Uncategorized – Page 2

The Futility of Sport

Football, football, football. You watch your team through thick and thin. Weekend after weekend, peering for your results. All to end up without a trophy, maybe promotion, relegation. Supporting a middling Midlands team, some wins, some loses, some good performances, some bad. It’s about the individual moments. You are never going to have much success, just waiting for those few elements of excitement, happiness, warmth. Another season to look forward to. New players, new look. Hope is the hardest thing. But also, the most exciting. Pre-season. Then it’s more football, football, football. Week in week out, through thick and thin. Home and away. Same old teams to play. Football is very technical nowadays. No fouling, no real tackling. Little nudges, on the edge of fouls, moving bodies into certain spaces, gaining balance and space advantage over competitors. Subtle ways of keeping control of the ball. The fans getting excited, looking forward. Most teams don’t really win. They might win the individual battles, games, but not the big cups, awards. It’s about the communal family being happy. A new year. Hope eternal. New kit. New players. New coach. Same old same old. But there are moments, a point in time where everyone and everything comes together, that last minute goal where shouts of joy and relief splatter your locale, occurring at slightly different moments due to the lag in TV feeds. Arriving home, gently rolling into the driveway just as England superstar Jude Bellingham brilliantly places an overhead kick into the bottom right-hand corner. From despair to joy, emotions raging through. It is the moments that count rather than some beautiful game, the movement of the ball matching heartbeats. Watching your own team is like a completely different sport, every pass, tackle, cross, save coming deep from within rather than distance. Collectively kicking every ball. Hope. As humans that is all we need, the possibility of the future being something better than what is now. Preseason pre-reality.

So, the Olympics provide an opportunity to show the non-futility of sport. Nations coming together across the globe every four years. There is enough distance and distinction between events to create innovative original games, emerging at certain points in history that create a certain resonance. From the first person to run to Ancient Greece. I remember the Moscow games of 1980 where the USA boycott provided opportunities for others on the track and field. Alan Wells. Superstar. 1984, George Orwell appeared in the dystopian city of angels, huge coliseums and Carl Lewis. Korea, Spain, Australia, America again, China and then London, our own games. No better than any of the others. Rebuilding disused parts of the city. Bringing the country together in great hope. People seemed connected towards a common goal. The fighting could stop. But then Brexit. Great wounds blasted open, a country in disarray, shooting itself in the foot instead of hitting a target or clay disc. Such experts in ancient sports. The modern pentathlon. There is such jingoism about our games. Surely they were the best ever. Iconic. But then the world moved onto Brazil, equally as amazing gathering of athletes. Poor Japan had the covid Olympics. Masks, no crowds, deathly silence echoing through vast stadiums. Surely Tokyo should be given another opportunity, the chance to hold them with people present. All that infrastructure, money spent building should go towards something positive. It would clear the world of those isolated memories. The Paris 2024 Olympics concluded, recognised by many already as one of the best ever. Whisper it, even greater than London. Taking the sports to the central part of the city, using its stunning architecture. Having fun. Being totally French. There was such great warmth, emotion, love and enjoyments, people who don’t normally enjoy sport getting hooked into the skateboarding, Australian breakdancing, synchronised diving, speed climbing, BMX. The outlying sports provided with as much focus as any other. A completely non-hierarchical experience. And it has a finite length. Sadness creeps over me as the closing ceremony hands over the baton to LA (again). Surely somewhere else would be appropriate, away from the land of Donald, but at least they have the infrastructure already there. Is Africa generally too hot and poor to be given the opportunity. I mean, football came to Kuwait. A slight regret sweeps over me that I didn’t try to go and be part of the Parisian event, living so close, having lived a little life in France. That was bad planning as the games won’t be coming so near for quite a while. I feel sad that LA wont be the same. Too brash and knowing. The French have a naivety that is instantly charming. Puffing on a Gitanes whiles absent mindedly tossing silver balls into a pit of sand. Who really wants a Hollywood blockbuster. So time for a rest from sport, or let the new football season gradually wash over me, taking me subtly in again. New hopes. New dreams. Players diving around in fake agony, felled by slight clips, trips and fingertips. The Olympics are honest, difficult, a true test of the best. Years of hard work coming to fruition or crunch points, moments where you either succeed or disappear back to obscurity, unable to secure the funding to continue. Dreams shattered. The success of the Olympics provides hope, bringing the world together through excellence. The fittest people in the world all in one place at the same time. The ultimate truth. Sport, sport, sport.

