The contrast between the North and South banks of Loch Ness is quite startling. The North all tarmac, tourists, Hikers and Nessie Souvenirs, and the South, tranquil one track lanes, blue water and ferns. We arrived on the South bank early, after quickly losing the A9, diverting Southwest through Corriworrie and coming up Glen Kyttachy. This little gem lies between the 2000-ft peaks of Beinn Bhreac and Cairn na Saobhaidgh. Not Munroes, but stunning enough. The single track lane winds upwards north west through gorse and heather moorland before plunging downwards through the green of Strathnairn Forest.
South again to the Lochside at Foyers, we paused to look across to Castle Urquhart, hoping to catch a glimpse of a long neck or those famous serpent loops. No monsters, just the breeze ruffling the surface of the loch making a thousand shadows on this enigmatic stretch of water.
On to Inverness, a sold-out provincial town. Same bored-looking youths, poor men in expensive soccer shirts, streets mauled by Clarks, Marks and Macdonalds. The same items in the same sales at the same prices. Just the Caledonian Canal tells you that you are not in Guildford or Huddersfield. We got lunch and left. I was screaming for the green and purple.
Drumnadrochit - well what can I say, considering it had such an evocative name, it had a Nessie "multimedia experience" and no view of the Loch, so we headed into the traffic again, dodging the bikers and hikers, then, round full circle, back to the tranquillity of the South Bank.
If you fork right and leave the Loch bank to the North West, then follow the road North East towards Croy, cross the A9 and you eventually get to Culloden Moor. The site in 1746 of the very last battle fought in the British Isles. The second Jacobite rising of 1745 was a direct result of the Act of Union of 1707, which removed the Scottish Parliament.
“What force or guile could not subdue
Through many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain
Secure in valour's station
But English gold has been our bane
Such a parcel o' rogues in a nation.”
(Robert Burns)
The "rogues" concerned were the members of the Scottish parliament who signed the Act of Union with England in 1707.
At Culloden, the Duke of Cumberland, and his lowland allies defeated the Jacobite rebels and their few French allies under Bonnie Prince Charlie.
This was not an England Scotland conflict as many like to believe, on this elevated bog, Scot fought Scot. The graves of the clans, marked by name, attest to this. Over 1200 Jacobites and 350 of the Dukes men were killed in a skirmish that lasted less than an hour. The traditional Highland charge that normally struck terror in the hearts of the foes, was slowed down by the exhaustion of the Highlanders after their long march back from Derby, and the peat bog, They were cut down by the grape shot of the Duke's Artillery. A flank counter attack and the day was won. The Duke ordered “No quarter” and they slaughtered the wounded and the dying, and continued their pursuit of Jacobite sympathisers throughout Scotland.
Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield
When the night came, silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field.
(Skye Boat Song)
As we stood overlooking “Cumberland’s killing field”, reading the details of the battle, and walking round looking at the signs showing the battle lines, the sky was grey and the wind was blowing. Not really cold or raining hard as on the 16th of April 1746, but you could imagine the cold chill that the Highlanders must have felt as they faced the Duke’s Artillery. I listened and thought, “No birdsong”. Was it a coincidence that I experienced the same at the death camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau, in Poland, at Alderley Edge in Cheshire (“the most evil site in England”) and here?
After Culloden, The highlands were never the same again, the teaching and speaking of Gaelic was banned, and the wearing of the Tartan was banned. Each of these “crimes” was punishable by death.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Reflections in the South China Sea.
(Another Blog from "way back", this time 1999)
Situated off the North East Coast of Singapore Pulau Ubin (Ubin Island) is a welcome escape from the tower blocks and air conditioning roar of down town Singapore. You get to it by "bum boat" from Changi Jetty, just a few miles from the notorious prison that the Japanese used with such brutality during the occupation. Bum boats, - "floating shacks" is the best way I can describe them, ply the short crossing to the Island for a dollar fifty Singapore (about 50p).
