This is no trick

The Sunday Star Times came out with this: Olympian pimps bid with fundraising trick. Logan Campbell an Olympic hopeful in 2008 is trying to fund his bid for 2012 by opening what he describes as a "high class escort agency". It isn’t a trick - this is called making a living and I hope that the publicity helps the business.

In terms of being “traditional” or “old fashioned” Taekwondo is nothing short of prehistoric, at least it is in New Zealand. In going public over his new business venture I suspect Logan will have done a little bit more than surprise people. He will have upset some and deeply offended others; I would be truly interested in what his instructor has to say - especially now the story has gone global. I hope the tale sparks a wider debate about the role of minor sports, small nations and what professional funding means in modern Olympism, but I’m not holding my breath.

It is not for me to defend the legitimacy of running an escort agency or even to argue that Logan’s case is a special one amongst the athletes who compete in sports that are regarded as minor in terms of national importance. The only thing I really take issue with is that anyone has the right to call his actions disreputable or inappropriate. The Logan Campbell I know is a nice guy, dedicated, bright, articulate and generally well meaning.

The quote by John Schofield of Taekwondo "Selection takes into account not just performance but also the athlete's ability to serve as an example to the youth of the country.", typifies what has been a difficult relationship between Campbell and the sport he loves. Perhaps what Schofield should have said, is something along the lines of - ”whilst we don’t necessarily approve of these actions it does highlight the difficulties surrounding the finances for all aspiring New Zealand Olympians in minor sports”. Given that performance funding for all but a restricted number of sports in NZ is largely discretionary and unpredictable, it was perhaps wise not to rock the boat. The NZOC and SPARC’s National academy are far from perfect organisations, but I strongly believe that the root of this problem rests with a genuine lack of will on the part of successive governments to actually promote sport rather than winning. What politicians want is medals and trophies, the approach to sport funding continues to reflect this.

High performance sport funding in New Zealand is broken; spending increasing amounts of cash on a diminishing pool of athletes in order to “punch above our weight on the international stage” is a strategy that is doomed to failure in the long term. There will come a point when there will not be enough quality performers and nothing like enough money to pull this off. It may well be the case that the whole notion of performance sport funding needs to be debated in terms of viability and usefulness. As long as high performance sport funding remains a populist cash cow then no one has the right to judge those with the dedication and industry to seek independent means whatever the method.

Some things you may not know about Logan Campbell: He

Has been in Taekwondo from a young age.
Narrowly missed out on going to the Athens Olympics at age 19.
Is a drug-free athlete.
Is dyslexic.
Was training twice a day most days in the 9 months preceding the Beijing Olympics.
Put off his last year of study at university in order to prepare for the Olympics.
Sold his car to fund a training trip to Europe.
Left New Zealand for Beijing with one sponsor (I think).
Attended at least three schools making presentations before leaving for Beijing while many other athletes were already at camps, this he did out of love for his sport.

Fuck who ?

One baby boy, one wife and a modestly happy life, but you gotta wonder though, haven’t you…..

To the best of my knowledge, my first gay admirer was the late John Balance or as he was known to me, Geoff Rushton. His enthusiasm for Throbbing Gristle pins and such was lost on me, but his kindness and respect for me is not forgotten. Now I understand the confused and slightly pained look on his face. I think at the time I was rather too absorbed in my own struggles to really grasp what was going on.

Time passes:

I became chaperone to the first (and probably only) lesbian pool team to play in a male dominated league in the UK. We made the local rag and I made some good friends. Ali, Fran and Angie were heroes in their own right being long standing protestors at Greenham Common. I learned a lot from them all, not least about the lottery created by not knowing who the nasty homophobes were. Looking back, one of my mother’s finer achievements was running a pub with an ambiance and attitude that allowed everyone to feel comfortable having a drink.

Meanwhile more admirers made themselves known to me. Poor old Peter used to call me Hero, he never laid a hand on me but in a moment of exasperation he all but begged me to undress for him. Later he apologised to me, it was a struggle to explain that I was flattered, not offended, but still not really up for it.

The bravest of the lot I think, was Ray who followed me home after an evening in the Pub. I remember the footsteps behind me on a deserted street in Oxford; I sped up the feet behind me sped up, I slowed down the feet behind me slowed down. I thought I was going to get mugged. Beneath a streetlight I turned quickly to confront my assailant and there was Ray with his hands in front of his face expecting to be punched. He stood his ground and blurted “are you gay ? andodyouwanttogoforadrink ?“ pause…. I laughed out loud and said I wasn’t gay, he looked so disappointed that I agreed to go for a drink with him anyway – just for a giggle. I’m not sure if that was the smartest thing that I have ever done, and it was a poor reward for what I feel was quite a courageous act. After all, I was a fit and quite capable of beating the shit out of him.

