Underneaththese layers of cynicism I harbour secret powers which, when I concentrate, allow me to feel and connect with the subcurrent of energies around me. A subcurrent that goes unnoticed by most. It's not something I boast of. Partly because it's a power that serves no practical purpose except to be able to give exceptional massages and cure the odd migraine. And partly because such a revelation may result in anything I say forevermore being dismissed with the fond smile that is reserved for the eccentric friend or family member.
On Sunday the usual suspects and I visited Stonehenge. To be honest I’ve never had the slightest interest in the place, however it was an advance birthday surprise for one of our merry bunch who has a particular fascination in anything steeped in history and legend.
We set out on our two hour journey in the kind of elevated mood that accompanies all outward bound journeys. Bantering, bopping away to music, stopping off for food at a service station, which for some reason always feels like a treat despite the fact that you're only eating Burger King, and settling back into our journey.
Before we knew it, quite unexpectedly, we turned a bend, or came over a hill, (I don't remember which), and blinked to see Stonehenge before us in all it's glory.
It was like spotting a famous person for the first time. Wide-eyed excitement at seeing in three-dimension someone that you had seen hundreds of times previously in photos and on screen, mingled with disappointment at how small and strangely unspectacular they looked in real life.
We turned into the car park and Stonehenge once again disappeared from view, allowing the memory of any initial disappointment to fade as excitement and anticipation once again took over. We made our way through the subway to see it up close; meet it, absorb it, and shake hands with it.
Finally we stood in front of it. Grappling with comprehension, two questions were uppermost in our minds: "Is this it?" and "What now?". One of our uncouth group decided to call the Emperor’s bluff and exclaimed “if you want to see stones, go to India, they have bigger ones there”. We admonished the sprightly young lass. You can’t insult England’s heritage, especially when talking about it's most prized offering from ancient times.
While the others soon gave up interest and took hospitality from the surrounding grassy knolls, I was not be outdone by appearances. I was determined to see the beauty and significance in this structure of hanging stones and monoliths that had inspired so much speculation and ritual.
I walked around the monument three or four times and listened keenly to my audio guide from beginning to end. I willed myself to feel at least a token vibration from the annals of it's history. But it yielded nothing. Not a crumb. After I had exhausted my reverie, I rejoined my friends who had been patiently waiting for me. I filled them in on some of the more interesting snippets from my audio guide and they regained a fluttering of enthusiasm. We contemplated visiting nearby Woodhenge but after ice cream and refreshments we realised that our constitutions were better suited to finding a quiet spot on a neighbouring field and enjoying the nothingness of the rest of the day.
Stonehenge was neither as huge nor as mystical as it's fame had led us to believe. Nevertheless the sun was shining, the summer breeze was intoxicating, the wide open spaces were at our disposal, and a glorious day was had by all.
XX: there is something wrong with yer blog, yer blog takes at least two days to get updated on Safari Web Browser. So can ya correct the mistake.
ME: i don't think there's anything i can do about that at my end, i've checked. maybe use internet explorer? a friend has suggested you press the F5 button to force a reload. other than that i'm afraid i don't know
XX: lol. I am using Macintosh, not Windows. Apple+R is for refresh and I do know how to refresh webpages.
ME: why are you using a mac? are you in arts, media, music, or some other such airy fairy industry?
XX: i am not in any of those fields. i use mac cos the operating network is stable, safe, and easier to use than Windows. Also it is state of art. Mac is more reliable than Windows.
ME: funny that because none of the pc users seem to be experiencing any problems. mac users should stop coming out with this kind of garbage to support their dedication. the only reason macs are still around is because they're fantastic to look at. why if i had the space i'd buy one just to sit on my desk so that i could look at it while tapping away on my pc. having used both macs and pcs, i can categorically say that the mac operating system is not easier to use than windows. you use a mac because you're a mac snob. end of.
XX: Macintosh is not as complicated as Windows. It is very easy to use. I am not being biased here. I have used both operating system for a long time and can say Macintosh is better. Even Linux is better than Windows. All Computer people will tell ya that.
