tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-177269752024-02-06T21:16:04.547-08:00ThatManA bit of whimsy for me to keep me hand in at the old writing game. Not much there yet--but great oaks from little acorns grow-they say...Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-91990171455652744862010-12-05T04:21:00.000-08:002010-12-05T04:35:15.656-08:00Penny Lane / Hello, GoodbyeIt has been a while since I had time to update this blog and two songs have been sung since last time. In November we had the marvelous bit of nonsense verse that is <span style="font-style:italic;">Penny Lane </span>and this month we have just started with <span style="font-style:italic;">Hello, Goodbye</span>, which makes a bit more sense, but not much. Both from the eventful year that was 1967.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Penny Lane</span> was written about the sights and sounds to be seen and heard about the eponymous location in the suburbs of Liverpool. Penny Lane is named after James Penny who was an 18th century slave trader and a strong opponent of abolition. McCartney and Lennon grew up in the area and they would meet at Penny Lane junction in the Mossley Hill area to catch a bus into the centre of the city. The street is now an important landmark, sought out by most Beatles fans touring Liverpool. In the past, street signs saying "Penny Lane" were constantly being stolen for souvenirs and had to be continually replaced. Eventually, the Liverpool city officials gave up and simply began painting the street name on the sides of buildings. This practice was stopped in 2007 and more theft-resistant Penny Lane street signs were installed though some are still stolen. In July 2006, a Liverpool Councillor proposed renaming certain streets because their names were linked to the slave trade. Ultimately, city officials decided to forego the name change and re-evaluate the entire renaming process. On 10 July 2006, it was revealed that Liverpool officials said they would modify the proposal to exclude Penny Lane. <br /><br />The students had a lot of fun singing Penny Lane especially when I explained the slightly naughty nature of some of the lyrics.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs<br />Of every head he's had the pleasure to have known<br />And all the people that come and go<br />Stop and say hello<br /><br />On the corner is a banker with a motorcar<br />The little children laugh at him behind his back<br />And the banker never wears a mac<br />In the pouring rain...<br />Very strange<br /><br />Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes<br />There beneath the blue suburban skies<br />I sit, and meanwhile back<br /><br />In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass<br />And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen.<br />He likes to keep his fire engine clean<br />It's a clean machine<br /></span><br />(Trumpet Solo)<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes<br />Four of fish and finger pies<br />In summer, meanwhile back<br /><br />Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout<br />A pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray<br />And though she feels as if she's in a play<br />She is anyway<br /><br />Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer<br />We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim<br />Then the fireman rushes in<br />From the pouring rain...<br />Very strange<br /><br />Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes<br />There beneath the blue suburban skies<br />I sit, and meanwhile back<br />Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes<br />There beneath the blue suburban skies...<br />Penny Lane.</span><br /><br />About half-way through the month of November, the TOEIC results were announced and it turned out that 95% of the students who had been part of this singing experiment had managed to improve their score. Half a dozen individuals had added 100 points or more. Whether this was really due to the singing is impossible to prove, of course, but it does no harm to be aware that they happened at the same time.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Hello, Goodbye</span> was released in November 1967 as a monophonic 7-inch single. It was not available in stereo until it was included in the 1973 compilation album 1967-70. With the release of the song, McCartney gave an explanation of its meaning in an interview with Disc: “The answer to everything is simple. It's a song about everything and nothing. If you have black you have to have white. That’s the amazing thing about life.” <br />In the UK <span style="font-style:italic;">Hello, Goodbye</span> spent seven weeks at Number One including Christmas.<br />The students are having an easier time with this one than they did with <span style="font-style:italic;">Penny Lane</span>, but on the other hand there is less to discuss.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">You say yes, I say no -- You say stop and I say go, go, go <br />Oh, no <br />You say goodbye and I say Hello <br />Hello, Hello -- I don't know why you say goodbye <br />I say hello <br />Hello, Hello --I don't know why you say goodbye <br />I say Hello <br /><br />I say high, you say low -- You say why, and I say I don't know <br />Oh, no <br />You say goodbye and I say Hello <br />Hello, hello -- I don't know why you say goodbye <br />I say hello <br />Hello, Hello -- I don't know why you say goodbye <br />I say Hello <br /><br />Why, why, why, why, why, why <br />Do you say Good bye <br />Goodbye, bye, bye, bye, bye <br /><br />Oh, no <br />You say goodbye and I say hello <br />Hello, Hello --I don't know why you say goodbye <br />I say hello <br />Hello, Hello -- I don't know why you say goodbye <br />I say hello <br />Hello, Hello --I don't know why you say goodbye I say Hello <br />Hello <br /><br />Hela, heba helloa <br />Hela, heba helloa</span>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-2468609795121846222010-05-24T05:23:00.000-07:002010-05-24T07:00:29.335-07:00The Long and Winding Road<span style="font-style:italic;">The Long and Winding Road</span> is a ballad written by Paul McCartney (credited to Lennon/McCartney) that originally appeared on The Beatles’ final album <span style="font-style:italic;">Let it Be<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span>. It became The Beatles’ last number-one song in the United States on 23 May 1970, and was the last single released by the quartet. <span style="font-style:italic;">The Long and Winding Road</span> was listed with <span style="font-style:italic;">For You Blue</span> as a double-sided hit when the single hit number one on the U.S. <span style="font-style:italic;">Billboard Hot 100</span> in 1970.<br />While the released version of the song was very successful, the post-production modifications to the song by producer Phil Spector angered McCartney to the point that when he made his case in court for breaking up the Beatles as a legal entity McCartney cited the treatment of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Long and Winding Road</span> as one of six reasons for doing so.<br /><br />In 2003, the remaining Beatles and Yoko Ono released <span style="font-style:italic;">Let it Be… Naked</span>, touted as the band's version of Let It Be remixed by independent producers. McCartney claimed that his long-standing dissatisfaction with the released version of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Long and Winding Road</span> (and the entire <span style="font-style:italic;">Let It Be</span> album) was in part the impetus for the new version. The album included a different take, Take 19, of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Long and Winding Road</span> recorded on 31 January. Although a different take, this version is nonetheless closer to McCartney's original intention than the album version, with no strings or other added instrumentation beyond that which was played in the studio at the time. This take is the one seen in the film <span style="font-style:italic;">Let it Be</span>.<br /><br />Ringo Starr was impressed with the Naked version of the song: “There's nothing wrong with Phil's strings, this is just a different attitude to listening. But it's been 30-odd years since I've heard it without all that and it just blew me away."[3] Spector himself argued that McCartney was being hypocritical in his criticism: “Paul had no problem picking up the Academy Award for the Let it Be movie soundtrack, nor did he have any problem in using my arrangement of the string and horn and choir parts when he performed it during 25 years of touring on his own. If Paul wants to get into a pissing contest about it, he's got me mixed up with someone who gives a shit.”<br />All of which goes to show what a delightful character is Phil Spector, currently serving a prison sentence of 19 years to life for murder in the second degree.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The long and winding road<br />That leads to your door<br />Will never disappear<br />I’ve seen that road before<br />It always leads me here<br />Lead me to your door.<br /><br />The wild and windy night<br />That the rain washed away<br />Has left a pool of tears<br />Crying for the day.<br />Why leave me standing here?<br />Let me know the way.<br /><br />Many times I’ve been alone<br />And many times I’ve cried,<br />Anyway you’ve always known<br />The many ways I’ve tried.<br /><br />And still they lead me back<br />To the long, winding road<br />You left me waiting here<br />A long, long time ago<br />Don't keep me standing here<br />Lead me to your door.<br /><br />But still they lead me back<br />To the long winding road<br />You left me waiting here<br />A long, long time ago <br />Don't leave me standing here <br />Lead me to your door.<br /></span><br />Lennon/McCartney 1970<br /><br />To my generation <span style="font-style:italic;">The Long and Winding Road</span> marked the end of an era during which we grew up. I was only 15 years old in May 1970, and to be quite honest, didn’t like the Beatles all that much. They were mainly singing about things I was too young to understand. However, at that time I had developed an all-embracing crush on a young lady called Victoria. Unfortunately she was not much interested in me, the gawky, spotty impecunious, callow youth that I was. Victoria lived about three miles away from our house, out of town almost. I would walk those three miles late every Saturday afternoon, knock on her door and ask her out for the evening. And she always turned me down, albeit with a sweet smile, for some reason or other and always with a “Maybe next week…” And I would walk the three miles back to our house every week, feeling that Mr McCartney was singing his song about the Long and Winding Road just for me. This went on for six months, by which time I had turned sixteen, covered about 150 miles and worn out a pair of suede desert boots. Looking at the distressed footwear I eventually came to the conclusion that I was on a hiding to nothing, and gave up. I realize now that this was a kind of <span style="font-style:italic;">ningen kousaten</span>, as the Japanese call it, or human crossroads. If Victoria had consented but once, my whole life might have been very different. <br /><br />Food for thought, indeed.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-37773164038366797032010-04-13T05:35:00.000-07:002010-04-13T05:44:46.639-07:00Sakura SakuraAs the cherry blossom season has been upon us recently and with it the attendant viewing parties, I chose the lovely Irish ballad <span style="font-style:italic;">The Jug of Punch</span> for April’s song. <br /><br />We actually managed two evening viewing parties this year. The first one was a little early and the blossoms were only about 30% open, but it was a pleasant evening and a good time was had by all, with lots of <span style="font-style:italic;">sake</span> put away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GKInmLQK86mKE8fVEJkXecNy4SepNH4Dto3QTyqI1ekHST4pgFo4K4i2evr6iIlDOIs0PpsVjScrCMGhY9TKUWJIk9u0IM4zao-ie6Aijndj66Raprr28adlXWJFdfkGwghr6g/s1600/hanami1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GKInmLQK86mKE8fVEJkXecNy4SepNH4Dto3QTyqI1ekHST4pgFo4K4i2evr6iIlDOIs0PpsVjScrCMGhY9TKUWJIk9u0IM4zao-ie6Aijndj66Raprr28adlXWJFdfkGwghr6g/s400/hanami1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459601003733877570" /></a><br /><br />The second one was a week later and the blossoms were in <span style="font-style:italic;">man-kai</span> (fully opened) mode. However, there was a bitterly cold wind and sporadic drizzle, which meant we only lasted an hour or so before abandoning proceedings. So it goes…<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38ns8AlvP44X8uuKCDLaDkD_sf6MBCekwc-BxjYLiToeZlWQ_BmLJx1O6JmSBlzbIlKEIdpPNn5a6Z12kAA-vKD5J3BM0hy_EtmKCHabJ-WQjRqaC6uTO1R7eiIl-39fKOZaWVA/s1600/sakura.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38ns8AlvP44X8uuKCDLaDkD_sf6MBCekwc-BxjYLiToeZlWQ_BmLJx1O6JmSBlzbIlKEIdpPNn5a6Z12kAA-vKD5J3BM0hy_EtmKCHabJ-WQjRqaC6uTO1R7eiIl-39fKOZaWVA/s400/sakura.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459601332611935794" /></a><br /><br />I assume the words to this song are traditional, as there seem to be several variations knocking about. The version here is as I remember it was performed by the late Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">One pleasant evenin’ in the month of June<br />As I was sittin’ with my glass an’ spoon<br />A small bird sat on an ivy bunch<br />And the song he sang was The Jug Of Punch</span><br />(Chorus)<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Tooralooraloo... Tooralooralay…<br />Tooralooraloo…Tooralooralay<br />A small bird sat on an ivy bunch<br />And the song he sang was The Jug Of Punch<br /><br />What more diversion can a man desire<br />Than to sit him down by a snug turf fire<br />Upon his knee there a pretty wench<br />And on the table a jug of punch?</span><br />(Chorus)<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Let the doctors come with all their art<br />They’ll make no impression upon my heart<br />But if life was gone, within an inch,<br />What would bring it back but a jug of punch?</span><br />(Chorus)<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">And if I get drunk, well the money’s my own<br />And them as don’t like me they can leave me alone<br />I’ll tune my fiddle and I’ll rosin my bow<br />And I’ll be welcome wherever I go</span><br />(Chorus)<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">And when I'm dead and in my grave<br />No costly tombstone will I crave<br />Just lay me down in my native peat<br />With a jug of punch at my head and feet.</span><br />(Chorus)<br /><br />TraditionalCap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-20232209377206088062010-03-08T05:11:00.000-08:002010-03-08T05:45:58.923-08:00You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zhgPWd7StWlx1mIVwJWB2P7zxWq-lPNxm8RAWDKZ0cphKpe6LPtNCG8jIJXL8cW1e9IS5j6MObFn9ohm9mO13kOi_WBN2lRjOKDAaqaza5uiQZgnqJG5C_TBN-bxcxNCSCjxcg/s1600-h/File-Elderly_swagman.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zhgPWd7StWlx1mIVwJWB2P7zxWq-lPNxm8RAWDKZ0cphKpe6LPtNCG8jIJXL8cW1e9IS5j6MObFn9ohm9mO13kOi_WBN2lRjOKDAaqaza5uiQZgnqJG5C_TBN-bxcxNCSCjxcg/s400/File-Elderly_swagman.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446251480656200802" /></a><br />Last month’s practice TOEIC test showed consistent high scores overall, showing that the January results were not a one-off fluke. For March I have chosen the old Aussie favourite <span style="font-style:italic;">Waltzing Matilda</span>. This one is nice and easy to learn and is well represented on YouTube. Of course, part of the fun is found in pre-teaching the unique Australian vocabulary that gives the song its charm. <br />I was a little surprised that only 2 students (out of the 100 or so in my classes) had ever heard of <span style="font-style:italic;">Waltzing Matilda</span> and that precisely none of them knew what it was about. So, in case you, dear reader, are in the latter category, here goes:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Swagman</span>––a homeless itinerant who wandered the Australian bush looking for work carrying all his possessions (his swag) on his back. The backpack was affectionately known as his ‘Matilda’; as it was his only companion it was as well it had a feminine moniker. ‘Waltzing’ was the walking he did (possibly from the German <span style="font-style:italic;">auf der Walz</span> which means to travel while working as a craftsman and learn new techniques from other masters before returning home after three years and one day, a custom which is apparently still in use today).