I'm back!
Had a forced vacation from blogging whilst in 'broadband-less' climes, and so had to resort to enjoying the sunshine and other things!
Alas...having left the sunny clime and other things!, I now have to resort to snuggling up with my broadband.
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
When facebook doesn't deliver
I was a rather slow starter. An adamant opposer of this new thing, hesitantly drawn in from my wing-watching over the shoulders of friends. I became a casual attender - present perhaps once in a fortnight or at the surprise prompting of an old friends 'invitation' in my email inbox. As the addiction took hold I confess to daily visitations, sometimes twice daily. The intoxication of discovery; old friends made new friends, old memories triggered by new photos, congenial comments made easily via the ethernet that would have been awkward had we bumped into one another on the street. The contented feeling of melding disperate peoples and places of my lives; past and present.
And then there was the spy factor. The 'wow! He married Her!' factor. The 'whenever did she manage to have five kids in that time' factor. The 'how did he get 540 friends' factor!
So this new user of the 'facebook' narcotic began the search down the annuals of 30 years for the long lost aquaintances, and once best friends, inserting unfamilier names into the search box and pasting building bricks of light converstation into the walls of new-again friendships.
It was going well until a late night fix disclosed a soft-spoken message from a high school friend last seen 15 years ago.
'Were you at the funeral?'.
A mutual school friend, whose name I had fruitlessly searched the facebook ethernet for, who I remembered from the heady idealistism of the mid-teen-Letts-revision-guides-and-stealthy-frolics-to-the-boys-school days. A beautiful girl, now woman, whom I can only picture in school uniform.
My Friend, Celita, whom I couldn't find on facebook, whom I found too late....who died last month in a car accident.
I find I espouse this new thing more carefully now; knowing that old friends made new friends must be valued more highly. Resolving that new friends will not be allowed to become old friends as easily as before.
And then there was the spy factor. The 'wow! He married Her!' factor. The 'whenever did she manage to have five kids in that time' factor. The 'how did he get 540 friends' factor!
So this new user of the 'facebook' narcotic began the search down the annuals of 30 years for the long lost aquaintances, and once best friends, inserting unfamilier names into the search box and pasting building bricks of light converstation into the walls of new-again friendships.
It was going well until a late night fix disclosed a soft-spoken message from a high school friend last seen 15 years ago.
'Were you at the funeral?'.
A mutual school friend, whose name I had fruitlessly searched the facebook ethernet for, who I remembered from the heady idealistism of the mid-teen-Letts-revision-guides-and-stealthy-frolics-to-the-boys-school days. A beautiful girl, now woman, whom I can only picture in school uniform.
My Friend, Celita, whom I couldn't find on facebook, whom I found too late....who died last month in a car accident.
I find I espouse this new thing more carefully now; knowing that old friends made new friends must be valued more highly. Resolving that new friends will not be allowed to become old friends as easily as before.
Saturday, 3 November 2007
Thursday, 27 September 2007
I miss Uganda.......
sunshine,
pineapples,
red earth, green vista, large blue sky,
rain like it means it,
roasting maize,
cacophony of songs as each shop airs its own radio,
perfect feminine figures,
spectacularly-balanced bicycle loads,
sunglasses (sunny or not),
zealous preachers rasping under the clock-tower,
pothole navigation,
passion-fruit juice,
la belle bougainvillea,
till-the-cows-come-home taking their time holding up traffic,
ungodly-hour cockerel chorals,
boda-boda riding recklessly,
night-life unfolding onto the street at dusk,
milk in packets,
peeling matooke,
braided hair,
outdoor music nights on a reggae theme,
colourful clothes,
still-warm chapattis,
enviable hollywood-teeth smiles,
power cuts (except when there's football on tv),
dark warm evenings,
5-in-one dvd's,
dry-roasted g-nuts,
friday night prayer medleys,
wind running fingers like raindrops through banana fronds,
taxi-park kaleidoscope,
marquees signifying celebration,
coy billboards boasting brassy edicts
mosquito-magnetic candles in the evening
glass soda bottles,
open heaven,
family,
friends,
(most of all)...Michael.
