The video for the Plushgun single Just Impolite has been released:
http://www.tylershields.com/2008/11/21/plushgun-just-impolite-starring-brittany-snow-juno-temple-and-shiloh-fernandez/#more-1258
By Tyler Shields, the video stars Brittany Snow, Juno Temple and Shiloh Fernandez.
The visual narrative includes conventional love, Sapphic love, betrayal, revenge and regret.
Locations include an American urban environment, central Paris, central London and the English countryside.
The style is romantic, dramatic and engaging. The lighting is especially fine. The editing is very skillful.
More on Plushgun: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=95436234
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Champion
Six degrees below freezing last night. I woke at 5 am feeling cold, and put on the small electric fire I keep in my bedroom (we have very little heating upstairs). I slept again, and eventually woke at nine, drawing back the curtains to find the fields covered with snow.
As today was definitely a day for staying in I spent a lot of the afternoon going through my digital photograph collection (which is so vast it is becoming unmanageable). And I came across a sequence of photographs I took two summers ago and never wrote up. So here they are now.
They relate to the hereditary champion of England. This office has been held by one of the oldest county families since the twelfth century. Their duties include turning up at every coronation and literally fighting anyone who challenged the claimant’s right to the crown (this is a proxy role as in the ancient past the king himself would be expected to do the fighting).
Over the years the function became symbolic, and at the 1953 coronation the Hereditary Champion just carried a standard.
I find the “champion” concept interesting as it seems to be an illustration of Sir James Frazer’s work on “the king who slew the slayer and shall himself be slain” which he identified through analysis of the cult at Nemi. This impulse goes to the heart of European culture and explains (in my opinion) modern phenomena as diverse as aggressive corporate behaviour, party political in-fighting, even inner city knife crime. In advertising agencies for instance you are only as good as your last ad.
As a reward for performing this task the hereditary champion would be given a golden cup by the monarch. Once again, this matches Sir James Frazer’s work on “cups of plenty” (see the Ardagh chalice or the cauldron found at Sutton Hoo). It will be interesting to see if the hereditary champion is given a role at the next coronation (assuming the monarchy hasn’t been “modernised” out of existence with a new head of state being chosen from a reality TV show).
Above: the champion at the 1953 coronation.
Above: the helmet and sash the champion wore in 1953 are on display at the county museum.
Above: the 1953 coronation was marked all over the county by ritual fires or “beacons” – again Sir James Frazer has written extensively on the cult of beacons and their symbolic meaning.
Above: the current champion lives in the heart of the county, on the same site as his ancestors (although the house has been destroyed and rebuilt several times). The entrance to the park is marked by this colossal “lion gate” (lions were carved above the gate at Mycenae, which reminded me of Achilles’ single combat with Hector). In a church nearby the graves of past champions are laid out (I have looked for photographs of the graves for most of the afternoon, without success – although I do have them somewhere).
Above: the current house on the site is just a fragment of the former mansion. It is surrounded by a beautiful garden (open one day per year – when I took this photograph). Inside the house is a collection of golden coronation cups although I havn’t seen them (yet).
Above: in the grounds is a fine cedar tree – common enough in country houses, but Sir James Frazer does write about the importance of “sacred cedars”.
Above: the champion’s coat of arms. No supporters as the family does not have a peerage. Note the martial lions and upright sword.
As today was definitely a day for staying in I spent a lot of the afternoon going through my digital photograph collection (which is so vast it is becoming unmanageable). And I came across a sequence of photographs I took two summers ago and never wrote up. So here they are now.
They relate to the hereditary champion of England. This office has been held by one of the oldest county families since the twelfth century. Their duties include turning up at every coronation and literally fighting anyone who challenged the claimant’s right to the crown (this is a proxy role as in the ancient past the king himself would be expected to do the fighting).
Over the years the function became symbolic, and at the 1953 coronation the Hereditary Champion just carried a standard.
I find the “champion” concept interesting as it seems to be an illustration of Sir James Frazer’s work on “the king who slew the slayer and shall himself be slain” which he identified through analysis of the cult at Nemi. This impulse goes to the heart of European culture and explains (in my opinion) modern phenomena as diverse as aggressive corporate behaviour, party political in-fighting, even inner city knife crime. In advertising agencies for instance you are only as good as your last ad.
As a reward for performing this task the hereditary champion would be given a golden cup by the monarch. Once again, this matches Sir James Frazer’s work on “cups of plenty” (see the Ardagh chalice or the cauldron found at Sutton Hoo). It will be interesting to see if the hereditary champion is given a role at the next coronation (assuming the monarchy hasn’t been “modernised” out of existence with a new head of state being chosen from a reality TV show).
Above: the champion at the 1953 coronation.
Above: the helmet and sash the champion wore in 1953 are on display at the county museum.
Above: the 1953 coronation was marked all over the county by ritual fires or “beacons” – again Sir James Frazer has written extensively on the cult of beacons and their symbolic meaning.
Above: the current champion lives in the heart of the county, on the same site as his ancestors (although the house has been destroyed and rebuilt several times). The entrance to the park is marked by this colossal “lion gate” (lions were carved above the gate at Mycenae, which reminded me of Achilles’ single combat with Hector). In a church nearby the graves of past champions are laid out (I have looked for photographs of the graves for most of the afternoon, without success – although I do have them somewhere).
Above: the current house on the site is just a fragment of the former mansion. It is surrounded by a beautiful garden (open one day per year – when I took this photograph). Inside the house is a collection of golden coronation cups although I havn’t seen them (yet).
Above: in the grounds is a fine cedar tree – common enough in country houses, but Sir James Frazer does write about the importance of “sacred cedars”.