And the list goes on…

Gareth expanded beyond measure, my understanding of non-contact sport, he also loaned me some really useful books.

The guy on the train who had such a broad Yorkshire accent he shouted his proposal at me three times across a train before I got it.

The two guys who so openly flirted with me while they were on the checkouts at my local supermarket…….in front of my then fiancée.

The pair in Sheffield who had me biting a pillow with laughter one Sunday morning – the floors are thin around here too y’know.

My admirers at the pool; “are you gay ?”, “no”, “do you want to be ?” left me speechless as did “I’m married, but I’d give it up for you”.

I remain flattered.

To the couple who have befriended and cared for my Mother in the UK, I am truly grateful.

Right now I’m looking forwards to the birth of a work colleague’s baby – she and her partner are lovely and I am damn proud that they have chosen to confide in me.

This is not just some self aggrandising way of screaming “I’m down with teh gayz”. The bigger point is this. I have never felt the urge to harm anyone in the course of these encounters. It may be argued for various reasons that I should be deeply homophobic. I’m not and when shit like this happens I get very upset indeed. Which I guess is why when stuff like this comes out I am almost crying with mischief and happiness.

All together now….”Fuck you, Fuck you very very muuuuch”……

Damien Hirst, Ambivalence and Me.

Damien Hirst and I were born within a few days of each other, which would in most senses be a tenuous link. I've never met the guy and probably have little in common with him. Except that his art seems to work right in the middle of my aesthetic bandwidth. When for the love of god appeared, all I could say was - wow. It wasn't the money or the sheer audacity of it, just wow I never saw that until I saw it. I've always been like that with Hirst's work; pharmacies, sharks, you name it, the connection is immediate and needs no translation. I have often wondered if the connection is some kind of cohort effect - that is to say Hirst is an artist of my time and age, his immediacy and importance may well be lost to other generations. In particular he and I are part an early media generation; full of television and adverts, when in Britain at least, it was all new. No surprises then that I picked up on his work relatively early, following closely over the years, travelling to London regularly. When Hirst first published I Want To Spend The Rest Of My Life Everywhere, With Everyone... in 1997, I got really excited.


My sister who worked for a major bookseller got me a copy for my birthday, possibly the best present I have ever received. The book has never been opened, still in the shrink wrap, I'm not sure if it has a signature inside (probably not). A few days ago my wife asked me what was in a box covered in shrink wrap, wrapped in bubble wrap and clearly undisturbed. I told her and explained a little. She asked me if I was going to sell it, I recoiled and said absolutely no, "Then why don't you open it ?" she asked quite reasonably, I said no - "Then what's it for ?" erm..uhhhh.. what is it for ? Maybe someone will open it when I die. Did you get that one Damien ? Then there is the question of which of us will die first.

David Carradine

With the recent death of David Carradine I found one of the few reasons to have a television (there isn't one in the house). Ahhhh grasshopper, the steps of Kwai Chang Caine across the rice paper and the lifting of the coals; these moments set the template for me starting martial arts and probably my re-habilitation as a person. The bit that makes me smile is that this would not have been possible without Carridine in my front room on a Saturday evening. No surprises that I was watching Hell Ride and Kung Fu Killer last weekend (on DVD). Gonna miss the old fella he was always worth watching.

Storming the Bridge

I guess the civil mischief that was the mass crossing of the Harbour Bridge can be seen in several ways: Cultural Rebellion, clash of Car Kiwi vs. Sustainable Kiwi, a battle for minority rights perhaps. For me it is one of those Easter Island moments. I have in mind the occasions that must surely have emerged in the past, where two views of the future met and conflicted in a high stakes game of legitimacy. Or: "dude if we keep doing what we have always done it could all end very badly" vs. "but this is what we have always done and it works for most of us,...where's my f*****g axe".


A rather large number of people decided that they viewed the future differently, for whatever reason. What was most telling was the response of NZTA regional director Wayne McDonald: Mr. McDonald says there are plans to provide access for bikes and foot traffic, but it will be 30 years before it is complete (from the NZ Herald online, 24- 05-2009). I strongly suspect that Mr. McDonald and I will be dead by then, either as a consequence of old age or global stupidity. I maintain high hopes that my little bloke will see the day though. I guess a 30-year planning term with a suggestion that this is non-negotiable is one way of saying 'f**k off annoying little people who aren't busy driving somewhere important in a car on a Sunday'.


