Seafood and Crabbe
To Suffolk the next morning with Miki on assignment from UK Jack to photograph the Butley Orford Oysterage. Orford lies on the wonderfully desolate Suffolk coast, protected from the North Sea by Europe’s longest spit, a 12-mile tongue of shingle lying parallel to the shore. A place at once inaccessible and 2-3 hours from London is irresistible to the military. For half a century Orford Ness was a prohibited area as the RAF used it to test experimental aircraft and bombs; now it is open to hardy hikers. At its landward end the stubby aerials of the BBC World Service’s transmitters cast their short-wave signal into a huge sky. And at Orford Quay the fishing boats unload their catch to the local smokeries.
Grave Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred’s sire,Aldeburgh is no longer a fading fishing port, but boasts smart shops and restaurants serving the London owners of second homes — is this an improvement? Still, rich and poor alike enjoy the best cod & chips in the country.
Was six feet tall and looked six inches higher.
Country matters
To Hertfordshire yesterday evening with Miki, Gilgamesh Athoraya and his wife Lauren to meet Kai Jäger & Annie Dreitz at Redcoats to celebrate the end of Gilgamesh’s apprenticeship with me. Beer at the fireside with the house cat; wine, food speeches: a good time with good people.
War and lechery
To Parliament Square tonight to visit Brian Haw on the 2,000th night of his protest against the war in Iraq. I had no idea this would be such an exclusive event. There were 30-40 of us — where were thousands of others?
I begin to feel like Thersites in Troilus and Cressida, constantly snarling “War and lechery, war and lechery!” Our government advances our national interests with a new century of meddling in Mesopotamia, while we watch soft-porn reality shows in a media-soaked fog. O temporara, O mores! — O Times, O Daily Mirror.
Nothing to do is the verdict of Patrick Cockburn on the British and American occupation of Iraq. I’ve admired Cockburn’s reporting in the LRB for some time, as he appears to report from among the Iraqi people rather than living in the Green Zone. The best information about the state of Iraq outside Baghdad comes not, he says, from intelligence professionals, but from lorry drivers, whose lives and livelihoods depend on it.
After the failure of all other excuses, the remaining justification for remaining is to prevent a civil war. Forget it, says Cockburn, it’s already in progress. And there isn’t anything our troops can do about it.
Miranda Barber writes, performs and publishes her own music. She’s just posted new songs at www.myspace.com/mirandabarber. Definitely worth listening to and for.
While on the subject, Seb Merrick of Kazum! just laid a stack of Balkan and Levantine music on me. Early favourites are Are You Satisfied? from Turkish band Rebel Moves and Fantazia’s Mul Sheshe. Rockin’.
Thu 23 November will be the two thousandth night of Brian Haw’s vigil outside Parliament, that started as a protest against the use of depleted-uranium munitions in Afghanistan. A twisted kind of party, but come to Parliament Square anyway to congratulate him and mourn the reasons that keep him there.
The neighbours have been making movies; only polite to go see them. The crowd we saw hanging around on Parliament Hill last summer have released their shoestring production Scenes of a Sexual Nature, starring Hampstead Heath. That nice Jewish boy Sacha Baron-Cohen from Hampstead Garden Suburb has made Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. Helena Bonham-Carter stars in Sixty Six, and Kate Winslet in Little Children. Worse, Anthony Minghella in our street has made a film about crime in the area: Breaking and Entering. (Remember to lock up before going to the cinema.)
Technical support
New technology is always a challenge, and Technical Support is there to help you get the best out of it. In this video clip from Norway we see effective, on-the-spot support provided to a mediæval scholar confronted by the change from scrolls to books. You don't need to snakke norsk to follow it.
The poetry shelf in Borders in Palo Alto is not long. I had to wrestle Adrienne Rich’s The Dream of a Common Language out from its neighbours the other week; the shelf is packed pretty tight, and I got myself a paper cut. It seemed like it would be worth some trouble: I know Rich’s work from Marilyn Hacker’s using her for epigraphs to her own poems. When I opened the book I found blood on my hands. So I bought it. Buy any poetry that spills blood. I’m not alone in my reactions to Richard Dawkins’ clumsy tirade against religious belief. This month’s Prospect pans The God Delusion, making similar criticisms to mine.
Let it bleed
SJT
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Gunshot wound to foot
Amazing. Microsoft Update just replaced Internet Explorer 6 with IE7. The menu bar that for two decades has been a common interface to familiar and unfamiliar applications has gone, removing my overview of what's available. Immediate challenge: how to do what File | Open has always done? And my bookmarks have vanished, replaced by a standard set.
Firefox has been my preferred browser for two years now. Microsoft’s new self-inflicted wound might end my use of IE for anything but proofing.
Over the rainbow
To West Kensington last night to dine with other friends of Nicholas Battye on the anniversary of his death two years ago. “To Nicholas, wherever he is,” we toasted. “Wherever red wine flows,” someone called out.
We were Miki Yamanouchi, Peta McRedmond, Ann Schneider-Cullen, Esmerelda Sanchez, Ruth Eisenhart, Marco Singh & Rayenne, Nick Sowicz, Liz Barker & David Craik. Oh, and me.
My dreams rarely leak through to daylight, but late on Tuesday afternoon I fell into a colour dream heavily marked with references to Nicholas. I woke at six, thinking I heard tapping on the window, and with Bob Dylan’s song “Knocking On Heaven’s Door” running through my head. There was no one outside.
Then late last night, returning with Peta from the memorial dinner, we heard on the cab’s radio the relatively rare recording of Israel Kamakawiwo’ole singing “Over The Rainbow” — that we played at the end of Nicholas’ funeral. Way to go, Nick.
Less spookily, Barbara Gibson sent us a message from Virginia:
According to the diary on your website, tonight is the Nicholas Battye Memorial Dinner, and I did not want the day to pass without writing to you in remembrance of Nick. About a year ago, I wrote to you to say how sorry I was not to have known the Nick that you and so many of your friends knew. The young, spirited Nick was a joy, and I'm glad to have known him then. Although apparently he suffered disappointments toward the end of his life, he clearly had a positive impact on many people. I know that you must always miss such a dear friend.As I told you last year, I am so appreciative of your website, which I continue to visit often for inspiration and respite. It gives me a little window on the London I love but get to visit much less often than I would like. I also enjoy your political commentary. (By the way, we are wildly celebrating our political victory of having doubled the number of House seats that the Democrats needed to have a majority, and we are cautiously hopeful that the Democrats have taken the Senate as well.)
Tonight I will raise a glass to Nicholas' memory and also to his friends.