<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Billabong</span>—an oxbow lake left behind by a river changing course during flash flooding, or any kind of deep pool.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Coolibah</span>—a variety of eucalyptus which grows near billabongs.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Billy</span>—short for billy-can, a metal pot for making tea or coffee over a campfire.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jumbuck</span>—a kind of feral sheep which had roamed from its flock. Sheep were introduced to Australia by the British government in the 19th century.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Tucker</span> bag—a bag for carrying tucker (food).<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Squatter</span>—an early farmer in Australia who raised livestock on land he did not legally own, but had permission to use. The farm workers for the most part were prison labourers who had been sentenced to transportation by a British court. They were obliged to work for food and lodging only for 7 years on average, before being released. Having no savings to show for 7 years effort, many then became swagmen. Many squatters became fabulously rich, as a result of the low labour costs of their businesses.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Trooper</span>—a mounted policeman.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong<br />Under the shade of a coolibah tree,<br />And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"<br /><br />Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"<br />And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled,<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".<br /><br />Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong,<br />Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,<br />And he sang as he stowed that jumbuck in his tucker bag,<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".<br /><br />Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda <br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"<br />And he sang as he stowed that jumbuck in his tucker bag,<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".<br /><br />Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred,<br />Down came the troopers, one, two, three,<br />"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?"<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".<br /><br />Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda etc<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"<br />"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?",<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".<br /><br />Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong,<br />"You'll never take me alive", said he,<br />And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".<br /><br />Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"<br />And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,<br />"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."<br />"Oh, You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."</span><br /><br /><br />Lyrics: Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Patterson 1895<br />Music: Christina Macpherson<br /><br /><br />This song is held in great regard by most Australians as it aptly describes the early social conditions of their nation. In fact many would prefer it to be their national anthem, rather than the turgid <span style="font-style:italic;">Advance Australia Fair</span>.<br /><br />It is worth noting that sheep-stealing in colonial Oz was a capital offence and the ‘swaggie’ obviously considered that drowning himself was a better course than the gallows. Not the happiest of endings, but a great song nevertheless.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-87724303288270832312010-02-07T04:43:00.000-08:002010-02-07T04:52:05.238-08:00Right to RoamThe singing of songs has continued apace, particularly after the results of a short TOEIC practice listening test at the end of January. Out of about 75 people who took this test, only two scored 5 out of 8. This 62.5%, if averaged across the board in an actual test, would net the test-taker a score in the low 600s--which would easily be 100 points up on most people’s 2009 score. However, 36 people scored 6 out of 8, 28 scored 7 out of 8 and an elite group took full marks. As the realization of what this meant sank in, grins became broader and broader. They are beginning to believe in ‘Yes We Can’, so thank you President Obama for that.<br /><br />As it is February now, we have a new song to sing. This month I have chosen <span style="font-style:italic;">The Manchester Rambler</span>, which has an easily acquired melody and an interesting history.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I’ve been over Snowdon, I’ve slept up on Crowden,<br />I’ve camped by The Wainstones as well.<br />I’ve sunbathed on Kinder, been burned to a cinder,<br />And many more things I can tell.<br />My rucksack has oft been my pillow,<br />The heather has oft been my bed.<br />And sooner than part from the mountains,<br />I think I would rather be dead.<br /><br />(Chorus)<br />I’m a rambler, I’m a rambler, from Manchester way,<br />I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way.<br />I may be a wage-slave on Monday,<br />But I am a free man on Sunday.<br /><br />The day was just ending, and I was descending,<br />Down Grindsbrook just by Upper Tor.<br />When a voice cried “Hey you!”<br />In the way keepers do,<br />He’d the worst face that ever I saw.<br />The things that he said were unpleasant,<br />In the teeth of his fury I said,<br />Sooner than part from the mountains,<br />I think I would rather be dead.<br />(Chorus)<br /><br />He called me a louse and said “Think of the grouse”<br />Well I thought but I just couldn’t see.<br />Why old Kinder Scout and the moors round about,<br />Couldn’t take both the poor grouse and me.<br />He said “All this land is my master’s”<br />At that I stood shaking my head.<br />No man has the right to own mountains,<br />Any more than the deep ocean bed.<br />(Chorus)<br /><br />I once loved a maid, a spot-welder by trade,<br />She was fair as the rowan in bloom.<br />And the blue of her eye matched the June moorland sky,<br />And I wooed her from April till June.<br />On the day that we should have been married,<br />I went for a ramble instead.<br />For sooner than part from the mountains,<br />I think I would rather be dead.<br />(Chorus)<br /><br />So I’ll walk where I will, over mountain and hill,<br />And I’ll lie where the bracken is deep.<br />I belong to the mountains, the clear running fountains,<br />Where the grey rocks lie rugged and steep.<br />I’ve seen the white hare in the gullies,<br />And the curlew fly high overhead.<br />And sooner than part from the mountains,<br />I think I would rather be dead.<br />(Chorus)<br /></span><br />Ewan MacColl 1933<br /><br />The song recalls the heady days of the early ’Thirties and the mass trespass movement.<br />The first mass trespass was a notable act of willful trespass by ramblers. It was undertaken at Kinder Scout in the Peak District of England, on 24 April 1932, to highlight weaknesses in English law of the time. This denied walkers in England or Wales access to areas of open country, and to public footpaths which, in previous ages (and today), formed public rights of way. Political and conservation activist Benny Rothman was one of the principal leaders. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr02T6BnZ0J7CmJRL9lsBEgJtOVQ-I0jwXpAKG_kcoM2QyrAm0arfi3V8loc_eSuxeFVCD72LX0abjAhfYnWvWuuyhgXxvtV2NytQeD9z2EOc1tMtuosZQAm_-vFmFkavaIbF9xw/s1600-h/North_Flank_Kinder_Scout.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr02T6BnZ0J7CmJRL9lsBEgJtOVQ-I0jwXpAKG_kcoM2QyrAm0arfi3V8loc_eSuxeFVCD72LX0abjAhfYnWvWuuyhgXxvtV2NytQeD9z2EOc1tMtuosZQAm_-vFmFkavaIbF9xw/s400/North_Flank_Kinder_Scout.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435481846032951842" /></a><br />Kinder Scout from the North<br /><br />Although the event was originally opposed by the official ramblers’ federations, the vicious sentences which were handed down on five of the young trespassers actually served to unite the ramblers’ cause. <br />It is now recognized as a major catalyst not only for the Right to Roam, but the creation of the National Parks, of which the Peak District was the first in 1951. <br />In 2002, Andrew, the 11th Duke of Devonshire (who owns the land), publicly apologized at the 70th anniversary celebration event of the Kinder trespass at Bowden Bridge for his grandfather’s ‘great wrong’ in 1932:<br />“I am aware that I represent the villain of the piece this afternoon. But over the last 70 years times have changed and it gives me enormous pleasure to welcome walkers to my estate today. The trespass was a great shaming event on my family and the sentences handed down were appalling. But out of great evil can come great good. The trespass was the first event in the whole movement of access to the countryside and the creation of our national parks” <br /><br />Which all goes to show how much things have changed.<br /><br />Ewan MaColl has been gone from us since 1989, but the collection of great songs he left with us will last for a lot longer, of that I am sure.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-86354867851637456522010-01-10T03:35:00.000-08:002010-01-15T03:14:20.364-08:00Sailing homeward to MingulayFor January I have chosen the haunting ‘Mingulay Boat Song’ which has gone down very well with most classes. This song was not meant to be accompanied by instruments, but chanted in unison with the full breaths that it takes to pull long ropes or oars. In this aspect it is similar to the songs of chain-gangs swinging axes, being work songs to keep physical workers in unison. Therefore it is really sung best if you move your body in time to its rhythm, as if rowing a boat homeward. It was also good to find that ‘The Minch’, ‘bairns’ and ‘’ere’ are entries in my electronic E-J dictionary so there is no feeling of ‘we’re not learning real English here’. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Heel yo ho, boys; let her go, boys;<br />Bring her head round, into the weather,<br />Hill you ho, boys, let her go, boys<br />Sailing homeward to Mingulay<br /><br />What care we though, white the Minch is?<br />What care we for wind or weather?<br />Let her go boys; every inch is<br />Sailing homeward to Mingulay.<br /><br />Heel yo ho, boys; let her go, boys;<br />Bring her head round, and all together,<br />Hill you ho, boys, let her go, boys<br />Sailing homeward to Mingulay<br /><br />Wives are waiting, by the pier head,<br />Or looking seaward, from the heather;<br />Pull her round, boys, then we’ll anchor<br />`Ere the sun sets on Mingulay.<br /><br />Heel yo ho, boys; let her go, boys;<br />Bring her head round, into the weather,<br />Hill you ho, boys, let her go, boys<br />Sailing homeward to Mingulay<br /><br />Ships return now, heavy laden<br />Mothers holdin’ bairns a-cryin’<br />They’ll return, though, when the sun sets<br />They’ll return to Mingulay.<br /><br />Heel yo ho, boys; let her go, boys;<br />Bring her head round, and all together,<br />Hill you ho, boys, let her go, boys<br />Sailing homeward to Mingulay</span><br /><br />The original lyrics were written by Sir Hugh S. Roberton in 1938, however the original tune was a pipe tune, "Creag Guanach"; from Lochaber.<br /><br />What is interesting about this song is that, even though it sounds authentic, it was never sung by the inhabitants of the isle of Mingulay. <br /><br />Situated at the southern end of the Outer Hebrides, the storm-tossed rocky sanctuary was abandoned in 1912 after almost 2000 years on human habitation. Life presumably became too difficult to continue. The island is now owned by the National Trust for Scotland and is inhabited only by sheep and seabirds.<br /><br />Having started with America and now on to Scotland, to continue with a song for every month until the next TOEIC venture, we are going to move south to England next.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-52908271346721167892009-12-05T05:27:00.000-08:002009-12-05T05:47:59.081-08:00Slip me some skin...Following on from last week’s post, my singing voice has been severely tested this week, as I inflicted <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Boxes</span> on every class from Tuesday to Friday, with generally pleasing results. I think if we do this as a warm-up exercise at the beginning of every class, it will have the desired effect i.e. to get the students more in tune with the cadence of the English language. I have been scouring the WWW for suitable song lyrics and will introduce one every month till the time comes around for the TOEIC torture-chamber again. However, if my notion is correct, I expect it will be less of a torture-chamber in 2010. As we only have a couple of weeks left before the end of this term, and Christmas is coming, Felix Bernard’s 1934 <span style="font-style: italic;">Winter Wonderland</span> will get an airing next before we call it a day for 2009.<br /> <br />Another thing I tried this week was watching a VHS video movie clip, with Japanese subtitles, to see if there was good correlation between what was said on screen and what appeared at the foot of the screen. It turned out that there was, after a fashion, in that the students could understand what was going on on screen but they were generally unable to catch what the English words were, even after several repetitions. This seems to be because of elision, or syllable omission, which native speakers do as a matter of course when speaking naturally.<br /><br /> The clip I chose was from the 1987 movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Good morning Viet Nam</span>, which made Robin Williams into a star. This movie is set in Saigon in 1965 just as the Viet Nam ‘police action’ is about to escalate into a full-blown conflict. At about 1.17 the main character (Adrian Cronauer) first tells an outrageous falsehood, then resorts to bribery in order to persuade the Army EFL teacher to allow him to take over the class, so he can get a chance at dating the Vietnamese girl in white. In Japanese subtitles the soldier’s response is <span style="font-style: italic;">gojiyuu ni</span>, which means ‘feel free’ or something like that. However, what he actually says is “ ’<span style="font-style: italic;">sallyurrs – yuugaddit</span>” (It’s all yours, you’ve got it). The rest of the clip shows how the new ‘teacher’ is then hopelessly out of his depth as he has no idea how to proceed. He eventually has to confess that he is not a real teacher but achieves a measure of success, and popularity with the students by teaching them Harlem street slang. As he says, in the real world this is probably somewhat more useful to them than the hackneyed phrases the ‘real’ teacher was trying to teach, even though they were grammatically perfect.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzzEEJqjySKqXMSxzNPFSl5B5cVggWLMl6N7uV2VYuzIAWkt_9nwyu9zUJvz6fV50cfWz5GA-wJ4J0' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I think it is unlikely that the TOEIC test is ever going to test for knowledge of phrases like ‘slip me some skin’ or ‘groovy’, but it does use lots of natural spoken English in its listening sections. There are a lot of examples of elision in this short clip, which I was able to exploit and I hope will be useful to my students, especially for TOEIC.<br /><br />Full marks to those who noticed the subtitles are in Chinese not Japanese, but I’m sure my main assertion holds true.