HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELTON Friday, Mar 30 2007 

Celebrities and Television anthonynorth 9:38 am

Happy Birthday Elton (ITV1 – UK, 29 Mar 07) was an enjoyable, if occasionally embarrassing celebrity-fest. Marking the 60th birthday of Elton John, celebrities lined up to get on telly and be Elton’s ‘friend.’ There appeared so many egos there that I’m surprised Madison Square Gardens didn’t sink.
This aside, Elton was on top form, giving us classics such as Rocket Man and Your Song. The perfect showman, his voice strained on some of the more aggressive songs, but on ballads his voice seems to be getting better, more mature and fitting to the ballad.
I’ve never classed Elton John as one of my favourites, but he certainly deserves the career he’s had – especially with the work he does for the Elton John AIDS Foundation. And I’m told you can always guarantee a good time at his concerts.
The closest I came to seeing him live was the 1976 Hyde Park Queen concert. In support was Kiki Dee and for ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ she brought out a life-size cardboard cut-out of Elton. He didn’t do much that day – unlike his birthday bash.

© Anthony North, Mar 2007

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics and links). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

NEW LINGO, INNIT Thursday, Mar 29 2007 

Life and Media and News and Society and Thoughts anthonynorth 10:06 am

Young people are, it seems, losing their accent. Local dialects are supposedly being eradicated as a ‘new speak’ becomes the norm. Presumably, as these young people grow older, they’ll take the new tongue with them, innit.
The birth of a new language may well be on the way, and it is not the first time this has happened. Aided by mobile phones and a pervasive media, this time, though, it may well be different to any language birthed before.
Language and accent usually comes from ‘place’, representing a local identity. This new language form is the opposite of this, fuelled by an international media. We could argue it is the beginning of a new world language, the ‘place’ being the planet, but this could hold severe problems.
Modern media seems to subvert local identity and meaning, hence the new language. But does the nature of this new global language provide anything above consumerism and celebrity-worship? If not, the new language holds no meaning in itself, so a whole generation could be lost to trivia and waste.
Maybe the planet should speak in one voice – but not like this.

© Anthony North, Mar 2007

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics and links). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

A NOVEL LIFE Thursday, Mar 29 2007 

Fiction and Serious Fiction and Short Stories anthonynorth 10:02 am

booktwo.jpgHe was fifteen when he sat down and picked up the novel. At first he weighed it in his hand, judging what to do. Contemplating the issue a while, he eventually opened it up, counted the thousand plus pages, and was overawed by the sheer magnificence of it.
They say that the first sentence is the hardest. With a novel of this length, once that first sentence is read, the fear of it is gone. And then all that is left is determination ….
He began to read.
Every story has a hero, and the hero of ours sat up from his chair when he was fifteen to see the girl pass the window. He was immediately attracted to her and was compelled to follow. Introductions were story book, full of cliche. He made her laugh, and that is the most important thing in the world. For in laughter the defences are down and love creeps in.
Three years later, they marry. They have to; a child is on the way. Born, life is hard for our couple, without money, without prospects, without hope. But in every story there is a war to take away the hero and provide that romance experienced only through distance.
It is a new hero who returns. A real hero, with medals on his chest and wounds in his heart. He is a more ruthless hero, ready to take the world and succeed. And his career begins in business, where his wartime ruthlessness comes to the fore and he makes a million.
A second child appears somewhere along the way, but as with the first, he hasn’t much time for this child now, or his wife; his love of times past. So in every good story there is the moral dilemma of the affair. And his is fevered, passionate. Until his wife finds out. Then, it is not passion that rules, but hurt and recrimination.
It is an emotional time of our story, the separation, the children, unsure of their future. Unsure, even, of life. But our hero – if hero he really is – marches on through his story, marrying his mistress. But a mistress can never give that all important innocence to love. So it is not the same marriage; not the same happiness. Just bitterness.
The moral dilemma of our story is, infact, a simple one. In early life we are innocent, and in our innocence, love is the most important thing in our existence. But love makes people nice, and no good to take on the world. To be successful you need to be of harder stuff, as our hero has become. But in doing so, innocence disappears, and in its banishment, perhaps love is also thrown away.
And so, without love, our hero becomes a success. The business thrives, his influence grows, his power is built. And the next logical step is political. For once the taste of power is there, and the distracting family thrown to the wind, only the top is desirable.
But our story is a moral one. Our hero is a cad, and the top must be unachievable. It must be snatched from his grasp at the moment of his success. And so it is. It is not a twist in the tale, but an inevitability. It was sown in the early words of the tale. For in the obvious anxiety of the final reach for power, we remember our youth. And our hero remembered his, and thought of his first love whom he hurt so badly, and is consumed with guilt.
And then. When in the crowd, he spies her?
The denouement is here. He is filled with renewed love. And suddenly, the money, the power … they mean nothing to him. And he retires, to be forever with his love.
And then, one sunny morning he sits in a chair and picks up a novel. He remembers it well from his youth and decides, at last, he must read it.

