Contemplation

I was struck by this painting in the Guardian's list of 20 must-see works of art. It is by Rembrandt, and is a portrait of Aristotle contemplating a bust of Homer (1654). The imagined confrontation of these two intellects is striking. Aristotle's eyes are tired and disillusioned, but Homer's, though dead, are wide, full of vision. The Guardian comments:

"So a man who profitably serves power admires the innocent unworldly artist Homer. Homer's dark poetic eyes, that truly see, fathom what Aristotle's reason cannot".

Ok, so the point is a little trite - but I love it anyway. It reminded me, more than anything else, of another imagined meeting of minds worked into art.

This is Rheinhold's "Philosophizing Monkey", a miniature famously kept by Lenin on his desk. An ape sits on a pile of books, one of which carries the label "Darwin", and studies a human skull, hand on chin. It's not quite a Hamlet moment - but you have to love the irony.

I just thought that the look in the ape's eyes was very similar to that in Rembrandt's Aristotle. The skull, dead like Homer, seems to be having the last laugh.

I'm not sure which of these four figures I relate to best. They all touch me in different ways.

Anyway, if you have 20 favourite paintings of your own to share the Guardian website is the place to go to let people know about them.

Coincidences

I went to a local church yesterday. A pretty average Anglican affair - but that's just what I was looking for. I could only get to the 9.15 service, and there was no-one my age.

I hung on for a bit, drank some coffee looking very lonely and waited to see who might turn up for the family service. As fortune would have it, I met a very pleasant guy my own age called Rob wearing a fashionable tie.

He works for an estate agents, but it turns out that he went to Durham University the exact same three years that I did - and lived in the college next door to me! How did we miss each other? Well, that's easy actually. Collingwood College and Grey College are the bitterest of enemies. Grey can't stand Collingwood because they know we're better, and Collingwood can't stand Grey because they're so puny. Rob said he only chose Grey College because they had a better pool table; I only visited Grey College to steal their cue ball. Thank goodness I've matured so much since then...

An apparition

My little brother Thomas just bought this Halloween costume for £8. Amazing what you can get from Tesco nowadays. The only problem was that one of the gloves was missing. But Thomas, undeterred as ever, cunningly disguised this fault by hanging a bat from his hand.... Obvious, really.

When I got home he jumped on me from behind. Evil boy! Today's youth don't know their place.




Considerate individual that he is, Thomas also ensured I had a costume. Can you guess which one's Thomas and which is me? Here's a clue - I generally keep my teeth in better shape.

I don't on the whole enjoy fancy dress. It can often be costly and is rarely fun. I've been to parties where I haven't bothered and everyone else has overdone it, and I've been to parties where I've really gone for it and no-one else is bothered. It's best just not to suggest it in the first place. Better still, don't have any parties. There's an episode of Black Books where Manny excitedly calls out, "let's pppaaaaarrrtttt -" to be interrupted by Bernard: "Don't you dare use the word party as a verb in my house!"

Too right.

Ouch!

So yesterday's interview was a complete disaster. Never mind. It just shows you the value of preparation. I could barely answer any of the questions put to me. If you're thinking of applying to the Foreign Office any time soon, just ask and I can give you some tips.

Still, the great thing about living in England is that if something bad happens in the middle of the day you can always go to a pub and get a pint. I ordered London Pride. Hopefully I will have lots more of that in the future.

How r u?

Predictive text is a good measure of the state the world is in. On a mobile phone with this incredible piece of technology, a strict hierarchy is placed on words with similar letters, such that an ardent texter can easily enter "he" when she meant "if", or "of" when she meant "me".

I'm sorry to report, folks, that by the measure of predictive text the world is in a sorry state.

"Beer" is ranked firmly below "adds".

"Pint" is ranked below "shot" and "riot".

"Joy" is considered less important than "low".

And "cheer", believe it or not, is forced to give way to "aides".

Is one not permitted to have fun anymore? I only wanted to send a text about my night out and I end up telling people that my aides have reported that the shot adds to the riot.

And if you disagree with me, if you think that hedonistic words like "beer" and "cheer" should be kept in their place, then you will be aghast to discover that when you try enter the innocent verb "sew" into your phone, it returns the disgusting noun "sex". How the world has changed...

First Interview

Tomorrow I have an interview at the Foreign Office. Wish me luck!

Do not ask for whom the bell tolls...

Here's my pub. Come and visit it. You will receive a warm welcome. And if you order coffee, you'll receive a little biscuity-thing too.