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-64835867970974475942009-11-28T05:07:00.000-08:002009-11-29T07:46:10.032-08:00Ticky-Tacky<name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <rel="File-List" href="file:///Users/johndean/Library/Preferences/Microsoft/Clipboard/msoclip1/01/clip_clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>10 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>2</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:compatibility> <w:spaceforul/> <w:balancesinglebytedoublebytewidth/> <w:donotleavebackslashalone/> <w:ultrailspace/> <w:donotexpandshiftreturn/> <w:adjustlineheightintable/> <w:usefelayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:nolinebreaksafter lang="JA">$([\{£¥‘“〈《「『【〔$([{「¥</w:NoLineBreaksAfter> <w:nolinebreaksbefore lang="JA">!%),.:;?]}¢°’”‰′″℃、。々〉》」』】〕゛゜ゝゞ・ヽヾ!%),.:;?]}。」、・゙゚</w:NoLineBreaksBefore> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:Osaka; panose-1:0 2 11 6 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:16777216 1800 268435456 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"\@Osaka"; panose-1:0 2 11 6 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:16777216 1800 268435456 0 131072 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;} h1 {mso-style-next:Normal; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; line-height:150%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; page-break-after:avoid; mso-outline-level:1; font-size:16.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning:0pt; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; font-weight:normal;} /* Page Definitions */ @page {mso-page-border-surround-header:no; mso-page-border-surround-footer:no;} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:.8in .8in .8in .8in; mso-header-margin:35.3pt; mso-footer-margin:35.3pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="">This is the first time I have had the inclination to update this blog in over a year, which is a pretty shambolic state of affairs. No excuses to be made, I have simply been very busy with proofreading/translation work to the extent that the deriving of pleasure from writing became almost impossible.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="">A possible reason for the return to the blog was that I have recently returned from the annual JALT (Japan Association of Language Teachers) conference, which this year was held in the city of Shizuoka in the Tokai district. I went up there by overnight bus in order to be there bright and early and not miss anything on the first day. The JR Dreamliner had reclining seats so I was able to catch a bit of shut-eye this time.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="">The first thing I noticed on arrival was that Mount Fuji was clearly visible in the distance, so a photo record was obtained. Seeing Japan’s sacred mountain so clearly is a relatively rare occurrence and we were lucky enough to have this happen twice over the weekend.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPbyLD0Vz-R6KwfgvEauJ1cti3RVOmBL-qpCHY_89IkXy3UJl56rThNBowZ7zUZCWcIZzydK2_Ii0ZBWfa6ECo_W8iwD6IahDFdolPMFxGq_wgsbU2U9lAfAJvZm08kYindOkgPA/s1600/meandfuji.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPbyLD0Vz-R6KwfgvEauJ1cti3RVOmBL-qpCHY_89IkXy3UJl56rThNBowZ7zUZCWcIZzydK2_Ii0ZBWfa6ECo_W8iwD6IahDFdolPMFxGq_wgsbU2U9lAfAJvZm08kYindOkgPA/s400/meandfuji.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409140682315190082" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="">As always the conference was a very lively and stimulating affair with all kinds of things going on by day and by night. I came away with some good ideas for improving the TOEIC scores that my students get, just by altering the focus of what we do in class. The Test Of English (for) International Communication causes no end of grief every year, first in preparing for it by doing practice tests and (usually) later when the scores are released and little to no improvement has taken place. This is sometimes referred to as the ‘Hammer and Humiliation’ method. However, after taking in some thought-provoking presentations during the conference I decided to try a separate tack to see if we can achieve better results. After all, in the relatively rare case that a student does get a better score than the previous year, s/he generally becomes a happier person and is thus easier to teach—so there is instrumental motivation for me there too.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="">We have been <i>singing</i></span><span style=""> in class this week, which met with some consternation at first, but ended up very positively. It has been shown in linguistic research that singing helps learners grasp the cadence of a language in ways that other methods fail to do. The song I chose was the late </span><span lang="EN-GB">Malvina Reynolds’ </span><span style="">marvellous ‘Little Boxes’ of 1962 which I loved as a child of eight or so, but which gradually took on a deeper meaning over time...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">Little boxes on the hillside<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">Little boxes made of ticky-tacky<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">Little boxes, little boxes<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">Little boxes all the same</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">There's a green one and a pink one<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And a blue one and a yellow one<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And they all look just the same</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And the people in the houses all went to the university<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">Where they all were put in boxes, little boxes all the same<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And there’s doctors and there’s lawyers and business executives<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And they all play on the golf course and drink their martini dry<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And they all have pretty children and the children go to school<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And the children go to summer camp and then to the university<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">Where they all g</span><span style="">e</span><span lang="EN-GB">t put in boxes, and they all come out just the same</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And the boys go into business and marry and raise a family<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">In boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">There's a green one, and a pink one<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And a blue one and a yellow one<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-style: italic;"><span lang="EN-GB">And they</span><span style="">’</span><span lang="EN-GB">re all made out of ticky-tacky<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-style: italic;">And they all look just the same</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-GB"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-GB">So now there is a whole new word in circulation around here–‘ticky-tacky’. The OED entry for this word credits Malvina Reynolds as the source of the word which is quite an achievement, to change the language with just a song. Someone once called it ‘the most sactimonious song ever written’ but I don’t think so. It’s a healthy thing to be able to laugh at ourselves as we beaver away in our little boxes at home or at work. It remains to be seen if this singing will improve the students grasp of natural English, but even if we’re going to hell in a bucket at least we’re enjoying the ride.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-37004100120196550462008-11-15T23:00:00.000-08:002008-12-15T03:47:57.272-08:00What I did on my holidays, Summer ’08If I don’t get round to this soon, it will be ’09 so no time like the present. I was a bit later in getting across to the UK this year, on account of having to go up to Saitama to support our son competing in the All-Japan Inter-High Track & Field Championships. He ended up taking 6th place in the discus throw and 4th in the javelin, which for him was a little disappointing as he is used to winning things at the regional level. As his parents we were very proud that he had made the best eight, it is easy to forget that he is still only sixteen. Since the summer he has won in a national event, the All-Japan Youth tournament in which he took gold in both discus and javelin, setting a new tournament record in the latter event, and also (on a different occasion) finally exceeding 50 metres in the discus throw. We are full of hope that he will continue onward and upward next season.<br /><br />When I finally got to Newcastle Airport it was a cool evening, but the next day it began to rain which set the pattern for the next three weeks. Rain, rain rain. There were a few sunny intervals, but there was not a single day without some precipitation. As a result, I spent a lot of time indoors and did not get out and about as much as I normally do. My sister had decided to remodel their kitchen and dining room by removing the partition wall and installing an RSJ to bear the weight of the upper floor, to leave themselves with a kitchen/diner. As a result I spent a large part of the first week performing the services of a builder’s labourer, removing breeze blocks and sundry rubble and generally doing muscle work.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8LqlL1SpCN5DVkW5JJLRetxKLHQk_8s9WsacXwRqqmWoLZ2EBnSu87zClO0DbZRxFwUdgA3j4VIoUlbHGfl8UuOKyZAmUDClYivd1yb-3apvOwJwuhoMN0eQDX6qcKHa3jpUl-g/s1600-h/building.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8LqlL1SpCN5DVkW5JJLRetxKLHQk_8s9WsacXwRqqmWoLZ2EBnSu87zClO0DbZRxFwUdgA3j4VIoUlbHGfl8UuOKyZAmUDClYivd1yb-3apvOwJwuhoMN0eQDX6qcKHa3jpUl-g/s400/building.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269147084929407618" border="0" /></a><br />As this work involved disablement of the cooking facilities, I ate my meals with my parents, while my sister and her husband ate out a lot. One morning we had a brunch barbecue but the rain intervened, which gave the opportunity of an ‘Only in Britain’ kind of picture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWI98rXnYa52rum8tUb5ZltP1yaFcN8OTBTxkh6qNGFVmeAU-JjsQl2FY4VdbFovXG-5H_XXbLWRMA0WEraU2P0V_hNo5K7zFloF24aCH5Tt00R1b_EEhoNC3rvnmi7Iu_krcoXA/s1600-h/rainbarbie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWI98rXnYa52rum8tUb5ZltP1yaFcN8OTBTxkh6qNGFVmeAU-JjsQl2FY4VdbFovXG-5H_XXbLWRMA0WEraU2P0V_hNo5K7zFloF24aCH5Tt00R1b_EEhoNC3rvnmi7Iu_krcoXA/s400/rainbarbie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269147382293733282" border="0" /></a><br />The work progressed up to the point where everything was safe but incomplete and then it was a change of venue, down to my old school where my sister’s theatre group were rehearsing for a musical. Time was running short so I volunteered my services as a carpenter, helping to build the set for the show which was called ‘A Slice of Saturday Night’ and takes place in a night club.<br /><br />I did manage to get to St James’ park on two occasions, the first of these was for an ‘Open Day’ when I also bought two tickets for the first home match of the season. The second was the match itself which was against Bolton Wanderers. I and most of the crowd were in good voice at first, full of expectancy as the team had performed well against Manchester United at Old Trafford on the previous Sunday, coming away with a creditable 1-1 draw. However, Bolton had not read the script and put in a gritty spoiling performance to blunt Newcastle’s cutting edge. The Toon were struggling and the away supporters were beginning to out-shout us. When we conceded a penalty with 25 minutes left on the clock things looked grim indeed. The indomitable Irishman Shay Given was having none of it though. He somehow saved the spot-kick with his legs and we breathed again. This galvanised the crowd and the whole stadium was rocking when Michael Owen scored the winning goal on 71 minutes to send us home happy. Four points from two games is a good start. Things have not continued in that happy vein though, and the club are currently up for sale, with a temporary manager (Joe Kinnear) in charge, sitting in the relegation zone. Today’s home game against Wigan Athletic is a real six-pointer, as they are known.<br /><br />In the final week, the weather gave the impression that it was going to improve and I gratefully accepted the offer to borrow a motorcycle from a good friend of mine intending to use it to travel south to Newcastle-Under-Lyme for the first part of an annual reunion with four old friends from UCW Aberystwyth. The machine is a Suzuki Bandit, customised in ‘Streetfighter’ fashion with an air/oil cooled 1200 cc engine. A very handsome piece of kit indeed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhhzB3MhbayB1QdNWH3-w-tsOhpydQ7BZM1CiW1UHQq0M3W3Jh7S-_U2ZWpsEU_uL0OvmSi2gNt9BNMK7eJxjMAHzqrv1kpzF4twH-1p1OKyUy0YFpyxAK4lPlZ2KwFAd0hCic_g/s1600-h/bandit.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhhzB3MhbayB1QdNWH3-w-tsOhpydQ7BZM1CiW1UHQq0M3W3Jh7S-_U2ZWpsEU_uL0OvmSi2gNt9BNMK7eJxjMAHzqrv1kpzF4twH-1p1OKyUy0YFpyxAK4lPlZ2KwFAd0hCic_g/s400/bandit.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269147655783836754" border="0" /></a><br />When I set off, the sun was shining and all was well. I had downloaded a route from the AA which avoided motorways which seemed like a good idea at the time. This led me through the Yorkshire towns of Harrogate and Halifax and the traffic was horrendous. Large-scale roadworks had put a lot of diversions in place and my AA route gradually became worthless. Eventually I headed up over Saddleworth Moor (of Moors Murders notoriety) in thick fog and light drizzle. Life was becoming quite unpleasant, but I pressed on and came down into Oldham where I was able to find a filling station and refuel. I had noticed that filling stations are now much thinner on the ground than they used to be and the Suzuki was running on reserve. Dusk was falling as I headed into the labyrinth that is Tameside and it was here that I totally lost the plot, eventually giving up and seeking help at Hyde police station. Here I was put right by a charming young WPC and was able to resume my journey via a short high speed blast down the M65. It had stopped drizzling by now and I was feeling somewhat happier, though I was seriously behind schedule. I had not seen a public telephone all day, they seem to have become an extinct species due to the rise of the mobile, and I knew my friends would be getting concerned. Then I was informed that the road to Leek was closed and all traffic had to use the Buxton road. As the road wound higher and higher, it soon transpired that this was the infamous Cat & Fiddle pass and I had to negotiate it in thick fog and drizzle. Great, just what the doctor ordered. Thank all that is wonderful for the man who invented the cat’s eye...<br />I finally arrived at my friend’s house at 22.40, about nine hours after setting out. A hot shower and a few stiff drinks later, I was feeling somewhat better.<br /><br />We continued our journey to Aberystwyth by car the next day, the motorcycle’s charm had worn a bit thin by then. It was locked up in my friend’s garage and left there. My friends got a lot of mileage out of my odyssey, it will be a long time before I hear the last of it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0RircAMKmJltD8bDzGM8O6s7apG3Dh29aI0uj2tDs-mG6zXtoJTPH42c4can1OZxzxcr5pto0dLxoCYZWYwkzWkJu6tH3v8vGTX5XLeXbiy1bH1c9oTH0omnwqZZN7-5Rx4IPw/s1600-h/aberoldcoll.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0RircAMKmJltD8bDzGM8O6s7apG3Dh29aI0uj2tDs-mG6zXtoJTPH42c4can1OZxzxcr5pto0dLxoCYZWYwkzWkJu6tH3v8vGTX5XLeXbiy1bH1c9oTH0omnwqZZN7-5Rx4IPw/s400/aberoldcoll.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269147980941492818" border="0" /></a><br />On the return journey I used the M6 motorway to Tebay and then across the magnificent expanse of Bowes Moor and so on to Durham via Barnard Castle and Staindrop. A lovely ride. What a contrast... Lessons learned so are rarely forgotten.