© Anthony North, April 2002

RT One

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics and links). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

ARE SOAP CHARACTERS REAL? Wednesday, Mar 28 2007 

Life and Media and Psychology and Society and Television and Thoughts anthonynorth 9:25 am

We tend to laugh at people who think SOAP characters are real, but should we? Are they the same as normal fictional characters, or do they hold, within the concept of the SOAP, a greater degree of reality than the norm?
Fictional characters traditionally have a simple role. They exist due to, and only for, the story being told. They are nothing more than a tool of the storyteller to get the story across. But SOAP characters break this rule. They exist above and beyond the story.
In SOAPs stories are written for the characters. Psychologically, this is very different. But more than this, SOAP characters can appear daily, we know their habits, we become ‘friends’ over many years.
Okay, SOAP characters such as Ken Barlow or Peggy Mitchell may not be real, but they have more reality than other fictional forms.

© Anthony North, Mar 2007

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics and links). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

THAT OLD SOAP RELIGION Wednesday, Mar 28 2007 

Life and Media and Psychology and Society and Television anthonynorth 8:31 am

From Ken Barlow to Grant Mitchell the SOAP stars are household names. From Emily Bishop to Stacey Slater they enter our living rooms almost daily. But are SOAPs like Eastenders and Coronation Street more than mere entertainment?
One of the oldest forms of social control and moral education is the daily dose of guidance. Christianity perfected this with the Bible and ceremony, offering a Christian occasion for every day, constantly wearing you down to compliance.
Unlike any other form of drama, SOAPs seem to carry out this same sociological role. So we must ask if SOAPs are actually more than entertainment. Could it be that they are the new religion? With, of course, a very different moral theme.

© Anthony North, Mar 2007

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics and links). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

FAST FOOD Tuesday, Mar 27 2007 

Fiction and Science Fiction and Short Stories anthonynorth 9:52 am

WARNING: SOME STORIES MAY CONTAIN DISTURBING SCENES

galaxy.jpg‘I remember these old tramp ships well,’ said the Old Space Dog as he sat down. The starship was ancient, and he had indeed travelled in many in his earlier days. The other passengers paid attention a moment, realized the old storyteller was on board, and sighed.
‘You can sigh,’ he said, looking at them through his one good eye, ‘but I can tell you a thing or two about travelling on these old hulks.’
As the starship went into hyperspace, the passengers settled down, and it was inevitable Old Space Dog would grab their attention.
‘I was spacewrecked in one,’ he said. ‘I was only a junior hand in those days, but we got caught up in a particle storm.’ He winced for effect. ‘Those damned particles, when they get agitated like that. Space was being ripped in all directions, the hull taking the strain as it was compressed in one part and expanded in another. I thought every sonic rivet on it would eject.’
The passengers looked at the superstructure of their own vessel, hoping it would make it to their destination.
‘Well, the captain called for abandon ship, so off we all went into our pods. They could only take four men at a time in those days, so we needed three to take the whole crew. No passengers; they couldn’t afford the pods then, so passengers kept away from the model.
‘Well, the pods were ejected, and just then the hull expanded again, agitated by those damned particles. It just came right out and seemed to occupy the same space as two of the pods. When the agitation was over, I looked, and if the pods weren’t melded into the superstructure. Weird, it was, I can tell you. I guess their bodies had been melded as well, so I guess they were well dead; part of the ship’s composite structure now.’
The passengers looked incredulous, unsure whether to believe the Old Space Dog or not.
‘Nearly a week we were in that pod, me, the captain and two hands. And what a week. Typical organization. There was no food, you see. We had water, but nothing to eat. Well, I can tell you, by the fourth day we were ready to take lots. You know, which one of us was going to be carved. After all, we had to eat something.’
Gasps filled the cabin. Surely he didn’t indulge in cannibalism?
The Old Space Dog smiled. ‘No, I didn’t. Not then. Because on the seventh day we found the ship again. Somehow it had survived, although it was a twisted hulk with no power and, it seemed, no food surviving either.
‘So what were we to do now, you may ask; especially when the captain reckoned it could be a month before we were found?
‘We began to look at the fattest in our number, our juices flowing. But it was then I had the idea. It took us some time to get to the two pods stuck in the superstructure, but with eight well preserved bodies, we managed to hack off enough meat to keep us going for ages. Only thing was, it tasted of plastic.’

