Whereas previous posts to this blog have invariably been created with Blogjet on a variety of PCs, this one was crafted with ecto on my new 12″ iBook G4. Whilst the leaning curve is moderate to steep in some places and I keep looking for keys and combos that aren’t there, I’m having a ball and thoroughly enjoying the out-of-the-box wifi/bluetooth capability.
Little Mac
August 12th, 2005iPod versus iBook
August 9th, 2005The long-awaited iBook has just arrived from the Far East via Copenhagen, the Netherlands and the obligatory smart-arsed & butter-fingered courier (note crumpled packing top-left of big box).
As it is sprog No.2’s birthday today and she’s just unwrapped an mini iPod this morning, I’m trying so hard to ignore the siren call of the boxes so as not steal her thunder and spoil her day.
The weekend paper
August 7th, 2005‘Since the London bombings, lots more people cycle around the place, which I suppose is a good thing. Though I don’t know which is more annoying: those who race down the pavement, swerving past just before you realise that they are bearing down on you at 20mph, or those who bossily ring the bell to signal “get out of my way, pedestrians!” […] At this point I get lots of letters saying that this represents a small minority of cyclists. All I can say is that recent experience suggests it is not such a small minority.’
Simon Hoggart, talking out of his backside in Saturday’s Guardian. I only wish I could match his sweeping generalisations with some of my own. How about lazy journalists who have trouble generating enough fresh, witty column inches by their sub-editor’s deadline or who feel the need to add a codicil or rider to their argument to shore it up. I know diary pieces are meant to be personal and opinionated but I was under the impression that such opinions should be new and original, not hackneyed and anecdotal.
Meanwhile, on the Letters page on the day the world remembered the bombing of Hiroshima, Kiwi reader Craig Young points out the irony in New Zealand non-nuclear stance, given that Ernest Rutherford was a New Zealander. The main thrust of his letter is something that I have been mentioning when folks ask if we’re emigrating because of the recent terrorist attacks in London: that the only terrorist act visited upon New Zealand – the sinking of the Rainbow Warrior in Auckland harbour – was carried out by French secret service agents acting on their Government’s orders.
No.8 Wire
August 7th, 2005My other blog, Looking for No.8 Wire, has been quiet of late for a variety of reasons. However, I have just written about my current thoughts and feelings regarding our impending emigration to New Zealand.
Pulled in all directions
August 7th, 2005This time next month, we will either be sleeping fitfully or watching cable TV in hotel rooms somewhere in Los Angeles, en route to the Cook Islands and ultimately our new life in New Zealand. Actually, as things stand at present, it is far from certain that we’ll have even got that far on our journey by then. Currently, we find ourselves in one of those Catch-22 situations where everything hinges on everything else and no-one involved seems particularly bothered about the outcome. Therein lies the naked truth of the matter: this is our family choice, not the removal company’s; this is our life-changing decision, not the immigration service’s; this is our leap-in-the-dark, not the estate agent’s. The place we find ourselves in is one of our own choosing and of our own making. We have wished all the chaos and confusion, all the bickering and spousal frustration, all the endless sibling disagreements on ourselves. As I type, we are awaiting news from our prospective buyer’s solicitor as to the date when we might reasonably expect to exchange contracts and move out. This is an improvement on last week, when we discovered that the same person had not only gone on holiday but had done so mistakenly believing that we had chosen not to go ahead with the sale of our flat. In turn, this has meant that we have had to delay the two-day pack and load session by the movers who will ship our belongings to New Zealand. As a consequence of this, there is a very good chance that our provisionally booked flights and connections will now have to be rescheduled, assuming that we can find six seats on the same flights and the same routes we had planned but later in the week.
Sitting in the sun-dappled garden of our friend’s house yesterday, I listened, as if to someone else, as we once again explained why we have chosen to leave all we know and love to move to the other side of the world without any guarantee that we will still want, let alone be able, to stay there. An outside observer might have caught an exchanged look between our friends or heard a slight hollowness in the oft-repeated phrases we trotted out yet, with redundancy just weeks away and a home far too small for a family of six, it still feels like exactly the right thing to do. As I cycled through London’s Hyde Park on the way to work one morning last week, a persistently vague thought began to crystallise and come into focus. As with almost everything in our lives, soon this journey will no longer be part of my daily routine and, although it will be replaced with journeys and activities as yet unknown, there are only a handful of such journeys in London left before me. In recent weeks, I have often find myself thinking “This’ll be the last time I do this” or “I wish I had time to do that before we go”, not so much with sadness as curiosity, as if I’d not expected to feel this way which, if I’m honest, is the truth. I had not expected to feel so attached to places, so bound to people, so linked to things around me.