<br /><br />On my final day, I visited the local flea-market, known as the ‘Casbah’ and in the evening went to see ‘A Slice of Saturday Night’. This was the final night and was a good show, a kind of Cockney version of ‘Grease’ mixed with ‘American Graffiti’, which did not pull any punches. Afterwards, there was the usual after-show party which meant I did not get to bed on time and rising early for the flight back was a real struggle.<br /><br />PS Newcastle Utd 2 – 2 Wigan Athletic Hmmm...Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-76654727434315938712008-07-13T05:50:00.000-07:002008-07-22T07:22:13.090-07:00Mad Dogs and EnglishmenAs I used the motorcycle the day before to go and watch my son in a Track & Field event, and petroleum spirit prices are the highest I have ever seen them, I decide to use the mountain-bike again for my Sunday outing. ‘You are mad’ declares my wife, shaking her head in pity, ‘It’s over thirty degrees out there.’ My daughter chips in with ‘It’s like <span style="font-style: italic;">Lawrence of Arabia </span>crossing Sinai—and you haven’t even got a camel’.<br /><br />However, I dismiss their talk as idle female chatter, drink plenty of water and set off, with more water in my backpack. My target is <span style="font-style: italic;">Tsukuhara-ko</span>, a large reservoir up in the mountains, which can be reached by using a special cycle road and is usually a pleasant ride. Today there is little wind and the heat haze off the tarmac is fierce, but I reason to myself that it will be cooler among the rice paddies and the irrigation water.<br /><br />The descent into the valley of the Akashi river is refreshing, but as soon as the route levels out again the heat returns. After I have covered about 8 kilometres, I realize that the womenfolk were right and this is crazy. So I pull into another of my favourite temples, <span style="font-style: italic;">Cho-fuku-ji</span>, and appreciate the wisdom of the The Buddha who advises me on the right kind of activity for a day like today.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJg3zawVgTV5GKvDVp3n9n6_kMQ0vso9AAuZTYAQLtaE_n11rb-n0w0C6WlJYjx_WyiorNb-o55C-eP_SZUf9LtTuQgieL6dJy5tCsQ2RMgetE9iEuI5rJAFZM_h6FiboWATYAvQ/s1600-h/reclinbud.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJg3zawVgTV5GKvDVp3n9n6_kMQ0vso9AAuZTYAQLtaE_n11rb-n0w0C6WlJYjx_WyiorNb-o55C-eP_SZUf9LtTuQgieL6dJy5tCsQ2RMgetE9iEuI5rJAFZM_h6FiboWATYAvQ/s400/reclinbud.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222481128265790706" border="0" /></a><br />The guardians of the temple, the Ni-Oh sama seem to be admonishing me for my folly in venturing out in such conditions.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWjyiTi3S6hgKslvF4gJhWVkIaE0hUDr_tiGG8-J5giYPm7yXHElPXmqVIuLV5wt7hDK_RgLe_NXDHXWkXjHQcBsWpYvVcDmzHk3FVi_ZifBudCTvJQY0yXjT2SId_RvTXFzQOg/s1600-h/ni-ohr.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWjyiTi3S6hgKslvF4gJhWVkIaE0hUDr_tiGG8-J5giYPm7yXHElPXmqVIuLV5wt7hDK_RgLe_NXDHXWkXjHQcBsWpYvVcDmzHk3FVi_ZifBudCTvJQY0yXjT2SId_RvTXFzQOg/s400/ni-ohr.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222481918069663554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMk2XuoHBDfR9QimVYryCNGy49t96SCuzJTuHFyPK9dlTipMP8U1WasidB7dNACkta72I7XgSGF-Z7t-uee90PJet6qe7-J1_6kR9jb-VJinkgwHHqLfbXDCQdwDKUVYCMYJMog/s1600-h/ni-0hl.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMk2XuoHBDfR9QimVYryCNGy49t96SCuzJTuHFyPK9dlTipMP8U1WasidB7dNACkta72I7XgSGF-Z7t-uee90PJet6qe7-J1_6kR9jb-VJinkgwHHqLfbXDCQdwDKUVYCMYJMog/s400/ni-0hl.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222481507565213490" border="0" /></a><br /></div>On my return journey, I take frequent rests and take some more photos with the mobile. One pine tree with a posture problem reminds me of my favourite comedy duo, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpj6vgmUaxl_OKmgNn70IaWlXmDGE-aOyrBDHLpDLbSEj09sXfXFA2imL8Pf4uI0Ap02ZBDFfecCx8Z1cCjBOZvMeD9NKf1Cm_K-fUdul8W4C6asWPJQuYO0ZOidXp52LZMngWw/s1600-h/lonesomepine.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpj6vgmUaxl_OKmgNn70IaWlXmDGE-aOyrBDHLpDLbSEj09sXfXFA2imL8Pf4uI0Ap02ZBDFfecCx8Z1cCjBOZvMeD9NKf1Cm_K-fUdul8W4C6asWPJQuYO0ZOidXp52LZMngWw/s400/lonesomepine.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225843325241715890" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz5r4D3MEOPbnQ5i_HOsQuXHlkWJFF_j_8luwc-Jxa6l2OBUUngdQnDhbK0LizWvRfQk3v6QHvBoik' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br />And the hot weather is good for some things anyway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLy5-GsM8oT38i7Fh2XSKmVblWMZ8BZ5_dkp0k9Zs0tpRHZqwKJBf3zf0H5uY7D_541gX8oB1b167NDih6-2-lKzIQ-sDBT7ieX_zIwWmA5MyvVHLeqN7kBXfK-fxIOHlt0Cb5mA/s1600-h/honey-ons.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLy5-GsM8oT38i7Fh2XSKmVblWMZ8BZ5_dkp0k9Zs0tpRHZqwKJBf3zf0H5uY7D_541gX8oB1b167NDih6-2-lKzIQ-sDBT7ieX_zIwWmA5MyvVHLeqN7kBXfK-fxIOHlt0Cb5mA/s400/honey-ons.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222486778297165506" border="0" /></a><br />And just before the uphill push to where we live, I drop by the temple where we rang in the New Year on a freezing cold December 31st, just half a year ago.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HlaaHq822BARf-2i2dyvcT6BKbmJjodco3hG00bTnDgDLtVuauLSZtgmZOCqw1CXm-99uNqWSyhRdxzv2MQRLty520NsIiJkfyLOg1AM7SGWF71Y5b2KPZijad9QNkwkJr8Cpw/s1600-h/temp.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HlaaHq822BARf-2i2dyvcT6BKbmJjodco3hG00bTnDgDLtVuauLSZtgmZOCqw1CXm-99uNqWSyhRdxzv2MQRLty520NsIiJkfyLOg1AM7SGWF71Y5b2KPZijad9QNkwkJr8Cpw/s400/temp.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222501605484742642" border="0" /></a>As I approach home, another bit of wisdom enters my consciousness, from Noel Coward.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In tropical climes there are certain times of day</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When all the citizens retire,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> to tear their clothes off and perspire.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's one of those rules that the biggest fools obey,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Because the sun is much too sultry and one must avoid</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> its ultry-violet ray --</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Papalaka-papalaka-papalaka-boo. (Repeat)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Digariga-digariga-digariga-doo. (Repeat)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Because they're obviously, absolutely nuts --</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Japanese don't care to, the Chinese wouldn't dare to,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But Englishmen detest a siesta,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In the Philippines there are lovely screens,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> to protect you from the glare,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In the Malay states there are hats like plates,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> which the Britishers won't wear,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">At twelve noon the natives swoon, and</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> no further work is done -</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">That though the British are effete,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> they're quite impervious to heat,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When the white man rides, every native hides in glee,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Because the simple creatures hope he will</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> impale his solar topee on a tree.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Bolyboly-bolyboly-bolyboly-baa. (Repeat)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Habaninny-habaninny-habaninny-haa. (Repeat)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It seems such a shame that when the English claim the earth</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">That they give rise to such hilarity and mirth -</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The toughest Burmese bandit can never understand it.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In Rangoon the heat of noon is just what the natives shun.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">They put their scotch or rye down, and lie down.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In the jungle town where the sun beats down,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> to the rage of man or beast,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In Bangkok, at twelve o'clock, they foam at the mouth and run,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Dogs and Englishmen, go out in the midday sun.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The smallest Malay rabbit deplores this stupid habit.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In Hong Kong, they strike a gong, and fire off a noonday gun.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To reprimand each inmate, who's in late.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In the mangrove swamps where the python romps</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> there is peace from twelve till two.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Even caribous lie down and snooze, for there's nothing else to do.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In Bengal, to move at all, is seldom if ever done,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.</span><br /><br />Which brings to mind more memories of a certain Yorkshire gas-fitter, who appropriated the title of the ditty for a world tour in 1970. I went to the Newcastle City Hall to see this show. My mother said I was never the same again after that. Not surprising really...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzGwTt5W1BNvYp7zIh_peOmCHoXdsSRMwctfTuJIN_8oyTkb3XkKOLfxetLSbFf6PMmmhukqQiaibg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-83963215995187073962008-05-31T09:15:00.000-07:002008-06-01T01:08:48.314-07:00Go West Young ManOn the very last day of Golden Week, May 6th, I decided to get the mountain-bike out again and go for another ride, along the coast to the west this time, from Akashi, to wherever it feels good to turn back. I have heard that there is a nice cycle path along the coast, well away from any road traffic and it is this that I go in search of.<br /><br />I first head south, heading down the valley-side through a patchwork of terraced newly-irrigated rice-fields and various other cultivated tracts, past a white-washed <span style="font-style: italic;">Zen-dera</span> and finally emerge on Route 175. This is the main thoroughfare between Akashi on the Pacific coast and Maizuru on the Japan Sea and, as usual, is stiff with traffic. There is no choice now but to stick with it till I reach Route 2 so I put on as much speed as I can on the bumpy pavement, always wary of the unexpected--like old ladies stepping out from behind bus-shelters. They are remarkably good at that kind of thing, unfortunately.<br /><br />Route 2 is reached without mishap and thankfully crossed at the zebra-crossing which ‘cuck-oo’s at me as the cyclist/pedestrian light illuminates in green. As I head towards Akashi Fishing Port, the world becomes a nicer place, as the hum of traffic gradually recedes in my wake. After crossing the San-Yo railway line at the level crossing, the streets become narrower and even a mountain-bike seems like an excessively large vehicle to be on them. This is the _old_ part of Akashi and probably has not really changed much since the early 19th century, in terms of street layout.<br /><br />I emerge onto the coast road and am immediately confronted with the evidence of fishing-industrial-man. Old hawsers are piled up at the side of the road, along with fishing nets, trawl cables, octopus pots and sundry tackle. The road is pot-holed and all the buildings have a scruffy look about them. Deja-vu--it is just like Obama, but there are no hordes of jeering urchins to contend with, thankfully. I pull into the harbour to see if the cycling path leads out of it. Lots of moored fishing boats—but no cycling path.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNgJUwiFGBIbdh3V9OKwWoskIOU2-__ebf8YQiEj53mY60WRzWnGbtLy0YeltK9bTNIVe2npRXj_q9J9CBO0vjY7-2GXR0QoDIJYXeex4-8uWJgcH_JUMMl_pYEAzqZojeaAORQ/s1600-h/akashiboats.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNgJUwiFGBIbdh3V9OKwWoskIOU2-__ebf8YQiEj53mY60WRzWnGbtLy0YeltK9bTNIVe2npRXj_q9J9CBO0vjY7-2GXR0QoDIJYXeex4-8uWJgcH_JUMMl_pYEAzqZojeaAORQ/s400/akashiboats.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206577213644297986" border="0" /></a><br />I proceed westwards past a man waving red & white flags to guide traffic past some roadworks, where they appear to be repairing a gas main. Soon the road turns to the right but the cycle track begins dead ahead, by a stand of gnarled pine trees backing on to a beach of white sand. There are families picknicking and barbecuing and groups of young people simply hanging out in the sunshine on this fine but hazy day, with Awaji-shima just visible in the distance.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoEfaiD_43Vmsj5bL7AOKpkLJw0raig5d-HMIg4YrzplPfbcVFDZpE3d_4VbGDlO5VBaUVPCq7Ad7NgqmE7Iv5WfoOYWVIt4k68qAkpxb6sJ7cEVeDKEN8Gadp5dXlUXLA97IXA/s1600-h/beach+awaji.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoEfaiD_43Vmsj5bL7AOKpkLJw0raig5d-HMIg4YrzplPfbcVFDZpE3d_4VbGDlO5VBaUVPCq7Ad7NgqmE7Iv5WfoOYWVIt4k68qAkpxb6sJ7cEVeDKEN8Gadp5dXlUXLA97IXA/s400/beach+awaji.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206577613076256530" border="0" /></a><br />I have been well-informed—it is a pleasant ride along the beaches. Here and there I come across some kinds of working activity—not everyone is on holiday. There are men waist-deep in water with chest-high waders wielding wicked looking rake-like implements as they harvest the shallows for shellfish of some description. At the point where the river Akane meets the sea, there is a man out in the water driving a power-shovel, heaping up berms of silt and sand. I watch him for a while, but am at a loss to understand why he is out there.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQXEfavdU5vhKKjWW_Cp9R9n4zLMReM9fukK4-ulazCye38SOYoTbNzEpPe_7WY4KzN9eIjXKuI1bLJvLpcjDKaFCffnVsEbvTDRQV5bFTLxqEg00fp2nu4jJJ3wKyCxXUeATng/s1600-h/seadigger2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQXEfavdU5vhKKjWW_Cp9R9n4zLMReM9fukK4-ulazCye38SOYoTbNzEpPe_7WY4KzN9eIjXKuI1bLJvLpcjDKaFCffnVsEbvTDRQV5bFTLxqEg00fp2nu4jJJ3wKyCxXUeATng/s400/seadigger2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206578149947168546" border="0" /></a><br />The cycle path continues for another couple of kilometres, until it merges with a normal two-lane blacktop. There are some palm trees here and a small fishing port, but no signs to indicate the name of the place. So, in my best polite Japanese, I make enquiries to three pretty young ladies who are having a beach picnic.<br />Me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Er, Suminasen ga... Kono tokoro wa doko desu ka? Mich ga mayou desu kedo...</span><br />Excuse me, can you tell me the name of this place? I’m a little bit lost...<br />Them: <span style="font-style: italic;">Hora gaijin da!</span><br />Look, it’s a foreigner!<br />Me: Sigh. (Repeat question)<br />Them (Giggle) <span style="font-style: italic;">Eigo wa wakaranai kedo</span><br />We don’t understand English<br />Me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Nihongo wo hanashiteimasu! Kiite!</span> (Repeat question)<br />I’m speaking Japanese! Listen!<br />Them: <span style="font-style: italic;">Ah so desu ne. Mezurashii desu ne. Gaikokujin to Nishongo wa... Kochira wa Ei ga Shima desu.<br /></span><span>Them: It's true! Unusual eh? A foreigner and Japanese... This is Ei ga Shima...</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Arigato gozaimasu. So desu ka. Kore wa sanzui hen to Edo no E to ido no i desu ka</span> (draws <span style="font-style: italic;">kanji</span> in air with finger)<br />Thank you. Is that so! So that’s the water radical with the E of Edo and then the i of ido is it?