Landing at Pulau Ubin jetty is like stepping back 50 years. Except for the bicycle hirers, nothing seems to have changed since the Japanese surrendered in 1945. Bicycles have come to Singapore before of course, during that period of colonial arrogance, when the British surrounded Singapore harbour with naval guns and troops, ready for a sea-borne landing by the Imperial Army. The Japanese just got on their bikes, and cycled down the Malay Peninsular, over the causeway and in to Singapore. The British forces, I'm not sure whether through surprise or embarrassment, promptly surrendered and marched in to Changi Prison (presumably led by Alec Guinness and whistling "Colonel Bogey"). Watching the newsreels from that period, especially the one of the signing of the British surrender, you can see the look of disbelief in the Japanese officers' eyes that it was so easy. History probably tells us now that this extreme act of pragmatism by the British Officers was correct, but the few remaining men who suffered the deprivations and brutality of Changi and that terrible railroad may have a different perspective on the decision.
But back to 1999 and Pulau Ubin. You hire a bike now; the choice is from dodgy ones at $3 up to top range ones with suspension at $13. I went for a mid range one at $6.
Ubin is a patch of rain forest, a granite quarry, tropical beaches and a few villages. It is sanitised rain forest with tarmac tracks and road signs, really a "jungle theme park" but the jungle is real, and the villages and shacks you pass are real and inhabited by real people. The village of Pulau is a Vintage Japanese bike fan's dream. There are loads of rusting small bikes from the 70's 80s and 90s leaning against shacks, or driven by wizened little old men. The cafe owner told me that they've no licences, no insurance and are maintained to the lowest standards. Honda Monkeys, a Suzuki GP100 and the tattiest collection of C50s 70s and 90s I’ve seen in a long time. The bikes over here are like the girls. It’s hard to tell the age of most of them, and they would surely benefit from bringing home and caring for!
The cafe in Pulau Ubin exudes the constant wail of Chinese pop music. Sitting in the cafe is a balding Yorkhireman in shorts (writing this), a Malaysian girl in mountain bike gear emblazoned with adverts for Volvo, another Englishman of my age who's probably doing the same as me, escaping for a day, a couple of young Singaporeans on a day trip from the city, and waitress of indeterminate age with tired eyes. The owner is friendly enough, happy to chat with the customers, about nothing in particular.
Looking out between the buildings over the strait, you can see the tower blocks of Changi in the distance. Do the inhabitants of Pulau Ubin look out from their windows over at Singapore like the prisoners of Alcatraz looked out over to San Francisco? It was said that on quiet nights with the wind in the right direction they could hear the people at the beach parties, laughing. It was said to be the worst punishment of all. I don't think that this is the case here.
The big question with Singapore for me is “who are the prisoners". No one is rushing to leave, no one go hungry, no one begs in the street. The majority of Singaporeans are prosperous and happy, as a result of the "benign dictatorship" of Mr Lee Kwan Yu. The "miracle" from 1965 to today is something unique; the people are hard working and have a strict sense of hierarchy. I'm "Dr John" here "lesser mortals” respect the academic title in a way that makes me feel a little uncomfortable. With someone of “equal status", I'm just that guy from the UK, and with the senior men I am expected to be respectful and subordinate. I was told by our local manager that my former managing director made a serious misjudgement of the culture here, by "rolling his sleeves up" and doing work that was below someone of such high standing.
This attitude is probably one of the keys to the success in material terms of Singapore. A compliant workforce, no unemployment, strict almost draconian laws on littering, drugs and crime, and a ban on public speaking without a licence. One can't help thinking though, that maybe the whole thing is built on sand. They grow nothing, import everything, from water to consumer goods, have little land left to speak of so only build upwards. You think "they can't afford to fall out with their neighbours" and "a serious blockade and they'd be starving in 6 weeks". The fact is that they have a symbiotic relationship with their neighbours. They depend on each other; each is better of for the other, being there. One for money and the other for resources. The best example of this is with water. It is piped, untreated, over the causeway from Malaysia, after which it is treated and sold back to them as potable water.
It's this symbiosis that lets them live in this artificial paradise, this "Disneyland with death penalties" as the father of Cyberpunk fiction, William Gibson famously quoted a few years back.