AI

Artificially intelligent. Robots taking over the world. Our lives changing forever, your life in their hands. Big brother taking control of the wheel, building the car and taking you for whatever journey they fancy. You are out of control, like Trump out for a morning stroll, spitting nonsensical rubbish out into the world, creating chaos, firing shots all over the place just to see what happens, shooting them so they just fly past ears, surface wounds. Just a few centimetres from a different world; the fallibility of humans. AI will take the strain although trains will still probably run late, be cancelled, smell of the 1970s: Comfort, sweat and piss. The perfect world built around AI will never exist. People will still be sheltering under bridges, wrapped in stinking old blankets, comforted by Blue Nun or other such fortified wine. Our computerised intelligent friends will make many jobs redundant, those menial tasks that some people probably enjoy. Fiddling around with a spreadsheet, using mental arithmetic, digging deep into school history lessons to remember dates of lesser-known wars. The Boer wars, when were they again? Time will exist to pop more regularly to the gym, to go out for midday walks whilst your bot collates every element of your business into a streamlined project management proposal. Us humans left to ponder, to be artistic, creative. So why then are multiple governments defunding the arts, when understanding our creative selves is going to be a key element of the next 100 years. By 2099 the average life span will be 150 years old, frail bodies reconstructed, minds connected to mainframes, town centres overpopulated with electric zimmer frames and silent non-polluting vehicles. Healthcare transformed, early warnings for the previously terminally ill. Street corner smokers replaced by electronic transmitters. No one dies. Graveyards get turned over to be used as spaces to house mega computers. Chips implanted into babies at birth, regulating every last internal element, checking dietary requirements from within. Providing a smart watch readout, regulating everything so that you can maximise productivity and life. Serendipity disappears. We are all under central control. Tik Tok memes a quaint remembrance from the past like grainy black and white film. Everything is sanitised. Life is perfect. More people are stacked up under the bridges, freezing, washed away by yet another deluge as ice caps melt. What is AI going to do for and to us? But what is the overall ethos? What is the point? Increased efficiency. No more potholes in the road as AI can gather this data and put repairs into action, robotic teams laying steaming tarmac whilst one human worker looks on from central control. One human worker oversees all potholes, shuffling to monthly line management meetings with his robotic boss. Lines of driverless cars waiting patiently for the green light, no horns are blared, the world is silent except for the incessant sounds of nature and the unromantic whirring of machines; a chance to make music and write poetry whilst sat in early morning traffic. Planning vacations where electric planes can silently deliver you to picture perfect locations; all is clean and sanitised now, the madness of Varanasi no longer existing, pushing past cows in the streets as bodies burn by the dirty rivers edge. No gritty industrial estates, bleak and foreboding windswept arenas. But inequalities will remain, the human desire for separation and difference. Sanitised AI worlds only existing for a few not the many. Those lucky to have been born into AI families, those fortunate Gen Z whose long line of families bought property cheaply during the 1970s and 80s. Will AI really change that much for the general population, like watching the BAFTA’s, lots of suited and booted mega stars on your screens, talking about inequalities, talking about creativity, still a load of old white men in boring evening suits congratulating other white men in equally anonymous attire. Hopefully AI can help to bring some levels of equality rather than just efficiency, provide opportunities and visibility for all. Reconfigure the workplace so that everyone’s talents are maximised, that life work balance, universal wage and true equality arrives for all.

AI generated picture of AI taking over the world

Birthdays

These are funny things. The spotlight turns on you. At a young age, the frisson of excitement is almost too much, anticipation and then release. Seeming to take for ever to arrive. As an adult there is more nervousness, whether the presents you have bought your partner are really any good. Will they like them. What made you choose that? Lack of money. Pressure. Having to fulfil expectations both as a giver and a receiver. It’s a day you have to enjoy yourself. Too much pressure. Which is why you should spread it out, have a birthday week. Enjoy the chance of a lie in. Alter your patterns. The Covid 19 pandemic changed birthdays, a screen full of friends, acting, playing games, memories. Almost more connection, although virtual. Rafts of in person events cancelled. Meetings on doorsteps, sneaking off to the park, borrowing a dog for a secret rendezvous. Under control, police states surfacing almost instantly, the collective behaviour altered irreparably. Eat out to help out. Now we can’t afford to eat out or are bored of it, living in a small town going to the same places, eating average food at expensive prices. In doorways, lumps of human flesh are concealed, wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets, possessions stuffed around them, trying to stay warm, trying to be human. Birthdays, like every other day should be about trying to help, to recognise the plight of fellow humans. Stop and talk. Be there. Be present.