<br />Them: <span style="font-style: italic;">So desu yo. Heiiirr-- gaijin wa kanji dekimasu...</span> (giggle)<br />That’s right. (Sound of disbelief) the foreigner can do <span style="font-style: italic;">kanji</span>...<br /><br />I thank them again and cycle off up the road to where I know I will meet the Sanyo railway. This place is only 25 miles from Kobe, the oldest international port in Japan, but we might as well be on the dark side of the moon. Hick towns are the same all over the world it seems. I know it well. My home land in perfidious Blighty is full of them. For sure...<br /><br />I stop to take a look at a nice old Shinto shrine called <span style="font-style: italic;">Sumi-yoshi Jinja</span> (West Ei ga Shima) and decide to thank the gods for keeping me safe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNag_fzOHTZiY0wUKQNWOSAlTsq4fDIHhUtY6juUTuZsqOnWW8A17y8C7sdKYsJG_VKvoKPMLzV5NwYxEfgOt0yFPx927iwbP0v-fRQECY3NI50m22pOxlvKgH5K3Ybio517Q1wg/s1600-h/sumiyoshijin-eigashima.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNag_fzOHTZiY0wUKQNWOSAlTsq4fDIHhUtY6juUTuZsqOnWW8A17y8C7sdKYsJG_VKvoKPMLzV5NwYxEfgOt0yFPx927iwbP0v-fRQECY3NI50m22pOxlvKgH5K3Ybio517Q1wg/s400/sumiyoshijin-eigashima.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206578553674094386" border="0" /></a><br />I rattle the bell rope and say my piece, but am then unable to locate the offertory box to deposit my ¥10 votive offering. I finally give up and leave it on the step beneath the bell.<br /><br />At the Sanyo railway I turn right and follow it back towards Akashi, but before reaching there I drop in at <span style="font-style: italic;">Choh-koh-ji</span>, a Buddhist temple overlooking the sea.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8d7cAwCFao7fy3O9EXibGhEPQ4SEVPoVNieDtQmrh_aKTZ6ZuYauNMuL278U-kqqfQWzgp4KhoW7YmYqN5cSnsv23yM-j3rL9zAoeDAVAhGzCBC7N37kY2U19_8Hf7r7-UXMsw/s1600-h/choukouji.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8d7cAwCFao7fy3O9EXibGhEPQ4SEVPoVNieDtQmrh_aKTZ6ZuYauNMuL278U-kqqfQWzgp4KhoW7YmYqN5cSnsv23yM-j3rL9zAoeDAVAhGzCBC7N37kY2U19_8Hf7r7-UXMsw/s400/choukouji.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206579017530562370" border="0" /></a><br />It has a nice old gateway and inside, a rather splendid statue of Fudo-Myo –O<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-V1_pHARzNlb13b5ejgLyOxCZOJ5UTx8Rh6hiWItBfAe1JUyCmBXpgVXOKdDDZ0JPmqfNaOn6MpKTbKsJQhs8Pg_kAZSIXBHqkffBPKv0hMwaANOc1qyzysn09dbP-8QRYkOEQ/s1600-h/450px-Okunoin_FudoMyoo.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-V1_pHARzNlb13b5ejgLyOxCZOJ5UTx8Rh6hiWItBfAe1JUyCmBXpgVXOKdDDZ0JPmqfNaOn6MpKTbKsJQhs8Pg_kAZSIXBHqkffBPKv0hMwaANOc1qyzysn09dbP-8QRYkOEQ/s400/450px-Okunoin_FudoMyoo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206580117042190162" border="0" /></a><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Fudo is the Buddhist divinity of wisdom and fire. He is the principal deity of the great kings. Fudo is often called upon for protection during dangerous times. He is said to live in a temple on top of Mount Okiyama. Fudo is often shown to be an ugly old man surrounded in fire. He has a sword in his right hand to sever material connections and a rope in his left hand, that he uses to tie demons with. His sword is also used several times a year at Akakura in a healing ritual. Anyone who goes to see him is said to be punished with blindness. The most famous legend of Fudo claims that a young girl, named O Ai San, prayed to him for 100 days, naked under a waterfall near his shrine at Ohara in the province of Awa. Once she had returned home, her father, whom she had prayed for, was cured of a lingering illness.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He is typically depicted with a sword for subduing demons in his right hand and a rope for catching and binding them in his left hand. He has a fearsome blue visage and is surrounded by flames, representing the purification of the mind. He is often depicted seated or standing on a rock to show his immovability. His hair commonly has seven knots and is draped on his left side, a servant hairstyle in Buddhist iconography. He is frequently depicted with two protruding fangs. One tooth points down, representing his compassion to the world, and one tooth points up, representing his passion for truth."</span><br />(Quotation from Wikipedia)<br /><br />I take a left turn and head toward the township of Nishi-Akashi, thinking to add a little variety to my route back. Some dodging through back lanes brings me out onto the rice-paddies which line the Akashi River, though some of them are being dug up for housing development (if I am reading the signs right).<br /><br />Last stop before home is the human gas station again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lYlQMXmrCD_gk3teix5J4ilARvLqPxcgBhgDKKmyMRZkjiIhZhOJGVScQhUrwHlZM8fIxobMce65iaw96bOw5pWT_HzvRiCiJlK98Sp7ATbUDSbur21Um5FMO2XmrHxgYqKkBg/s1600-h/goldenarches.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lYlQMXmrCD_gk3teix5J4ilARvLqPxcgBhgDKKmyMRZkjiIhZhOJGVScQhUrwHlZM8fIxobMce65iaw96bOw5pWT_HzvRiCiJlK98Sp7ATbUDSbur21Um5FMO2XmrHxgYqKkBg/s400/goldenarches.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206580636733232994" border="0" /></a><br />This time I try the pork & cheese burger, a recent addition to the menu. Nice--but a tad spicy, so I drink plenty of water before setting off on the last lap. Water is free at McDonalds...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ei ga Shima</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">made</span> is not as much of a challenge as the <span style="font-style: italic;">Suma-Dera</span> run, but it’s a pleasant ride out.<br /><br />Gets the heart going a bit...<br /><br />I’ll do it again quite soon.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-5605492705434662032008-05-23T17:20:00.000-07:002008-05-23T17:28:45.312-07:00Anno DominiOn Tuesday 6 May at 02.03 BST (GMT + 1) an event took place which keenly reminded me of the passage of time. My niece Caroline gave birth to a beautiful baby girl making my sister and brother-in-law grandparents for the first time and me a Great-Uncle. A wonderful happy event for our respective families of course, but one which made me realize that our time here is limited and I still have not achieved all that I wish to during my time on this mortal coil.<br />Ella Louise weighed at 8.12 lbs and was remarkably good-looking at birth, just as her grandmother was and unlike her great-uncle who was decidedly simian in appearance, by all accounts. Some would argue that nothing much has changed in the interim period...<br />She arrived here with us 12 months after her mother’s grandfather had passed away, due to a heart attack--almost to the same hour--which strikes me as uncanny...<br />Behold—Ella Louise.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRi0ejaMW19eioHG-PHKs1EEnuk64rNBer8C6BtjgRkf2hqgAoGh7pfYuUqCY_fy6dUuFrBIZUzVRBmPtxcjUNH32l0_YDCe-YVZZu9zKGT5az_yuAaj8ivXYDl2FRzuQyWUpK6g/s1600-h/Ella+Louise+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRi0ejaMW19eioHG-PHKs1EEnuk64rNBer8C6BtjgRkf2hqgAoGh7pfYuUqCY_fy6dUuFrBIZUzVRBmPtxcjUNH32l0_YDCe-YVZZu9zKGT5az_yuAaj8ivXYDl2FRzuQyWUpK6g/s400/Ella+Louise+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203733013286442738" border="0" /></a>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-12142672032137781482008-05-18T06:52:00.000-07:002008-06-01T09:06:19.533-07:00A Grand Day OutIn Golden Week, as is our wont, Akira and I went on a long motorcycle day-trip. This time we headed north and east a bit with our destination set as the town of Obama which has been in the news of late.<br /><br />We set off at 7 am under cloudy skies with a bit of wind. The sun comes out about an hour later and warms things up a bit. Our trip north through the mountains of Kyoto Prefecture is relatively unimpeded, as the typhoon damage of a few years ago has now been repaired and the roads are relatively quiet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiccdawSOTMN6PPEjmKN9KK6bptUQ5zcQVLZc6aZD4mALE_gDb4BWnIBLU8TOhyphenhyphen8NLtWyyYhTefKGdEqGLkgedvmFmVNd6J0WtHOddJmMBKxoHBHBIBFO91aJ37FVva_5m70dBzIg/s1600-h/kyotoroad.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiccdawSOTMN6PPEjmKN9KK6bptUQ5zcQVLZc6aZD4mALE_gDb4BWnIBLU8TOhyphenhyphen8NLtWyyYhTefKGdEqGLkgedvmFmVNd6J0WtHOddJmMBKxoHBHBIBFO91aJ37FVva_5m70dBzIg/s400/kyotoroad.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201715962375491362" border="0" /></a><br />At about 10.30 we pull up by the harbour of Maizuru and enter a coffee shop advertising <span style="font-style: italic;">Moh-ningu Setto</span> which is bacon and eggs, toast, jam and a nice cup of Joe with a refill if <span style="font-style: italic;">okyaku-sama</span> feels like it. Maizuru is the home base of a substantial portion of the Maritime Self-Defence Force and the harbour is full of military boats of all classes. The most impressive vessel is an <span style="font-style: italic;">Atago</span>-class guided missile destroyer, equipped with the Aegis weapons system. These are relative newcomers to the MSDF and are supposed to be able to knock out incoming ballistic missiles, specifically the Taepodong 1 of The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. One of these frightful things was lobbed without warning over Northern Japan a few years ago, its third stage landing in the Pacific Ocean, fortunately without hitting anything. The official line from Pyongyang was that they had successfully launched a <span style="font-style: italic;">Sputnik</span> type satellite, which was now broadcasting patriotic music to the world.<br /><br />Japan’s response was to build two more Aegis-equipped destroyers, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Atago</span> and the <span style="font-style: italic;">Ashigara</span> in addition to the four <span style="font-style: italic;">Kongo</span>-class vessels already deployed. As might be expected, Pyongyang took this as a provocative act, and unleashed a storm of virulent invective, ‘seas of fire’ and all the rest of it. Quite charming chaps are the North Koreans. I take a photo through the shop window, rather than risk arrest for spying if I take one close to the water. The Aegis system is no doubt good at what it is designed to do, but that did not prevent one of these vessels from ramming a fishing boat last month, near Yokosuka, with the loss of two lives. The bodies of the skipper and first mate will probably never be recovered.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPOeBF4_UMqTosuzqKguHjc75f4cVpxDg0k2Z3pdPceN5a0cynGx0NGwa2Eufreg1fUA0iY99hG9ASchN300unBiLhtLlje4S0n9QURcxTshn4iuiEcG2_UFbs-ehw6uNcioEWAg/s1600-h/maizuru.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPOeBF4_UMqTosuzqKguHjc75f4cVpxDg0k2Z3pdPceN5a0cynGx0NGwa2Eufreg1fUA0iY99hG9ASchN300unBiLhtLlje4S0n9QURcxTshn4iuiEcG2_UFbs-ehw6uNcioEWAg/s400/maizuru.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201716258728234802" border="0" /></a>After repast we take a short look around the Museum of Bricks which is quite an interesting experience for me. My first paying job after graduation from university was as a muscle-worker in a primitive old-style brickworks and the memories come flooding back to me.<br /><br />Then we set out on the 35 km final leg along the Japan Sea coast to Obama. It takes us about an hour as the narrow road is clogged with my favourite type of vehicle, farmers in little white pick-up trucks, jabbering away with the mobile in one hand and smoking with the other, presumably steering with the knees. No sooner do we pass one or two than more of the horrid things are ahead. They appear to hunt in packs, so I am very relieved when we turn left into the city of Obama. This place has become quite famous recently, because of its support for the Democrat Presidential candidate-in-waiting, Barack Obama. Normal people would call this place <span style="font-style: italic;">Kohama</span>, but this is Fukui Prefecture, the ‘backside’ of Japan, and they have their own way of doing things.<br /><br />The road leading to the sea-front is pot-holed and messy with crushed drink cans and fag-packets littering the gutters. Most buildings seem to be in need of a lick of paint but in contrast the beach is wide and white, free of trash with crystal-clear seawater. After all, it is a fishing port and that is what they care about most. As it is May Day, most places are closed, but we do find a fisheries co-operative market open where we partake of some excellent <span style="font-style: italic;">sushi</span> and I buy a bottle of local <span style="font-style: italic;">shochu</span> hooch as a souvenir.<br /><br />We go for a walk on the beach where I am accosted by a horde of local urchins who treat me like an extra-terrestrial, though they are quite friendly with it. At the car-park I take one photo, just to prove I have been here.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGI2WDRNSjHFDELL028mLnWqijIlXNADVlo1DASPCQ_5jWbZZ52jouqPqHy6kptzSi5ZgTXnJJ2Fg3vxmDirCQrpQZ0lMeQmysQLlw4jtUenu_P_Zrggb0GsR51ewo0hi4fX_8g/s1600-h/obamalodge.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGI2WDRNSjHFDELL028mLnWqijIlXNADVlo1DASPCQ_5jWbZZ52jouqPqHy6kptzSi5ZgTXnJJ2Fg3vxmDirCQrpQZ0lMeQmysQLlw4jtUenu_P_Zrggb0GsR51ewo0hi4fX_8g/s400/obamalodge.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201716567965880130" border="0" /></a>I have seen enough and we return to Kyoto and thence to Hyogo via Route 162, which is an excellent road for motorcycles with fast sweeping curves and fabulous scenery. It was fun going to Obama and fun coming back, but I have mixed feelings about actually being there.<br /><br />Our last stop before home is in the city of Kameoka, at an <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh-sho</span> restaurant, where we have some of their famous fried chicken, Chinese dumplings and spicy noodles. Just the job on a day like today.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-3149763217112189242008-04-30T05:02:00.001-07:002008-05-06T07:56:52.441-07:00My other bikeBefore I got back into motorcycling, I was already enamoured of the 2-wheel way of going about things. This was with the mountain bike method and the machine you see below has been in my possession for about thirteen years now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIyDtOrBJ_hIOsXHrmnOBQPNkOdUT8btY-id9bCnyZhHWiOk6CZ8k-gAuk2PZlXL2EsTb4LZnIXnSlT1HylOYqHVZ5GU-o2hIVk0yhCtmcHHFMGKKPV_8A3y7vA7kdpfBeR8jYxQ/s1600-h/bike&koumeiji.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIyDtOrBJ_hIOsXHrmnOBQPNkOdUT8btY-id9bCnyZhHWiOk6CZ8k-gAuk2PZlXL2EsTb4LZnIXnSlT1HylOYqHVZ5GU-o2hIVk0yhCtmcHHFMGKKPV_8A3y7vA7kdpfBeR8jYxQ/s400/bike&koumeiji.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195007837999209394" border="0" /></a><br />She was on sale at the local bicycle emporium at a hefty discount because something had fallen on her during the Great Hanshin Earthquake (January 17 1995) causing a minor blemish somewhere to her paintwork. I had eyes only for her suspension fork and aluminium alloy handlebar and gladly ponied up the necesssary yen.<br /><br />The picture was taken yesterday in the forecourt of <span style="font-style: italic;">Koumei-ji</span>, one of the many Buddhist temples to be found in the town of Akashi, due south of us, near the end of a 50-km ride I sometimes do for health and spiritual enhancement. Koumei-ji sustained a severe clattering in said seismic event but I am pleased to note that it has finally been fully restored.<br /><br />My destination though, was a much older temple, called Suma-dera, said to have been established in 886 by the saint Monkyo, which is the headquarters of the Sumadera School of the Shingon sect of Buddhism. It is almost exactly 25 km from our front door, which makes for a satisfying pedal-powered outing.<br /><br />To get there I first head south, towards the Akashi Straits and one of the first things I encounter is a long downhill stretch where I can free-wheel for about half a kilometer. When I used to have one fitted, the speedometer once registered 34 mph towards the bottom of this section of the route.