Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,

so that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah.

Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
So that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah.

My wife and my kids, they are packed up and leave me.
Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen.
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah.

Shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone.
I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde.
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah.

After a storm there must be a calm.
They catch me in the farm. You sound the alarm.
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah.

Poor me, the Israelite.
I wonder who I'm working for.
Poor me, Israelite,
I look a-down and out, sir.


RIP Desmond.

Lose weight,

build muscle, make friends and influence people. No, not spam e-mail I received today, but the book I picked up, the Five Tibetans. These yoga rites seemingly give you the body and health you had dreamed of in 20-30 minutes a day. Without running. I shall start tomorrow and keep you updated with my progress.

Related links

The related links button on Google toolbar is a wonderful, if somewhat intriguing tool... The following are links related to Pickleparty, the entertaining/offensive (delete as appropriate) e-card site:

Wwweirdness - thousands of weird links
Alllooksame - tests your ability to identify people of Asian descent in 18 individual photographs
Ihatemen - Politically incorrect humor based site for people and others to vent their anger and frustration toward men
Bert is evil - Sesame Street character in evil shocker!
Inanyus - nice Flash e-card site

Gogol'

I've been thinking about dear Nikolai since my encounter with a Russian customer 10 days ago. I remember thinking at the time how difficult it is to explain his writing to a non-Russophile. Monty Python meets Dostoevskii with serious mental health issues is the only way I can work my way round it, but even that doesn't do him justice in the slightest. Fedor Mikhailovich held him in the highest regard, of course, stating that all the Russian writers of his era had come out from beneath Gogol''s overcoat. Anyway, if you haven't yet (and I think both of my readers have), rush to your nearest bookselling establishment and demand a copy of Gogol''s tales, or, if you are a Russian reader, head over to www.klassika.ru. You will not regret it. Although you may. In fact you may hate him. But try, at least once. 'Nose' is excellent. 'The Overcoat' is even better. Read him and see the prototype for the small, disillusioned men of later fiction. Or read him and laugh. Or delight in his evocation of St. Petersburg. Whatever. Just read him.

Latest five big tracks

1. Quantic Soul Orchestra - Babarabatiri
2. Ammoncontact - One For Ayler
3. Trio Mocoto - Swinga Sambaby
4. Ossie Allstars - Doberman Skank
5. Sufjan Stevens - The Black Hawk War, or, How To Demolish An Entire Civilization and Still Feel Good About Yourself in the Morning, or, We Apologize for the Inconvenience But You're Going To Have To Leave Now, or, "I have fought the Big Knives and will continue to fight them till they are off our lands!"

Hudba

Čechomor were rather good last night. I had feared a Central European techno-folk explosion (memories of the popularity of the Levellers in my youth still give me nightmares), but as soon as Michal wandered onstage with his violincello, these were allayed. Their music is a kind of Czech parallel to the Saw Doctors or the later Waterboys - those of us of a certain age from the UK surely remember 'Whole of the moon'. Rock-folk fusion, and very good it was too. I think every Czech in London betweenn the ages of 16 and 56 were there, and all of them were dancing as one. This was part of the Pulse Festival - Central European music in London, mirroring the growth in the number of Central Europeans, especially younger ones, in London nowadays. And next month there is the Balkan Fever Festival as well.

Come and See

by Elem Klimov is the film I watched this evening. An unrelentlingly grim portrayal of a young Belarusian partisan during WW2. This film contains no heroism, no trivialisation of violence, no notions of honour, no glory - the title comes from the Book of Revelation, and, having been brought up on war films starring John Mills, the pure violence and misery as depicted in this film are shocking, not least because Klimov insisted on using live rounds of ammunition, as far as I can tell, the USSR did not have any particular worries about animal protection (a cow is strafed wih machine gun fire, and a number of horses die), but the most incredible scenes are those involving explosives. There is no huge fireball for Mr Klimov - Hollywood take note - bombs/landmines cause more damage through the force of the explosion, not the fire after. The attack on the partisans' base contains some of the largest explosions I have ever seen on screen - none of the Western Vietnam or WW2 films come close - and Klimov drops the audience into the heart of the action by simulating the protagonists' deafness following the explosion. A truly upsetting, yet utterly compelling film.