I don't want to debate whether the protest will get walkways and cycle ways any sooner, according to NZTA it won't. What I want to question is the appropriateness of the response from NZTA. Let's face it, this is a civil servant or a group of civil servants insisting that transport policy and the use of the Auckland Harbour Bridge will not change in my lifetime or theirs: 'F**k democracy and elected office - we run New Zealand roads' would seem to be the case here. You have got to admire the honesty of the response, at least it's not 'oh we'll look into it and send you a report', which I am led to understand has been the response for the last 50 years. I might add this was the line delivered by Northcote MP Jonathan Coleman.


I am worried though, because these people and I'm not just talking about NZTA, but those who put them to work, appear to me to be the last axe men on Easter Island. I suspect this is one agency that Rodney Hide does support and indulge. The message is simple; there are no plans for change despite compelling reasons to do so and a growing community to support them. One public day on the bridge was all that was requested - for the first time in 50 years. The response rendered was an excuse masquerading as safety. The clip-on's canna handle it captain! Well, assuming that such a density of individuals walking in time across the bridge (unlikely) could cause the clip-on's to sway - why not let people cross in a trickle and keep them moving when the accumulate at the apex. That is of course, instead of deliberately directing them on to the middle lanes to make the problem look intractable and those doing it a menace. Coning one lane of the clip-on's in half and keeping everyone in line would have mitigated most of these (alleged) risks. When nice middle-class folk choose to criminalise themselves, then you have cause to worry about how society is operating. I believe that good laws are those not made to defend the stupidity or pet hates of politicians and civil servants.


Some points of note: The only endorsed crossing is one you have to pay for as part of the Auckland Marathon/Half Marathon which does make the opportunity a little exclusive. It also proves that it can be done. Cyclists should righteously be p**sed off , they don't even get the opportunities afforded to runners as above. Oh, and try putting a bike on a bus around here. Funnily enough, I do know of some cyclists who used to ride out to the Coromandel and return to the North Shore by the (now withdrawn ?) ferry service. To all those motorists who suffered delay on Sunday: allow me to apologise on behalf of NZTA who it appears preferred a confrontation to a well managed celebration of alternative transport. Message: any delay could have been avoided had NZTA done their jobs properly and facilitated rather than obstructed the actions of well reasoned individuals. To the guy who abused cyclists, walkers, parents and children as they obstructed his Sunday drive: See the above comment, but above all stop and think what message you sent - Because I drive I have the right to swear at everyone. Now tell me who looks menacing and inconsiderate, for you are undoubtedly a one amongst many bigots who abuse Auckland roads and respond to the NZ Herald reader's views section.


For what it is worth I don't think that a cycle/walkway across the harbour would be that well used. But I agree with David Slack that it could be part of a fantastic tourist attraction. Above all it would represent the intention to do things differently and hopefully a little better, the consequences of which might finally precipitate a much needed culture shift. The question remains - How do facilitate rather than exclude those who prefer transport that doesn't involve internal combustion engines. Because constructively institutionalising car use in particular is no longer acceptable. Big ups to the first bunch of cyclists across who I believe got things going. You are the real spirit of forward thinking New Zealand - I will be seeing you shortly ;-) And the storm the bridge award goes to.................(to the sound of 'be careful with that Axe Eugene' by Pink Floyd of course)

Photography

Stood in a corridor I looked towards the end door. There I saw a shoe, hanging from a foot attached to a slim leg, dressed in a foot loop stocking, all bathed in just the right light. I could see it all, in black and white, a gorgeous picture in a brief moment. Could I capture it ? Sadly no camera, but above all how do you capture such a moment without feeling like a pervert or worse being treated like one ? I really don’t know, but on reflection I have acquired a deeper admiration for those photographers who save such images in their mind and then present the vision and imagination to re-create such images in a more controlled context. Seeing it is one thing, giving it to the world is another altogether. I wonder what will happen when we can all manage to capture the beauty we see everyday, when our eyes are cameras in themselves. Will a truly shared aesthetic emerge ? or something more radical and disturbing.

Good days…..

I guess that if I ever get really good at photography I will look on these with a patronising smile. But as it stands these are a cut above what I have snapped for some time. For me at least, digital is great it’s not just that I can have several attempts at something (but not that many attempts) but that I compose with confidence and don't worry about the cost of a roll. These have been Photoshopped but not too much.

We were staying at Kai Iwi lakes with the rellies for a few days whilst touring Northland - the day before I had cycled all the way from the shore to Dargaville. Little bloke, my wife and I eschewed the lakes for a walk to the beach in the evening and were duly rewarded with a warm, spotless, empty beach. Something about the location and being properly on holiday really prompted a different state of mind.