ME: What counts is what computer USERS say not what 'computer people' say
In the beginning, men hunted while women gathered.
We don’t have to travel back in time to see how these societies worked. Take a look at the hunter-gatherer tribes still in existence today, such as the pygmies of central Africa. The men go out and kill a couple of boars, drag them back home, put their feet up, smoke some herb and revel in their masculinity. The women on the other hand wake up at the break of dawn, do the cooking, the cleaning, the washing, tend to the million and one needs of the children, and collect the firewood; finally finding time to rest well past the hour that even the sun has gone to sleep.
Sound familiar?
We appear to have inherited a legacy from our ancestors so well entrenched in our psyche that it has far outlived the era when it was necessary for men’s and women’s roles to be dictated by physiological factors.
As the need for hunting and gathering became redundant, they were seamlessly replaced by the concepts of earning a wage and education as being the exclusive domain of the male. Education was deemed neither necessary nor desirable for a woman; thereby allowing men to keep a hold of their upper hand.
Something happened however in the nineteenth century that started a trend which would challenge this age old system. I’m not sure which event in particular triggered it, but women started recognising there was no reason for them not to have the same rights as men, and so started campaigning for them. With these rights they discovered a new-found independence. An independence of the mind and spirit to begin with, accompanied in more recent years by financial independence.
Needless to say financially independent women no longer need men to bring home the bacon and be the provider. In fact with the rapid rise in divorces and single mothers, even women who are not financially independent are finding that men aren’t an absolute necessity in the rearing of a child. They can get by with part time work, state benefits, and the support of their family and friends.
Although the cosmopolitan man seems to have understood and adapted well to this redefining of our society, there remains a huge gap between the advance of the independent woman and the average man. Maybe it’s simply a matter of time lag but there is a large cross section of society that is still visibly threatened by the change.
The question is often asked these days: do women still need men or would a sperm bank do just as well?
The practicality of the matter is that having a child is no small change in lifestyle, and unless you have a small fortune at your disposal with which you can hire nannies and housekeepers, a partner make a lot of sense. Yes it’s true that women have been empowered and facilitated sufficiently to be able to make do without men, especially where children don’t feature in the equation. However, whatever the circumstance, needed or not, men can lay aside their insecurity and rest assured that they will always be wanted. After all there is the small matter or love, sex and companionship.
Picture a situation where you're responsible for recruiting for a position for one of your clients. As the CVs start streaming in you become hopeful at the quality of some of the applicants and breathe a sigh of relief that maybe this won't be as laborious a task as you had initially envisaged.
You email the CVs of the most suitable applicants to your client, pat yourself on the back for a job well done, and move on to more interesting demands on your time.
The next day the client phones you to speak to you about something 'unofficially and off the record'. He explains, rather awkwardly, that the fact that most of the candidates sent were muslim may be a problem. He stresses that it's not his prejudice, but that the MD is a Gujarati hindu and there are a number of fairly orthodox hindus working within the office. He confides in you that he's a bit reluctant to bring a muslim person into that environment as he wouldn't want them to be subjected to any inadvertant tension.
What would you do?
It's a fairly simple matter to find a non-muslim that could fill the same role, but would you feel yourself morally compromised? Would you feel compromised enough to turn down a few thousand pounds worth of business for the sake of your morals?
On Friday evening my friends and I gathered to mourn the passing of Big Brother 6. Admittedly we may have talked, drank and ate more than we watched, but we felt the sadness of the impending end as Davina performed the last rites. After 11 weeks of living, breathing, eating and sleeping with the housemates, what would we do now? What would we find to talk about from tomorrow? Was Big Brother the only thing that had united us? I couldn't remember a conversation over the last 11 weeks when the housemates hadn't been discussed at length. I couldn't remember life before BB6 started. What did we talk about back then?
To ease my pain, over the weekend I watched two helpings of the The BBLB Reunion; the original showing and the repeat. It wasn't fair. I had so many questions still. Will Kemal and Makosi ever talk again? Will Saskia and Maxwell get their deal with OK magazine? Will Kinga ever shut up? Will Anthony shun Craig now that he has his mum back to wait on him hand and foot, and will bunny boiler Craig get his revenge by murdering Anthony in his sleep? All these questions and so many more.
