up with this:  One man knelt in prayer, another vomited silently into a towel.” You’d think that was the opening to a saga about a terminal event in a prisoner of war camp but, to quote the immortal Shanks, “It’s much more important than that.” It’s a description of the ‘ready room’ before the final of the men’s 100m freestyle at the 1968 Olympic Games in Mexico City. If you’re Scottish you’ll realize the import of that.

Opening sentences are a fair-weather friend. Sometimes they roll off the keyboard and the rest of the piece simply follows in smooth step. Sometimes they achieve the dizzy heights of abject mediocrity and the rest becomes drudgery. 

John Le Carré does a good opening. In A Delicate Truth he tells us, “On the second floor of a characterless hotel in the British Crown Colony of Gibraltar, a lithe, agile man in his late fifties restlessly paced his bedroom.” Just think about the choice of words: one sentence and the reader immediately knows that if there is a lift, it’s probably not working. Or, if it is, then it is so small that it won’t fit the man and his luggage at the same time, and it has the sliding concertina, diamond shaped, expanding metal mesh doors that never properly engage the lock and have to be manoeuvred into place. You just know that the paint on the bedroom walls is old, peeling and beige; that the door has a loose mortise lock - British standard (large) BS3621, even though that’s not the norm for internal doors - and that it eschews plastic and demands a real, metal key. You also know that the man’s clothes are loose fitting, not particularly deliberately so but because he shops and dresses himself and he hasn’t bothered to shop for quite some time.

Le Carré is a master.

How about this one: “One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to with it:- it was the black kitten’s fault entirely.” OK, now I’ve started my 10. Lewis Carroll’s second Alice book is NOT a children’s book. It is a masterpiece of metaphor describing and explaining nature, philosophy, evolution, religion, society, and, of course, Carroll being Carroll (or Dodgson), mathematics. The black kitten is the Dark Side, the white kitten is the Alliance; Evil, as opposed to Truth, Beauty and Goodness. And the Dark Side is what provokes and evokes, triggers, the spin of the evolutionary revolution. There are lessons for every profession in every line. I have always recommended that Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There be the first book swim coaches read if they want to understand the transmogrification of human performance.

2. The second is Swimming Faster. ‘Ernie’ Maglischo produced a tripartite library all on his own but this one, the first, was the best. His second book contains some HUGELY misleading advice (later admitted and recanted by the author) and the third is just a door-stop sometimes used for reference. 

3. Harry Potter, books 1-7: JK Rowling. The whole tale of the Boy Who Lived. Seriously; I think it is one of the great literary feats of the last 100 years. The last few books got longer and longer and tended towards boredom in parts but the feat of ‘seeing’ the seven-year plot before she put pen to paper on book 1, is astounding. There are things in book 7 which she set up in book 1. JKR, you have my admiration and awe. Quidditch deserves to be an Olympic sport. Not sure about the Robert Galbraith (her pseudonym) trilogy though.

4. The Curve of Time: M. Wylie Blanchet. This is a remarkable book. Autobiographical, by a recently widowed mother who takes her children on a therapeutic yacht adventure off the northern coast of British Columbia, it somehow instantly evokes the misty and mysterious, grey sense of eeriness that engulfs that environment of its native-American owner-occupiers. By mid-way down page one you are transported in both time and place. It’s not the same as Le Carré where you can visualize the scene, for this book you become the scene. Truly remarkable. 

5. Signatura Rerum. This book was written by Jakob Böhme (1575-1624). In some of his portraits he looks uncannily like we think Shakespeare looked; have you noticed that, across, generations there are people who look unbelievably like someone from another generation? In other portraits he looks like an extra from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. Bohme, Boehma, Behmen hailed from Görlitz - part of the Holy Roman Empire at the time, which presented him with some problems. His trade was shoemaking. Legend has it, and I totally see his point, that a vision of a beam of sunlight striking a pewter dish revealed to him the spiritual structure of the Universe including the relationship between God and man, and good and evil. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? If you knew what you were looking for. Evil things were seen to have rebelled against God and God was intent on righting wrong. Lewis Carroll would have taken him to his paedophilic bosom and hugged him.

Böhme financed his writing by selling woollen gloves. I intend not to read too much into that part of the story.

The title translates as The Signature of All Things and he examines the very origins of existence, ascribing it to an essential and purposeful energy permeating the Universe. His most famous books are The SuperSensual Life and Aurora (shades of Harry Potter right there!) but Signatura Rerum encapsulates all his other writings.

6. Contributions from a Potential Corpse: Eugene Halliday. His godfather was Eugene Sandow, a world famous circus strongman. Remember Bohme looking like Shakespeare? Well this guy looked just like Galileo. In fact, knowing him as I was privileged to do, I would venture to say he probably was Galileo reincarnated. Quite simply the most impressive intellect I have ever encountered with a world model completely tidied up and neatly stitched at the edges. His interpretation of the various major and off-shoot religions combined their philosophies and beliefs in such a simple, straightforward and logical manner that it made obvious that their differences were, indeed, the black kitten’s fault entirely; a “world-view in conformity with total reality.”