On the way.....

Having a play



Going home

Sport, Art and Me

Hadyn Green over at Public Address started a thread on Sport and is it Art nothing new except for once I wrote and wrote well - This is what I wrote.

I’m probably taking this waaaay to seriously however…..

Depends on whether Art is solely in the eye of the beholder, or the intent of the performer counts for something.

I can get with that and I would qualify it with this misquote from someone whom I can’t fully recall.

Art is what exists in the dialogue between the art-moment and the individual exposed to it. As such, each exposure is a unique art product. Unconstrained by specific intentions the artist may stimulate the process without necessarily defining it. Viewing with artistic intent is as important as viewing a de facto artwork or artist; this sees art as only requiring the intent of one or other of the involved parties. Hence art is what we experience where artistic intent exists on one or both sides of the dialogue; in this way the question is not who the artist is, but where the art is to be found or experienced.

I like this idea as it allows for art to be incidental and for distinctions between art, sport and craft to be largely irrelevant.

Randomness

For example it makes no sense to me at least, to draw an artificial line between the absorbed, involved manipulation of chaos demonstrated by Jackson Pollock and the absorbed liberation of action from apparent chaos demonstrated by Ronaldinho. There is a clear dyad between these artists and the complex changing forms that surround them, both of whom seem to be able to capture something sublime from apparent randomness.

Culture

Compare Picasso’s Guernica with Jesse Owens performances at the 1936 Olympics, you cannot separate these actions from the politics and complexity that surrounded them. Each in its own way was beautiful, profound, historical and dare I say it misunderstood at times.

Theatre

I challenge you to say the Valerie Villi’s actions in Beijing were not pure theatre; creating a micro-climate around her in order to elevate performance and its eventual outcome. She manipulated those around her as effectively and indeed beautifully as she propelled the shot, keenly interacting with the act, the audience and the occasion. So too does Damien Hirst appreciate his role as art creator, manipulator and marketing man. Not only does he create the work but he deliberately manipulates media around him to create a context for his work; performance and theatre as a subtext for an artistic act.

Perfection

Here’s the one that clinches it for me. Look carefully at the deliberate, determined perfectionism of Yves Kline in his creation of IKB and that of a sprinter, thrower or diver. They seek perfection in clearly identifiable form through deliberate repetitive search only then to explore those forms in different contexts. More compellingly Klein wrote quite early in his career on “le Vide” (the void) an ethereal sense created by an artistic act. Compare this with accounts of “being in the zone” or “flow” and you get the sense that our artists and sportsfolk can and sometimes do occupy the same intellectual space in pursuit of particular goals.

So to be quite contrary Art is because I say soand that is what really matters.

The best excuse I ever heard.

The drunk stick is a tale of the best excuse I ever heard.

Back in the day when Universities selected rather than marketed and tutors spoke to students individually, I was given pastoral responsibility for some fresher’s (yeah that’ll be the responsible me). Within my care was a young southern Irish fellow who was really struggling to come to terms with the end of fresher’s week. Indeed when rarely sighted in daylight hours, he appeared to be headed for the Rugby Fields. By week eight other tutors began to notice and it was up to me to remind our young friend of his academic obligations. I sent a letter, phoned his home, and finally collared him outside the student union (on his way in !). We set up a meeting and he didn’t turn up. I sent the official first warning letter and he phoned to set up a meeting at 10:00 am a few days later. The day of the meeting at 10:00, our chum was a no show. He did finally show up at four in the afternoon and this is what I heard (the names have been changed to protect the innocent):


Brendon; Oh hello sir (in deep Irish accent) I’m so so sorry to be late sir honest I am.

81st: Really ? (sarcasm)

Brendon: Yes yes for sure, I am sir yes, honest, see it wasn’t my fault I really, really did mean to get here at ten……

81st: You were delayed then ? (arches eyebrow)

Brendon: Oh yessir I surely did it just well….gasp…

81st: You don’t appear to have any broken bones…….

Brendon: No sir it wasn’t like that – it was just that last night I was walking home one my own minding my own business….when I got caught…

81st: Caught by whom ?

Brendon: I got caught walking past the dark doorway of this bar….when suddenly a shadow jumped out and beat me wit de drunk stick…..

81st: A Drunk stick ? (both eyebrows raised )

Brendon: Yes Sir the shadow hit me round the head with the drunk stick and he hurt me so he did. In fact he hit me so hard that I had a terrible headache this mornin’ and had to stay in bed ‘til it went away…..that’s why I’m late (triumphantly !)

