Arasay

 

Recently I was in our local Co-op supermarket. There I saw a table with books neatly spread across it. They were there to raise money for some charity or other. I can't remember which.

All of the books had been published under the "My Weekly" banner with "My Weekly" being a long-running British general interest magazine that is aimed at women. It contains short stories, lifestyle advice, puzzles, recipes, interviews. Currently it has a weekly circulation of around 45,000 copies, down significantly on past years. I guess that decline  is to do with smartphones and internet access.

Anyway, I suddenly thought to myself - I am going to read one of these books - see if it has any merit. I dropped some coins in the collecting tub and at random chose "Island Dreams" by Evelyn Orange.

This is how "Amazon" summarise the book:-

Cassie Melrose inherits her grandmother’s house and Craft Centre on the remote Scottish island of Arasay. Initially planning a brief visit, she becomes entangled in the island’s charm, its close-knit community, and lingering emotions from her past – including a renewed connection with Zander, her teenage love…

Getting anything published is not easy and out there in the big wide world there are many thousands of would-be writers who never see any of their work accepted or published so you have to give it to Evelyn Orange, pictured below. She made it. And this isn't the only book she has had printed by "My Weekly".

Anyway, I finished "Island Dreams" yesterday, sitting in the sunshine at our garden table. I found it very easy to read and looked forward to reading the next chapter and the next.

I discovered a dozen blatant errors in expression that should have been spotted by any proofreader worth his or her salt but more important than that I became fond of the main character - Cassie Melrose. I wanted things to work out for her.

There was a lightness, a kind of innocence about the delivery. You guessed from the outset that Cassie and Zander would rekindle their love after a few hiccups along the way. But there was not even the slightest hint of sex happening. There was a measure of passionate kissing in which Cassie's heart melted but Gentleman Zander never tried to coax her to bed.

As I have done with past book reviews, here's just a taste of "Island Dreams" from the very middle of the book:-

Cassie sighed into his long, muscular body, enjoying the physical warmth and feeling of protection it gave her. How quickly they had slotted into each other's lives! She looked up into his face, "It's OK, I know you've had to put some stuff on hold with the worry of Connor's disappearance. Thankfully he's safe now."

"Yes, I'd better get him and his mum back home."

"What about the dog?" she asked as they walked to the door.

He gave a rueful grin. "That's something else to sort out. I need to try and persuade Maeve to give Pip a home as well."

"I hope she does."

Pakman

 

No! Not that "Pac Man"! This Pakman! The one pictured below - David Pakman the Argentinian-American political commentator. I have been following his You Tube channel for two or three years now

David speaks up for ordinary people and democracy, highlighting failings and serious concerns connected with the conduct of America's current government. I searched this blog for previous references to David Pakman but found none which was pretty surprising.

His voice is calm, intelligent and articulate. He does his research and does not rave like a communist lunatic. In my view, he tells it like it is, picking away at all that is wrong with the current regime - the lies, the broken promises, the personal profiteering, the warmongering, the bully boy insults. Naturally, the current president's behaviour, speeches and actions or lack of them receive special attention on the channel.

David has been mentioned in dispatches by The White House as they have sought to rubbish intelligent dissent - including of course the recent and rather chilling attempt at an authoritarian crackdown on CNN, MSNOW and Politico.

If the idea of America means anything, it includes the freedom to speak up, to object, to point in a different direction and that is what David Pakman does every day of the week. Given all that has been going on since the last presidential election, he has had no shortage of topics to get his teeth into.

Here's a current example of his good work...

MBGA

 

MBGA = Make Britain Great Again. Perhaps that slogan sounds vaguely familiar?

As I was walking up Carr Road, Walkley yesterday, I was startled to see the car sticker shown at the top of this blogpost. I had never seen one before.

The man shown in profile is Nigel Farage, the millionaire leader of Britain's right wing Reform Party. He is the same right wing politician who led UKIP (United Kingdom Independence Party) when this country foolishly voted to leave The European Union in 2017.