© Anthony North, August 2006

Lift-Off

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics and links). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

WHEN SORRY MEANS NOTHING AT ALL Monday, Mar 26 2007 

Racism and Society anthonynorth 8:03 am

We are remembering the bi-centenary of the abolition of slavery in Britain with a guilt-fest of apologies. Are we right to do this? Let me get this straight. Slavery was, and is, a disgraceful practice, and I am ashamed of my ancestors, but should I be ashamed of myself for being born in a country that did slavery?
Is anyone, today, actually ashamed, in their own emotional selves, about complicity in slavery all those years ago? Is anyone really, emotionally cut-up about anything our ancestors did, in any country, in any time?
Of course not. We were not alive. We had no say in what happened. So to apologise is to belittle the meaning of the word, ‘sorry.’ I say again, slavery was, and is, despicable. But I suspect there is something else, other than our supposed guilt behind the guilt-fest.
The modern, western world is supposed to be forward looking, putting itself upon a pedestal of perfection. In order to do this, it must banish the past as either of no importance, or a time when people did only bad things.
To guarantee this is the case, we have symbolic acts of contrition. But they are nothing more than this – empty symbols. And the danger is, in forgetting our past, or in degrading our past errors by symbolising them in this way, we are almost guaranteed to repeat them.
I won’t say sorry, myself, for despicable slavery. I would rather be aware, watch the world and remember the past – so that it never happens again.

© Anthony North, Mar 2007

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics and links). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