I managed to grab 15 minutes at the Changi Prison museum on the way back to the hotel. There they have built a replica of the famous prison chapel built by the British soldiers held captive there for three years from 1942 to 1945. On the wall is a moving "pin board" where people can leave dedications, one (from an Australian family) just said "thank you for the freedom". Some leave names and addresses of the former inmates who may have lost contact. The lucky ones are all in their 70s and 80s now. The others died of cholera, starvation, or the shock of amputations due to jungle sores.
In the museum I found a little more detail about the fall of Singapore, and the lives of the poor souls that worked and died in that hellish place. It seems the British were totally unprepared for the Japanese attack by land. A much smaller force of crack Japanese jungle troops defeated the large British force, which had no air cover, and no civil defence force. Hardly a shot was fired, the naval guns pointed impotently in the wrong direction. This may explain the modern day Singaporeans insistence upon national service, and having a large army, navy and air force.
The contrast between Pulau Ubin and Singapore itself is stark indeed. Singapore is all glass skyscrapers, office blocks and old white stone colonial buildings. Air-conditioned malls contain the best of Western consumer goods and, designer clothes. The people are smart, streetwise, and prosperous, but seem to rush around like ants. On Ubin, the bike hirers, the rusting Hondas and wooden shacks tell of a more relaxed lifestyle.
You tell me, at the beginning of this 3rd Millennium, who are the lucky ones?
Situated off the North East Coast of Singapore Pulau Ubin (Ubin Island) is a welcome escape from the tower blocks and air conditioning roar of down town Singapore. You get to it by "bum boat" from Changi Jetty, just a few miles from the notorious prison that the Japanese used with such brutality during the occupation. Bum boats, - "floating shacks" is the best way I can describe them, ply the short crossing to the Island for a dollar fifty Singapore (about 50p).
Landing at Pulau Ubin jetty is like stepping back 50 years. Except for the bicycle hirers, nothing seems to have changed since the Japanese surrendered in 1945. Bicycles have come to Singapore before of course, during that period of colonial arrogance, when the British surrounded Singapore harbour with naval guns and troops, ready for a sea-borne landing by the Imperial Army. The Japanese just got on their bikes, and cycled down the Malay Peninsular, over the causeway and in to Singapore. The British forces, I'm not sure whether through surprise or embarrassment, promptly surrendered and marched in to Changi Prison (presumably led by Alec Guinness and whistling "Colonel Bogey"). Watching the newsreels from that period, especially the one of the signing of the British surrender, you can see the look of disbelief in the Japanese officers' eyes that it was so easy. History probably tells us now that this extreme act of pragmatism by the British Officers was correct, but the few remaining men who suffered the deprivations and brutality of Changi and that terrible railroad may have a different perspective on the decision.
But back to 1999 and Pulau Ubin. You hire a bike now; the choice is from dodgy ones at $3 up to top range ones with suspension at $13. I went for a mid range one at $6.
Ubin is a patch of rain forest, a granite quarry, tropical beaches and a few villages. It is sanitised rain forest with tarmac tracks and road signs, really a "jungle theme park" but the jungle is real, and the villages and shacks you pass are real and inhabited by real people. The village of Pulau is a Vintage Japanese bike fan's dream. There are loads of rusting small bikes from the 70's 80s and 90s leaning against shacks, or driven by wizened little old men. The cafe owner told me that they've no licences, no insurance and are maintained to the lowest standards. Honda Monkeys, a Suzuki GP100 and the tattiest collection of C50s 70s and 90s I’ve seen in a long time. The bikes over here are like the girls. It’s hard to tell the age of most of them, and they would surely benefit from bringing home and caring for!
The cafe in Pulau Ubin exudes the constant wail of Chinese pop music. Sitting in the cafe is a balding Yorkhireman in shorts (writing this), a Malaysian girl in mountain bike gear emblazoned with adverts for Volvo, another Englishman of my age who's probably doing the same as me, escaping for a day, a couple of young Singaporeans on a day trip from the city, and waitress of indeterminate age with tired eyes. The owner is friendly enough, happy to chat with the customers, about nothing in particular.