<br /><br />Henry Charles Beeching knew all about it:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">WITH lifted feet, hands still,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I am poised, and down the hill</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Dart, with heedful mind;</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />The air goes by in a wind.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Swifter and yet more swift,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Till the heart with a mighty lift</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry:--</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">'O bird, see; see, bird, I fly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">'Is this, is this your joy?</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />O bird, then I, though a boy</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />For a golden moment share</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Your feathery life in air!'</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Say, heart, is there aught like this</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />In a world that is full of bliss?</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">'<br />Tis more than skating, bound</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Steel-shod to the level ground.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Speed slackens now, I float</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Awhile in my airy boat;</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Till, when the wheels scarce crawl,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My feet to the treadles fall.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Alas, that the longest hill</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Must end in a vale; but still,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Who climbs with toil, wheresoe'er,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Shall find wings waiting there.<br /><br /></span>‘Going down Hill on a Bicycle, a Boy’s Song’ was written in joy to celebrate one of life’s simple pleasures. As long as I can appreciate things like that, I feel I will never grow old.<br /><br />At the end of the incline there is a fairly sharp right-hander and I am pleased that I adjusted the front brake cable prior to departure. The ears ‘pop’ as I enter the Ikawa valley, I am now almost at sea-level having just descended over 200 metres in less than half a minute. From here the track follows the course of the Ikawa river until its confluence with the Akashi river and then into the somewhat scruffy township of Tamatsu. This place used to be a colony of <span style="font-style: italic;">eta</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">burakumin</span> – the former untouchables of pre-modern Japanese society, who specialised in butchery of cattle and horses and also leather-tanning. As the Buddha forbade the killing of living things, these poor unfortunates were placed at the very lowest rank on the totem-pole and were obliged to make their dwelling places in the least desirable areas.<br /><br />We are soon pedalling through the leafy entrance to Akashi Park in the lee of the castle wall and I hear the ‘clack’ of <span style="font-style: italic;">shogi</span> pieces where the old men vie with each other to win at Japanese chess. As today, April 29th—Showa Day-- is the official start of Golden Week and is a fine spring day, the park has plenty of visitors, so progress is somewhat slower.<br /><br />I am soon through the town and on to the sea front, with the heady tang of salt air and the magnificent sight of the Akashi Straits Bridge.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TT5TgGaiFfpzSYcQE0bhOJ1Q6-g71DGKRyRQO5CM0apEj_65xdnbM698i0XzP8Wz-6LiCPLC9IdjGAhFEDQRTRvwEiRcGkswE5I_8wEO1qlKs41j8hnwOgRegFNeWPB9Hf23cw/s1600-h/akashibridge.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TT5TgGaiFfpzSYcQE0bhOJ1Q6-g71DGKRyRQO5CM0apEj_65xdnbM698i0XzP8Wz-6LiCPLC9IdjGAhFEDQRTRvwEiRcGkswE5I_8wEO1qlKs41j8hnwOgRegFNeWPB9Hf23cw/s400/akashibridge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195008606798355394" border="0" /></a><br />Cycling is more pleasurable now, away from busy roads and I am soon wafting past the artificial beaches of Okura Kaigan and Maiko Azur to the fishing port of Tarumi, where we spent the first five years of our life in Kobe.<br /><br />Before very much longer I reach Shioya, where Somerset Maugham once lived as a noted foreign celebrity and guest of the Japanese Empire, in the heady days (for some) of the nineteen-thirties. Now I am back beside the coastal highway which is thick with traffic and I try to breathe in as little as possible.<br /><br />Before the final uphill approach to Suma-Dera I pause for a swig from the water-bottle which is refreshing. Almost all the houses are new-looking, as this place resembled post-war Dresden after the 1995 disaster. I park the bicycle and lock it up, then enter the temple grounds.<br /><br />There is a lot to see here, but one of my favourite places is the garden with its statues of the <span style="font-style: italic;">samurai</span> horsemen, Taira no Atsumori and Naozane Kumagai at the battle of Ichi-no-Tani.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lwXUC3M09HAM5ASSBVgIw6tf-Fri5si6PPHhY4ie7MlMwvJZ2RlUbHVqQP-Z6J-924FcKIpM7IP_hGoS5lVTsfRFDYGgDP5QzPfwYX9naPqGzUmetU9d0vfuzW_sb6W4scr65Q/s1600-h/sumaniwa.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lwXUC3M09HAM5ASSBVgIw6tf-Fri5si6PPHhY4ie7MlMwvJZ2RlUbHVqQP-Z6J-924FcKIpM7IP_hGoS5lVTsfRFDYGgDP5QzPfwYX9naPqGzUmetU9d0vfuzW_sb6W4scr65Q/s400/sumaniwa.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195009023410183122" border="0" /></a><br />I also like the two-level pagoda with the five wise monkeys at its base.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQz6TjNUyOYcrEO3lgFBV-SHBiNC23g-H7bR5ZZD14pMlhDYZNM9tDWDIX8vMOXh-JiZK1FuCqrm6j99igaXi5kSMW9Wahfk2kFGsg1wuLneIrH8zBb_w8Lb9tNXGeD7fx4sBlA/s1600-h/pagoda.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQz6TjNUyOYcrEO3lgFBV-SHBiNC23g-H7bR5ZZD14pMlhDYZNM9tDWDIX8vMOXh-JiZK1FuCqrm6j99igaXi5kSMW9Wahfk2kFGsg1wuLneIrH8zBb_w8Lb9tNXGeD7fx4sBlA/s400/pagoda.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195009513036454882" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv0oz2uri9ojmnrR-gT8n-slUnjiBJdSXV_sEQQ9aVvkiyhMhb-xL4lpz3JQ_CP7tzvz5HzZPC6BkSdIcdDYv5A8gGKqO8grf72njfzuEo6CBaVpxN4vwt-G55xTqqydabuxMvQ/s1600-h/gozaru.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv0oz2uri9ojmnrR-gT8n-slUnjiBJdSXV_sEQQ9aVvkiyhMhb-xL4lpz3JQ_CP7tzvz5HzZPC6BkSdIcdDYv5A8gGKqO8grf72njfzuEo6CBaVpxN4vwt-G55xTqqydabuxMvQ/s400/gozaru.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195009869518740466" border="0" /></a><br />During the course of my visit I get through about ¥125 in votive offerings and purchases of candles and incense sticks, set to burn in special places in hope of good favour from Siddartha Gotama, who in the fullness of time became the Buddha.<br />My final stop before departure is before the statue of the Thousand-armed <span style="font-style: italic;">Kannon</span>, or <span style="font-style: italic;">Guan</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Yin</span>--the Goddess of Mercy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqsHZVeeNjp3hsD3Shd38FUEw2hPd-PhN1x-3ae95dFPMdhPTyucePhwdxghctnkkP1sn64HwZaDPf7iMS0PfETj4STuuKGwLZZJDPoWh-7MOgitnFPQr-nKf8gYM4jQNaYyMew/s1600-h/1000kannon.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqsHZVeeNjp3hsD3Shd38FUEw2hPd-PhN1x-3ae95dFPMdhPTyucePhwdxghctnkkP1sn64HwZaDPf7iMS0PfETj4STuuKGwLZZJDPoWh-7MOgitnFPQr-nKf8gYM4jQNaYyMew/s400/1000kannon.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195010307605404674" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“One Buddhist legend presents Guan Yin as vowing to never rest until she had freed all sentient beings from samsara, reincarnation. Despite strenuous effort, she realized that still many unhappy beings were yet to be saved. After struggling to comprehend the needs of so many, her head split into eleven pieces. Amitabha Buddha, seeing her plight, gave her eleven heads with which to hear the cries of the suffering. Upon hearing these cries and comprehending them, Avalokitesvara attempted to reach out to all those who needed aid, but found that her two arms shattered into pieces. Once more, Amitabha came to her aid and appointed her a thousand arms with which to aid the many. Many Himalayan versions of the tale include eight arms with which Avalokitesvara skillfully upholds the Dharma, each possessing its own particular implement, while more Chinese-specific versions give varying accounts of this number.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">In China, it is said that fishermen used to pray to her to ensure safe voyages. The titles Guan Yin of the Southern Ocean and 'Guan Yin (of/on) the Island' stem from this tradition”</span><br /><br />Quotation from Wikipedia.<br /><br />It is now 15:40 and time to roll. As I reach Tarumi again I begin to feel somewhat fatigued and realise that it has been a long time since brunch. I notice a road sign indicating respite is at hand, only two kilometres ahead, and at the outskirts of Akashi pull into the human gasoline stand.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqx50cq77JJqthTYDdGw3aMVYomPgxPBcaLlbgqbl7P8RohlXLQPseyUMraJo5_JQuNq85kKSFZYs7JpBXujA-o4_POvrTN-rhTnQpLjFXQjSwL-zEgMO0-d07-VwbD2SUsfJ6JA/s1600-h/bigmac.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqx50cq77JJqthTYDdGw3aMVYomPgxPBcaLlbgqbl7P8RohlXLQPseyUMraJo5_JQuNq85kKSFZYs7JpBXujA-o4_POvrTN-rhTnQpLjFXQjSwL-zEgMO0-d07-VwbD2SUsfJ6JA/s400/bigmac.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195011063519648786" border="0" /></a><br />A Big Mac has never tasted better – good calorific value at ¥290 a time.<br /><br />I take a slightly different route through Akashi, to avoid pedalling <span style="font-style: italic;">up</span> the incline which gave such pleasure earlier in the day. In days gone by this slope was the final challenge, but at 53 years of age, you know, sometimes discretion is the better part of valour.<br /><br />A final snap of some automotive eye-candy....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMMondPcrnlHd4beyTmtOZa465C90S1udULkd5TpqXKHxRSHYQ3FiAIQ2GKAFdflBHRZQDC4U1rqwppzmaWM_FWL1porAYGVK74rbcZydzfr48P96BLuar_0X4r7i3IDnu6s-2A/s1600-h/alfa-r.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMMondPcrnlHd4beyTmtOZa465C90S1udULkd5TpqXKHxRSHYQ3FiAIQ2GKAFdflBHRZQDC4U1rqwppzmaWM_FWL1porAYGVK74rbcZydzfr48P96BLuar_0X4r7i3IDnu6s-2A/s400/alfa-r.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195011488721411106" border="0" /></a><br />One of these days, if I can align a certain set of six numbers, an Alfa-Romeo Spider 2.2 will definitely be on the wish-list. Gorgeous bit of Italian kit.<br /><br />I arrive home, exhausted, to find the house deserted. I make a welcome cup of tea—the staff of life. As I thankfully swill the last tangy remnants, the telephone rings. It is shewhomustbeobeyed aka spousal unit and daughter who want picking up from the station, now, at once, don’t spare the horses.<br /><br /> So I fire up the Toyota without further ado and do my duty, sweat drying on me, which invokes flaring nostrils and comments as the womenfolk get in the car. Well, they did say NOW...<br /><br />I enjoyed this little jaunt so much I have resolved to try and do it at least once a month from now on. Can’t do me any harm...Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-32455547044172103992008-04-20T02:58:00.000-07:002008-04-20T03:33:57.302-07:00Writing that I likeAs I'm a little stuck for something to write about, I thought it might be a good idea to put some of my favourite writing in this blog--my influences if you like. The first of these dates from 1871 or 2 (the precise date is unclear) and is one of those poems that everyone can recite a little bit of:<br /><br />The Walrus and the Carpenter<br /><br />The sun was shining on the sea,<br />Shining with all his might;<br />He did his very best to make<br />The billows smooth and bright—<br />And this was odd, because it was<br />The middle of the night.<br /><br />The moon was shining sulkily,<br />Because she thought the sun<br />Had got no business to be there<br />After the day was done—<br />"It's very rude of him," she said,<br />"To come and spoil the fun!"<br /><br />The sea was wet as wet could be,<br />The sands were dry as dry.<br />You could not see a cloud, because<br />No cloud was in the sky;<br />No birds were flying overhead—<br />There were no birds to fly.<br /><br />The Walrus and the Carpenter<br />Were walking close at hand;<br />They wept like anything to see<br />Such quantities of sand.<br />"If this were only cleared away,"<br />They said, "it would be grand!"<br /><br />"If seven maids with seven mops<br />Swept it for half a year,<br />Do you suppose," the Walrus said,<br />"That they could get it clear?"<br />"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,<br />And shed a bitter tear.<br /><br />"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"<br />The Walrus did beseech.<br />"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,<br />Along the briny beach;<br />We cannot do with more than four,<br />To give a hand to each."<br /><br />The eldest Oyster looked at him,<br />But never a word he said;<br />The eldest Oyster winked his eye,<br />And shook his heavy head—<br />Meaning to say he did not choose<br />To leave the oyster-bed.<br /><br />But four young Oysters hurried up,<br />All eager for the treat;<br />Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,<br />Their shoes were clean and neat—<br />And this was odd, because, you know,<br />They hadn't any feet.<br /><br />Four other Oysters followed them,<br />And yet another four;<br />And thick and fast they came at last,<br />And more, and more, and more—<br />All hopping through the frothy waves,<br />And scrambling to the shore.<br /><br />The Walrus and the Carpenter<br />Walked on a mile or so,<br />And then they rested on a rock<br />Conveniently low;<br />And all the little Oysters stood<br />And waited in a row.<br /><br />"The time has come," the Walrus said,<br />"To talk of many things:<br />Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—<br />And cabbages—and kings—<br />And why the sea is boiling hot—<br />And whether pigs have wings."<br /><br />"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,<br />"Before we have our chat;<br />For some of us are out of breath,<br />And all of us are fat!"<br />"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.<br />They thanked him much for that.<br /><br />"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,<br />"Is what we chiefly need;<br />Pepper and vinegar besides<br />Are very good indeed—<br />Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,<br />We can begin to feed."<br /><br />"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,<br />Turning a little blue.<br />"After such kindness, that would be<br />A dismal thing to do!"<br />"The night is fine," the Walrus said,<br />"Do you admire the view?"<br /><br />"It was so kind of you to come!<br />And you are very nice!"<br />The Carpenter said nothing but<br />"Cut us another slice.<br />I wish you were not quite so deaf—<br />I've had to ask you twice!"<br /><br />"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,<br />"To play them such a trick,<br />After we've brought them out so far,<br />And made them trot so quick!"<br />The Carpenter said nothing but<br />"The butter's spread too thick!"<br /><br />"I weep for you," the Walrus said;<br />"I deeply sympathize."<br />With sobs and tears he sorted out<br />Those of the largest size,<br />Holding his pocket-handkerchief<br />Before his streaming eyes.<br /><br />"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,<br />"You've had a pleasant run!<br />Shall we be trotting home again?"<br />But answer came there none—<br />And this was scarcely odd, because<br />They'd eaten every one.<br /><br />From T<span style="font-style: italic;">hrough the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There</span> (1871) a work of children's literature by Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) whose main job was that of mathematician at Christ Church college, Oxford.