FIRST BLOOD Saturday, Mar 24 2007 

Fiction and Serious Fiction and Short Stories anthonynorth 3:12 pm

infantryman.jpgDo they know I’m out here? Do they know back home? Do they know I’m here, in these freezing mountains, saving their freedom? Do they know I’m here, putting my life on the line for THEM!?
Do they care?
It’s a week into the mission now. We’ve no real intelligence; no real battleplan. We just keep buggering on in the hope that we’ll find something to kill. That’s how war goes, much of the time. But it doesn’t stop my feet getting cold.
It bites into you does the cold. I know, we’ve got all the equipment to keep it out, but you’re out in these conditions, in these altitudes, day after day and night after night; it creeps in through the mind. And no clothing – and no equipment – will keep it out then.
Variation would help a bit, I’m sure. But for nearly a week now it’s been the same. Join the special forces and guarantee an exciting life, we were told. And we swallowed it, thinking we could break the mould of war, of 5% action and 95% boredom. But war is war and the unwritten rules hold and my feet are cold.
Do they know I’m out here? Back home?
And on we yomp – and on. Over that rise and through that valley in a neverending up and down up and down world. And so silent, so surreal, so uninviting. Of course, the 5% will come. It has to. You can’t invade a country for a week, forever on the move, forever breaking cover, without eventually being seen and intercepted. Not if it is a real army we’re fighting.
And finally that moment comes.
It’s only a small village we spy from the top of the rise. It’s about a mile ahead, down in the valley, peaceful and warm, the odd puff of smoke from some cosy and warm house. But those trucks don’t look civilian. They look military, don’t they.
The first indication of action came ten minutes later as we moved imperceptibly down the slope. Honed to notice the slightest movement ahead, the forward scout crouched instinctively and fired as the head popped up from the rock and took a shot. He was dead before his bullet whizzed harmlessly past our position.
I’d wondered how I’d perform when it came – that first firefight. I’d feared the time with the same intensity that the adrenalin pleaded for it to come. But now that it was here, and I was in the action, I don’t think I thought about it at all. Maybe all the discipline, all the shouting, all the stupidity and pettiness of our training pays off.
I went straight into an instinctive roll down that slope, controlled and headed straight for the cover of the rocks. In position, I came up to a crouch, brought the M16 to the shoulder and looked to my front. There must have been a dozen of them out there, firing and charging and rolling and crouching as they attacked.
Always aim for the biggest part of the body, we were told, then you’re guaranteed a kill, and my weapon spat, thudding its butt into my shoulder with its recoil. And I saw one fall in a fountain of blood, followed by another.
It was an intense firefight. It seemed to go on for ever, but I doubt it was more than twenty seconds before they began to retreat down the slope. Controlled, always covering each other, we descended after them, hoping to catch up before they reached the cover of the buildings in the village.
Most of them we got before they reached it, and I never thought once about the morality of shooting fleeing people in the back. After all, they WERE fleeing to gain better positions to kill me. But to the village, some of them escaped.
There is always an added tension when it comes to moving into an enclosed, man-made area. The instinct of the wild plays tricks, for in so many parts of the battlefield are signs of humanity, and it confuses. But nevertheless we moved in, forever covering each other’s backs, forever spying this way and that and behind. And occasionally the light crackle of the quick burst as an enemy is spied and popped.
And then my turn. It seems no more than a pile of rubble to my front, but I hear the unmistakable sound of movement behind. With a roll, I traverse the gap between one wall and another, coming to my feet with my weapon prone. Just a few metres more and I’ll be round and ready to fire. And instinctively, so instinctively I move, see flesh and fire ….
… and cry.
The mother and child look so peaceful in their eternal, bloodied sleep.

© Anthony North, October 2001

See For Writers for writing resources.

 

A CLASS APART Saturday, Mar 24 2007 

Television anthonynorth 8:33 am

‘A Class Apart’ was an enjoyable drama on BBC1, 23 March. A modern adaptation of Shaw’s ‘Pygmalion,’ it concerned a public school head (Nathaniel Parker) betting that he could improve a pupil from a sink estate.
Predictably, he fell for his ‘Eliza’ in the form of the boy’s mother, Jessie Wallace. And also predictably, Parker and Wallace confirmed every stereotype imaginable about the various classes they represent.
This stereotyping apart – and an unlikely public exchange between the two to confirm their ‘difference’ – Wallace was excellent, even though she was clearly a variation of Cat Moon from Eastenders.
I particularly liked the comment she made about Parker’s failure to cement their amorous inclinations by kissing her on the nose. Although he was 44 and should be experienced, she put these down to ‘posh years.’

© Anthony North, Mar 2007

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

A LOAD OF RUBBISH Friday, Mar 23 2007 

Environment and Politics and Society anthonynorth 11:06 am

Local Government zealots are really getting into green issues. Just look at the control they are getting – how they demand we do as we’re told, ‘cos it’s for the planet, stupid. And they are really getting into recycling rubbish.
Here we have maximum hassle, sorting this and sorting that, and having rubbish collected fortnightly instead of weekly. Why, those rats are just getting bigger – am I talking about vermin or council officials here?
Give an inadequate a mission and he’s sure to put everyone else off the issue. I can think of no better way of dumping real green concerns than demanding people do this and do that. Why do I think local government was given the job in order to rubbish the problem?
Here’s two obvious ways to cut down on rubbish. Reduce the size of ads and photos in newspapers and magazines – you’ll get the same content for a third of the paper. Put harsh regulations on packaging – where it’s required, demand bio-degradable materials.
It’s as simple as that. Only problem is, these are requirements on business. But let’s face it, we can’t have governments hassling them, can we? After all, they’re only the main culprits.
Get this right and we can then start recycling council officials.

© Anthony North, Mar 2007

Environment Page

This is a post from Anthony North’s ‘alternative network.’ Current affairs posts almost daily on North’s Review and Eye on the World (this includes politics). North’s Review also has fiction, writers’ resources and TV reviews. For deeper issues, including paranormal, crime, environment and much more, Beyond the Blog is for you.

 

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