Although chummy and plausible, I would not trust Farage as far as I could throw him. He has had an insidious effect on British politics and our nation's morale. His right wing agenda is sugar coated in chumminess and plausibility. But his politics come from the same bitter cauldron brewed by the architects of the MAGA movement in America.

Farage has used his anti-immigration sophistry to win over big sections of the British working class even though his loyalties lie firmly with moneymakers and landowners. The Reform Party have recently received huge donations from two crypto-billionaires - demonstrating that Farage and his gang remain a force to be reckoned with as politics in this country evolve.

Farage admires the current occupant of The White House even though his Make America Great Again nonsense has clearly failed miserably, crumbling like The East Wing of The People's House.

I find all of this both depressing and scary and I am hugely disappointed that millions of working class voters currently seem unable to see what Farage and his Reform Party are really all about. Nigel Farage = Nigel Charade. 

But look closely at that car sticker at the top. Has someone altered it? Farage appears to be sporting a moustache that is reminiscent of the one that belonged  to Little Adolf Hitler.  It looks different from the sticker you can order online should you possess those kind of right wing tendencies...

Hillsborough

Here in England the name "Hillsborough" is synonymous with a football crowd tragedy that happened in Sheffield Wednesday's home stadium on April 15th 1989. Soon after the Liverpool v Nottingham Forest F.A. Cup semi-final match kicked off, it became clear that something was not right in the Leppings Lane  end of the ground where Liverpool fans were located. Late arrivers had squeezed forward causing a fatal crush.

Ninety seven fans died that day and in the decades that followed  it felt as though the heated debate about what had happened would never cease. Fingers were pointed. Judicial enquiries were held. Journalists wrote endless screeds. Crowd security measures changed.

Hillsborough Walled Garden

Even today, when Liverpool families hear the name "Hillsborough" they feel a mixture of sadness and anger. For them. the name will always have tragic associations.

At Hillsborough Corner

But here in Sheffield, Hillsborough is like a town within a city. It is a vibrant district, not just the name of a famous old football ground.

Today, I rode on one of our "Supertrams" through Hillsborough to Middlewood. My idea was to leave the tram at the terminus and walk back home - a distance of some six miles.

Hillsborough Park

It was a lovely day - surprisingly warm for late September - and of course I took quite a few photographs as I strolled along.  I wanted to share images of Hillsborough that have nothing to do with the football stadium tragedy. After all, the suburb existed long before Sheffield Wednesday F.C. came into existence in 1867. Today, around 20,000 people live in Hillsborough.

It is a lively community with plenty of independent businesses, successful schools, eateries, pubs and decent homes. Though it contains one or two pockets of deprivation, on the whole the suburb is fairly affluent. There are certainly far worse places to live within the boundaries of this city.

By Langsett Road

Masterpiece

One lazy afternoon in March as Shirley and I were cruising back up The Nile to Luxor, Emma, our bubbly holiday rep, came round the lazing passengers to ask if any of us would like to attend an art class in the top deck bar area. There were few takers but being a creative kind of chap, I thought I would give it a go.

To tell you the truth, there was no art instruction as such, we were just given small canvases, brushes, water and various paint tubes. Then we had free rein while Emma went off elsewhere - perhaps to her cabin for a snooze.

What to paint? I had been watching the banks of The Nile sliding by. So many potential pictures - and most of them timeless as if the pharaohs were still in charge. I wanted to portray a rather unremarkable, peaceful riverside scene. Palm trees and someone by the shore - perhaps a fisherman with desert hills rising behind and the canvas you can see at the top is what I came up with.

The image has been on my bookcase next to this computer desk since we returned from Egypt.

I look back on that cruise week with a happy smile. It was a great experience. We both thought the holiday was better than anticipated.