Above: the champion’s coat of arms. No supporters as the family does not have a peerage. Note the martial lions and upright sword.
Later in the day I did some copywriting - the past week at work
Monday
I got up at 5.45 because of an early meeting called by Andrea for 8.45. I was at the station by 7. On the platform the majority of people waiting were blue-collar commuters in worn clothes and boots, reading copies of The Sun and Daily Mirror.
At the agency I went straight into the meeting. It was actually a second interview for Matthew Miller, who had made a speculative approach for employment to Terry (our boss). Terry, Andrea and myself were involved in this second interview.
Matthew Miller is aged twenty-eight, tall and slightly round-shouldered, curly brown hair. He has a laborious way of speaking. He went through his presentation, which I thought a bit pedestrian.
When he had finished Andrea asked him to wait in the lobby (which she ludicrously described as “Reception”). She then told Terry she wanted to hire him straight away, and Terry agreed. Had they asked my opinion I would have told them they were being rash.
Matthew Miller came back into the room and Terry offered him the job. He told Matthew he would have to create his own client list and do it quickly. Matthew looked very pleased.
Matthew Miller left. Terry went back upstairs. Andrea rushed off to a client meeting in Staines.
I went into my office (a small box), drank three cups of tea in succession and looked out of the window for about an hour. I had hardly anything to do. In the office across the lobby I could hear the two new admin staff Andrea had recruited and who started today – Carol (very business-like but rather hard) and Julie (petite, pretty, not well educated).
Later in the day I did some copywriting, which Andrea liked when she came back from Staines.
Tuesday
Lack of sleep is beginning to tell on me and I fell asleep on the train. It’s a bad sign when you are tired at the start of the day. Before going into the office I had some Costa Coffee (probably the best of the chains of coffee shops).
Matthew Miller’s first day. His mouth seems to have too many teeth. In his briefcase (open on a chair by his desk) I notice a paperback copy of Zuleika Dobson and we talked about the bump supper incident.
More copywriting in the morning – there is a steady demand for copy.
Late morning Matthew Miller seemed to have upset Julie and I heard him apologizing (“Sorry I didn’t mean to use you as a dogsbody”).
In the afternoon we had a New Business meeting chaired by Terry.
Wednesday
Frost this morning when I took the dog for his walk. On the train I started reading The Rocks Remain by Gavin Maxwell. Opposite was someone reading The Temple by Stephen Spender.
Mid-morning I went to see a client just south of Blackfriars Bridge. Sun glittered on the Thames. The meeting went well.
After lunch Terry called me upstairs to tell me that he had just “brought in” a new client.
“I have to give him the name of someone who will handle the account” he said. “I could give him your name. Do you think you can handle it?”
Was this a test? Obviously I want big and important clients, but I did wonder what would be the price of failure. And why wasn’t Andrea involved since she is nominally the head of the new unit?
I spent the rest of the day ringing national newspapers asking about display rates.
Thursday
The presentation for Terry’s new client has to be done by tomorrow. I felt I was struggling a bit and rang someone I know in an agency in Birmingham, asking her for some research (“I’ll probably be ignominiously sacked for helping another agency” she said, but she e-mailed me the research anyway).
By the end of the day the bulk of the work was done. I could envisage how the final report would look. It was much less of a worry.
Friday
More copywriting, which I worked on with Andrea. She leafed through magazines looking for inspiration for the visuals. Beneath her hard exterior she is quite sensitive and creative.
Lunchtime we all went to a pub for lunch. Matthew Miller wore a pair of joke glasses with a false nose attached. Julie talked about going to Liverpool for the weekend and her plans to visit Anfield.
Terry and his wife joined us. Terry consults me on agency issues more than Andrea – surely she must notice this? I talked to his wife, walking with her back to the offices.
I got up at 5.45 because of an early meeting called by Andrea for 8.45. I was at the station by 7. On the platform the majority of people waiting were blue-collar commuters in worn clothes and boots, reading copies of The Sun and Daily Mirror.
At the agency I went straight into the meeting. It was actually a second interview for Matthew Miller, who had made a speculative approach for employment to Terry (our boss). Terry, Andrea and myself were involved in this second interview.
Matthew Miller is aged twenty-eight, tall and slightly round-shouldered, curly brown hair. He has a laborious way of speaking. He went through his presentation, which I thought a bit pedestrian.
When he had finished Andrea asked him to wait in the lobby (which she ludicrously described as “Reception”). She then told Terry she wanted to hire him straight away, and Terry agreed. Had they asked my opinion I would have told them they were being rash.
Matthew Miller came back into the room and Terry offered him the job. He told Matthew he would have to create his own client list and do it quickly. Matthew looked very pleased.
Matthew Miller left. Terry went back upstairs. Andrea rushed off to a client meeting in Staines.
I went into my office (a small box), drank three cups of tea in succession and looked out of the window for about an hour. I had hardly anything to do. In the office across the lobby I could hear the two new admin staff Andrea had recruited and who started today – Carol (very business-like but rather hard) and Julie (petite, pretty, not well educated).
Later in the day I did some copywriting, which Andrea liked when she came back from Staines.
Tuesday
Lack of sleep is beginning to tell on me and I fell asleep on the train. It’s a bad sign when you are tired at the start of the day. Before going into the office I had some Costa Coffee (probably the best of the chains of coffee shops).
Matthew Miller’s first day. His mouth seems to have too many teeth. In his briefcase (open on a chair by his desk) I notice a paperback copy of Zuleika Dobson and we talked about the bump supper incident.
More copywriting in the morning – there is a steady demand for copy.
Late morning Matthew Miller seemed to have upset Julie and I heard him apologizing (“Sorry I didn’t mean to use you as a dogsbody”).