81st: So does this happen often and is there any way we can help you circumnavigate this particular door way in future (trying to suppress peals of laughter)

Brendon: It’s funny you should say that I was givin’ the matter some thought myself…

81st: Well that does sound like good news…….

I believe that Brendon abandoned his original course of study in favour of medicine ?

Peace on earth

Can't say this is original, I wrote it as a contribution to a thread over at Public Address - Someone paid me one of the kindest compliments I have ever received as a result. Its real and about as me as it gets, worth preserving then. Enjoy.

Peace on earth 1.

My father and I spent the day arguing I’m drunk, he’s barely conscious. We have guests. I’m laying the table, I drop a fork, he tells me to wash it, I reply “you f*****g wash it”. The guests have to restrain us both and someone else washes the fork. We sit to eat, I’m serving my father, doing it silver style, I twitch, purely by accident and cover him in overdone, quite mobile greens. He eyeballs me, I eyeball him and the room elects not to take any further breaths for the time being. Then I see what I think is the vaguest crinkle next to his recently greened eye. We both look to either side and I really can’t remember who started it. A smile, a chuckle, a giggle and then peals of tear busting, asthmatic provoking laughter; the spirit of Christmas brings peace for another day.

Peace on earth 2.

Still not over the breakdown of a 4 year relationship, feeling quite sorry for myself, I elected not to celebrate Christmas. I was nursing an extraordinary hangover having passed out at 7pm the day before. The house was freezing and I could not be bothered to connect up the new gas bottle, I crawled into bed instead. The phone rang three times; I decided not to be in. Then this awful banging on the door “Saes ! we know you’re in there - John and Della are coming to collect you in half an hour !”. John and Della owned a farm over the hill, Della had been my tutor at Uni, they are both the most decent committed Christians I know and I am about as atheist as they come. Failing to contact me by phone, they in that very North Wales way checked with my neighbours and got them to alert me instead. People like me don’t deserve friends like that. I don’t remember the meal or much of the following days. I do remember standing in an empty slate quarry with five companions singing Hymns and carols for all my voice, and what could be taken for a soul was worth. I can neither describe nor understand the peace that moment brought me.

A gift from my partner.

My partner gets my need for solitude which is a great comfort to me. One Christmas shortly after we first got together, we finished work on the evening of the 23rd, packed gear and drove from Sheffield to the northern highlands of Scotland. Late afternoon met our arrival at the bottom of a small range of Corbett’s and Munro’s I’d recce’d the year before. We did a night tramp for the first part, pitching out about two thirds of the way from the top of this particular peak. Christmas day from the camp looked a bit misty and not too bright, by eleven it had cleared just enough for us to photograph the wreck of a WW2 Wellington bomber. We could just see the peak and decided to have a go with what looked like quite a long zigzag route. As the ascent progressed the Sun came out and we went really fast, no words, just the crunch of snow and us. They call it a flow state and it was one of the most complete moments of my life. At the top I could see the range, the sea, my partner, two sets of tracks and not another living soul. Not the highest peak I’ve ever done and by no means the most difficult or indeed the most spectacular scenery, but it was mine. Only half the chocolate was mine though. It became clear at the peak that my partner was getting very cold very fast; with old gear not really up to the job, I cracked out my dry set and my partner doubled up layers. We set off downhill quite fast and made quite a wise decision at camp deciding to continue the walk off. I put my partner in the bothybag with a hot pack and pitched up. As we walked off a blizzard followed us all the way down to the tree line where we camped briefly and then carried on the then thick snow. Sat finally in a snowbound car I realised my partner who really hadn’t enjoyed the show, had given me one perfect Christmas day.

If Santa didn’t exist would we have to have had invent one anyway ?

Kiwis and Cars

There is a lot to like about being in NZ but motoring is not one of them. New Zealanders don’t shoot each other a la USA; they kill each other with cars.

My guess is that few if any charges will be laid against the driver that did this. I can hear the court argument now. Dangerous road, the pedestrian should have crossed the road to use the path on the other side. Questions that won’t be addressed properly:

i) Why is the road so dangerous?

ii) Why wasn’t there a path on both sides of the road?

iii) Do we seriously think that a drunk driver is not culpable in this regard?

The picture provided tells us that there was space for a path and that there was quite a lot of road to drive on.

New Zealand has to change driver behaviour and philosophy the time for excuses is over.