I don’t really want to celebrate but I feel obliged. OK I can enjoy it but having a deep winter birthday I try and add some sunshine to my spheres, to meet with friends and get the year moving; light is returning. The flood of deep winter deaths relenting. Hawaiian parties, Latin music, sparkle, light, glitter. There are never any expectations. Spring and summer birthdays have it lucky, or get disappointed due to the weather, or people being away. At least in the winter everyone is generally around, and desperate for something to alter their states of mind. One friend has his birthday at the end of May, often falling on a bank holiday, a time when people are away, doing their own thing. This creates a sense of isolation, a lack of connection as couples, families have their own agendas which cater for their inner circle, the unit, not especially interested in friends at that point. Birthdays can highlight the lack of children, tensions in family, a poignant moment. My dad died on my birthday. Thanks papa. Some sort of perfect symmetry, 23.1.23.

OOOf

Automatic replies have been on. A moment to leave the working world behind, turn off the email and let the brain relax. It can take a few days for the mind to stop thinking about everyday issues and problems. You need to try and leave in a way where there are no issues overhanging which might eat into your brain, not allow you to fully relax. Our worlds are so overcome by earning a living, running projects, administration, bureaucracy, the needs of others, thinking about your job, looking for another job, friends, families, football teams. We all need a break, reset, get alternative perspectives which will then feed into our daily working worlds. The leisure process relies on us taking holidays, getting away from the daily grind to experience new worlds. A time to leave the screen, explore new cultures, sit by the pool, swim, read, wander, contemplate, talk, make new friends, cares gradually leaving your self as detachment from your daily routine and objects starts to nurture the soul. There is power in leaving work for periods of time, allowing your company or project to function even though you are not there. It shows trust in others. It is human to want to feel indispensable but allowing others to step up provides strength to organisations. Like a reserve goalkeeper in football, an unknown quantity until they are given the chance to perform under pressure. Give youth a chance. Managers nervous about their own precarious positions so afraid to experiment, to take a chance. It shows a lack of conviction in their own ways of working. But you can unleash them, from sitting on the side lines they take their moment, usurp the incumbent, become number one. Roy of the Rovers stuff. Experiment. Try things you never dared to consider. Do goalkeepers really need a break though, standing around watching. Goalkeepers are said to be mad, probably something to do with coping with the abuse they receive from behind their net. You’re s*** Agh. There aren’t many jobs where this level of personal attack is tolerated, even celebrated. All part of generating a great atmosphere. What do goalkeepers do when they go on vacation? Shout at random strangers. Stand longingly on a stretch of grass peering into the distance, wondering where all their mates have gone.

East Devon Soul

Red Alerts were sirening off all over the west of the country as Storm Darragh battered the bruised country into further submission. Luckily humans are hardy and the first event for our new organisation east Devon Soul went off. It was great to see such a lovely eclectic bunch of people enjoying Grammy nominated Acantha Lang at the Marine Theatre, a last minute change from the embattled Seaton Gateway. It was a beautiful night and we at East Devon Soul will be running many more events over the next few years. We see soul music as all music that comes from the soul. So it will be hip hop, funk, latin, jazz, pop, rock, jungle, electronic dance and of course soul. We are also planning a big event in July 2026 so news will be passed around when details have been defined through the first part of next year.

We are really looking forward to developing music in and around East Devon, providing high quality music for all.