In the afternoon we had a New Business meeting chaired by Terry.
Wednesday
Frost this morning when I took the dog for his walk. On the train I started reading The Rocks Remain by Gavin Maxwell. Opposite was someone reading The Temple by Stephen Spender.
Mid-morning I went to see a client just south of Blackfriars Bridge. Sun glittered on the Thames. The meeting went well.
After lunch Terry called me upstairs to tell me that he had just “brought in” a new client.
“I have to give him the name of someone who will handle the account” he said. “I could give him your name. Do you think you can handle it?”
Was this a test? Obviously I want big and important clients, but I did wonder what would be the price of failure. And why wasn’t Andrea involved since she is nominally the head of the new unit?
I spent the rest of the day ringing national newspapers asking about display rates.
Thursday
The presentation for Terry’s new client has to be done by tomorrow. I felt I was struggling a bit and rang someone I know in an agency in Birmingham, asking her for some research (“I’ll probably be ignominiously sacked for helping another agency” she said, but she e-mailed me the research anyway).
By the end of the day the bulk of the work was done. I could envisage how the final report would look. It was much less of a worry.
Friday
More copywriting, which I worked on with Andrea. She leafed through magazines looking for inspiration for the visuals. Beneath her hard exterior she is quite sensitive and creative.
Lunchtime we all went to a pub for lunch. Matthew Miller wore a pair of joke glasses with a false nose attached. Julie talked about going to Liverpool for the weekend and her plans to visit Anfield.
Terry and his wife joined us. Terry consults me on agency issues more than Andrea – surely she must notice this? I talked to his wife, walking with her back to the offices.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Prime Minister's Questions (sort of)
Above: the portcullis badge is a symbol pf Parliament.
I’m really busy at the moment doing some pricing comparisons for a client. It’s a tedious project, but may mean the client can knock out at least one of their five competitors. Obviously pricing policy will become more and more important as the economy contracts.
Although I am working flat out I took all my papers up to the Board Room at lunchtime to watch Prime Minister’s Questions. Even so, I wasn’t able to pay much attention, as a deadline was looming (deadlines always “loom” – they never pace themselves out in an orderly and unthreatening fashion). Terry was away today, so no-one else was in the room.
I can’t really remember much about PMQs except David Cameron and Gordon Brown clashing over economic policy. Gordon Brown wants “fiscal expansion to stimulate growth” whereas David Cameron wants government spending controlled (the Labour benches apparently made scissor motions with their hands and yelled “cuts” – we didn’t see this but it was explained to us). Gordon Brown ignored two questions about why Sterling is falling against other currencies (the questions were no doubt provocative, but I would have liked to hear a proper explanation).
Talking to various “money” people I know, the recession will go on to 2013 as that is the time it will take for all the bad debts to work through the system. There is no point in tax cuts as most people will spend the extra on Chinese goods and the money will go straight out of the country. There will be no recovery in the economy until consumer confidence (the “feel good factor”) returns.
Consumer confidence is notoriously difficult to predict. It might be stimulated by a big boost of cash through tax cuts (but surely not funded through borrowing?). Probably the safest way to restore confidence is to encourage people to pay off their debts, for the government to pay off the national debt, and for house prices to stop falling (which is likely to be when they reach the accepted norm of three times average salary).
But I’m not an economist.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Skegness
At least the severe recession we are about to plunge into will mean the end of the competitive trophy holiday.
No more feelings of inadequacy as others talk about three weeks in the Maldives, coastal tours of South Africa, and short breaks in Dubai.
The North Shore Hotel in Skegness will finally come into its own again.
No more feelings of inadequacy as others talk about three weeks in the Maldives, coastal tours of South Africa, and short breaks in Dubai.
The North Shore Hotel in Skegness will finally come into its own again.
Monday, November 17, 2008
The long-term unemployed
Above: I showed this picture to Terry and he started reminiscing about "Charlie Drake" a 1960s comedy set in an Employment Exchange.
In the Crossroads pub I met one of the long-term unemployed. He was aged about fifty and hadn't worked for about five years (and hadn't really had proper jobs before that). At fifty he didn't think he would work again.
I asked him what being unemployed was like. He gets about £55 a week in unemployment benefit (it's not actually called that, but I can't remember what the benefit is called). The Jobcentre periodically sends him on courses where he makes applications for jobs that never really come to anything (not having a car is a big problem for him).
Recently he has been sent on a new kind of course. This course is to last thirteen weeks. He has to go to a training centre where he sits in a large room with other long-term unemployed people.
They do nothing all day (sometimes they talk to each other, one person reads although reading is not allowed). The boredom of this experience is debilitating. Rather than experience this boredom week after week many people on the course go back to the Jobcentre and sign themselves off ("they sign themselves off and after three months they sign themselves back on again - even the ones who don't get hardship payments will do this in the end").
I was shocked when I heard this. It seems a cruel and immoral way to drive people off the unemployment lists. I say it is immoral because "we" pay taxes to fund the department of employment (or whatever expensive rebranding exercise they are going through at the moment) to HELP PEOPLE INTO WORK not to carry out vindictive campaigns against the very people they should be helping.
In the Victorian period the unemployed were required to carry out mindless "work" such as digging trenches and then filling them in again. This practice was condemned by subsequent generations. Until now, when we seem to have gone back to the policies of the workhouse.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Shrine
Above: Long Sunday afternoon drive to the east with Alan Nixon, his wife (who has multiple sclerosis) and her sister. The roads got more and more narrow until eventually they were meandering lanes. Eventually we arrived in a small village.
The village has an interesting history. In 1061 (Saxon period, just before the arrival of the Normans) the Virgin Mary is reported to have appeared in the village. Following the apparition the village became a place of pilgrimage and over five hundred years became one of the most famous shrines in Europe, with many claims of miraculous cures.