Then some time late last night, a wonderful thing happened. As I lay in bed, looking forward to nothing in particular, and idly surfing the televsion that seemed to have lost its lustre, I rested on E4 just as the new drama series 'Lost' was about to start. They were showing the first three episodes back to back. Why not check it out I thought, I have nothing to lose.
By the end of the first episode, I was gripped; by the end of the third, Big Brother was forgotten. Two words: truly brilliant. Thank you to the makers of 'Lost'. You have returned meaning to my life.
Ten foreign nationals who pose a threat to national security have been detained today pending deportation to their country of origin.
Under the Human Rights Act the UK cannot deport anyone to a country known for human rights abuses. Jordan, Lebanon and Algeria, all of whom have been criticised for their human rights records, are among the countries that these foreign nationals will be returned to.
Supposedly the UK has come to an agreement with Jordan that the Jordan national will not be persecuted but instead will have access to a lawyer and proper recourse to the justice system. No such agreement has been reached with Algeria and Lebanon.
These are individuals that have been granted assylum in the UK because of fear of persecution in their own countries. A persecution they faced because they were known to be linked to terrorist activities. Having been given a haven in the UK, they then proceeded to take full advantage of the generosity afforded them, some for well over ten years, while shamelessly gnawing away at the hand that fed them; inciting hate, violence and disloyalty towards the very society that gave them shelter.
What I'm finding difficult to get my head around is who cares if they get persecuted in the country they get sent back to? If I take a destitute person into my house out of pity and they then decide to plot against and murder my family, I'm hardly likely to feel compunction when I show them the door. And if they get torn to shreds by wolves as a result of being thrown out, it's frankly no longer my problem.
One thing I will add though is that it's important that the authorities don't get frenzied into a witch hunt state of mind in the current climate of paranoia, and start deporting people left right and centre without proper evidence or investigation.
Drinking laws are to be relaxed so that we may now drink 24/7. The Government says that it’s for our own good so that we will pace our drinking instead of rushing to get as many pints in as possible before closing time. Surely an over-simplified argument.
Opponents of the move warn that extending opening hours will result in an increase in drink related violent crime as people will drink for longer. Another over-simplified argument?
Our weekly spend on alcohol to consume at home has increased dramatically in the last year alone. Clearly this has nothing to do with opening hours. There are plenty of examples of countries with tighter laws and those with more lax laws than ours that don’t share our capacity for drunken disorderliness. Binge drinking has earnt it’s rite of passage into normalcy in the UK. It would appear that as we fast become a nation of alcoholics the Government channels its attention into opening hours as if that will solve the problem. Call me a cynic but would tax revenue have anything to do with the solution of choice?
I'm no fan of Omar Bakri Mohammed but am I really the only person who finds the current cause of national outrage ridiculous in the extreme? As the BBC reports:
He has been widely criticised for saying he would not report a potential bomber to the police. He insisted Islam "forbids" him to do this and he would instead stop any potential bomber himself, with the help of his "Muslim brothers".
Is this what we've come to, playground bullyboy tactics? You poke a stick at someone ordering them to repeat after you, and if they refuse you cry treason. This takes curtailment of freedom of speech to a whole new level altogether. Bang him up behind bars and throw away the key for all I care but please please please don't stoop to such crass methods to do it. My grey matter is still reeling from the insult.
When was it? I don't remember. Maybe because it was never a single moment but a gentle corrosion. It's a strange thing the ebb and flow of confidence. "The old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, the young know everything"(Oscar Wilde).
I would say without hesitation that I'm hindu but I've never been particularly religious. I like to think of it as belief on a macro level. I believe in the philosophy but avoid the rituals. I adore the colourfulness of the stories but I wouldn't blindly swear to their historical and factual accuracy. Fact or folklore, I sit in awe of them regardless. I forget sometimes of the beauty of the religion and even of the very rituals that I avoid.