Looking out between the buildings over the strait, you can see the tower blocks of Changi in the distance. Do the inhabitants of Pulau Ubin look out from their windows over at Singapore like the prisoners of Alcatraz looked out over to San Francisco? It was said that on quiet nights with the wind in the right direction they could hear the people at the beach parties, laughing. It was said to be the worst punishment of all. I don't think that this is the case here.
The big question with Singapore for me is “who are the prisoners". No one is rushing to leave, no one go hungry, no one begs in the street. The majority of Singaporeans are prosperous and happy, as a result of the "benign dictatorship" of Mr Lee Kwan Yu. The "miracle" from 1965 to today is something unique; the people are hard working and have a strict sense of hierarchy. I'm "Dr John" here "lesser mortals” respect the academic title in a way that makes me feel a little uncomfortable. With someone of “equal status", I'm just that guy from the UK, and with the senior men I am expected to be respectful and subordinate. I was told by our local manager that my former managing director made a serious misjudgement of the culture here, by "rolling his sleeves up" and doing work that was below someone of such high standing.
This attitude is probably one of the keys to the success in material terms of Singapore. A compliant workforce, no unemployment, strict almost draconian laws on littering, drugs and crime, and a ban on public speaking without a licence. One can't help thinking though, that maybe the whole thing is built on sand. They grow nothing, import everything, from water to consumer goods, have little land left to speak of so only build upwards. You think "they can't afford to fall out with their neighbours" and "a serious blockade and they'd be starving in 6 weeks". The fact is that they have a symbiotic relationship with their neighbours. They depend on each other; each is better of for the other, being there. One for money and the other for resources. The best example of this is with water. It is piped, untreated, over the causeway from Malaysia, after which it is treated and sold back to them as potable water.
It's this symbiosis that lets them live in this artificial paradise, this "Disneyland with death penalties" as the father of Cyberpunk fiction, William Gibson famously quoted a few years back.
I managed to grab 15 minutes at the Changi Prison museum on the way back to the hotel. There they have built a replica of the famous prison chapel built by the British soldiers held captive there for three years from 1942 to 1945. On the wall is a moving "pin board" where people can leave dedications, one (from an Australian family) just said "thank you for the freedom". Some leave names and addresses of the former inmates who may have lost contact. The lucky ones are all in their 70s and 80s now. The others died of cholera, starvation, or the shock of amputations due to jungle sores.
In the museum I found a little more detail about the fall of Singapore, and the lives of the poor souls that worked and died in that hellish place. It seems the British were totally unprepared for the Japanese attack by land. A much smaller force of crack Japanese jungle troops defeated the large British force, which had no air cover, and no civil defence force. Hardly a shot was fired, the naval guns pointed impotently in the wrong direction. This may explain the modern day Singaporeans insistence upon national service, and having a large army, navy and air force.
The contrast between Pulau Ubin and Singapore itself is stark indeed. Singapore is all glass skyscrapers, office blocks and old white stone colonial buildings. Air-conditioned malls contain the best of Western consumer goods and, designer clothes. The people are smart, streetwise, and prosperous, but seem to rush around like ants. On Ubin, the bike hirers, the rusting Hondas and wooden shacks tell of a more relaxed lifestyle.
You tell me, at the beginning of this 3rd Millennium, who are the lucky ones?
New York... pre 9/11
Written in January 2001, Before the twin towers came crashing down. (with quotes from Joni Mitchell)
"Woke up, it was a Chelsea Morning, and the first thing that I heard, was a song outside my window, and the traffic wrote the words........"
"Woke up, it was a Chelsea Morning, and the first thing that I heard, was a song outside my window, and the traffic wrote the words........"
I landed in
".......yellow schools of taxi fishes........"
When I arrive in a town I like to walk some of it to get the layout. Then I feel comfortable. I arrived in
Fortified by the Olympic Diner Breakfast, I decided to have a real look round. No one mugged me as I left.
I walked much of mid town
".....There are 29 skaters on Wolman Rink circling in singles and in pairs"
Well there might have been when Joni walked by, but not today, just a few joggers and dog-walkers. On the West side I walked up as far as
While black and white gives it character,
It’s a short walk from Grand Central Station, another deco monument, where you can nibble on a myriad of different fast foods and sip Cappuccino under gigantic chandeliers.