At the dissolution of the monasteries in the early sixteenth-century the priory was closed and the shrine destroyed. For the next four hundred years a continuous trickle of pilgrims visited the village, but the place mainly reverted to a rural settlement with an emphasis upon farming. In the 1930s the shrine was revived, as an Anglican establishment, and the pilgrimages revived (with the Roman Catholics and Orthodox also setting up their own shrines in the area).
Above: there is lots to see in the village - medieval ruins (the priory plus a friary), ancient churches, a small museum, the modern shrine, medieval remains in a neighbouring village connected to the shrine, interesting domestic architecture etc.
You have to pay to get into the priory ruins (they are in the grounds of a private house). In the picture above you can see the site of the medieval shrine - although it was two o'clock the light already seemed to be fading. Rooks cawed as we walked around (they build their nests on the tops of the ruined masonry).
Above: I walked around the damp landscape with Alan's sister-in-law and we stopped to make friends with these ponies. Alan joined us. I asked where his wife was, and he said she probably felt dizzy and had found somewhere to sit down.
Above: the ruins were very atmospheric and reminded me of the paintings of Casper David Friedrich (or Catherine Morland's expectations of Northanger Abbey).
Above: personally I have never been a big fan of crypts.
Above: on the way out we stopped to look round the small museum. There were photographic displays from the early days of the revived shrine. While we were looking around Alan's wife appeared and wanted us to hurry as a service started at the shrine in a few minutes.
Above: we walked round to the Anglican shrine which was a large 1930s basilica (the part in the picture is only the entrance) in the middle of a complex that included hostels, cafeterias, chapels etc.
Above: inside it was very High Church. A single bell was clanging. People hurried past us to go into the main body of the church.
Above: the High Altar of the church. It was completely packed with lots of people standing. This posed a problem as Alan's wife can't stand for any length of time, but luckily there were two free seats in the front row and Alan's wife and her sister took these. Alan got a seat in a side chapel. I had to stand in a side aisle. Not surprisingly the vast majority of people at the service were old and ill (at least half the congregation used crutches, many were in wheechairs).
The service took about an hour and a half and included hymns, a blessing with holy water, and Benediction.
Above: the blessing with holy water (which was the main part of the service) took place at the well which is located actually under the shrine itself. I took this photograph later to show the steps that lead down to the well and then up the other side. Long queues formed. Because so many people were ill and infirm progress was very slow. For those people who couldn't manage the steps the water was brought up. I would estimate about three hundred people were blessed with the water.
Above: after the Benediction the service ended and almost everyone left (you can see them going out in the photo - no-one else was taking photographs so I didn't like to take any of the actual service). The white wall you can see is the eastern end of the shrine (which is a building within a building). Although there had been a few hundred people at the service they seemed to disappear entirely, which made me think most of them were staying at the shrine hostels.
Above: another view of the outer wall of the shrine. The walls are studded with medieval masonry (possibly they are stones dug up when the site of the original shrine was excavated). The window is to allow people inside the shrine to take part in the main services.
Above: inside the shrine itself. The statue of the Virgin and Child was copied from the seal of the medieval priory. The hundreds of candles made the interior feel very warm, despite the cold damp day.
When we left the shrine it was already dark. Being a country village there were no street lights, and so we had to walk in complete darkness along a road to the only place that was open - the fish and chip shop. Despite my cholesterol warning I had a large portion of fish and chips.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Work
For a while I thought I would stop writing about my work, since it would cause so many problems if this blog were to be discovered. I still write about work in my manuscript diary, so I have everything recorded on a day by day basis (even though I am sometimes unsure about what this record is meant to achieve). But I miss the perspective that comes from looking at things over a whole week.
So I am going to give my blog work diary another go.
This entry is really meant as an introduction to the latest phase.
Back in September I was still working as a copywriter. My boss was Creative Director Marc Baxtor. I worked in the Writers’ Room – a screened-off area on the busy agency floor.
Then Andrea, one of the Account Execs, brought in a big new client (actually the client was not new to her as she “handled” them at her last job). As this new client doesn’t really fit the agency’s core business Terry (our MD and owner of the company) suggested setting up a little sub-unit that would get in more of the same clients and specialise in this lucrative new sector. Terry is always setting up sub-units and separate departments – sometimes they prosper, sometimes they fail.
Andrea moved to four offices on the floor below. I was asked to join her in the new unit as a copywriter and to do some account handling. Andrea asked for me specifically, even though we hadn’t really worked together much (perhaps she thought I was the best of a bad bunch – there has been a lot of hostility towards Andrea since she arrived at the agency).
The offices are on the floor where I used to work (in another of Terry’s diversified companies that has split off and moved out). Sometimes, in my more melancholy moments, I go and stand in the empty floor where I used to work and think about the days that have gone. This chronic melancholia holds me back a lot, and I really must snap out of it.
Anyway, one of the nicest things about my new job is that I can catch a later train to work.
And so the scene is set…
So I am going to give my blog work diary another go.
This entry is really meant as an introduction to the latest phase.
Back in September I was still working as a copywriter. My boss was Creative Director Marc Baxtor. I worked in the Writers’ Room – a screened-off area on the busy agency floor.
Then Andrea, one of the Account Execs, brought in a big new client (actually the client was not new to her as she “handled” them at her last job). As this new client doesn’t really fit the agency’s core business Terry (our MD and owner of the company) suggested setting up a little sub-unit that would get in more of the same clients and specialise in this lucrative new sector. Terry is always setting up sub-units and separate departments – sometimes they prosper, sometimes they fail.