East Devon Soul

Acantha Lang at the Marine Theatre, Lyme Regis

Must you Create a Legacy Instead of Just Existing

Why can’t I just sit at home and exist. What drives me to make some sort of mark on the world, create a lasting legacy, be constantly active, a diary full for months in advance, no time just to sit around and think. It always seems to be the way, agreeing to things without really first engaging the brain. A desire to do stuff, to be helpful, to explore ideas and put on events. Why can’t I just say no or keep my powder dry. Surely it would be easier just to sit on the side-lines, let other people run events but maybe that’s my nature of being an artist. One of the organisers. I’m not even sure it is one of my strengths. Well actually wooing is, so getting people to do stuff, to work with people, help, facilitate, be the natural number two. Peter Taylor to your Brian Clough. There is nowhere to go after over promising. You have put an idea into some else’s head and to stand and deliver. Or else try and back down gracefully without losing face or reputation. Keeping your mouth shut, thinking about things before promising. Review the logistics, the costs, the possible scenarios that could unfold in your head. It’s generally better to under promise, set expectations at a base level so you can gradually work up, surprise people, start to reveal the full extent of what you hope to achieve. Or don’t even say anything, keep your powder dry, have thoughts running around in your head that can stay there, under control, a multitude of concepts swirling within the brains matter. Is it a need to be liked, an area of conversation or just a desire to collaborate, support projects. By saying something it means you really have to deliver, it puts the concept out in the open. Surely this can be a good thing though as it counters inertia. Provides the possibility of creating something great, making a change, a mark on the world that delivers happiness to yourself and others once you have battled through the stress of putting the event on. If you don’t go out there and put your head on the line then you are not a competitor. You are someone happy on the side-lines, which is fine. Some people need to be the creators, innovators, those who push things forward and support a change in the world. Over promising is their reality. Realising dreams. Is there any point in any of this though. I mean we all shift off this mortal coil. Famous people are dying all over the place. Geoff Capes, iconic strongman of early TV. Seemed like a lovely bloke. He will be remembered. DJ’s Janice Long and John Peel, an anarchic Top of the Pops double act, laughing, joking, no longer here. A young guy from pop reality stars One Direction, plummets to his death from an Argentine balcony. Going in one direction, down. Quite youthful world cycling megalith Sir Chris Hoy, terminal cancer. All that healthy exercise and being superfit leading to inevitable doom. Maybe he should have just sat around smoking fags. Same result. You see people heading off for their daily jog or skulking around corners with rollies dangling from their mouth. Which one are you, what path do you choose. Lady Di. Princess of the people, changing the world, battered in a Parisian underpass alongside son of rapist, Dodi Al Fayed. He should have been the one in the car. Justice. If there was equity and fairness in the world then all those out exercising, eating healthily, being kind to the planet, one or no car families, care workers, doctors and nurses, nutritionists, musicians, actors, authors, recyclers, councillors, counsellors, cancellers, administrators, supporters, non-hierarchical activists, and famous shot putters should have the longest lives. We should know how long there is. Surely that’s fair. Otherwise, really what is the point. To be remembered? To leave a mark? To have in some way helped to make the world a better place through selfless behaviour? It is within your own heart and soul that this probably needs to occur, by doing stuff, creating events, putting your neck on the line, trying to improve other people’s lives, being proactive and making a difference is probably worthwhile. You might not get a medal but there should be peace of mind, inner comfort, a warm glow emanating from you, understanding that you have maximised your time on earth, nothing has been left undone or unsaid, like riding through the final 10 minutes of a spin class, pushing until the end, warn out but satisfied that nothing else could have been done.

https://open.spotify.com/concert/1ezpzIxWYHttqXE0pcwH7s?si=e178103aa2e14387

Gig poster for Acantha Lang at Seaton Gateway Theatre, East Devon. Friday 6th December, 2024

Blank Canvas

So for any people out there interested in creativity, especially within music, my first book, Blank Canvas, is available from Intellect Books. Remarkably good value for a book that straddles academic and commercial values. Lots of info from creative artists including Brian Eno, Pauline Black, Gavin Bryars, Barry Adamson, Roy Ascott, Gina Birch, Gaye Advert etc…..

