Silenced

 

This blogpost was composed several hours ago. I scheduled its publication to happen at 11.30pm on Monday night.

You see, we are not sleeping in our own bed tonight. Instead, we should be nicely tucked up in the Ibis Budget Hotel at Manchester Airport. At 9.00am on Tuesday morning we will take off for Luxor, Egypt. 

Staying in the airport hotel meant we did not have to get up in the middle of the night, drive for an hour and park the car before heading to Terminal 2. Just too much stress.

I have no intention of blogging again until Wednesday, March 18th and will be absent from all my usual haunts in Blogland.

This means that authors of the blogs I habitually visit will be able to relax. You can let your guards down with regard to spelling, grammar, right wing remarks and seedy reminiscences. Think of it as a kind of holiday. No Yorkshire Pudding for nine days. Whoo-hoo!

Shirley and I have never been on a cruise before. The idea of those huge cruise ships is quite appalling to us. Our River Nile cruise should be rather different with just seventy cabins and no pesky children.

Two nights in Luxor before journeying up The Nile to Aswan. It is a pretty standard itinerary for Nile cruises. Along the way we are going to see several temples and ancient tombs. On our very first morning we will be heading to The Valley of the Kings  where I hope to stand where Howard Carter famously stood in November 1922  -  inside The Tomb of Tutankhamen - the boy king.

There are two possible flies in the ointment. Firstly the possible repercussions of the Netanyahu-Trump  war upon Iran. Hopefully, Egypt will remain unaffected but you never know. Secondly, toothache is stirring in my skull and it is too late to seek intervention by a dentist. I have some oil of cloves, some cottonwool pads  and some hope that the pain will creep back into its lair. Bugger it!

More

All right. Let's see more pictures from yesterday's trip to Kingston-upon-Hull - or Hull as it is more commonly called. Not only does it stand on the north shore of the River Humber, it also spans The River Hull. That is a much smaller river that drains south from The Yorkshire Wolds, dividing the city of Hull in half. Sometimes at Hull City matches, a chant goes up..."East Hull Tigers!" with the response following, "West Hull Tigers!" as different Hullensians reveal their territorial loyalties.

Hull is in my bones. It is where I went to school between the ages of eleven and fifteen. It is where I first  saw Jethro Tull and Free and Genesis and The Moody Blues and  Donovan and Nothineverappens - a Hull band that you have probably never heard of. It is where I first fell in love and where I saw my first rugby league games and also became a lifelong fan of  Hull City - a football team I have supported for over sixty years now. And Mum would travel into Hull by public bus sometimes and bring back cream meringues and coconut mushrooms and salted peanuts and new pairs of underpants and Hull was proud and wonderful.

Hull is where my brother Simon died in a hospice and it is where my father was cremated. It is where I was the best man at Lee Dalley's wedding when I was only sixteen and it is where I almost saw The Beatles in concert at the age of twelve... but my parents vetoed the idea. It is where I played rugby for Hull Schoolboys and where I had my front teeth knocked out in a cricket match when I was fourteen.

Yes. Hull is in my bones. That's for sure.

The Emigrants statue on Hull's waterfront with "The Deep" aquarium beyond.

Before yesterday, I realised that I would have a problem taking my backpack into Hull City's home ground - The MKM Stadium. Nowadays, there are strict rules about what you can and  cannot take into a football stadium and the searching of bags has become commonplace.

Philip Larkin again

Unfortunately, there is no longer a left luggage facility at Hull's Paragon Station so where could I leave my bag - containing my camera, my steel water flask, my books and my heroin syringe? After all, I did not want these items to be confiscated.

I stumbled across a website called "Stasher" that provides a useful service across the globe. It lists trusted businesses where you can leave bags securely - from large suitcases to small backpacks. You pay a relatively small fee and then the name and exact address of the business is provided via e-mail. I left my backpack at  the "Upper Cutz" barbershop just a stone's throw from Hull's main railway station and collected it on my way back from the game. The arrangement worked perfectly.

View of Hull Marina from the new footbridge

Hull

Detail of a family statue on the Humber riverfront

It remembers European emigrants who passed through Hull before 

boarding trains to Liverpool and then ships to North America.

A lunchtime kick off at The MKM Stadium in Hull today. It's annoying how Sky Sports and other commercial broadcasters dictate when so many football matches will kick off just to please their schedules. What about the fans?

Today Hull City were playing a less well-known London club - Millwall. Their fans would have had to set off to Hull at the crack of dawn. But with the usual 3pm kick off time they could have left London much later.

I travelled over to Hull by train. Normally, I drive but today, as well as seeing the match, I fancied a stroll around the centre of the first city I ever knew - my home city. Hull sits on the north shore of The Humber estuary and has long been associated with the sea.