<br /><br />The second of these is a lot shorter and contains what I consider to be sage advice for a young person.<br /><br />Mary's Son<br /><br />If you stop to find out what your wages will be<br /> And how they will clothe and feed you,<br />Willie, my son, don't you go on the Sea.<br /> For the Sea will never need you.<br /><br />If you ask for the reason of every command,<br /> And argue with people about you,<br />Willie, my son, don't you go on the Land,<br /> For the Land will do better without you.<br /><br />If you stop to consider the work you have done<br /> And to boast what your labour is worth, dear,<br />Angels may come for you, Willie, my son,<br /> But you'll never be wanted on Earth, dear!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling 1911. My copy is in a collection of poetry titled <span style="font-style: italic;">Songs for Youth</span> published by Hodder and Stoughton. It is so old the spine is actually decorated with a Buddhist swastika--published long before the National Socialists demonised the image.<br /><br />The third piece is one of the most famous poems penned by Dylan Thomas:<br /><br /><br />Fern Hill<br /><br />Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs<br /><br />About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,<br /><br /> The night above the dingle starry,<br /><br /> Time let me hail and climb<br /><br /> Golden in the heydays of his eyes,<br /><br />And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns<br /><br />And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves<br /><br /> Trail with daisies and barley<br /><br /> Down the rivers of the windfall light.<br /><br /><br /><br />And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns<br /><br />About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,<br /><br /> In the sun that is young once only,<br /><br /> Time let me play and be<br /><br /> Golden in the mercy of his means,<br /><br />And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves<br /><br />Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,<br /><br /> And the sabbath rang slowly<br /><br /> In the pebbles of the holy streams.<br /><br /><br /><br />All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay<br /><br />Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air<br /><br /> And playing, lovely and watery<br /><br /> And fire green as grass.<br /><br /> And nightly under the simple stars<br /><br />As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,<br /><br />All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars<br /><br /> Flying with the ricks, and the horses<br /><br /> Flashing into the dark.<br /><br /><br /><br />And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white<br /><br />With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all<br /><br /> Shining, it was Adam and maiden,<br /><br /> The sky gathered again<br /><br /> And the sun grew round that very day.<br /><br />So it must have been after the birth of the simple light<br /><br />In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm<br /><br /> Out of the whinnying green stable<br /><br /> On to the fields of praise.<br /><br /><br /><br />And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house<br /><br />Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,<br /><br /> In the sun born over and over,<br /><br /> I ran my heedless ways,<br /><br /> My wishes raced through the house high hay<br /><br />And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows<br /><br />In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs<br /><br /> Before the children green and golden<br /><br /> Follow him out of grace,<br /><br /><br /><br />Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me<br /><br />Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,<br /><br /> In the moon that is always rising,<br /><br /> Nor that riding to sleep<br /><br /> I should hear him fly with the high fields<br /><br />And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.<br /><br />Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,<br /><br /> Time held me green and dying<br /><br /> Though I sang in my chains like the sea.<br /><br />1946 Dylan Thomas<br />The last poem in the collection known as <span style="font-style: italic;">Deaths and Entrances</span>, it is probably one of the most fabulous pieces of verse ever written. It inspired a young American boy from Duluth, Minnesota to adopt a new performing name for himself--Bob Dylan.<br /><br />A Hard rain's gonna fall<br /><br />Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?<br />Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?<br />I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,<br />I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,<br />I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,<br />I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,<br />I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,<br />And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,<br />And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?<br />Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?<br />I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it<br />I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,<br />I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',<br />I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',<br />I saw a white ladder all covered with water,<br />I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,<br />I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,<br />And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?<br />And what did you hear, my darling young one?<br />I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',<br />Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,<br />Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',<br />Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',<br />Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',<br />Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,<br />Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,<br />And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?<br />Who did you meet, my darling young one?<br />I met a young child beside a dead pony,<br />I met a white man who walked a black dog,<br />I met a young woman whose body was burning,<br />I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,<br />I met one man who was wounded in love,<br />I met another man who was wounded with hatred,<br />And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?<br />Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?<br />I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',<br />I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,<br />Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,<br />Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,<br />Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,<br />Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,<br />Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,<br />Where black is the color, where none is the number,<br />And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,<br />And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,<br />Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',<br />But I'll know my song well before I start singin',<br />And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br /><br />Copyright © 1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music<br /><br />Columbia Records<br /><br />This is a 7-minute anti nuclear war anthem. It was one of 3 social protest songs Dylan recorded on the album <span style="font-style: italic;">The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan</span>. The others were "Blowin' In The Wind" and "Masters of War."<br />Ten years after Dylan recorded his version, Roxy Music frontman Bryan Ferry recorded a dark, claustrophobic cover as his first ever solo single. In the UK it climbed to #10 in the charts.<br /><br />Bob Dylan once introduced this song by saying hard rain meant something big was about to happen.<br /><br />In the liner notes to <span style="font-style: italic;">The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan</span>, Dylan said: "Hard Rain is a desperate kind of song. Every line in it, is actually the start of a whole song. But when I wrote it, I thought I wouldn't have enough time alive to write all those songs so I put all I could into this one."<br /><br />Amazing.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-82738742087881610552008-03-10T05:43:00.000-07:002008-03-11T08:08:01.162-07:00First Ride of SpringThe winter this year was/has been (not clear yet as to which tense is appropriate) surprisingly stubborn, with night-time temperatures touching freezing as late as a week-and-a-half ago. This was among such indicators of Spring as the first <span style="font-style: italic;">kafun</span> (cedar pollen) counts on the weather report and the first onslaught of <span style="font-style: italic;">kosa</span> (aeolian dust) borne on the prevailing winds from China. The former does not affect me as much as it does many other people, red-eyed and sneezing their way to work on the train or bus, but the latter fine yellow sand settles everywhere including the back of the throat where it tends to impart a gravelly edge to the voice. In my occupation, EFL teaching, the voice gets used a lot--generally in exhortations to the students to use theirs, even just a little. As a result I have sucked, slurped and inhaled my way through several packs of <span style="font-style: italic;">Lotte</span> throat lozenges in the past couple of weeks. Heap Good Medicine. The northern suburb of Akashi, known as Tamatsu, through which I travel by bus on a Tuesday & Thursday, is home to hundreds of used car dealers, and I have felt really sorry for their junior employees scurrying about with hosepipes, buckets, sponges and wash-leathers, trying to keep their automotive wares looking presentable. Last week saw some spring rains which had the effect of washing the muck out of the air for the time being. I keep an eye on the web at<br /><a href="http://www.jma.go.jp/en/kosafcst/">http://www.jma.go.jp/en/kosafcst/ </a><br />where I can be forewarned, if not forearmed. There is no defence agains the blasted stuff.<br /><br />Today, though, it is a beautiful Spring day and with no pressing chores to perform, I give Black Mariah her first outing of the season. She had a 4000-km oil-change and general service on the previous day, where I picked up brownie points from the mechanic who did the job. ‘Exceptional condition’ for a 5 1/2 year-old machine was his verdict. The drive-chain received only its second adjustment in 27,000 km which speaks well of my non-lunatic riding habits. I know of people who get only about 1000 km of use out of a drive-chain due to their penchant for drag-racing, wheelies and sundry daftness. NB* Such meatheads can be termed ‘bikers’ whereas I am a motorcyclist. There is a distinct difference in attitude.<br /><br />The countryside to the north-west is smelling fresh and verdant and I feel a little sad that I am not with my regular riding partner who is incapacitated today with a hangover obtained in service of the company, ‘entertaining’ some new business associates on Saturday night. In the 1970s and 80s before the decade-long recession bit, it was a common revelation among Japanalysts in business rags that the yearly spend on corporate entertainment exceeded the National military budget. I’m not sure if that is still the case, but I’m sure it can’t be far off the mark. I still miss taxi-tickets though...<br /><br />I was not exactly in perfect condition myself after enduring yet another football match via Internet text commentary, where Newcastle United were on the wrong end of another clattering. Not a small amount of Milk of Amnesia was imbibed, so as to make the pain more bearable. This match was at Anfield, home of Liverpool FC, and was not wholly unexpected as they are quite a handy side this season, while we are NOT. Far from it. Kevin Keegan returned in mid-January (aka The Second Coming of the Messiah) to manage the team, but has had a very lean time of it so far--mainly against far superior opposition, Manchester United, Arsenal and Liverpool. After yesterday’s results the team sit in 15th position in the Premier League—just three points away from the dreaded relegation zone and one above the deadly rivals Sunderland AFC. To be fair, in the last couple of matches, Lady Luck has deserted Newcastle, but the bottom line remains. ‘We’re Sh*T and we’re SICK OF IT!’ -- a recent terrace chant.<br /><br />It is not unlike the season of 1966 – 67 when (for sins committed in a previous life) I first began to follow the fortunes of the black-and-whites at St James’s Park. The team was very fortunate to avoid relegation to the old Division 2 that season, and those of us who can remember it generally agree that it was due to the signing of a man-mountain centre-half from Hibernian (John McNamee) and an elegant midfielder from Sunderland (Dave Elliot) which tipped the balance in our favour.<br />It is McNamee whom I remember most fondly. A veritable giant of a man who seemed like he was hewn from granite, McNamee was a stopper, just like the man who signed him--Joe Harvey--had been a decade previously in a very successful NUFC side. As most of the action was usually in Newcastle’s half of the field during that desperate battle to avoid the drop, we saw a lot of Big John--as he is fondly remembered today. Subtle he was not, effective he was and most opposing centre-forwards were simply terrified of him. Some doggerel to illustrate my point...<br /><br />‘<span style="font-style: italic;">John McNamee never wore gloves</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hi-lites in his hair</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Or diamonds in his lugs</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />They used to feed him on raw meat<br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;">My old man used to say</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ah wish he was still wor centre half today.<br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;">John McNamee is in his Sixties now</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Stooped, and walks with a limp</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But ah would still pick him instead of Titus Bramble.</span>’<br /> John Oliver<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qiJ2wP9LMJE0jlFDZPHgPTmJuBI-veMEy01VJmZzpcN1rE8HOfvN0ClUN_Cjty0Y1SOTx0aKZCCTjUNPSpQ75VeicM4zZhSW6oeZ5HxUPBLGUVCUcLU1jFY0YzFcKeOh8Sx-CA/s1600-h/new_034_john_mcnamee.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qiJ2wP9LMJE0jlFDZPHgPTmJuBI-veMEy01VJmZzpcN1rE8HOfvN0ClUN_Cjty0Y1SOTx0aKZCCTjUNPSpQ75VeicM4zZhSW6oeZ5HxUPBLGUVCUcLU1jFY0YzFcKeOh8Sx-CA/s400/new_034_john_mcnamee.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176094172833979410" border="0" /></a><br />We fans were somewhat less eloquent at the time...<br /><br />“E’s ’ere, ’e’s there, e’s every f*kkin’-where, McNamee-ee--McNamee!”<br /><br />we would bellow at every successful body-check or slide-tackle. He was generally a clean player though, unlike the infamous Ron ‘Chopper’ Harris who played for Chelsea in the same era.<br /><br />I only ever remember him scoring one goal, an equalizer against Sunderland, in the following season which, of course, was very important at the time. He put an end to United’s defensive frailties in no uncertain fashion, so any goals we managed to score were doubly important, many of them fashioned by Elliot. Would that a man of McNamee’s calibre were with us today...