Just in case you thought this was an isolated incident.

http://www.nzherald.co.nz/topic/story.cfm?c_id=663&objectid=10437408
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/topic/story.cfm?c_id=663&objectid=10419155
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/topic/story.cfm?c_id=663&objectid=10444815
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/topic/story.cfm?c_id=663&objectid=10437369
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/section/4/story.cfm?c_id=4&objectid=10462466
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/topic/story.cfm?c_id=99&objectid=10468281

Lots of people a lot of pain.

Ingmar Bergman

It seems foolish to mourn the death of a man who didn't know me; nor I him in truth. More important is to note the contribution he made to my life. Ingmar Bergman changed the way I thought about life and saw the world. I believe I am a better man as a result. I would have waited another lifetime for another Seventh Seal as it is the world will never be the same.

Time to take sides ?

I read with interest about the recent UCU vote to boycott Israeli academia and their decision to talk some more. I read with even more interest the poisonous and arrogant response from the US lobby.

My thoughts:

i) Without broad support from within government and the civil service in the UK the boycott is unlikely to prove effective. Those who want to ignore it will do. A more important point; is those who already boycott Israel or undertake legitimate criticism, will at least have someone else to help protect them from the sort of academic bullying that takes place in the US.

ii) This is in no way an anti-semitic gesture. This is about saying in plain language that Israel is wrong. Merely suggesting that they ought to change is no longer sufficient. No more hand wringing and hubris please.

iii) This gesture needs to be put into the context or a request by Israeli academics to allow students in Gaza to study in the West Bank. Despite pleas to the contrary academic freedom is clearly not universal.

iv) I hope this does open a real debate unencumbered by the anti-semite bleat. Time to take sides.

n.b. I have boycotted Israeli goods for some 15 years now. I don’t feel like I have missed out on much so far.

LOLBUSH

Had to have a go myself........

Books –

My grandfather taught me to read. To begin with he read to me on Wednesday nights; he would come over on the ferry we’d have boiled eggs and Victoria sponge for tea. He would bath me, put me to bed and read until I fell asleep.

Henry Woods was a Welsh miner, quite proud of the fact that he could read at all, and doubly proud of the fact that he could teach said skill to me. Not surprisingly books are a great comforter for me. My earliest days were spent with 365 bedtime stories and Reed’s wonder tales of Maori land (sent to me from my Nana in Auckland). I still have Reed and all my copies of the Pippin annual. I could read somewhat sooner than all the other kids I knew. As such it set me apart but I didn’t notice because I had my head in a book or reading over someone else’s shoulder. At infant school I was often found asleep in the small library with Britannica on my lap.

At juniors I remember distinctly being accused of stealing books; the problem being that no one actually thought I was capable of reading them.

The first stand out book for me was an illustrated copy of Pilgrims Progress I loved the tale, missed the metaphor altogether but worse than that I thought the illustration of Apollyon was soooo cool. No surprises that I ended up an atheist.

War mags yep, Biggles yep, Hornblower Yep, Famous Five yeuuch, Henry Treece Yep, Encycopedias Yeaah, and rather strangely Aircraft of the Fighting Powers. I skipped the Bible. Solzhenitsyn proved too much too soon but Arthur C Clarke and Isaac Asimov were cool with me.

During the long hot summers abroad I went through a MacDonalds phase reading sometimes as many as three pulp specials a day. I returned to school after one such summer, bored with ordinary words and looking for something new. Wilfred Owen, Robert Graves; but I came back to Siegfried Sassoon a book I had seen on the desk of an old mentor many years before , The Memoirs of George Sherston. I felt betrayed that Sherston wouldn’t go back at first and then my life truly changed.

There were only two rules at my boarding school; don’t tell ever and don’t tell anyone; behind this veil lived bullying and abuse. I broke ranks and told about the bullying of one boy by my then best friend and the biggest kid in my year. I regard it as one of the few good things I ever managed at school. The kid who was bullied the most was never sure whether to thank me or not, after all he’d gone from being a victim to a nobody, almost overnight (we later got into a fight which led to me beating him very badly, something I still regret deeply). Despite the beatings, the property destructions and the fights that followed, I never regretted that act. The change was to set me on the road to political activism, protesting and all sorts. At one stage I was the chaperone to the UK’s only lesbian pool team. For many years Tao Te Ching brought peace and space to my mind

Later I read Marx, Mein Kampf, and the Bible but I managed to mix this with Iain Banks, Gibbo and Phillip K Dick (Far more fun). Thomas Hardy changed the way I felt about life and DH Lawrence changed the way I saw people. Oh and I finally read Tolkein; errrrm seven times.

Being involved with stage led me to Waiting for Godot (got it after the 5th performance !) and Dr Faustus.