Why is it called the "Bells" you may ask? Because of the church next door? No - because it was once owned by a family called "Bell". Sorry, that's not very interesting really.

The last two days have shown me two sides of the catering industry. Yesterday, Sunday, the busiest day of the week, two of my colleagues called in sick. Instead of five waiters, we had only three (including inexperienced me). I had to work 10 hours straight with no breaks and no food. At one point the chef refused to cook anything else because the meals weren't getting taken out quickly enough. But we got through it.

Today, on the other hand, I did three hours over lunchtime. Relaxed, pleasant - ah yes, the perfect job. Who needs excitement, or stress, or challenges? But on second thoughts, I didn't earn as many tips as I did yesterday...

When poetry feels like poetry

Some poetry just feels as if it was destined to be written from the beginning of time. Check out this from Lord Byron:

"Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar!"

(Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto 3, 2).

Three things about Cheshire

I am starting to reflect more on Cheshire since the Goostrey exhibition. It's not my favourite county, but I'm becoming a little less cynical about the place. Here's three things to ponder.

1. Goldplated: the new Channel Four show about the Cheshire high life. What nonsense. Avoid at all costs. This isn't about Cheshire, it's about the parlous state of modern TV drama. Cheshire is much nicer.

2. Old People: there's plenty. I catered for the Natwest Pensioners coffee morning yesterday. What wonderful people they are. Very demanding about their coffee, but a cornerstone of society. I can't wait to be one.

3. Nantwich: lovely. I never give it a second thought, but I went with my Mum today and it's a beautiful little town. Tip: don't eat at the Cafe de Paris.

Ok - it's not much, but it's a start.

Civic pride

I have a wonderful little brother called Thomas, who is seven years old and attends Goostrey Primary School (left). Schools have become very important places in modern society; alongside pubs, they're the only true local "community" centres, now that church attendances have dropped. Goostrey School is currently celebrating its 150th anniversary. All the children have been involved in creating an exhibition on Goostrey's history. Today, I went to have a look.

I thought I knew quite a lot about my village. I am particularly proud to have been the person to create the Goostrey wikipedia article. How mistaken I was. There were displays on all sorts of aspects of village life, from the Victorian period to evacuees in the war to the importance of Jodrell Bank Observatory. The centre-piece was two 3D maps of Goostrey, showing the village in 1856 and again in 2006. You can see here how much it changed (below right).

Among other things, I learnt that the local viaduct was built by 150 men living in a shanty town; that the current church dates from 1798; and that, in 1959 (?), a man heroically snatched two babies from an oncoming train (his commemorative silver clock was on display).

Yet the most impressive thing about it was how the "community" suddenly coalesced in this insignificant school hall. I turned up at 2pm when the exhibition started, but already the Rev. Otley was present with a small group of elderly residents, accompanied by His Honour the Mayor of Congleton ("just call me Andy"). There was one display about Mrs Kettle, owner of a much-loved bits-and-bobs shop in Goostrey. Other parents and relatives soon turned up.

Later I was talking to my mother about whether "British identity" is threatened by internationalism and immigration. She thought it was, but I argued that actually identities become strongest when they are under threat. Goostrey is the same. There isn't really a "village community" any more. The old farming community has been swamped with rich commuters and pensioners who come and go. But as soon as village life starts to disintegrate, people panic and the identity is given new, enduring life. Last year the Rose Day celebrations became a huge event, and a scarecrow competition was held that is becoming a new tradition. There have been initiatives to improve the park and oppose a gas plant. And now, this celebration of 150 years of village life.

In a way, this new identity is artificial. The community is forced. People move to Goostrey aged 35 looking for a rural idyll, and when it looks to be disappearing they have to create it themselves. But today I developed a new affection for it. Who cares how communities are created, as long as we have them. People now start online "communities" based on their interests. Universities are becoming more important "communities" for the young adult. Is British identity under threat? No - as in Goostrey, British identity is just beginning.

I do have a job really

Despite my persistent claims to be job-hunting, I actually already have a job. At least, I do now. I started work tonight at a local pub called The Bells of Peover. I'll get a picture soon. It was extremely confusing as I have no catering experience and had to direct all my spare brain power to determining which were starter forks and which main forks.

The staff seemed friendly enough. And pretty varied, too. I have this new scheme where when I meet people I try to remember their names. It sounds very simple, but I've never done it successfully before. I think it's working: today I met Richard, Chris, Olly, Tracy, Ross, Ronny (? a woman), Sian, Zadine (I think), Esmelda, John and Tony. I won't say anything about any of them yet in case they become my friends and read this later. I'm sure they're all lovely people.