Andrea moved to four offices on the floor below. I was asked to join her in the new unit as a copywriter and to do some account handling. Andrea asked for me specifically, even though we hadn’t really worked together much (perhaps she thought I was the best of a bad bunch – there has been a lot of hostility towards Andrea since she arrived at the agency).
The offices are on the floor where I used to work (in another of Terry’s diversified companies that has split off and moved out). Sometimes, in my more melancholy moments, I go and stand in the empty floor where I used to work and think about the days that have gone. This chronic melancholia holds me back a lot, and I really must snap out of it.
Anyway, one of the nicest things about my new job is that I can catch a later train to work.
And so the scene is set…
Thursday, November 13, 2008
SureStart
At lunchtime I caught the end of Andrew Neil’s Daily Politics, and heard everyone praising SureStart as an answer to helping dysfunctional families (the issue of Harringey Council was in the news again today). SureStart is a programme I have a slight knowledge about, being friends with a former SureStart manager. It seems to be a good programme but there are problems with the way it is “controlled”.
About two years ago I met my friend after work (we were going to see a film I think), and before we set off she showed me round one of the centres. It had been built onto a school. The centre was a good size and was very well fitted out, but I couldn’t see how it cost £11 million (or even one million).
Inside there was a Reception, a large children’s library (with a play area, all well designed), two medical rooms (“this is where a lot of work is done”), a big hall or meeting room, a café area where parents can get meals, a “sensory room” with lights, textures, sounds (designed to stimulate children deprived of sensory contact); and four or five admin offices – it was all deserted at that time in the evening, but I got a good idea of how it worked.
SureStart was a government initiative set up centrally to help very young children in deprived wards throughout the United Kingdom. SureStart doesn’t really exist anymore as it has “gone over” to local government control. When I asked why this happened I was told it was a result of the Victoria Climbie enquiry, and the need to get different agencies working together more effectively.
In this region (which I won’t name) “going over” to local government control has meant the Council making all SureStart managers and supervisors redundant and putting in their own staff (so presumably all the experience has been lost?).
Worse still, the SureStart centre we had just looked at was in the wrong place! There had been a fierce (but covert) campaign carried on locally to move the site from a deprived ward to one that was not so deprived (this is not an isolated incident). All the money spent on architects plans and site surveys, hundreds of thousands of pounds, had been wasted.
The stress of having to fight local councillors had made my friend ill, wasted huge amounts of money and delayed the project getting off the ground.
I’m writing this up because it has been in my mind ever since I heard it.
PS I forgot to mention that after the councillors had diverted it from a deprived ward, she then had to battle against (and lost the battle) the headmaster of the school who insisted on it being located on his site instead of on an independent site.
About two years ago I met my friend after work (we were going to see a film I think), and before we set off she showed me round one of the centres. It had been built onto a school. The centre was a good size and was very well fitted out, but I couldn’t see how it cost £11 million (or even one million).
Inside there was a Reception, a large children’s library (with a play area, all well designed), two medical rooms (“this is where a lot of work is done”), a big hall or meeting room, a café area where parents can get meals, a “sensory room” with lights, textures, sounds (designed to stimulate children deprived of sensory contact); and four or five admin offices – it was all deserted at that time in the evening, but I got a good idea of how it worked.
SureStart was a government initiative set up centrally to help very young children in deprived wards throughout the United Kingdom. SureStart doesn’t really exist anymore as it has “gone over” to local government control. When I asked why this happened I was told it was a result of the Victoria Climbie enquiry, and the need to get different agencies working together more effectively.
In this region (which I won’t name) “going over” to local government control has meant the Council making all SureStart managers and supervisors redundant and putting in their own staff (so presumably all the experience has been lost?).
Worse still, the SureStart centre we had just looked at was in the wrong place! There had been a fierce (but covert) campaign carried on locally to move the site from a deprived ward to one that was not so deprived (this is not an isolated incident). All the money spent on architects plans and site surveys, hundreds of thousands of pounds, had been wasted.
The stress of having to fight local councillors had made my friend ill, wasted huge amounts of money and delayed the project getting off the ground.
I’m writing this up because it has been in my mind ever since I heard it.
PS I forgot to mention that after the councillors had diverted it from a deprived ward, she then had to battle against (and lost the battle) the headmaster of the school who insisted on it being located on his site instead of on an independent site.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Prime Minister's Questions 12th November 2008
Apologies for getting the date wrong previously - I typed 9th instead of 12th.
Above: the peace camp set up by Brain Haw in Parliament Square (I took this photo in mid-October when the trees were still green). Brian Haw began this demonstration in 2001, protesting against the war policies of the government. In style the reproachful format of the protest (very visible to members of the government entering and leaving Parliament) resembled the old GLC banner about unemployment draped across County Hall (and like Mrs Thatcher, Tony Blair changed the law to try to outlaw the protest, although the courts intervened to allow the peace camp to remain).
An amazing scene at Prime Minister’s Questions today. I almost didn’t watch it, since I have so much work on. But when the time came I went up to the Board Room and joined Terry (our MD).
Lots of purple was in evidence on the Labour benches. I know the psychology of colour is controversial, but I couldn’t help wondering why so many of the Labour MPs and ministers have adopted the colour of imperial domination. Does it subconsciously signify a complacent belief in their right to rule?
The session began with a few knockabout exchanges, and then David Cameron asked the first of his six questions. Against expectations (“I’ll come to the economy in a minute”) he led with a question about “Baby P”, a seventeen month child murdered by three adults in circumstances that are beyond description. David Cameron asked for the investigation to be completely independent.
Gordon Brown said he was “shocked, saddened, horrified and angered” at what had happened, but then went on to say he would wait for a review would be held (calling for reviews is a stock response, and to my mind was completely inadequate in this case).