One of his hobbies was art and he used to ‘channel’ past lives and draw the portrait of the person. One of Jesus, “The Quickener”, I have framed, as does Tom, and it is such a powerful image that some people literally cannot look at it. Quickener indeed; the gaze burns straight into your soul, accelerates your responses and actions, forces rapid emotional and willful change and provokes the uncomfortable consideration of life-defining decisions.

Hebrews 7:17 describes the Messiah as being “A Priest after the order of Melchisedec.” The book is published by Melchisedec Press so there you go.

Eugene’s purpose was to “make known ... the results of thought rooted in the sonic geometry of the universe.” He describes a Supreme Truth which is the “Substantial Formal Being and contents of the Macrocosmic Logos, [embracing] all temporal and serial possibilities in one Supreme eternal simultaneous actuality.” It’s heavy stuff but heavy lifting makes you strong, doesn’t it?

Eugene posits five things for us to do which will enable us to live the best life possible: exist, feel, think, understand, and will. They have to be prioritized as written. However, he explains that we, ourselves, are not our actions, not our thoughts, and not our feelings so we are essentially free from all constraints.

He describes a state of higher existence which he terms reflexive self-consciousness and illustrates that by a drawing of an archer drawing his bow with the arrow reversed so that the bowman gets the full benefit of his aim. Lucky archer!

Symbolism formed a strong core to Eugene’s teachings, and that’s where we go next.

7. One of my interests is graphical displays and the ‘guru’ of this genre is a former Harvard professor of political science, statistics and computer sciences, called Edward R. Tufte, pronounced tufty. I used to have a lovely Persian cat called Tufty but they were not related. The human Tufte self-published one book every seven years from 1983 onwards and they are masterpieces of information design, graphical display and the art of publishing. Like most things communicative there was a significant time-lag between his first book and the ubiquitous influence of his message. I was in at the birth, buying my copy of his first book, The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, around the mid 1980’s. He’s an arrogant s-o-b but also the leader of the PowerPoint is the Work of the Devil movement so he can’t be all bad.

Good and evil: They have kept cropping up, haven’t they? Harry Potter, Alice’s Looking Glass, Jakob’s Signature, Eugene’s decomposing corpse, throw in The Holy Bible for good measure, and, of course, all of Le Carré’s works, although most of the time you’re not sure which of his characters are on which side of the moral fence. They all involve a fall from grace, battle for supremacy, resistance by the good guys in white hats, the good guys win and the fallen guy sees the light and repents. Someone should write a screen play about it and call it Star Wars. Or Lord of the Rings. All the great stories contain the same plot.

That’s seven. Now I’m going to cheat. Most of my books are in storage so I couldn’t search amongst the dusty shelves to jog my memory. Ten was a hard number for recommendations which may change your life. The 58 (at least) I bought since arriving in Bali are all business books related to my University studies (ENDS ON SUNDAY!!!!!). I just counted and eight of them are Steve Jobs based. Most ‘business’ authors are not actually businessmen and they re-hash one, reasonably bright idea and recycle it time after time in order to sell more books (John Kotter is a major culprit here). However a few are worth considering, but not as ‘top 10 all-time literary efforts’.

Mindset: How You Can Fulfill Your Potential, by Carol Dweck describes some eye-opening research she has done in attitude and its effect on success; Where Good Ideas Come From: The Natural History of Innovation (Steven Johnson) examines “key patterns” underpinning innovation and I’ve always had a thing for underlying patterns; Velocity: The Seven New Laws For A World Gone Digital (Ajaz Ahmed & Stefan Olander) is a simple to read compendium of a conversation between the authors as they discuss the world and its wife. My favorite quote on planning and strategy is, “A Smith & Wesson beats four aces.” True. Sad, but true.

I’ll lump them together as numbers eight and nine. The cheating bit is, Water: Elements of Swimming, Volume 1. The author is me. In no way does it achieve the dizzy pinnacle of wonderfulness that the other books do, in fact it may give you brain freeze. But I think it goes a long way to describing the problems encountered by humans when they swim. If it does that job well it is a first because no other books do. It’s yours for free: here. Volumes 2-5 are “works in progress.”

-----

My favorite piece of my own writing is a critique of a report commissioned on my behalf by a government agency in New Zealand. These bureaucrats decided they could help our Olympic planning effort by buying the time of a ‘data miner’ who had, “software that cost $100,000.” How impressed were they! It was about 8-10 years ago and the poor guy took the raw data I sent him and concluded that “men were faster than women” (I kid you not), and that, “if you swam the last 5 meters of a race one second faster your overall time would improve.” Trust me, I am not exaggerating, skewing the interpretation or making it up. Those are exact quotes with no editing. The rest of the report was equally worse.