I wanted to take pictures of a mural near the city centre - painted in memory of a local working class heroine - Lillian Bilocca. Spurred into action by the Hull triple trawler tragedy of 1968 which claimed 58 lives, she led a direct action campaign to prevent undermanned trawlers from putting to sea and gathered 10,000 signatures for a petition (the Fishermen's Charter) to Harold Wilson's government to strengthen safety legislation. She threatened to picket Wilson's house if he did not take action.

In the end, the key requests were implemented and necessary legislation was passed. Apart from anything else, the story proves that protest really can work and bring about meaningful change. Lillian was just a humble fisheries worker until the trawler tragedies roused her into action.

I walked to Hull Marina where major improvements are still underway to connect the Humber riverfront and the historical old town area with the modern city centre. I saw many eating places and wondered  how many people regularly go out to eat these days?  Restaurants, cafes and pubs need customers.

By the way, our lads somehow managed to lose today's match even though we were the better team. I caught a late train back to Sheffield but before that I took a few pictures of a statue of one of Hull's most famous adopted sons - the poet, Philip Larkin. It stands within the precincts of Paragon Station - as though Larkin is hurrying to catch a train.

Characters

It was "World Book Day" this week. All across the British Isles primary school children dressed up as characters from children's books. It is all meant to be about encouraging the reading habit. I certainly hope it helps. Equally, I hope that no one ever comes up with the idea of a World Smartphone Day.

Even two year old Margot was expected to join in. It was encouraged by the nursery school she attends three days a week. Of course Phoebe was all excited about the dressing up opportunity.

Margot went as Betty O'Barley from "The Scarecrows' Wedding" by Julia Donaldson and Phoebe dressed up as Funnybones from "Funnybones" by Janet and Allan Ahlberg. In the picture, Phoebe is holding the mask that her clever mama made for her.

I was thinking who might I dress up as for World Book Day next year? It is a toss up between Heathcliff from "Wuthering Heights" and Robinson Crusoe. As you might imagine, I have got ideas for several regular blog visitors too.

Meike Riley will be Maria from "The Story of the Trapp Family Singers" by Maria von Trapp. Keith Kline (Red) will be John Thornton from "The Call of the Wild" by Jack London and Glaswegian Jack Haggerty will be "The Man in The Iron Mask" by Alexander Dumas. I have other ideas for Andrew in Melbourne and Nurse Pixie in Edmonton for example but for reasons of civility I have decided not to share them!

Who would you be?

Springtime

All over the northern hemisphere, we are noting the tell tale signs of Spring ousting the dark days of Winter. The southern hemisphere stole away our light, our colour and our joy but now we are retrieving what was lost as their early autumn heralds their winter.

Today I did not wear a coat as I ventured into the city centre to visit two bookshops. I was looking for any novel by James Kelman having enjoyed "Dirt Road" so much. Though this mission was unsuccessful I did manage to buy four other books - "Cuddy" by Benjamin Myers, "The Stone Diaries" by Carol Shields, "Walking the Rivelin" by Sue Shaw and Keith Kendall and "BOSH! More Plants" by my only born son and his old school friend Henry Firth.

Two books were liberated from the Oxfam book shop on Glossop Road and two from the Orchard Square branch of "Waterstones".

How lovely it was to be out there in the sunshine and people's hearts seemed to be lifted. You could sense it in the air.

As I am always looking out for striking photo opportunities, I regret not stopping on Surrey Street to pull my camera out of my backpack. There was a street musician sitting in the sunshine with The Central Library behind him. He was playing his shiny saxophone with his eyes closed, lost in the music, lost in the springtime air. Silly old me.

Yesterday I had an appointment at The Royal Hallamshire Hospital - to be precise the Dermatology Department. I met three lovely women - Kelly the receptionist, Nina the nurse and Indira the consultant. What I have got on my left temple is a benign keratinous growth that looks exactly like a Kellogg's rice krispie. At least that is what I have told Little Miss Curious - our Phoebe. The krispie will be "scraped" away under local anaesthetic soon after we return from our holiday in Egypt.

After the appointment, I walked down to Ecclesall Road via The Botanical Gardens. On this particular passing visit, I noticed that the dormant crocuses had now burst through. Some people were sitting on the grass, talking or reading or just enjoying being outside under a blue sky. I think this activity is called "chillaxing".

It is a nice way to greet the springtime. All pictures shown here are from yesterday.

The same reader

Churchill

Because the British prime minister, Sir Keir Starmer, did not dance perfectly  to Trump's tune with regard to the current and rather frightening  military activity in Iran, Trump said that Sir Keir was no Winston Churchill, alluding to this country's famous wartime leader.