London (again)

Look where I've just been. Flashy, eh? Back to London for the second time in four days. Except on this occasion I took the train - and I didn't get the wrong day! It was a careers fair for working in the not-for-profit / public sector.

I've never properly considered working for a charity. I assumed they wanted volunteers, not employees. So it was quite enlightening to discover that Cancer Research UK has a graduate training scheme for corporate services and marketing. I felt like I was talking to someone from Deloitte.

The perfect metaphor for happiness

In this month's issue of Prospect, there's an article on the relationship between happiness and wealth. This is just the sort of thing that I love to read - it's such a wonderfully callous way to approach things. I remember reading a similar article last year which said that the No.1 factor for happiness is getting enough sleep, and that there is no relationship between money and happiness beyond basic essentials (food, water, shelter).

The Prospect article agrees, but it has a caveat. Although there is no connection between income and self-reported happiness (they do these surveys by simply asking you how happy you are), there is a connection between happiness and GDP growth. People are consistently happier in countries where GDP is steadily rising, even though it makes no difference what the actual GDP is (An Angolan can be happier than a Norwegian as long as the country's GDP is rising).

But what got me about this article is the metaphor he uses to describe the importance of steady GDP growth: "Imagine a guillotine, on which a kitten is strapped, connected to a bicycle that must be pedalled ever more quickly to keep the blade aloft. Slow down, and the kitten gets it." Yeah - I bet that kitten's as happy as can be!

It reminded me of a poem by Sheenagh Pugh, on "The Pursuit of Happiness":

"But he only said
you had a right to chase it:
he never mentioned

catching it up. [...]

And if you caught it,
if you ever did,
wouldn't it taste stringy,

all muscle and disappointment,
and what would you do
with the rest of your life?"

Yes, Sheenagh, I imagine the kitten would taste pretty stringy. Keep pedalling, everyone!

A career in transport?

What an amazing day, yesterday. I got to mess around in London. But why was I there?

I went to attend an Open Day for "Transport for London" (TfL for those in the know), who are the body responsible for... well, yeah, you got it. It ran from 10.30-3.30. I knew from many childhood trips that the journey to London takes about three hours, so I set forth at half six in the morning. Half six, you hear me! That's earlier than seven! But not early enough. By the time I got to Birmingham I was stuck in traffic.

The problem with traffic jams is not that they delay you - you expect them to do that, and deep down you're glad for the excuse to be late for something. The problem is that you just get bored. I was stuck all the way from Birmingham to Luton. I felt like just turning round and going home.

By the time I got to the edge of London I was already way late for the event. I hurriedly tried to find a spot to park, but London isn't designed to be helpful for people who don't know what they're doing (like me). It took another half hour before I sighted a tiny spot by the side of the road and performed, under pressure, the most exquisite parallel park London has ever seen. As any man will tell you, nothing can give you as much pride as a perfectly executed parallel park.

It was about 12 by this time, and when I got off the tube at London Bridge I realised that I didn't have a pen and paper. Of course there were no newsagents in sight, so I was forced to dart into the London Dungeon gift shop, against the protestations of the staff ("this isn't the entrance"). Fortunately, the venue for the TfL conference wasn't hard to find. It wasn't until I walked confidently into a Lloyd's TSB business meeting brandishing my sharpened Jack the Ripper pencil that I realised I'd got the wrong day.

Still, who can complain about having an unexpected day out in London? I didn't leave empty-handed. Here you can see my certificate for climbing all 311 steps of The Monument (that's its full name). Maybe there is something that can make a man more proud than parallel parking.

Splash!

These pictures just needed to be published. Cheers Alison!

Manchester united

I spent the day in Manchester. It's starting to look familiar now - I can even find my way around without a map. It's a pretty decent city, all in all. Makes me wonder whether I need to go to London after all.

I had a bit of a wander around and came across a Mongolian restaurant. Cool, eh? I've never seen a Mongolian restaurant before. I thought Mongolia was the backwater of all backwaters. What is it doing here in Manchester? On the door was a map of the Mongol Empire, which I just happen to know is the second largest empire in history (and the largest contiguous empire in history), so there. They let you select all your meat raw and cover it in sauces and then they cook it for you. Might be worth a try.

Then I went to a church service (my main reason for going into Manchester on a Sunday). I feel like I haven't been to church in months. It was called King's Church (yeah, I've figured out hyperlinks, too). It was the most multicultural event I've ever seen - fantastic. They had all these flags up from all around the globe, and practically a cross-section of the world's population singing on stage. And the first person I met there? A Mongolian.