Last week a friend of mine invited me to a Pooja at her house which was being held in honour of Mataji. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of spending a Sunday at a Pooja but as it was for a friend I was happy to make the sacrifice. In the end, although I was very hungover from the night before having gone to bed at 6am, I was glad I went. The sun was shining, all the women and girls looked beautiful in their sarees, and the food was delicious. But that's not why I was glad.
What struck me most was the surprising spiritual connection, the strength of womanhood, and the uplifiting inner peace that I felt during the bhajans. It made me realise for the first time about how much importance a woman is given in hinduism. The manifestations of strength (Shakti), wisdom and learning (Saraswati), good fortune (Lakshmi), destruction (Kali), etc, all denoted by female deities. Sitting in that room with women and girls of all ages singing bhajans to Mataji, I felt a strong sense of sisterhood, a strength in womankind, and a conviction that there is a goddess within all of us.
It was unfortunate that I could only be present during the bhajans for a short time as my cousin and sister-in-law arrived and I left the room to keep them company. My cousin laughed that I was probably relieved at having an excuse to leave the room. I said not at all, I'd been enjoying it. He thought I was joking and I was too hungover to protest.
I'm convinced, having children is the ultimate act of selfishness. Why would you have a child when you know it's going to suffer. Wars, pollution, climate changes, violence, famines, floods, disease; let's face it our planet's going downhill fast. And that's without even going into the personal heartache that the child will have to face throughout it's life, bullying, cancer, being run over by a bus, old age, alzheimer's. You might say to me ah yes but as well as the struggle look at all the joys it will experience. So then how does that explain why a woman in a famine ridden country where the child mortality rate is sky high and where she has no food to feed herself let alone her child, has children?
The irony is that one of the reasons people have children is so that they can experience the selfless love that is reserved only for one's offspring. People have children to love and be loved and because they're cute. It's the ultimate toy. They have children so that they will carry on the family name. Another baffling concept. What do you care if your family name is carried on? Once you're dead you're dead.
The need to procreate is a basic animal extinct and essential to the survival of every species. Everyone knows and acknowledges this when discussing the issue impartially. However as a society we have somehow managed to make outcasts of people who for one reason or another choose not to commit this act of selfishness.
What's behind this revolution of online diary keeping and publishing our musings?
The point of a traditional diary was for it's cathartic value. I had one in my teenage years. It consisted of the most personal of thoughts, and given a choice between death and having someone read my diary, I would have chosen death every time.
Blogging on the other hand seems to be more about image than it is about catharsis. Bloggers want their blogs to be read by as many people as possible. Through their writings they want to be appreciated and thought of as witty, intelligent, articulate, deep thinking, etc. Blogs tap into people's desire to be recognised and famous.
Ok so it may be essentially an egotistical pastime but any revolution that encourages people to write and think can't be all bad.
Family can be very insensitive, especially mine. It was one of my cousin's weddings recently, someone I'm very close to. I've never really been big on taking pictures. Whereas some people will snap away at the opening of an envelope, I find I have very little photographic record of my life at all, and I do regret this sometimes.
As it happens I had been intending to buy a digital camera for a while and I figured what better occasion than this to replace procrastination with proaction. So three days before the wedding I bought myself a Nikon 7.1 megapixel total nutter bastard (...which I later replaced with a Sony but that's another story).
I felt very pleased with myself and clicked away during the two day event to end up with over 200 pictures. Rifling through the photos after the wedding on a lazy Monday morning with my cousin sister (when I should have been working instead of bumming), it wasn't long before my uncle decided to exercise the genetic insensitivity that seems to course through the veins of my mother’s side of the family. It was a simple question, said jokingly and without any intention of malice: "Who are you taking pictures for?" he asked me.
I'm thirty something, single, fairly sure I'm never going to meet anyone I want to settle down with, and even surer that I'm never going to have kids. I have no photos around my flat. I don't hoarde. I have very little in the way of memorabilia and what I do have is from many years ago. I'm not inspired to hang on to anything because I know I have no-one to pass it down to. I know all this. But do I really need my family to goad me about it?