At University I read Gillies and Aronson in close succession; neither people nor sciences were ever the same again. I launched into poetry going backwards in time from Larkin to Shakespeare. I even finished Foucault’s Pendulum but failed Solzhenitsyn a second time.

I courted my wife by reading AA Milne and the Zig Zag Kid by David Grossman to her. I am currently reading the Iliad a second time. My sister coincidentally is married to a writer and manages a bookshop.

Bloggers anonymous anyone ?

I’m p****d off over this Kathy Sierra thing for a lot of reasons.

i) People who perpetrate such nastiness from behind a veil of anonymity are scumbags.

ii) Other mortals who take advantage of anonymity, have had to suffer the wrath of the self righteous and occasionally self serving blog community many of whom see no benefit in anonymity.

iii) The result has been a code of conduct for the blogsphere. This upsets me for two reasons: Firstly the code is unworkable but more worryingly the code represents an attempt to regulate instead of educate. This bothers me because I would have hoped for something more from the online community. A philosophy of freedom seems to have served the online community well, why give it up now?

iv) I don’t like being called a coward on account of the behaviour of others.

So why 81^stcolumn ?

I have been 81^stcolumn pretty much for as long as I have been on-line. The tag refers specifically to the extra column that appeared on old 80cloumn VDU’s. You only saw this column if the line was full of text and you couldn’t program it (I don’t think). It also laterally refers to 80 column programming cards – when a program appeared not to work for any obvious reason we used to talk about a stray bit in the 81^stcolumn. Not surprisingly I was trying to create an air of mystery and grandness. After all, to know what the 81^stcolumn is would be to indicate that you have been in computing for quite a while…..me trying to be a smart arse.

When I decided to attempt blogging I thought long and hard about whether it was reasonable to keep this ID up. I decided I would for several reasons;

I would like to keep my job and politics as far apart as possible. A large part of my job involves communicating with others. In these situations I have to appear to be capable of unconditional and non-judgemental acts. Consequently I didn’t want to have to discuss my politics in these situations or let my politics interfere with how others saw me. I just plain wouldn’t be able to work as effectively.

At the time when I made the decision there was some doubt as to whether I would be re-employed in my current role. Lack of employment would have meant having to leave my wife and my home. SWMBO probably puts up with enough as it is. At the same time I badly wanted to blow the whistle on what I saw as unethical and dare I say bullying practices at work. I hinted at some of this in this blog at the time. The process itself was helpful to me and kept me in my job long enough that I might be able to do something good in the future. I certainly stopped me form threatening to assault my bosses. I eventually made my point clear to my bosses later and that point to my surprise was well relieved and acted on. I honestly believe that my anonymous blogging was helpful at the time. Which brings me rather neatly to my next points.

The idea of blogging anonymously has served the world quite well when gaining a snapshot of life in Iran, China and elsewhere. I am not saying that I am in any way as valuable as these folks. What I am saying is that sometimes the protection of anonymity is of value.

To underline this point whenever I have been “me” on-line it has caused me to question whether I should bother to be involved on line at all. The first time was in a school discussion board where the MSM picked up my name as someone who had been in contact with a known kiddie fiddler. No the guy had never touched me and no I did not want to discuss this further, an unpleasant surprise never the less. On a subsequent occasion, I was phoned and berated verbally by an anonymous contributor to another board, who had tracked me to my workplace to continue a disagreement he felt was unresolved on line. In both cases this would not have been possible had I used my pseudonym.

As someone who has been run-over, searched repeatedly, chased and beaten up for openly expressing my views face to face in public I see no reason to acknowledge an argument to do with my courage (or lack thereof) on-line. Maybe I’m just tired of being the one that gets flagged to be searched in airline checks etc. I know I grew tired of listening to a lot of unhappy people and getting the same government; then seeing a much smaller group of people at protests that had more verbal than material support. I think it most unfair to make presumptions of cowardice, based purely on the failings of others. It shows a complete lack of imagination to think that all anonymous users are “abusers by proxy” or “nastiness waiting to pounce”. I won’t buy into the macho call-you-out b******t as a response. A good read of my blog would identify me fairly accurately anyway.

I have offered to identify myself at my favourite discussion board over at PA. I am still trying to find a balance between the comfort of anonymity and blogging it real. Being scolded from a soapbox is unlikely to help. Besides I'm chronically self conscious in the presence of so many people on discussion boards who are clearly better informed and smarter than me…….

A lesson in dignity……

dignity noun 1 stateliness, seriousness and formality of manner and appearance. 2 goodness and nobility of character. 3 calmness and self-control. – From chambers on line.