Integrity

In a recent episode of Extras, Ricky Gervais accidently insulted a boy with autism. The show satirised the media frenzy resulting from his character's error by tracing how the media exaggerated the story until the papers were reporting that he hit the boy and his mother. He was only able to save himself by buying the boy a Nintendo.

Tabloid stuff, you might think. Well, not anymore. Observe the comparable frenzy resulting from Jack Straw's recent ill-judged remark about Muslim women's veils. Newsnight got caught up in it after it emerged that the same day, a woman had her headscarf snatched from her at a bus-stop. Kirsty Wark was clearly personally aggravated by the whole thing. In her interview with two Muslim women, she repeatedly tried to trick them into admitting they were forced to wear veils by their husbands. Later, in the studio, she got her guests ranting about this terrible society where a woman could have her veil snatched off her face. It wasn't a veil, Kirsty! It was a headscarf. Loads of people wear headscarfs! What will we hear tomorrow - that the man at the bus-stop hit her too? I hope he can afford that Nintendo.

My first plug

I just got my car back on the road! That's makes me happy. Unfortunately, it's only so that I can sell it. Bad news for me. But it could be good news for you... if you want a six-year old Ford Focus! Once I've got my act together I'll post a link here so you can buy it. It's very nice.

Remember this, anyone?

I'm only very slowly figuring out how blogging works. Today I thought I'd give photos a go. I haven't got anything to take a photo of, so I've dug up an old one from November last year. This is me and my friends at Lendel Cellar (a pub) in York. If you don't know me, I'm the guy looking at the camera and smiling far too luridly. Maybe it's because I've got a full pint in my hand. Ah, those were the days...

Britannia rules the waves

I have decided to teach myself about the British Empire. Now I'm done with my history degree, I have the freedom to read whatever popular history books I want in my spare time. So I picked up Niall Ferguson's Empire: How Britain Made the Modern World. It's a race through 400 years of colonial history, but what fun! I expected to read all sorts of terrible stories about slave-driving and ethnic extermination, but no - Niall has taken the brave decision to make the British Empire look good. Like I said, what fun!

He acknowledges all the terrible things about the Empire, but then gives a big yawn and gets on to the more interesting patriotic stuff. Here's a few things I've learnt:

1) In 1775, the trade revenue from Jamaica was fives times greater than all the American colonies put together. There was barely any support in London for the war against the American rebels. Why shouldn't our fellow overseas Britons have their own government? And, anyway, they had no economic value to us.

2) The Boston Tea Party was not a protest against tax on tea - it was a protest against a reduction on tax that meant the East India Company decided to unload all its surplus in America rather than in Britain where excise was greater. As one American said at the time, "Will not posterity be amazed when they are told that the present distraction took its rise from the parliament's taking off a shilling duty on a pound of tea, and imposing three pence, and call it a more unaccountable frenzy, and more disgraceful to the annals of America, than that of witchcraft?"

3) In the seventeenth century, the famous East India Company (which later took control of the whole of India) struggled to compete with the Dutch East India Company, which was better organised and better financed. The solution? A merger (of sorts): the 1688 "glorious revolution", which made the Duke of the Netherlands the King of England.

4) When slave-trading in the Empire was ended in 1807, it was met with protests not from plantation oweners, but from African chiefs (!) who relied on selling Africans as slaves for their wealth. As King Gezo put it, "The slave trade has been the ruling principle of my people. It is the source of their glory and wealth. Their songs celebrate their victories and the mother lulls the child to sleep with notes of triumph over an enemy reduced to slavery. Can I, by signing a treaty, change the sentiments of a whole people?"

The fact is that this unashamedly Brito-centric account keeps surprising me. This has a lot to tell us about how far the study of history has come. When the post-colonial narrative has become the dominant one; when there are calls for an official apology from the government to descendants of slaves; when the suppressed narrative is the nationalistic one - that's when we can be proud. This book is a testimony to that progress.

To end, I thought I'd just add a little quote from 1854. It's scary because it sounds an awful lot like the attitude of the West in 2006. Do we really live in a post-imperial world?

"When the contrast between the influence of a Christian and a Heathen government is considered; when the knowledge of the wretchedness of the people forces us to reflect on the unspeakable blessings to millions that would follow the extension of British rule, it is not ambition but benevolence that dictates the desire for the whole country." (Macleod Wylie)

Britons never, never will be slaves...