David Cameron persisted in asking who would carry out the investigation into the baby’s death. There seemed to be barracking from the Labour benches that we couldn’t see. The Speaker stood up and told them to behave with more dignity.
Gordon Brown, in a pedestrian style, listed the procedures that would be followed by the enquiry (“I am answering the question” he told the Conservative benches).
Yet again David Cameron asked about the independence of the enquiry. Again he was shouted at by the Labour benches. He seemed to be genuinely shocked at how the Labour MPs were reacting (Haringey is a Labour controlled borough so possibly they felt the need to defend the local council there).
Gordon Brown said “there are weaknesses that need to be addressed” before regretting the partisan way the argument was developing.
David Cameron called the Prime Minister “cheap” (and I would agree with David Cameron in this).
The next couple of exchanges didn’t really advance the discussion (David Cameron asking the Prime Minister to withdraw his remarks, Gordon Brown declining to do so). The Labour MPs (whom we couldn’t see) seemed to be yelling their heads off. The Speaker intervened again, mentioning the behaviour of the Leader of the House (Harriet Harmon) as particularly unacceptable (again we couldn’t see what she was doing).
The exchange ended with David Cameron saying “you should not investigate your own department” and Gordon Brown promising “it will be independent”.
After this serious, angry and completely unexpected clash the rest of Prime Minister’s Questions fell flat. Terry got up and walked about the Board Room a couple of times and sat down again. Absurdly I felt guilty, as if I had witnessed something I should not have.
Questions followed on post offices and social exclusion; tax policy; the payment terms of invoices; the backdated claims of Ghurkas; management of diabetes in schools; the date of the Iraq Enquiry; the safety of firefighters; boiler installations for the vulnerable; rate relief for businesses; funding of Alzheimer’s research; credit unions; post offices (again); the third runway at Heathrow; the fuel duty stabilizer; the economic theory of boom and bust; and the funding of town centre Christmas lights. I felt none of these questions mattered. As I went back to my floor I saw in Reception the day’s newspapers, with photographs of Baby P’s blood-stained clothes on the cover.
Brian Haw’s peace camp was recreated as an artwork at Tate Modern and won the Turner Prize: http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/wallinger/
More on the psychology of colour: http://www.infoplease.com/spot/colors1.html
PMQs: http://www.number10.gov.uk/Page306
Above: the peace camp set up by Brain Haw in Parliament Square (I took this photo in mid-October when the trees were still green). Brian Haw began this demonstration in 2001, protesting against the war policies of the government. In style the reproachful format of the protest (very visible to members of the government entering and leaving Parliament) resembled the old GLC banner about unemployment draped across County Hall (and like Mrs Thatcher, Tony Blair changed the law to try to outlaw the protest, although the courts intervened to allow the peace camp to remain).
An amazing scene at Prime Minister’s Questions today. I almost didn’t watch it, since I have so much work on. But when the time came I went up to the Board Room and joined Terry (our MD).
Lots of purple was in evidence on the Labour benches. I know the psychology of colour is controversial, but I couldn’t help wondering why so many of the Labour MPs and ministers have adopted the colour of imperial domination. Does it subconsciously signify a complacent belief in their right to rule?
The session began with a few knockabout exchanges, and then David Cameron asked the first of his six questions. Against expectations (“I’ll come to the economy in a minute”) he led with a question about “Baby P”, a seventeen month child murdered by three adults in circumstances that are beyond description. David Cameron asked for the investigation to be completely independent.
Gordon Brown said he was “shocked, saddened, horrified and angered” at what had happened, but then went on to say he would wait for a review would be held (calling for reviews is a stock response, and to my mind was completely inadequate in this case).
David Cameron persisted in asking who would carry out the investigation into the baby’s death. There seemed to be barracking from the Labour benches that we couldn’t see. The Speaker stood up and told them to behave with more dignity.
Gordon Brown, in a pedestrian style, listed the procedures that would be followed by the enquiry (“I am answering the question” he told the Conservative benches).
Yet again David Cameron asked about the independence of the enquiry. Again he was shouted at by the Labour benches. He seemed to be genuinely shocked at how the Labour MPs were reacting (Haringey is a Labour controlled borough so possibly they felt the need to defend the local council there).
Gordon Brown said “there are weaknesses that need to be addressed” before regretting the partisan way the argument was developing.
David Cameron called the Prime Minister “cheap” (and I would agree with David Cameron in this).
The next couple of exchanges didn’t really advance the discussion (David Cameron asking the Prime Minister to withdraw his remarks, Gordon Brown declining to do so). The Labour MPs (whom we couldn’t see) seemed to be yelling their heads off. The Speaker intervened again, mentioning the behaviour of the Leader of the House (Harriet Harmon) as particularly unacceptable (again we couldn’t see what she was doing).
The exchange ended with David Cameron saying “you should not investigate your own department” and Gordon Brown promising “it will be independent”.
After this serious, angry and completely unexpected clash the rest of Prime Minister’s Questions fell flat. Terry got up and walked about the Board Room a couple of times and sat down again. Absurdly I felt guilty, as if I had witnessed something I should not have.
Questions followed on post offices and social exclusion; tax policy; the payment terms of invoices; the backdated claims of Ghurkas; management of diabetes in schools; the date of the Iraq Enquiry; the safety of firefighters; boiler installations for the vulnerable; rate relief for businesses; funding of Alzheimer’s research; credit unions; post offices (again); the third runway at Heathrow; the fuel duty stabilizer; the economic theory of boom and bust; and the funding of town centre Christmas lights. I felt none of these questions mattered. As I went back to my floor I saw in Reception the day’s newspapers, with photographs of Baby P’s blood-stained clothes on the cover.