https://www.intellectbooks.com/blank-canvas

Affected

Some people in your life make decisions that confuse or worry you. Their power. What can you do to counteract or deal with the power they exert, controlling your career, life path, manipulating your mind so that things which would seem outrageous or wrong in ever day living are passed, swept under the carpet, justified. Making decisions then putting you on the spot, you’re the one who has to explain what is going on, why money has been given to certain people. The PPE scandal where millions has been laundered, the truth wrapped in a veil. Who do you go to, who do you tell? Our world is dotted with conflict, sometimes all out war but often just a mass of elements that niggle, behaviour that hurts, disrespect. The gym teacher who asks the class for advice rather than understanding the wishes of the minority. Bullying, sneaking up to you, suggesting that you leave, that your work is underwhelming, snide comments. Words with extreme power. Passing by, leaving their mark but untroubling the perpetrator. People just getting away with it in multiple instances. Boris Johnson promoting his memoir, still insisting he did nothing wrong, those Brexit benefits. Saville, Weinstein, Al Fayed; sexual abuse, appearing out of the past as voice by voice the truth emerges when the abuser dies or locked away. People who can now talk the truth, power emerging through each ascending voice. Countries bombing neighbours indiscriminately, justifying actions through the weight of history, previous persecution, a life of being tortured, picked upon, maimed. The school bully never receiving justice, working away untouchable, poking here and there, making epee lunges. Fencing. Darting in and making a few incursions before retreating and waiting for blind eyes to be turned. Their own traumas affecting actions, digging deep into psyche, the past continually impacting on the present, a reset required.

Walking around

Going on a trip with friends it was a difficult choice. Where could we go which was in a couple of hours, that we hadn’t been before and was great for photography. Berlin, Paris, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Prague. In the end deciding on the Polish city of Krakow. Near Auschwitz, Resonating with past wars and brutalities. Unknowable pain. A pretty city. Picture perfect. Scanning the weather before you go on your trip, praying that BBC, Accu, Met etc.. are wrong in their forecast of incessant drizzle. There to take pictures but no light. Mizzle, more insistent but lighter than drizzle, a constant blanket of gentle spray. You don’t really get wet but there is a dampness, a coldness that starts to seep into your bones, breaking through Gortex through non stop lightness. You start to walk around the city and apparent photo opportunities jump out, peering through doorways, into shops. It’s a great way of looking at a city, as a photographer, especially when the light makes your task really difficult. Walking around, constantly, circling the city, heading for landmarks, the grey relentless. Night time and colours arrive, the neon glow of multicoloured bulbs elongating across vast squares, reflections more dramatic than the actuality, peering down, Crouching down by pools of water, reflections illuminating, doubling images. Adding to the misty intrigue. Umbrellas dotting the skyline, adding shape and colour, providing context and interest. Armed with a pocket camera, fixed wide angle, 28mm. No opportunity to zoom in but stay in the same perspective. Interest in the fore and background. Occasionally relenting from the clicking to move indoors, sample local beers. Atmospheric locales, stylised but resonating with Coldwar, Second World War menace. Dark brooding deep reds, greens and blues. Faded. Old photos, people lost to time, coming back to life. People creating new images, taking the space, providing film sets, stuck in time. Continue to walk, searching for images. The mizzle continues. Searching for a shipwreck, graffiti providing colour contrasting to the grey unchanging sky, no shards of light to provide interest just a grey blanket providing consistency. Statues and memorials. Crumbling buildings, memories hanging in the air, trapped, nowhere to go. Keep walking, searching for form, for light. Trams providing blue and red relief, the lights inside glowing through the dank grey. Previous lives trapped in, nowhere to go. Keep walking, observing, a sadness that is flat, not overwhelming, no drama, just constant and plaintive. Puddles continue to reflect, we walk, we peer, the mizzle continues.

Perspectives on Life

Through life you have varied perspectives, middle age suddenly provides a balanced review, looking backwards as much as forwards, remembering events. The mind still clear and lucid but reflective. What a lot has happened across the years, how lucky I have been. That should be remembered and equate to happiness. A life well lived. Sit back and rejoice. No need to constantly chase forwards although that is your natural inclination. News of death always comes as a jolt to life, stopping you in your tracks and reminding of the annoying fact that this doesn’t go on forever. It stops. Seasons may change, you remember key events and reflect, you dream and love, but at some point everything comes to a juddering halt. Our own lifespan, predetermined or forced through actions. Probably best to make the most of it, every minute, stop worrying about the individual annoyances and reflect on the whole. I’m currently moved by the outpouring of love shown between contestants on Celebrity Masterchef, where food and pressure seems to have brought the absolute best nature out of people. They all seem so lovely and loved up. Enjoying the best experiences of their life. It is my new mantra, be the best you who would be on Masterchef, even though my cooking would fall apart, I want to wrap up the energy and be the best human I possibly can. Lets cook.

View looking out through two windows out to sea on the South coast of England.