Is this then an integral part of many an emigrant’s experience, a longing for things not yet lost, a mourning for an old life not yet finished? For me, it is not unlike the feelings I experienced when I knew a friend was losing his battle against cancer; bereft, disbelieving, empty and with so much to say yet unable to find the right words in the short time left. Now, almost a year after his death, I still keep his name and number on my mobile phone, as if I can still just call and talk to him. So, with the time for our departure coming up fast, perhaps I am seeking the emigrant’s equivalent of my friend’s telephone number, a talisman of my old life that I can carry into my new one. For me, with this thought comes a pleasing connection to a small act of kindness by a Kiwi friend a couple of years ago. She was travelling home to see her family before emigrating with her partner from the UK to Canada. Amongst her leaving gifts and good luck cards, I placed a small envelope which contained a small, faded yellow and green friendship bracelet which had recently worn through and finally snapped. This I had worn since the day my daughter made it and tied it around my wrist so, whilst I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, I was unsure of what to do with it. My friend’s departure provided inspiration and so, in the accompanying note, I asked that she bury the bracelet somewhere in New Zealand to act as a ‘magnet’ which, if the attraction was strong enough, would draw us there. I’m not normally given to such gestures or talk of destiny and usually find such sentiment mawkish in others. However, there’s no denying that I find myself more than tempted to believe that that small tattered bracelet, made with a daughter’s love and worn with a father’s pride, beckons our family southwards and will do so until we answer the call. It seems that we simply have to take this step to continue our journey as a family, no matter where it takes us.
July 7th
August 5th, 2005
A couple of stills from my upcoming ‘fifteen minutes’ on BBC4. The documentary will be called ‘We Are Not Afraid’ and centres on the website that emerged following the July 7th bomb attacks in London. Called, We’re Not Afraid, the site carries messages and images urging defiance against terrorism.
In the picture
August 4th, 2005
What with my brief wafflings on local radio and my looming BBC4 appearance, I have been giving no small amount of consideration to a career in the media, perhaps by becoming an A-list celebrity or, at the very least, a highly paid talking head. However, a quick flick through the latest edition of London Cyclist magazine, where I get a photo credit for this shot of Tower Hamlets Wheelers in Epping Forest would seem to point towards a new life as a paparazzo. Decisions, decisions…
Bike Powered Radio
August 1st, 2005
If you have a little slack time around 18.30hrs British Summer Time today (Monday 1st August), you could have the chance to hear me get tongue-tied on live radio! Jack Thurston (left) called with an invite to be a guest on his Bike show which is “a weekly show delving into the art, science, politics and transcendental pleasure of cycling, in London and beyond.” Tonight’s show will be dealing with cycling in London in the wake of the recent terrorist bombs – you can listen to the live stream or check out the show as an archive here or here (archive are in migration – hence two links).
A rose, by any other name…
July 29th, 2005
How refreshing to find a spammer who not only chooses a wholly apposite online indentity but, in doing so, also provides a suggested final destination for his wearisome output. Such honesty and civic-mindedness is to be applauded.
What did you do in the last four days?
July 28th, 2005Lazy weekend with a bit of shopping and then down the local with the Sunday papers for a roast and a few pints? Slow Monday morning wading through emails and a Tuesday spent attending dreary meetings?
As previously mentioned, I and a few others did what we thought (at 120 miles in one night) was a long bike ride but this pales into insignificance compared to what my friend and fellow Tower Hamlets Wheeler Colin (above) did in the last four days. He cycled from London to Edinburgh and back. To get some sense of what that looks like, the green line on the map below is 100 miles (to scale) and he basically rode up the red line and then back down it with very few stops and not much sleep.
In an email to friends this morning, Colin provided an insight into what it had been like. “A very international field with a great spirit and amazing feeling of fraternity…fantastic considering they were also not sleeping more than a couple of hours at a stretch. My legs feel surprisingly good today, though they are a wee bit sore…recuperating at home with coffee, the largest amount of junk food you will ever see and Mister H. Potter. Nice!â€
The hard numbers of Colin’s ride are as follows:
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Distance: 1417km (885 miles)
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Time: 102 hrs 18 mins (give or take a minute)
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Sleep: To Edinburgh 5hrs; In Edinburgh 2hrs; To London 9hrs
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Punctures: 0
- Mechanical Failures: 0
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Puddings with custard eaten: 19
Col, your humble friends salute you. Well done!