a Dirty Martini

The Peace of Wild Things

Greenport Long Island USA, December 5, 08

When despair for the world grows in me 
and I wake in the night at the least sound 
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, 
I go and lie down where the wood drake 
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. 
I come into the peace of wild things 
who do not tax their lives with forethought 
of grief. I come into the presence of still water. 
And I feel above me the day-blind stars 
waiting with their light. For a time 
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. 

The Peace of Wild Things 
— Wendell Berry 

The Gentleman Manifesto

The Chap takes a wry look at the modern world through the steamed-up monocle of a more refined age, occasionally getting its sock suspenders into a twist at the unspeakable vulgarity of the twenty-first century.

Since 1999, the Chap has been championing the rights of that increasingly marginalised and discredited species of Englishman - the gentleman. The Chap believes that a society without courteous behaviour and proper headwear is a society on the brink of moral and sartorial collapse, and it seeks to reinstate such outmoded but indispensable gestures as hat doffing, giving up one's seat to a lady and regularly using a trouser press. 

* * *

SOCIETY HAS BECOME SICK WITH SOME NAMELESS MALADY OF THE SOUL. We have become the playthings of corporations intent on converting our world into a gargantuan shopping precinct. Pleasantness and civility are being discarded as the worthless ephemera of a bygone age - an age when men doffed their hats to the ladies, and small children could be counted upon to mind one's Jack Russell while one took a mild and bitter in the local hostelry.

Instead, we live in a world where children are huge hooded creatures lurking in the shadows; the local hostelry has been taken over by a large chain that specialises in chilled lager, whose principal function is to aggravate the nervous system. Needless to say, the Jack Russell is no longer there upon one's return.

The Chap proposes to take a stand against this culture of vulgarity. We must show our children that the things worth fighting for are not the latest plastic plimsolls but a shiny pair of brogues. We must wean them off their alcopops and teach them how to mix martinis. Let the young not be ashamed of their flabby paunches, which they try to hide in their nylon tracksuits - we shall show them how a well-tailored suit can disguise the most ruined of bodies. Finally, let us capitalise on youth's love of peculiar argot Ð only replace their pidgin ghetto-speak with fruity bons mots and dry witticisms.

It is time for Chaps and Chapettes from all walks of life to stand up and be counted. But fear not, ye languid and ye plain idle: ours is a revolution based not on getting up early and exerting oneself - but a revolution that can be achieved by a single raised eyebrow over a monocle; the ordering of a glass of port in All Bar One; the wearing of a particularly fetching cardigan upon a visit to one's bookmaker. In other words: a revolution of panache. We shall bewilder the masses with seams in our trousers that could cut paper, trilbies angled so rakishly that traffic comes to a standstill; and by refusing the bland, watery substances that are foisted upon us by faceless corporations, we shall bring the establishment to its knees, begging for sartorial advice and a nip from our hip flasks

Getting Creative

I've been getting all creative with my photos in the last 6 months. A few bits are up on my Etsy shop 

I haven't done much by way of advertising that little shop which I love (and recommend Etsy to anyone who enjoys creative messin' and sellin').  And I haven't added anything new for Spring. Until now.

Anyone who reads this blog and likes any of them, some of them or all of them !...can contact me by email (see "About" top left) offer me anything they think the cards are worth or want to pay + postage. Most of them can be fine art photo prints too at various sizes to order. Same deal! I'll ship and mail them all prettied up to you.

Course I don't have a studio or any glam set up so these are just photographed on my coffee table in as much daylight as I could grab today (it's raining)! 

Being creative is kind of soothing, like writing. I'm no expert. But I do absolutely love it. I took some direction from my dad, who is a photographer and then just experiment with whatever I find beautiful or more importantly, which means something to me. 

Mellow London

With the distinct possibility of moving to Los Angeles later this year becoming a slow steady reality, I was reminded this weekend of the virtues of living right in the heart of my favourite city, London. 

The sun was out, warming everyone onto the pavements and into the parks after a long winter. The sky was a deep blue and the whole place felt like it was smiling. It smelled delicious too. It is a garden city, green and manicured around every corner and in the numerous Royal Parks - or wild and summery up on the Heath - fat lilac, bluebells and late blossom scent the air right now. 

London, totally changes for a week before Christmas and the week up to the New Year, and then again when the sun first comes out. It slows down, quietens, people linger. Musically equivalent to a mellow jazz riff and just as seductive. Other people get on planes and head to Europe for sunshine in the Winter, and when heat is predicted they head to the country. London draws a sigh. A languor to savour.

In a city staying still has a bad rap. But over the weekend people were enjoying days of walking and eating and beer festivalling, if they weren't watching the marathon that is.  (You'd all hate the beer that was on offer too. English ale and bitter, full of gold flavour, but served cool not freezing cold.  I stuck to a lazy slow martini but the beer seemed to be going down well around me!). All the fury and bustle seemed temporarily siphoned off. I initially realised this, ironically, as I was running on my Saturday morning treadmill, overlooking a graveyard full of vast Spring-bright green trees, bluebells and the tombstones of some long expired residents - the Cromwells, the author of Pilgrim's Progress, Daniel Defoe and William Blake.