Brian Haw’s peace camp was recreated as an artwork at Tate Modern and won the Turner Prize: http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/wallinger/
More on the psychology of colour: http://www.infoplease.com/spot/colors1.html
PMQs: http://www.number10.gov.uk/Page306
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Finsbury PR
Finsbury PR near Barbican. I took this photo a few weeks back when it was still warm. Finsbury PR is one of the most influential agencies in London. They specialise in financial PR.
Founded by Roland Rudd but now owned by WPP.
http://www.finsbury.com/
Monday, November 10, 2008
A few fleeting impressions
A fact-finding visit to the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery (as usual I was late, and made even later by the incomprehensible layout of the rambling building). Marketing can lead you to some surprising locations. Here are a few fleeting impressions:
Above: faced with these confusing signs I was presented with a quandary. Is it better to try to find the back stairs (with the risk that in this warren one might never find them) and hope to slip into the lecture unnoticed? Or should I step brazenly across the front of the lecture hall, interrupting the speaker and perhaps letting the door thwack shut behind me?
Above: I was struck with the architecture of the hospital and institute and thought how it might be a metaphor for the human brain (I might go back and do a proper photo-essay). There were grandiose gestures, out of date and out of place. Like the mental pretensions we all indulge in.
Above: there were long featureless corridors that never led in the right direction, never went the whole distance, and often led nowhere. Like the inconsequential thoughts we have hundreds of times a day. If ever there was a building you could call Kafkaesque this was it.
Above: there were occasional lists of names, gilded and in a strict hierarchy. In this pantheon of the brain, imagine the combined brain-power represented by this list. And in our own brains I suppose each of us keeps a list of the worthwhile experience we have amassed in our lives.
Above: faced with these confusing signs I was presented with a quandary. Is it better to try to find the back stairs (with the risk that in this warren one might never find them) and hope to slip into the lecture unnoticed? Or should I step brazenly across the front of the lecture hall, interrupting the speaker and perhaps letting the door thwack shut behind me?
Above: I was struck with the architecture of the hospital and institute and thought how it might be a metaphor for the human brain (I might go back and do a proper photo-essay). There were grandiose gestures, out of date and out of place. Like the mental pretensions we all indulge in.
Above: there were long featureless corridors that never led in the right direction, never went the whole distance, and often led nowhere. Like the inconsequential thoughts we have hundreds of times a day. If ever there was a building you could call Kafkaesque this was it.
Above: there were occasional lists of names, gilded and in a strict hierarchy. In this pantheon of the brain, imagine the combined brain-power represented by this list. And in our own brains I suppose each of us keeps a list of the worthwhile experience we have amassed in our lives.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Perhaps he was thinking: this is it.
Remembrance Day. In Whitehall the familiar ritual took place, televised on BBC1. All over the country similar, scaled-down ceremonies occurred.
I was reminded of a visit I made earlier in the year to see a local historian working on a Great War project in her village. She had traced the histories of all the names on the village war memorial and written up their biographies. One of the subjects had the same name as myself (“Andrew” – photo above) and so I asked about his story:
“He came from a local farming family and was one of eight children. His mother died shortly after he was born and he was brought up by his uncle. He was very athletic and a great village sportsman, very popular.”
“At the outbreak of war he enlisted in the Yeomanry and did his basic training in England (see above photo). He was then sent to Egypt. On the way there his troopship was torpedoed in the Mediterranean and he spent several hours in an open boat before being rescued.”
“In November 1917 he was shot in the back and moved to a military hospital in Alexandria (see above photo). He died on Friday 28th December. He is buried in the Alexandria War Memorial Cemetary.”
I find the above photograph intriguing and appalling. It seems to be more a photograph of the nurse in the centre rather than the wounded soldier in his bed. Possibly she sent a copy of the photograph back to the soldier’s family. The eyes look at you from the bed, and seem to be asking for help. Perhaps he knew he wasn’t going to recover. Perhaps he was thinking: this is it.
Above: this village war memorial, in the form of a stained glass window, shows St Michael standing guard above the county. Around him First World War bi-planes circle in homage. Below you can see the local landscape, the implication being: this is what we are fighting for.
Above: another memorial at a remote village crossroads. The garden around it was immaculately kept. Someone who was with me at university has done a study of First World War memorials (from a feminist perspective, relating their phallic design to the climate of homoeroticism and the stoked-up sexual hysteria among women encouraged to fear violation from the evil marauding boche).
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Eastman Dental Hospital
Can anything match the desolation of the Greys Inn Road on a Saturday morning?
Walking down from Kings Cross (I was far too early for a meeting and needed to use up some time) I passed the Royal Free Hospital and the adjacent Eastman dental centre.
In a sudden "whoosh" of memory I remembered when I was four and was staying at my sister's house in north London. Over the weekend I developed unbearable toothache and spent the whole of Saturday night in tears. On Sunday my father took me to the Eastman dental clinic, apparently the only dentist in London open on a Sunday. I remember Greys Inn Road was cold and desolate, and the dental clinic was deserted. The dentist opened up a green-painted dental surgery and I sat in the huge dentist's chair. My father held my hand as the dentist pulled the tooth out - this is the only time I can remember my father holding my hand.
More: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastman_Dental_Hospital
Friday, November 07, 2008
Recession
One of the good things about the recession is that the avalanche of credit card cheques (0% until May next year but don't forget the 3.9% transfer fee) has finally come to an end.
At the height of the credit frenzy I must have been getting two or three of these offers every week (or so it seemed). MBNA was particularly persistent. Their arrival posed a problem as I don't have a shredder and you can't just throw them away.