I met Alan on a Thursday night in March. He had lost the key to his motorcycle. He had lost it after competing in a local swim-run competition. We couldn’t find it in the dark. SWMBO and I offered him a lift home to get the spare he thought he kept in a box.

During the course of the search it seemed that Alan wasn’t the sharpest knife in the draw. Suspicions were confirmed during the ride home, the guy really wasn’t too bright. Never the less the conversation reminded me of a thing or two. Alan was in his thirties and he worked for a contractor the serviced Auckland city. He was part of the cleansing crew, he cleaned toilets, emptied bins, swept streets. He is part of an invisible army that keeps the posh bits of Auckland clean and halfway decent. He was a little sad because that race was probably his last one and he wasn’t going to go to the awards dinner at NZ$75 a ticket. On further questioning it became clear why.

Alan works 55hours a week he works split shifts six until midday and then four until late. He works Saturdays and gets Thursdays off. In order to race he has to get cover from his mates from time to time. Not surprisingly he struggles to train. He gets paid the minimum wage, and as far as we can work out he takes home a bit more than a PhD scholarship student (NZ$25k). He has a new wife to support. She is an invalid who got her benefit cut when she married. She gets to work a few hours a week cleaning in a workshop and at a local nursery. They are both looking forward to going away for their first anniversary.

Alan seems a happy enough bloke and quite reasonable with it, he didn’t complain once about his life. His circumstances became clear in a conversation about training and racing.

I am told it is a point of pride in New Zealand that "the Prime Minister gets to stand with the rest of us in the queue at the fish and chip shop". Sounds a bit hollow if some folks in the queue can only afford some to buy chips.

I really truly hope he and his wife have a good time. I also hope his bike is okay.

About science, facts, knowledge and climate change.

i) The scientist and the science cannot be separated. Polanyi's still influential work points out that the scientists are informed by tacit knowledge which determines the scientific questions they ask, the methods they use and the way in which data is presented.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Polanyi

My point is that there is probably no such thing as objective science or pure unbiased facts as a result.

ii) Causality is difficult, hard and maybe impossible to prove -

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Hume
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bertrand_Russell

Which is why many settled for falsification.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karl_Popper

However even this approach suffers because of the methods involved with falsification. Hence we should note that sceptics are often dealt the better hand in science and to some extent law. The sceptics mantra should read - If you don't like the facts start to pick at how they are created; failing that start on semantics and agreed truths.

iii) The theories we choose to apply and make use of are as much determined by mood of the time and history as they are by the basic business of scientific falsification.

Philosophy of Science in the Twentieth Century: Four Central Themes (Paperback) by Donald Gillies and work by TS Kuhn (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Samuel_Kuhn) still offer useful thoughts on this issue.

The point here is that we shouldn't be surprised if public policy is slow to change-scientific consensus is also really slow to arise.

iv) In some ways saying that you can understand research without having a grasp of stats and methodology is a bit like suggesting you should just kick the tyres before buying a car. Yep you can do it, but don't be surprised if what you get is unreliable.

Conclusion:

Nope there is no easy way to grasp this debate or evaluate the evidence within it. But usual rules apply; multiple sources, cross reference, check authority and agenda. Please be patient and persist with science and scientists it is tough turning squiggles and graphs into yes/no, good/bad right/wrong, and sometimes common language isn't good enough.

I don't think the reality distortion field can hold much longer captain..........

Well I didn't get it quite right last March but it seems clear that change is on its way. Either Apple shifts the market a la EMI or the market shifts Apple. Either way I don't think Fairplay will be a money maker forever. And if that wasn't good news enough someone's cracked HDVideo for us. Hmm now all I need is a HD disk and something to play it on. Oh and I wouldn't bank on the IPhone getting to far either. Greedy Apple got indigestion ?

Strange times in Saudi…

If this recent article is to be believed then Saudi Arabia wants nuclear power. Vladimir Putin has agreed to help the Saudis out. I think it’s a great idea not burning fossil fuels in power stations….well done Saudi. But wait a minute this is Saudi Arabia, a desert country, a country that is a desert because it is dry, sunny and it doesn’t rain more than 4-5 inches a year. It also is a country with a lot of space I mean a lot of space. This is the sort of country where state of the art solar power makes sense; so why bother with Nuclear Power unless you want something else. Well of course Saudi wants something else. Putin wants business and somewhere to sell guns like everyone else. We should however note at the same time that it was Russia who helped build some troublesome Nuclear Power plants in ermmmmmmm Iran.