During my walk round
".......eat their young alive, for a Jaguar in the drive"
Always accompanied by mean men in Foster Grants, they suck this place dry; they leave a slime trail of dead souls behind them as they ply their deadly trade. Good people keep away. They keep away because of the hopelessness of it all. It’s better than it was,
"....business men in button downs press in to conference rooms"
Friday, July 4, 2008
"Diary of a Zwangsarbeiter" is now on line
As promised, to celebrate his 90th birthday I have now set up a separate blog to tell my father in law Czes’ fascinating and inspiring tale of his time as Polish Forced labourer "Zwangsarbeiter" in Germany in WW2 .
You can find the blog at http://polish-patriot.blogspot.com
I ask the reader to take what Czes told me as a genuine memoir. His mind even at 90 years of age is still razor sharp. Nevertheless I'm sure some of it will have been mis-remembered after more than 60 years, and some of it may even be downright embellished, but I hope reading it gives you as much pleasure as it has me hearing it first hand, and it gives you a first hand insight in to what it was like between 1939 and 1945 for those who were non-combatants, but still prisoners of war.
You can find the blog at http://polish-patriot.blogspot.com
I ask the reader to take what Czes told me as a genuine memoir. His mind even at 90 years of age is still razor sharp. Nevertheless I'm sure some of it will have been mis-remembered after more than 60 years, and some of it may even be downright embellished, but I hope reading it gives you as much pleasure as it has me hearing it first hand, and it gives you a first hand insight in to what it was like between 1939 and 1945 for those who were non-combatants, but still prisoners of war.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
What the hell is a "Round Tuit" anyway and why is it round?
Well I finally did it......! I quit my job, after the moribund company I worked for was bought out by the Mighty Amway Corporation from the Good old US of A.....
My reasons for quitting should be obvious to all reasonable minded people, but if you still don't get it, just Google "Amway Sucks." I rest my case....
Well I've done my Garden Leave (thanks Amway!) and I really am now unemployed. I have time to play Amateur Radio to my heart's content, put up annoying structures in the back garden, hang wires off the house and get on with all the things I was going to do because I never got a Round Tuit.
After all these years, I now know what a Round Tuit really is and I am the proud owner of one.
As of today, I'm officially "self employed", setting up two websites, (radio and business) and am planning to split this blog in to at least two; this general one for ramblings, and one soley for recounting the wartime exploits of an "Zwangsarbeiter" a certain, now 90 year old (bless him!) Polish relative by marriage. About 3 years ago I sat down with him with a tape recorder over a 3 month period and just got him to reminisce. What I have transcribed I think you'll find is both fascinating and horifying at the same time.
Watch this space for more details.
My reasons for quitting should be obvious to all reasonable minded people, but if you still don't get it, just Google "Amway Sucks." I rest my case....
Well I've done my Garden Leave (thanks Amway!) and I really am now unemployed. I have time to play Amateur Radio to my heart's content, put up annoying structures in the back garden, hang wires off the house and get on with all the things I was going to do because I never got a Round Tuit.
After all these years, I now know what a Round Tuit really is and I am the proud owner of one.
As of today, I'm officially "self employed", setting up two websites, (radio and business) and am planning to split this blog in to at least two; this general one for ramblings, and one soley for recounting the wartime exploits of an "Zwangsarbeiter" a certain, now 90 year old (bless him!) Polish relative by marriage. About 3 years ago I sat down with him with a tape recorder over a 3 month period and just got him to reminisce. What I have transcribed I think you'll find is both fascinating and horifying at the same time.
Watch this space for more details.
Monday, April 14, 2008
In praise of cock-ups
Someone recently sent me a video of some French Canadian soldiers getting theirselves in a to a mess with a missile. I forwarded it to a friend who had spent some time in the service of a major regional power. Before we read the response, have a look at the video.
Priceless eh, but his reply was even funnier and made me realise that despite our millitary being undoubtedly brave, and sadly essential, sometimes it must be scarier for them to face their colleagues than to face the enemy!