My response took my well-honed sarcastic skills to new heights. My ability to spy illogicalities and inconsistencies found new levels of exposure. My cutting barbs slaveringly sharpened themselves as they appeared on the screen and awaited their turn to be read and inflict their deep, hopefully fatal wounds. I hope the data-mining guy never went down his data-mines again. But I doubt that was the outcome. Never actually met him; probably a good job.

Friday, July 19, 2013

Blogspot sucks!

I know computers don't do what you want them to do, they only do what you tell them to do, but blogspot seems worse than ever. The font mess-ups on the previous posts are not my doing, nor do they show up in the html so .....

Also, the 90 degree rotated photos!!

Maybe its time to change free blog hosting?

Clive is Alive!



Welcome back after all these years. Almost three years in fact. 990 days to be exact.

Bali: it’s a reasonably big island, approximately 45 x 90km, but ‘our’ bit is quite small – 8 x 16km - and hangs on the southern tip below a thin, appendix-like strip where the airport lives.

The airport may be familiar because of the crash a couple of months ago where a Lion Air plane decided the runway was too short and went swimming. Everyone got off so that was nice.


I stayed in a hotel opposite Martini’s hotel (not allowed to stay there – company rules) for the first few nights while we house-hunted and gave the once-over to the beachside restaurants.
House-hunting, as usual, was frustrating, but eventually we let lucky whilst driving around in a taxi when Martini spied ‘a sign’. There’s always one somewhere. Lovely little secluded, private, almost gated, cul-de-sac’d, single street of 18 houses (nine each side) so no through traffic and we’re almost at the end so virtually no traffic at all - three bedrooms, three bathrooms plus a maid’s room and maid’s toilet. It was ‘finished’ d day before we saw it but, of course, some of the windows don’t close properly, all the shower heads leak and one toilet takes four years to refill. All standard, new house stuff.

The rent is extortionate: $4,600CAD per year! (£2,900, S$5,600, NZ$5,600). Martini asked if it was negotiable whereupon the wifey of the builder snapped, “No!” I said we should have replied, “That’s a shame, we wanted to offer more.

Next thing shopping. For everything. Forever. I never want to go shopping again. Ever. Anywhere. For anything. Having said that, (hate that phrase) most everything is really well priced but the numbers frighten my brain. A ‘big shop’ ends up at Rp550,000, which is eleven blue banknotes. They’re the equivalent of $5CAD each (3/6/6) so it’s not a big deal, but dealing with hundreds of thousands and millions just doesn’t compute; to stem panic attacks I have to convert everything all the time as my brain still uses Singalong dollars as its base currency.

Take furniture: I ordered the following, all hand-made in solid teak (for some reason blogspot insists on these images being sideways even though they're the correct way round in 'real' life):

4 – high-back dining chairs
1 - splendid ‘captain’s’ chair with padded seat cover (guess who for)
1 - 90 x 90 cm dining table
1 – coffee table
1 – 2-seater settee + padded seat cover
4 – folding chairs
1 - reclining, sooper-dooper thingy chair with adjustable footrest
2 – 80 x 70 cm desks
1 – cue drum-roll …. da-dah … 2.5m x 70 cm desk FOR ME!!!

Total: Rp7,000,000 – that’s seven million! Actually its $720CAD (455/880/880). Most people agree with me that the drum-roll-da-dah desk alone would have been more than that in any other country I’ve lived in.

Another example: taxis. One of the girls in Singapore has been selected by Kenya for the World Junior Championships in Dubai at the end of August. Her Sing school is on vacation so she has nowhere to train. Singapore Sports School has refused he permission to train there either with the school groups, or by herself before or after the school groups (2 x 10-lane 50m pools sitting empty for most of the day; go figure the community thinking behind that decision.) The official decision was, “It’s not part of our core business.” As I pointed out to them when I left; the model is wrong! Anyways, being from all around the world, the family was having their 4-yearly get-together and had commandeered the whole of a resort in Ubud (think The Blessed Julia in Eat, Pray, Love). They contacted me to see if I could help. Sure, I’ll come up to Ubud and we’ll find a pool somewhere. Somewhere was a nearby hotel with a 30m x 1-lane pool with impossible-to-turn ends, but it was straight so it was usable. Ubud is a two-hour drive so I asked Sucipto, my tame taxi driver to take me and wait before bringing me back. Six hours in total - $46/29/55/55. Quite remarkable.

What else? Martini and I visited Klub Jimbaran as a possible venue for the wedding (apologies for the website – NEVER, NEVER, NEVER put ‘under construction’ on a website!!!). This is a new private club (klub?) quite nearby and it turned out to have a quite nice 6-lane, 25m pool. The brochures offer seven types of martial art lessons, three types of dance/yoga (not sure how they are synonymous but whatever), futsal, table-tennis, general fitness access etc. but only general access to the pool – no organized lessons, development or training groups whatsoever. So I have a meeting with them tomorrow to discuss the possibilities. As the Zen Master said, “We’ll see.