On our second morning in Luxor, before embarking for Aswan, we walked to Luxor Temple and arrived before most other visitors. In olden times there was an avenue that linked Luxor with the Karnak temple complex - a mile away. It was flanked by hundreds of stone sphinxes. 

Fortunately, the antiquities arm of the Egyptian government have done a great job in the last hundred years of restoring that avenue - even to the extent of demolishing houses that had been built over the ceremonial thoroughfare.

What a privilege it was to be the only two people walking along The Avenue of the Sphinxes that memorable morning. It was a "pinch me" moment and the amazing Luxor Temple itself was not far behind it in the wonderment stakes...

Lear

Half-brothers Edgar and Edmund fight to the death on The Crucible stage

As I sat in seat number K47 at "The Crucible" in Sheffield  watching one of Shakespeare's greatest plays, I couldn't help comparing the character King Lear with the current US President. Both are old men in decline, losing the plot.

Lear likes flattery and that is why he asks his three daughters to publicly declare how much they love him before dividing up his kingdom. In a similar manner, the current US President seems to enjoy fawning declarations of loyalty and admiration from his cabinet appointees , underlings and visitors.

When Cordelia refuses to play the flattery game, Lear rages and banishes her. He does  the same to a loyal nobleman - The Earl of Kent when he attempts to offer sound advice. Of course the current US President has a long history of firing high profile members of his administration when they appear to challenge him or veer from the path of absolute devotion.

Both men are narcissistic and too puffed up with self-belief to listen to voices of reason. Their misplaced pride leads them to believe that only they know best. It's effectively them against the world and so they scorn wise counsel.

Lear contends that he has been unfairly treated, claiming that he is "more sinned against than sinning". This is echoed in the behaviour and claims of the current US President. No politician in history has been treated as unfairly as he has and the "fake news" outlets that pose tricky questions are of course out to get him. He is being victimised - at least in his demented imagination.

I first read "King Lear" at the age of sixteen. I studied and wrote about it at university. I taught it to A level students and I have previously seen it in performance on both stage and screen so it is a play I know very well - better than any other Shakespeare play in fact.

The production at The Crucible had many fine qualities and showcased several talented actors but, unlike some reviewers, I was not entirely convinced by Ian McDiarmid's portrayal of  Lear himself.  It seemed somehow restrained and flimsy. He never really dominated the auditorium, raging upon the heath as I believe Shakespeare intended the character to do.

However, physical contortionist Max Revell was brilliant as The Fool and I was also impressed with the actors who played Gloucester, Kent and Regan. In addition, I admired the minimalist set and the effective use of lighting. During the interval, tubs of soil were scattered all over the stage and quite literally, they added to the play's bleak, earthy atmosphere where lightning flashes over the benighted heath.

Finally, back to the current, increasingly demented, US President:-

"'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind." 

Gloucester (Act 4, Scene 1)

Poem

Song for The Departed

I thought I heard you last night
As this wind-pommeled house
Creaked.
Yes, before I was submerged in sleep
I thought I heard you.
 
How faint your voices were
As if from far away -
Remembered
Only dimly like your faces.
Oh, how hazy they appear.
 
Life pulses like vast oceans
Though our days are
Almost few
I flounder in this darkness
But my hands still reach for you.

_________________________________________________________________________

"I flounder in this darkness"

AI Overview

"It sounds like you are carrying a really heavy weight right now, and things feel overwhelming or uncertain. Because you mentioned feeling this way, I want to make sure you have access to immediate, real support if you need it. You don't have to navigate this darkness by yourself.  If you just want to vent, talk through what is making you feel this way, or need a quiet distraction, I am here to listen. What's on your mind?"

The poem

I found this poem in my "Documents" folder  just yesterday. It was originally written on December 3rd 2011 but I had completely forgotten about it.  In a way it seemed to have emerged from another me. The me of fifteen years ago. I decided to slightly rework it - especially the third stanza which required a little more honing before publishing it here - its world premiere.