The right people were in the city, just as at Christmas.  And people who actually like living here and take pleasure in it; not the moaning commuters from the 'burbs who feel a bitter affinity to London, the workhub of Britain, with a view engrained by it's incredible if complex travel system, remaining largely indifferent to the treasure trove around them.

Anyway. This was my favourite picture from a lazy hazy weekend. The Spring green of our city Plain trees reflected in the glass of the pub bar, a refurbished Victorian Gin Palace, now decorated with irritating liberal art (Mao, Guevara) but serving up the ale - and the most amazing food.

The Cold Stars

Loading a suitcase, with the usual. I grab my passport, flick on my ipod and get on the plane. The plane in my dreams – that headed across the Atlantic.

It beats the airport shuffle. 

Lift suitcase, move two feet, lower suitcase, lift suitcase, another foot, lower suitcase and so it goes, ad infinitum, until you reach the check-in, hot, flustered, bothered, the spread-em body frisk, naked feet, the queue to get onto the plane, then the slow trip down the aisle, legs and hips pummelled by travellers heading in or out.

Not in your dreams. The romance of it all, in your dreams, doesn’t budge.

That train. It’s hourly journey. It was organic. It gently revealed not only the countryside around us but the state of mind in which I found myself. Leaving London I was excited, worried, hopeful, frazzled and disconnected; I was losing my way. Then I was on a train down and up Long Island, having bridged the Great Divide and none of that mattered.

Freezing glimmery waters and skeletal black woodland, dimpled silvery boughs offer me the photographer a chance to create works of abstract - but I can’t get up. I lean back against him. Onward, rolling towards a big question mark, sun now shining, heading northwards and feeling fine. Feeling safe.

A flat, monochromatic landscape, the wide panorama, the endless horizon and the big blue skies of promise. It is here in a vast landscape, I can take in the real picture.  

(But a bleaching light blinds against those promising powder-blue winter skies)

Come the evening another magic happens.  Put that sweater and jeans back on, curl your hair and be pretty, step into a warm bar. But first step outside. 

Take in the cold stars, find east by the North Star and dream a dream that for 40,000 years has been dreamt before you. Breathe the razor sharp frozen air, reflect on a journey, tell yourself all is well.  

(Then I wake up)

Friday

Happy Birthday Your Majesty

A wonderful loyal birthday address to her Majesty via the Monarchist. Yay for them:

Madam, this year marks the fifty-seventh of your reign. You have conducted yourself with grace, dignity and responsibility to all your subjects, and all your peoples. Your contribution to our stability and well-being has often gone un-noticed. You have never complained, but have unfailingly continued steadfast in your duties. For this, I salute you.

You stand at the end of a proud tradition, stretching back into the mists of time. Your Majesty sat upon the Stone of Destiny, upon King Edward's chair.

Yesterday also marked the 500th anniversary of the accession of Henry VIII to the throne:

hatip for the media link to the Iconoclast:

He's 'enry the VIII 'e is

Every half-millennium or so an event occurs in our history that changes the basis of society. The Romans come, the Romans go. The Normans come; and between their arrival in 1066 and the outbreak of the Great War in 1914 there is one seismic event after which society sets off (after a false start or two) on an entirely new course: the Reformation in England....without the Reformation we would not have had what Seeley called "the expansion of England", we would not have had a middle class educated and powerful enough to initiate the industrial revolution, we would not have had the empire we did, and would not have had the land and sea power that kept us free from invasion and foreign influence: not to mention the theological consequences. Without the Reformation there would have been no civil war and no establishment of the constitutional monarchy. Who is to say that what happened in France in 1789, or across Europe in 1848, or in Russia in 1917 would not eventually have happened here? Of course the Catholic countries of  Europe were not held back indefinitely by the dominance of the Roman clergy in their lands. But it was not until 1905 that France passed a law separating Church and state, much of Spain remained primitive until after the civil war, Italy still has such areas of backwardness that many in the north wish to be separate from the south, and Ireland (troubled now for other reasons) only exploited the talents of its people when it broke free of being a clerical state and looked outwards. That, in the resonant phrase of the 37th Article, "the Bishop of Rome hath no jurisdiction in this realm of England", may have come about by accident. But even if he did not intend it, it remains Henry VIII's most conspicuous achievement and greatest legacy

I've been following Starkey's profile of the man on Channel 4. It's between awesome and awesomer.  The level of education and the duty that teenage king took with him to the throne puts modernity to shame.

Well...I've nothing to add except this. I like the Qeen. A 'portrait' :D of her Majesty which I drew when I was a little girl probably on Her Majesty's birthday and when I figured she was coming to our house for tea?

Perez Hilton: The Queer Eye for your body.. mind and soul

Man. I admit I'm trying really hard not to enjoy the delicious irony of yet another hoofter trying to call the shots in the fashion industry. 

I guess this is simply more blatant?  I mean reading the comments on a few posts, a few guys seem pretty indignant that an ugly gay dude is even has a say in a beauty pageant for women. Where have they been? 