More thoughts for me to write about

sorry for tormenting you with these, dear readers. I have been having thought upon thought about religious aspects of Soviet visual culture. Great PhD idea, I know. Anyways, here are some of my thoughts...

1. There was a concious religious revival as part of the nationalist trend under Stalin, particularly during/after WW2 - yet prior to this Soviet culture remained essentially Christian, both in terms of ritual (Gorbachev, for example was christened), but also the most strikingly Soviet visual culture, i.e. posters, parades, packaging, advertising, propaganda, films, paintings retained aspects of classically Christian art, in terms of form, content and usage
2. Russia was essentially an illiterate culture before the Revolution.
3. It then joined both the literate and the visual+literate age, whilst retaining many aspects of the pre-literate age - images were fundamental to most Soviet propaganda.
4. Ritual was also carried over - parades echo saint's days in Catholic/Orthodox countries, Lenin's corpse became an anti-religious artefact, icons of Stakhanovite workers replaced those of saints in houses, biography gave way to vague hagiography, especially in self-penned biographies (the short course, for example)
5. Socialist realist painters used Western Christian styles (as did the architects), yet imbued the paintings with an Orthodox iconic power. Especially the pictures of Stalin.
6. Lenin/Stalin - John/Jesus?

Customers

both infuriate and entertain me. I have just tried to help an non-Russian speaking customer who wanted a present for a friend with an interest in politics. She wanted fiction, ideally modern, but as I approached the Russian books, I was accosted by another Russian customer looking for Lukianenko. I pointed her towards the master of the vampire novel, but as I then proceeded to help the other customer, she butted in repeatedly, deriding my recommendations of Gogol and Bulgakov, and insisting that Shukshin was a greater writer than either of them. She huffed and puffed as I tried to explain Master & Margarita. She exclaimed that everyone knows Gogol and is sick of him. Pelevin was a hack. Sorokin was rubbish. And yet I couldn't help but smile. I cannot imagine a British sci-fi fan (as she loudly proclaimed to be) having such a knowledge of and passion for (no matter how misguided I may consider it to be) English literature as a whole.

Optical mice

are wonderful. One of the banes of my life has been cleaning (hands are very dirty)/fixing mice at work. I have just replaced them with optical ones across the shop. Bliss.

Got this

book yesterday. I have been looking for an encyclopedia of Irish myth for years, having read, amongst others, Yeats' Writings on Irish Folklore, Legend and Myth, as well as Flann O'Brien's At Swim Two Birds. The second of these, with it's reliance on more than a passing knowledge of the characters and tropes of Irish myth, as well as its confusing narrative structure, is especially challenging.
However, the most intriguing for me is that the mythical stories are set within (on the whole) identifiable parts of modern Ireland, and it is possible to visit the sites mentioned in the stories - Westmeath promotes itself as a 'land of lake and legend'. This is just one part of the legends that survives to this day - hurling has been mentioned below, and leprechauns are as popular as ever, but, idly flicking through the book on the Tube this morning, I was struck by how many of the mythic Gaelic names are still in use today - many of the stereotypically 'Irish' (from British point of view) surnames exist in their original Gaelic forms in the cycles of stories, and many of the heros have names that are still common currency today.

Work

Rather beautifully, this classic piece of Soviet propaganda is stuck to the wall beside me as I write these words in my break. Another Saturday at work. Had to get up early. Nausea. London does look rather incredible on a Saturday morning with the trees in blossom, the sun shining, and the air cleared after rain last night. The view from the Central Line as you pass through Acton is staggering - London (or at least the western parts of it) are laid out before you. Several coffees have made me feel a little more human, and I have two afternoons off next week, one of which allows me to prepare for the Champions' League Final (no beer for the first time in 15 years, though). Working today does mean that I am missing the first FA Cup final I've actually wanted to watch since 2002. As a child, before Mr Murdoch's channel ensured that football pervaded every aspect of British existence, FA Cup day was one of the highlights of my year - the build up from 12 o'clock, ably handled by Des et al, with highlights from previous years was always bliss. I have to say that it has lost some of its shine in recent years - neither Millwall nor Southampton were particualrly inspiring, and both the BBC and Sky now have the old-style FA Cup build up every Saturday afternoon, and the quality of football in the Champions' League dwarfs that of the English cup competitions. And I am becoming older and more cynical with every hour that passes.