I quote.......
“The video reminded me very strongly of my military experience (conscripted) back in '85, where during the first 3 month training period, we were at a missile test range where we were doing ground launch tests of a new dogfight missile off a static launch rail. Unfortunately some knucklehead forgot to strap down the rail, so when the missile took off, the rail went vertical and the missile went straight up. Everyone scattered as far as they could, except for one guy who ran from behind the sandbags to stand right next to the launch rail. When asked later, his response was something along the lines of "what on earth is the probability that it would land back on the launch rail"
Lateral thinking at it's best, I'd say, clear evidence that, in the lower ranks, the millitary have some common sense!
Priceless eh, but his reply was even funnier and made me realise that despite our millitary being undoubtedly brave, and sadly essential, sometimes it must be scarier for them to face their colleagues than to face the enemy!
I quote.......
“The video reminded me very strongly of my military experience (conscripted) back in '85, where during the first 3 month training period, we were at a missile test range where we were doing ground launch tests of a new dogfight missile off a static launch rail. Unfortunately some knucklehead forgot to strap down the rail, so when the missile took off, the rail went vertical and the missile went straight up. Everyone scattered as far as they could, except for one guy who ran from behind the sandbags to stand right next to the launch rail. When asked later, his response was something along the lines of "what on earth is the probability that it would land back on the launch rail"
Lateral thinking at it's best, I'd say, clear evidence that, in the lower ranks, the millitary have some common sense!
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
No more biscuits or free fruit.
Bless me Father because I have sinned, it has been 3 months since my last blog, and quite a lot has happened to keep me away! I seem to have been round the world at least twice but despite my best efforts, I now work for a company in administration! Despite trips to the US (twice) Taiwan, and Korea our financial benefactors have pulled out the last promised tranche of their loan and I found myself this morning saying goodbye to a number of colleagues and hello to administrators.
Particularly frustrating considering how close we are to delivering product. Well we’ll see how the next two weeks go.
A second major casualty seems to have been the free fruit and biscuits; we will all be suffering from scurvy before the week is out mark my words.
I’m pleased to say that now (unless a thousand others are lurking passively in the background), I seem to have three readers of this blog, and the latest one is most welcome and knows who he is. Welcome JRM, it’s been a while, this is for you!
"They paved paradise, put up a parking lot.
With a Pink Hotel, a boutique and a swinging hot spot......."
The Uncertainty Principle of Physics states that if you know the mass of an object you cannot determine its velocity, and vice versa. In the first half of the 20th century, Werner Heisenberg postulated that simple-sounding principle, which implied that the mere action of measuring something changes it, such that you can never measure anything absolutely.
Another way of looking at it implies that, being there changes where you are.
This principle can be applied I'm sure, to much of what surrounds us in this new millennium. The mere presence of mankind in this world changes it. It's particularly noticeable with regard to beauty spots, as holidaymakers strive for more and more distant and unspoilt places to drop Coke cans as developers put up concrete. I note the Western European Monocuture that seems to be developing everywhere I go.
Joni Mitchell's song "Big Yellow Taxi" observed this trend at the end of the 60's in a few carefully crafted lines. Predictably, the "Love Generation", post - war baby- boomers with too much disposable income, who went to Goa to escape their apparent tribulations, found that the "end of the hippie trail", their "paradise" inevitably sprouted the "Pink Hotels" that had been so eloquently used to epitomise 1960s California.
The question to be asked is "is this type of change inevitable?"
How many times have you re-visited a favourite place to find it changed? It can change in obvious ways. Try following a "Favourite Walks" section from Spanish or Greek tourist guide book more than a few years old, and you'll see what I mean.
"Follow the river for a mile until you get to the small well, here the path diverges from the river......"
has become.
"If you look carefully you can see the culvert where the stream used to be, follow the pavement past the souvenir shop......."
You get the picture.
Places also seem to change in far more subtle ways. The physical changes may be small, but they are very different. A place is also people and memories.
The people you met the first time are not there this time. You realise then that the holiday was more than just the place. You change and the people you go with change. These things always combine to make the place different.