At the height of the credit frenzy I must have been getting two or three of these offers every week (or so it seemed). MBNA was particularly persistent. Their arrival posed a problem as I don't have a shredder and you can't just throw them away.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
I am really enjoying the new dramatisiation of Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens, serialised on BBC1 at the moment. I had my doubts at first, especially as Little Dorrit herself seemed a bit too perky and modern. But all those doubts have gone now - this is an excellent dramatisation, with lots to say about the inadvisability of getting into debt.
One night recently, on the way home, I made a diversion to Doughty Street (despite the rain) just to stand outside Charles Dickens' house (picture above - the building is now a small Dickens museum). Doughty Street is in an area difficult to get to by the tube. I got soaking wet and went into a cafe (Starbucks) to dry off - only to get soaking wet again when I came out.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Bonfire Night
5th November is popularly known as Bonfire Night, commemorating the foiling of the Gunpowder Plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament.
At one village in the county the bells in the church are inscribed with seventeeth-century sentiments expressing relief at the failure of the papist conspiracy. These three bells are rung on the 5th of November in a special thanksgiving composition (not sure how far back this tradition goes - the earliest record is 1860 so might just be a Victorian invention). I had intended to go to the village tonight to hear the changes, but it's cold and it's raining and I have too much work to do...
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Virgin Media
Above: the Virgin Media offices at 160 Great Portland Street (almost all the parking spaces filled with silver Mercedes).
Sky and Virgin Media have reached an agreement today about Virgin Media carrying Sky’s channels. The dispute between them had been going on for over a year and a half. It had led to animosity in the courts with Virgin Media complaining about Sky’s television hegemony (a valid complaint, but hardly one Virgin Media is morally able to make).
The deal will boost Sky’s advertising revenue – the gain worth up to £30 million per annum according to some reports.
Chief Executive of Virgin Media is Neil Berkett. Born In New Zealand, he has a background in banking and finance. He has a reputation for being “straight-talking” (in other words rude).
Virgin Media was founded by Richard Branson, one of the oligarchs who have manipulated their way into control of the United Kingdom over the last twenty years.
Monday, November 03, 2008
The Orchard, Grantchester
Above: in Cambridge at the weekend. It poured with rain most of the time. Midday I went down to Grantchester to meet Helen B in The Orchard.
Above: The Orchard is a tea garden in a large apple orchard in the grounds of a house where boy-poet Rupert Brooke used to live. Tables and deck chairs are laid out under the apple trees. After Rupert Brooke’s death in the First World War the tea garden became closely associated with the poet and attracts many literary tourists (there’s a small Rupert Brooke museum in a wooden shed).
The Orchard is a very useful place to meet as it is open every day of the year, and is never really crowded (also you can park there easily, which you can’t do in Cambridge itself).
Above: the ground underfoot was covered with rotting apples. Because of the rain the seats were wet so we had to have our tea and cakes standing up. The air was fresh, wet and autumnal.
Above: are these medlar apples?
Above: at the back of The Orchard is the gate and path where Rupert Brooke used to go across a field at night to swim in the River Cam.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
“Comedian” Russell Brand and television presenter Jonathan Ross
Only one subject in the news over the last couple of days.
“Comedian” Russell Brand and television presenter Jonathan Ross have been suspended following an abusive telephone call (broadcast on BBC Radio 2) to a retired actor.
Tens of thousands of complaints have been made to the BBC (although only two people complained at the time of the actual broadcast). The Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition have both become involved. The Justice Secretary called for both of the TV “personalities” to be sacked.
Russell Brand has pre-empted his sacking by resigning (and also “apologising” in a typically arrogant and unapologetic style). Jonathan Ross has been suspended. The Controller of Radio 2, Lesley Douglas, has resigned (she is ultimately responsible for the culture of BBC Radio 2).
On Newsnight last night a BBC executive (with bright red hair) ranted about “the ranting Daily Mail”. There have been complaints of “mob rule”. There have been protests of a “generational split” over the issue (ignoring the fact that the BBC is generally paid for by the older generations).
The “generational split” was highlighted by ad hoc interviews with queues of people waiting for admission to BBC shows. The older people in an “Alan Titchmarsh” queue complained about the abusive phone call. The younger people in a “Buzzcocks” queue said they couldn’t see anything wrong with the “gag”.
Are the comments about a generational split valid? There is little doubt that the language used by younger people (by “younger” I mean under 21) is becoming very explicit. Their humour has also become very cruel.
For example, the Buzzcocks show routinely and cruelly humiliates people (including a cruel humiliation of the singer Preston by presenter Simon Amstell, who made insulting references about Preston’s wife to his face while the audience laughed – Preston walked off the show and the audience laughed even more).
Cruelty is a corrupting behaviour trait – people who have behaved cruelly rarely see anything wrong in what they have done. Even over the last ten or fifteen years I have noticed how cruel people have become to one another. This has happened before in history – the cruel humour of Baldur von Schirach corrupted millions of young people and turned them against the weak and vulnerable in society (and yes, I am directly comparing Baldur von Schirach with Russell Brand).
The increasing use of “the f-word” in everyday speech is more problematic. The BBC broadcasts this word routinely and without (until now) a second thought, whereas every Friday and Saturday night, in every town and city in the country, young people (young again meaning under 21) are arrested by the police for using “the f-word” in public. And they are not just arrested but usually wrestled to the ground, their faces literally pushed into the gutter while about four police kneel on them, and then bundled into a police vehicle (with an ironic “mind yer head mate”).
Either the BBC (and other broadcasters) must stop “yoof” role models from using “the f-word” or the police must stop arresting people for the same identical behaviour.
Career of Lesley Douglas: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7700888.stm
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