A break...

By the end of next week I should have time to stop and think at work. And then I can decide waht to do for a holiday this year. Khorog is a distant possibility. Schull is closer, as is Berlin. Actually, in certain ways the destination doesn't matter. The break does. Ideally somewhere without mobile or internet connection. Where I can vaguely get by in the language. And cheap(ish). Any other suggestions gratefully received...

Tanned and gorgeous

is what I am after Friday's trip to the zoo. Summer arrived on Thursday/Friday, and departed just as quickly yesterday. London is back to the mediocre gloom one would expect. The zoo, however, was an interesting experience. It is, as ever, in a state of transition, as it is being rebranded (slowly) as part of ZSL - although there are still many signs and buildings that remain from my first visit to the zoo twenty-odd years ago. They are building new enclosures for many of the biggest attractions - a £5 million gorilla house is due for next year, and the giraffes/zebras to the north of the zoo, next tot the canal have been transformed into an 'African' experience. The most noticeable change, however, is the concious promotion of retail within the zoo - there are shops, kiosks and cafes all over the place, and the smell of deep-fat fryers pervades the air. A shame, I feel, and a problem not limited only to the zoo - our correpsondent who has visited Kew recently commented that there are more cafes selling over-priced food, as well as a land-train to carry visitors unwilling to walk through the gardens. This transformation into an 'experience' seems shameful to me - as our correspondent's mother said, when he was a child, running riot through the open spaces of Kew was enough - there was no need for play areas, etc. My feelings about the zoo are the same - I still feel wonder when looking at tigers, or gorillas, or whatever, and the meet the monkeys part of the zoo is truly amazing. This is not to say that new developments are all bad - you can still watch the penguins (although they have been moved from their classic Art-Deco pool, now home to African porcupines) being fed, and there are many more interactive and educational parts than there ever were 20 years ago. I suppose the major issue is that the zoo exists as a charity, and receives no funding from the government, and so, in a classic piece of prostitution, has to turn tricks to invest the money in research and conservation.

Hurling

No, nothing to do with food poisoning or excessive drinking.














The (wonderful?) Irish sport of hurling has re-entered my mind recently - there is a club based in Perivale, and I happened upon their match(es) two Sundays ago. Intriguingly for me, hurling seems to be the only organised sport that has not yet bowed to health and safety concerns (think of ice hockey, American football, etc) - although the 8-10 year old boys playing were wearing headgear, once you reach your teens, no protection seems to be employed, be you male or female. I remember as a child watching Irish footballers who had grown up playing hurling and being amazed at the physical punishment they could endure - but, having seen the game close up and repeatedly on TV, it is no surprise - a ball the size of those used in hockey is hit/flicked into the air using the hurley (sorry, the only images are of Liz) and hit. Whilst running. This (seemingly) has changed little over the centuries - the game is mentioned in old Irish legends, and the famous sports channel, Setanta, is named after its greatest practitioner.

Summer has

also arrived (kind of). We are expecting 24ºc by Friday. So my hay fever will be in full effect by the end of the week. The joys of British summer time are also on the way. I am convinced I have heard an ice-cream van in the vicinity (although it may just be one of the random noises I hear in my head). Now, to get all middle-aged and maudlin, there do seem to be fewer ice-cream vans doing the rounds these days than when I was a kid. Is this because it is easy to get hold of (much better quality) ice-cream cheaply through supermarkets now, or because kids don't play out in the streets any longer (due to parents' fears of allergies, injuries and/or paedophiles), or are my ears no longer attuned to the tinkling muzak that emanates from these gaudy harbingers of cold creamy joy?

Bank Holiday Listening

Moodymann - Black Mahogani II - deep spiritual jazzy house perfection
Miles Davis - Kind of Blue - one of the best albums ever recorded, and available for under a fiver from Amazon
Delroy Wilson - Better Must Come - Classic lovers and righteous tunes - his version of Bob Marley's I'm Still Waiting is in my all time top ten
Jazzanova - The Remixes 2002-2005 - top German-jazz remixes