But does the Uncertainty Principle apply to life? The simple fact of living life changes life? Life changes people for sure. They change shape, get wrinkles and bunions, but this is just an example of Entropy, another physical principle that states that all things go from a state of order to disorder.
Return to the honeymoon isle and it's not the same. Even though the rocks are in the same place, the cafe is still there, the tide still goes in and out, and the tired Greek still drops fag-ash in the keftedes. It's different, you are different, and you changed it by the mere fact that you went there the first time. The first time you saw it with a different pair of eyes, but who's to say that the place hasn't changed? The teenager who raced snails in the rain has responsibilities now.
You have changed life with the smallest of decisions.
Heisenberg strikes!
You live life therefore you change it. Having that child, getting that job, not taking that flight, made life different from what it could have been.
Each small decision in life causes a fork in your reality, and opens up an alternative one, but unlike the cheap science fiction, there's no going back to the junction and living the alternative reality that would have been just as real if you'd turned right not left.
Particularly frustrating considering how close we are to delivering product. Well we’ll see how the next two weeks go.
A second major casualty seems to have been the free fruit and biscuits; we will all be suffering from scurvy before the week is out mark my words.
I’m pleased to say that now (unless a thousand others are lurking passively in the background), I seem to have three readers of this blog, and the latest one is most welcome and knows who he is. Welcome JRM, it’s been a while, this is for you!
"They paved paradise, put up a parking lot.
With a Pink Hotel, a boutique and a swinging hot spot......."
The Uncertainty Principle of Physics states that if you know the mass of an object you cannot determine its velocity, and vice versa. In the first half of the 20th century, Werner Heisenberg postulated that simple-sounding principle, which implied that the mere action of measuring something changes it, such that you can never measure anything absolutely.
Another way of looking at it implies that, being there changes where you are.
This principle can be applied I'm sure, to much of what surrounds us in this new millennium. The mere presence of mankind in this world changes it. It's particularly noticeable with regard to beauty spots, as holidaymakers strive for more and more distant and unspoilt places to drop Coke cans as developers put up concrete. I note the Western European Monocuture that seems to be developing everywhere I go.
Joni Mitchell's song "Big Yellow Taxi" observed this trend at the end of the 60's in a few carefully crafted lines. Predictably, the "Love Generation", post - war baby- boomers with too much disposable income, who went to Goa to escape their apparent tribulations, found that the "end of the hippie trail", their "paradise" inevitably sprouted the "Pink Hotels" that had been so eloquently used to epitomise 1960s California.
The question to be asked is "is this type of change inevitable?"
How many times have you re-visited a favourite place to find it changed? It can change in obvious ways. Try following a "Favourite Walks" section from Spanish or Greek tourist guide book more than a few years old, and you'll see what I mean.
"Follow the river for a mile until you get to the small well, here the path diverges from the river......"
has become.
"If you look carefully you can see the culvert where the stream used to be, follow the pavement past the souvenir shop......."
You get the picture.
Places also seem to change in far more subtle ways. The physical changes may be small, but they are very different. A place is also people and memories.
The people you met the first time are not there this time. You realise then that the holiday was more than just the place. You change and the people you go with change. These things always combine to make the place different.
But does the Uncertainty Principle apply to life? The simple fact of living life changes life? Life changes people for sure. They change shape, get wrinkles and bunions, but this is just an example of Entropy, another physical principle that states that all things go from a state of order to disorder.
Return to the honeymoon isle and it's not the same. Even though the rocks are in the same place, the cafe is still there, the tide still goes in and out, and the tired Greek still drops fag-ash in the keftedes. It's different, you are different, and you changed it by the mere fact that you went there the first time. The first time you saw it with a different pair of eyes, but who's to say that the place hasn't changed? The teenager who raced snails in the rain has responsibilities now.
You have changed life with the smallest of decisions.
Heisenberg strikes!
You live life therefore you change it. Having that child, getting that job, not taking that flight, made life different from what it could have been.
Each small decision in life causes a fork in your reality, and opens up an alternative one, but unlike the cheap science fiction, there's no going back to the junction and living the alternative reality that would have been just as real if you'd turned right not left.
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