Well I doubt that Trump is reading this blogpost because he doesn't read anything  but if I am mistaken Mr T, I have got news for you. You are no Abraham Lincoln! In fact you are no Barack Obama, no Martin Luther King Jr, no Franklin D, Roosevelt, no George S. Patton! In fact you are no James Buchanan, no Andrew Johnson and what is more you are no Warner Brothers' Porky Pig! Apologies to Porky.

It is exceedingly difficult for any other political leaders in the western world to manage healthy relationships with Trump because he is a playground bully without discretion  or a recognisable moral compass. Thus far, other leaders have been obliged to kowtow to Trump because of America's economic and military power. However, it is obvious that they all detest him and privately mock him.

You have to draw the line somewhere and that is what Sir Keir Starmer did. After all, the joint Israeli and American onslaught upon Iran was not agreed with other nations and it is in clear breach of international law. Why should other western leaders be expected to just tag along like obedient puppies?

Many commentators believe that the lead puppeteer is Netanyahu here and he is looking to devastate and degrade Iran with zero concern for the Iranian people. Is that the way to a lasting peace? More likely Netanyahu and Orange Blob are creating a legacy of death and destruction that will return to haunt their countries in the decades ahead. Bullets and bombs are not the way. Discussions, economic sanctions, patience, intelligence and persistence - that's always the way you do it in the end.

And anyway, let's get back to this Winston Churchill fellow. He was by no means perfect either. There were views he held and things  he  did that  were really quite appalling and ironically rather Trumpian.

He was a racist and an Islamaphobe. He called Indians "beastly" and opposed Indian independence in the late 1940s. He used troops to crush legitimate strike action by coal miners and in 1915 he championed the disastrous World War I Gallipoli campaign that resulted in huge casualty numbers. There are many other mistakes and character failings I could highlight including his dependence upon alcohol, his sexism and his upper class arrogance.

Although he proved himself to be a good wartime leader, he was decisively voted out of office by the British people as soon as World War II ended.

Of course Trump does not know Churchill's flipside because he never reads anything. He prefers a view of world history that is cartoonish. Personally, I prefer the dignity and decency of a man like Sir Keir Starmer and yes, Trump is thankfully right that Sir Keir is no Winston Churchill. In plenty of respects, he is better than that and obviously better than Trump too.

Murdo

I loved "Dirt Road" by James Kelman. It is a quirky novel, crafted with a rare understanding of the human condition. There are no murders, no detectives, no particular mysteries. Just a Scottish widower called Tom and his teenage son - Murdo.

They are in The Deep south of America to catch up with Uncle John and Auntie Maureen who reside in rural Alabama. Tom and Murdo arrived there by bus after a mix up that saw them stopping off in Allentown, Mississippi.

We see everything from Murdo's point of view. It is as if we are in his head, living his confusion and self-doubt with him. He is a gentle soul, not academically gifted but he has a talent for playing the accordion and in Allentown he experiences the Zydeco playing of Queen Monzee-ay and is enchanted:

What a sound! That was special. That was so special. And the girl scrubbed it along facing the old lady who nodded her head on that two-three beat rhythm, glancing around at the folk watching, smiling a little but only in the music ... This lady kept on looking, seeing the people watching, keeping her eye on them. Murdo liked that. This was her playing, she was playing. She had her way and there she was.

James Kelman's text is like a stream of consciousness and Murdo's voice has a distinctly Scottish twang but it is never inaccessible. I don't think the word "you" is ever used. Instead, it's always "ye" to suggest a working class Scottish accent.

Murdo simply has to get to Lafayette in Louisiana to meet up with Queen Monzee-ay again. He also fancies her granddaughter Sarah who seems rather sweet on Murdo too. There is a festival  and Murdo needs to play with the Zydeco legend.

In some ways this is a "coming of age" novel from a writer who does something more uplifting with his writing  than just angry bleating about the plight of the downtrodden. There is affection and understanding here and celebration too.

It was one of those books where you reach the last page and you feel kind of sorry that it's over. But maybe it would not be the same for you. After all, one person's meat is another's poison.

After I closed the book, I did a bit of googling and discovered that back  in 2018 a film heavily based on the novel  had been created called "Dirt Road To Lafayette". It is available on Amazon Prime so I watched it tonight.

It was a nice film but of course it totally failed to do what the writing had done - putting me inside Murdo's head as though wrapped in his uncertainties and his sense of loss.  Not only had his mother died of cancer but he had lost his sister Eilidh as well. The trip to The Deep South became a kind of healing with the prospect of better tomorrows and joy.