pineapples,
red earth, green vista, large blue sky,
rain like it means it,
roasting maize,
cacophony of songs as each shop airs its own radio,
perfect feminine figures,
spectacularly-balanced bicycle loads,
sunglasses (sunny or not),
zealous preachers rasping under the clock-tower,
pothole navigation,
passion-fruit juice,
la belle bougainvillea,
till-the-cows-come-home taking their time holding up traffic,
ungodly-hour cockerel chorals,
boda-boda riding recklessly,
night-life unfolding onto the street at dusk,
milk in packets,
peeling matooke,
braided hair,
outdoor music nights on a reggae theme,
colourful clothes,
still-warm chapattis,
enviable hollywood-teeth smiles,
power cuts (except when there's football on tv),
dark warm evenings,
5-in-one dvd's,
dry-roasted g-nuts,
friday night prayer medleys,
wind running fingers like raindrops through banana fronds,
taxi-park kaleidoscope,
marquees signifying celebration,
coy billboards boasting brassy edicts
mosquito-magnetic candles in the evening
glass soda bottles,
open heaven,
family,
friends,
(most of all)...Michael.
Tuesday, 28 August 2007
Passion is contagious.....
Whilst currently existing in what is a rather humdrum, tedious, confined, suburban lifestyle, I have taken to collecting modern heroes and, temporarily, living vicariously! (I hope, not for long).
Listening to this beautiful woman made my heart swell......
Listening to this beautiful woman made my heart swell......
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
Change gon' come!
I just watched 'The war on democracy', John Pilger's equally insightful and enraging documentary. I won't divulge...find a quiet couple of hours and watch it.
As for me, I'm now lying on my bed and ruminating...thoughts too big for my head...this song playing as a soundtrack to my thoughts....
its been a long time coming
But I know...change gon' come.
Sam Cooke I hope you're right. John Pilger, I salute you.
As for me, I'm now lying on my bed and ruminating...thoughts too big for my head...this song playing as a soundtrack to my thoughts....
its been a long time coming
But I know...change gon' come.
Sam Cooke I hope you're right. John Pilger, I salute you.
Thursday, 9 August 2007
Mark 10:16
Tonight I spoke to my sister. She is a gangs worker with a Youth Offending Team in London. She is passionatly commited to the youth that get sprawled across our news screens each time there is a senseless murder in our streets. Many of them she knows or knew personally - some she represented in court - most she visited in their homes or in prison.
She is my hero! And today she told me this story.
This week she went to prison to visit a 17 year old boy who is three weeks behind bars for stabbing another guy. It was the other guy who pulled out the knife but ended up getting hurt. He is in a coma - if he dies in the next year then the young man that my sister was visiting could be sentenced for murder.
As my sister sat and talked to him today she heard in his words what she hears so often it would be boring if it wasn't heartbreaking. Resignation to life in and out of jail, to senseless crime and violence and in a few years - to an almost certain early death.
As he talked my sister began to cry. When the young man asked her why she was crying, she said - "because I am so frustrated. Because I can hear in your voice that you can't find a way out. Because the way that you are talking as soon as you get out of here you are going to end up back in trouble. And then you will either end up back in here or dead."
Then right in front of her in the pison visiting area, this big macho, tattoed 17 year old young man began to cry. He cried so hard and my sister couldn't get him to stop. 'Help me Hannah, help me Hannah' he kept sobbing.
Tonight he's alone in a prison cell.
She is my hero! And today she told me this story.
This week she went to prison to visit a 17 year old boy who is three weeks behind bars for stabbing another guy. It was the other guy who pulled out the knife but ended up getting hurt. He is in a coma - if he dies in the next year then the young man that my sister was visiting could be sentenced for murder.
As my sister sat and talked to him today she heard in his words what she hears so often it would be boring if it wasn't heartbreaking. Resignation to life in and out of jail, to senseless crime and violence and in a few years - to an almost certain early death.
As he talked my sister began to cry. When the young man asked her why she was crying, she said - "because I am so frustrated. Because I can hear in your voice that you can't find a way out. Because the way that you are talking as soon as you get out of here you are going to end up back in trouble. And then you will either end up back in here or dead."
Then right in front of her in the pison visiting area, this big macho, tattoed 17 year old young man began to cry. He cried so hard and my sister couldn't get him to stop. 'Help me Hannah, help me Hannah' he kept sobbing.
Tonight he's alone in a prison cell.
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