The first crop of modern ‘supermodels’, to become a social obsession and grace every cover of every magazine, and whom Miss California and every wannabee since is emulating, originally hung out around Gianni Versace. A gay man. The founding member of the Gay Mafia.  I guess those commenters have never caught an episode of America's Next Top Model. 

Or Bruno.

Links

You know when you collect a whole bunch of stuff you find interesting, bookmark it all but don't always have time for? Well this is one of those posts. A collection of links, all in one easy place to find for me, that you may or may not enjoy. It's all good blog fodder anyway:

If you don't understand the thought process behind the advent of British policing here you go. And yes our police force is now armed - special units only. Inspector Gadget has been blogging in the police defence and re media rubbish over the G20 riots - and doing it briliantly. I hope this country winds up with European style baton guns, CS gas grenades, water canons and plastic bullets for policing riots in future.  

What the hell is up with the US site Craigslist advertising teen prostitutes? Still, treating them as abuse victims is the smart way to go.

The US is following suit with the UK on DNA profiling. I don't have an issue with DNA profiling as discussed here before.

Is porn fucking you up. The article, which is old, has finally made it into the mainstream media. It knocks it out of the ballpark re the mainstreaming of porn - and judging the personal honesty in the comments section she has struck a chord. Great to see.

Free speech: liberty and licence. Really good argument.

I realise that this makes me weird but I don't think women should serve in the military, I never have - and this just adds to that concern. It's a man's domain. Leave them to it.

The British welfare state is one hundred years old. "The era of the gentleman aristocrat was over, the age of the ambitious politician had begun"

A breathless Russell Kane, British comedian, jokes about the difference between British and American men on dating. He is also very funny talking about growing up with his hardman Essex dad and the Brits in general (thriving on negativity versus American positivity).

Celebrating the quincentenary of Henry VIII's accession. Fantastic. As is the Starkey series on the man (Channel 4). 

It must have been so AWFUL working on this photoshoot huh?!! Poor make up lady. Hit the mute button and enjoy. Man oh man. I also got sent this whole little section on flickr. 

You will go to the Ball

I cannot help it. Now I have to comment. 

Everything about these linked articles hits the right notes but the surface arguments are a little curious. Almost the reverse of Susan Boyle's entry into stardom. 

The audience and judges were seriously ugly. I rarely watch those talent contests and reality crap. I watched the youtube video feeling compelled to almost by the tide of public opinion on her singing and frankly the incredible worldwide reaction.

The audience made me ashamed to be British. But is there any need in smartly ackowledging their ugliness, to describe Susan Boyle with such bitchiness? Kind of picks away at the strong argument being made about our social need to have 'talent' wrapped up in Hollywood stylised packages, with silly white teeth. The author cannot even claim to have been ironic since Susan will undoubtedly read that piece. 

We aren't able to compute women on our screens or allow them to be deserving of our admiration unless they step out like toothpicks drowning in a slick of self tan. That's what's ugly. And that would be the product of decades of spoon fed ugly raunch culture. Re the Guardian article yeah we are less damning of men in our silly modern world for sure. Gordon Ramsay has a face more like an aging scrotum (or 'dried up riverbed' per the article) and wiry dry hair. Noone worries about his looks provided he whips up a great meal and says fuck a lot. 

The other article sketches out a portrait of the woman as "a parable of our age". But it too cannot resist the temptation to conclude that "beauty is on the inside". Hmmm. That's just a patronising sop for women. After all how often was Susan's physical being commented on and ridiculed as she grew up.  She started suffering at the hands of bitchy school friends that "left a scar on her life that never healed".  She mentioned it for a reason.

It's Hollywood and it's offspring which is ugly. How about recognising that before taking those icky standards and holding this woman up against them.

"I think we look at Susan Boyle and her artistry (and she is clearly an artist) and we think, “wait a second…that’s not the narrative! Ordinary people who look ordinary, and live obscurely and who don’t run with the herd are not supposed to be great.” And then we dare to think: “what if there is greatness in all of us?”

It's about Susan. Not us. If it is about us then it is because we are confused. We are kind of hankering for the "ugly duckling" story but not quite sure if it should be Cinderella, the story girls dreamed of, because let's face it The Swan we all want is seriously contrived and fucked up.  She is not ugly at all anyway. The standards we have created are off the back of diets, hideous paranoia, androdgeny and a surgeon's knife. That's the ugly shit.

Why the need to even comment on her physical being at all.  Why not knock that shit off and let her be? Let her exist as a woman with a wonderful voice and a personal story to capture the imagination.  

If she wants Simon to make her over and primp her into a cartoon character of herself fresh from the surgeon's table, it will be because it makes her feel like a woman. One who can exist in this world on those peculiar terms.  OUR social need, not Simon's, to start making lascivious sleek haired greasy identikit boy-women fresh from the Hefner mansion or Victoria's Gay Secret pages, that propels her. 

The last thing she wants is to read about how we judged her physical being alongside the voice she wanted to showcase. I expect she stepped out in that pretty dress feeling wonderful. I cannot imagine how this is now any less painful than the schoolkids who scarred her. We are robbing her of that security she has in her voice. 

hat tip to American Digest