<br /><br />HOWEVER.... The other day, the news from Barrack Road was that Kevin Keegan had managed to sign his first player since resuming his role as manager back in January. Here he is:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK8g_wIhjbctu57a4c90AEciKFH6mb-3jsJmMJuj8TIDH7udlLy_3A3siSyy1_iNSb3eKtHQtGFUtpTRTtvOIdYHdBtd4FveE-k_TChVZ8yBwB2M0gwHevWpVOekG6NJNI7oIbQ/s1600-h/diatta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK8g_wIhjbctu57a4c90AEciKFH6mb-3jsJmMJuj8TIDH7udlLy_3A3siSyy1_iNSb3eKtHQtGFUtpTRTtvOIdYHdBtd4FveE-k_TChVZ8yBwB2M0gwHevWpVOekG6NJNI7oIbQ/s400/diatta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176094928748223522" border="0" /></a><br />‘Lamine Diatta (born July 2, 1975 in Dakar) is a Senegalese footballer who currently plays for Newcastle United. Diatta moved to France when he was only 1 year old. He is the holding force in the centre of Senegal's defence, and is also tough in the air, which provides a threat in attacking set-pieces.’<br />(Quotation from Wikipedia.)<br /><br />I sincerely hope that it is a case of ‘cometh the hour cometh the man’ as we are potentially in dire straits. He is certainly cut from the same type of physical cloth as McNamee was, but appears to have been hewn from obsidian in his imposing negritude. The remaining fixtures in the season include a home derby against Sunderland, but that is not till mid-April. We really need to be out of the relegation woods by then, so as not to be suffering from the jitters when taking the field versus the ‘auld enemy’. It could easily end up with one team sending the other one down...<br /><br />HOWAY THE LADS<br /><br />The observant among you will notice a new link at the top right – to the blog of Stef the Engineer. Stef recently contacted me via this blog after not being in touch for nearly a decade. He used to work for the same Japanese company as me and one of the first things that happened to him and his new bride was the Great Hanshin Earthquake on Jan 17th 1995, when they lost almost everything they had. I’ll leave you to read about it yourself. Welcome aboard Stef!<br />* He needs to learn some manners though ;-)Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-40853853412173717392008-01-05T17:30:00.000-08:002008-03-09T09:28:45.861-07:00What I did on my _winter_ holidays, 2007--2008Usually, our year-end break of seven to ten days is spent in Saga, Kyushu, this being my wife’s home town. However, this time we stayed put, in Kobe, due to the tight training schedule applying to my youngest son. It was nice not having to drive half the length of the country for a change.<br /><br />The holidays really began on Dec 27th, all my chores were done and I left the office mid-afternoon to go home and get cleaned up/changed/shaved and the rest of it, before attending a <span style="font-style: italic;">bounenkai </span> (忘年会)or ‘Forget the Year’ party with some friends of mine at a Chinese restaurant in Rokko in the eastern part of Kobe. The ‘Milk of Amnesia’ used to forget the year is the same as is used the world over, so it was a somewhat groggy author who checked in at work late on Friday morning for the final time in 2007. Again I left early, wishing <span style="font-style: italic;">yoi otoshi o</span> to the security guards and went down to the Head Office in Kobe to attend the final meeting of the year, known as a <span style="font-style: italic;">noukai</span> (納会). This was just the same as the <span style="font-style: italic;">bounenkai</span>, but held in the office, so there was no fee to pay. Arriving home somewhat tired and emotional, I resolved to spend the remaining days of 2007 in a somewhat quieter fashion.<br /><br />Saturday was spent writing my New Year’s cards -- <span style="font-style: italic;">nengajou </span> (年賀状) and Sunday out in the cold air on the motorcycle, to Suma-dera getting a new sandalwood Buddhist bracelet-- <span style="font-style: italic;">nenjuu</span> (念 珠)to replace the old one that had been broken in the boisterous process of forgetting the year, to get a haircut and to visit the office to fetch something I’d forgotten on Friday. Monday 31st was spent rushing around doing last-minute things in increasingly crowded places, especially the post office, where the <span style="font-style: italic;">nengajou</span> were finally despatched on time. At last, I settled down to begin a traditional Japanese New Year -- <span style="font-style: italic;">O-Sho-Gatsu</span> (お正月).<br /><br />This is the first in the Buddhist (or Taoist) 12-year cycle, the Year of the Rat. The story behind this cycle is rather interesting, it is said that the Buddha (or The Jade Emperor) was dying and summoned the animals to come and see him for a final meeting, and to do that they had to cross a wide river. The Rat was supposed to pass the message to them all, but he forgot to tell the Cat who kept on sleeping. In the event only 12 animals answered the summons and were given the status of a year for their trouble. The Rat hitched a ride between the horns of the Ox who was the best swimmer and so got across first, but the Rat jumped down and ran in the door first and so got pole position in the cycle. The Cat missed out altogether and never forgave the Rat and swore to hate him for evermore. The year just ended has been the Wild Pig, who stopped for a feed along the way and so arrived last. Pigs have been greedy ever since. So now you know! I can’t remember why the order of the other creatures is just so, but never mind.<br /><br />It all began at about 23:15 on New Year’s Eve when I joined my son and his rowdy mates at the local Buddhist temple to take part in the <span style="font-style: italic;">joya-no-kane</span> (除夜の鐘)ceremony of tolling the temple bell 108 times, starting out at about 23.30 and going on through midnight, ringing out the old and ringing in the new. Except it is not really ringing, the Buddhist <span style="font-style: italic;">kane</span> bell has no clapper and is struck from the outside by a length of timber suspended on ropes, producing a truly sonorous <span style="font-style: italic;">BOONNGGG</span>...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqwhCMXuaaoR4XQ1Zhjzn9_f0CUvYKuLRiCoMjKsDN737LYgZwPlcMWnm6MHhvXywZypsiccBK4LrGZJrf6Xl59fjFAL7lRJ4bAxoQ5t9f9LwiP_JgQvxH9Fl2M8x9unR9LXfhg/s1600-h/tolling_bell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqwhCMXuaaoR4XQ1Zhjzn9_f0CUvYKuLRiCoMjKsDN737LYgZwPlcMWnm6MHhvXywZypsiccBK4LrGZJrf6Xl59fjFAL7lRJ4bAxoQ5t9f9LwiP_JgQvxH9Fl2M8x9unR9LXfhg/s320/tolling_bell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151899321613613522" border="0" /></a><br />The purpose behind all this, apart from keeping all the neighbours awake, is for purification. It is a belief peculiar to Japanese Buddhism that mankind is beset by one-hundred-and-eight worldly desires which really have no value, and one really must be rid of these temporal distractions before the true Buddha-nature can be revealed. Each strike of the bell removes one more, ready for the New Year. It was very enjoyable and each participant was rewarded with a bar of chocolate for his or her <span style="font-style: italic;">BOOONNNGGG</span>...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Presumably it was spiritual chocolate, but was still very tasty on that cold early morning.<br /></div><br />The next day I was woken at 6.00 by my wife and after a hearty breakfast we ascended the hill next to our house to observe the first sunrise of the year -- <span style="font-style: italic;">hatsu hi no de</span> (初日の出). For the inhabitants of the Land of the Rising Sun, this is obviously an important event, and about a hundred people had gathered to witness it. We were lucky to have a fairly clear sky with just a few clouds on the distant Eastern horizon and we enjoyed a small cup of sacred <span style="font-style: italic;">sake</span> as we waited in the cold.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQygcjQpkBesV1wyKCaxAeX-mZAi7wmPvU1EnnZBIYoqmhDqpRDf8w6k-7l2vs3mqpx2ZFbT0DpiOoHnktvpR0ftYXGfO_v6DlBYC4CWM9r5H_ABATwaF9emXz0C2qYvySh1vl7A/s1600-h/hinode3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQygcjQpkBesV1wyKCaxAeX-mZAi7wmPvU1EnnZBIYoqmhDqpRDf8w6k-7l2vs3mqpx2ZFbT0DpiOoHnktvpR0ftYXGfO_v6DlBYC4CWM9r5H_ABATwaF9emXz0C2qYvySh1vl7A/s320/hinode3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151900554269227490" border="0" /></a><br />I have done this just once before, but this time it was truly spectacular and the delight was obvious on the faces of the onlookers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWy1arS7VZfIlp-9JPdOJYj4Arr5LH2V-LQjTEyhRkAKaThtd8JiMpxS4E-1Z8gEs90ltlbhzuQNE16TQF5_8fh8UVqgFHBkcT4obaGY2svEFOqk-VQ7IVqJy5VZ_3BCa69AbM8w/s1600-h/HatsuhiHiroko.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWy1arS7VZfIlp-9JPdOJYj4Arr5LH2V-LQjTEyhRkAKaThtd8JiMpxS4E-1Z8gEs90ltlbhzuQNE16TQF5_8fh8UVqgFHBkcT4obaGY2svEFOqk-VQ7IVqJy5VZ_3BCa69AbM8w/s320/HatsuhiHiroko.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151901086845172226" border="0" /></a><br />After that, we made our way down the hill, got in the car and set off on our final votive activity, visiting three Shinto shrines in succession, the <span style="font-style: italic;">sanja mairi</span> (三社参り). The first was our local shrine, <span style="font-style: italic;">Kasuga Jinja</span> , not even important enough to warrant an office or souvenir shop, but bottles of <span style="font-style: italic;">sake</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">sakazuki</span> cups were available for any who wanted to toast the gods. Here I reached into my pocket and withdrew a handful of low-denomination coins, a mixture of one-yen and five-yen pieces, and cast them into the offertory box or the Shinto version of it. Someone told me once that if the gods see you flinging a lot of money into their box, they will consider you as generous and reward you accordingly, even though the actual amount may be minuscule. For this reason, I collect these small coins in a small piggy-bank all year and try to con the gods -- all part of the fun.<br /><br />The next stop was just up the valley of the Akashi river, at <span style="font-style: italic;">Sumiyoshi Jinja</span>, the shrine of the local farmers. They had temporary wardens on duty to direct us to the car park and make sure we didn’t burn ourselves when dumping the previous year’s talismans onto an enormous bonfire. I deposited my second load of coins, made my wish and went to seek my fortune for a fee of ¥200 at the souvenir stall. I drew Great Fortune -- <span style="font-style: italic;">Dai Kichi</span> (大吉), the top of the line fortune, so maybe 2008 is going to be a banner year after all. I also bought a new sacred arrow -- <span style="font-style: italic;">hamaya</span> (破魔矢)to drive away evil spirits from our house in the Year of the Rat.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheE34yEe051dKWVLwN7o9Phg7oevOdslnYSYLXFYlY6THB4wioTgohlDuUeKA37-e7RTTWsrfeSy3aq4uG1FsnEpibWMdJYmobFPCHcglNJSXWApQhHf8yfPysdC1IPkDe-AuD6w/s1600-h/sumiyoshijinja.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheE34yEe051dKWVLwN7o9Phg7oevOdslnYSYLXFYlY6THB4wioTgohlDuUeKA37-e7RTTWsrfeSy3aq4uG1FsnEpibWMdJYmobFPCHcglNJSXWApQhHf8yfPysdC1IPkDe-AuD6w/s320/sumiyoshijinja.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151901430442555922" border="0" /></a><br />The final stop was on top of our nearest mountain <span style="font-style: italic;">Mekko-san</span> at <span style="font-style: italic;">Kande Jinja</span>, which affords a spectacular vista of the eastern countryside.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazYMnSSna73H63CQto2vRhC8bGCo57j0NOqdZnlNA0YZMP44S84s-vgVh5L_rSyBrAGEAP-hYyOAxuedtbi9WwSUX0OhhXEue-Y5unPB6kMWhQrRX3-S8MfU5l0DKTlZBIj5IvA/s1600-h/kandejinja.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazYMnSSna73H63CQto2vRhC8bGCo57j0NOqdZnlNA0YZMP44S84s-vgVh5L_rSyBrAGEAP-hYyOAxuedtbi9WwSUX0OhhXEue-Y5unPB6kMWhQrRX3-S8MfU5l0DKTlZBIj5IvA/s320/kandejinja.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151901778334906914" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwB_jtvIBJLxp4LD8nhxhN5XLAaqMyIT0LGIWtQqyD5kfgGKIZDit-fTOicb0qfxw-N_Xfpj4SMPAoDPy27nAIkEKt9-mVkI8ePRtMxrQzW1eBj-zyQWEzr5AWZg0kBgjpa_Rv7Q/s1600-h/view.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwB_jtvIBJLxp4LD8nhxhN5XLAaqMyIT0LGIWtQqyD5kfgGKIZDit-fTOicb0qfxw-N_Xfpj4SMPAoDPy27nAIkEKt9-mVkI8ePRtMxrQzW1eBj-zyQWEzr5AWZg0kBgjpa_Rv7Q/s320/view.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151902109047388722" border="0" /></a><br />The final coins were deposited and prayers said and it was off home to arrive at 09.15--just in time to call England and wish them Happy New Year.<br /><br />The rest of the day (and the next 2 days) were spent doing very little and eating a great deal. Not a small amount of alcoholic beverage was imbibed too. I did go out and fly a kite on the afternoon of Jan 1st, to get some fresh air but only one other person was doing so. This traditional children's activity seems to have been supplanted by playing with radio-control cars and model battle-tanks, to judge by our neighbourhood...<br /><br />This was the first time I have done _all_ of these traditional things at New Year. I have made a resolution to try and do them all every year from now on.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">May the Year of the Rat bring health, wealth and happiness to you all.<br />I have borrowed a JPeg <span style="font-style: italic;">nengajou</span> from a friend of mine to greet you with.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAz6wxYBHKtUDPJ-4bzg3AHX1B3kL3ttu58_EKBV6kGb8PQWw4Hfkxc1Kyb_IXOgdWeXfQyXAp7b_cUrApN8Q89Nj0OL295FyxjxlYbIfCTp_0cuEGggp70KYLaH91QEplB0rt4w/s1600-h/2008nenga.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAz6wxYBHKtUDPJ-4bzg3AHX1B3kL3ttu58_EKBV6kGb8PQWw4Hfkxc1Kyb_IXOgdWeXfQyXAp7b_cUrApN8Q89Nj0OL295FyxjxlYbIfCTp_0cuEGggp70KYLaH91QEplB0rt4w/s400/2008nenga.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151902718932744786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-68145140594225023562007-12-02T03:35:00.000-08:002007-12-02T04:26:58.726-08:00The Ways of Men and their Masters...December 2nd<br />I have recently returned from Tokyo’s Yoyogi Koen where I attended the 2007 Japan Association of Language Teachers (JALT) annual conference. This is usually in some location far-flung from Kobe, which adds to the novelty, travelling in the fine autumn weather. However, as a result, I usually spend the first morning on the road/railway which means I miss the early sessions despite having paid full-whack for the conference fees. So this year I decided to travel up to the Eastern Capital (<span style="font-style: italic;">Tou-Kyou</span> 東京)by overnight coach, so as to arrive bright and early and register at 9:00 on Friday, Nov 23rd when it all kicked off. This did not seem like an unreasonable plan, having done a similar thing some seven years ago when a friend of mine from the UK was taking part in an international folk culture event as part of a Morris Dancing team. That time though, the coach was equipped with full-recliner seats, not unlike those in First Class on a 747 Jumbo.<br /><br />The best-laid schemes of mice and men, gan aft-a-gley...<br /><br />I was somewhat dismayed to find that the Sannomiya–Tokyo Station <span style="font-style: italic;">Dream-Liner</span> was just a common-or-garden long distance coach and there were nine hours of travel ahead of us. I did snatch a morsel of REM sleep sometime after a 3 am service station stop, evinced by the fact that I dreamed a dream. It was a rather strange dream, involving me down a lead mine in Weardale, County Durham, with someone long since deceased, searching for semi-precious stones and the like for his lapidary collection and finding nothing but old, broken clay pipes left behind by the miners of long ago. An old memory no doubt, I _have_ been there and done that, many times. The dream came to a rather abrupt end when an earthquake started and the roof began to cave in, a seismic phenomenon which Weardale is not noted for.<br />I awoke in terror, to find that the bus was rumbling over an uneven surface left by construction work which was the source of the shaking. The rosy-fingered dawn was breaking and I spent the remainder of the journey watching heavier and heavier traffic heading out of Tokyo for the 3-day weekend, while our progress was relatively unimpeded.<br /><br />I grumpily alighted from the <span style="font-style: italic;">Dream-Liner</span> at Tokyo Station exactly on time at 07:15, something the Japanese are uncommonly good at. I then had to travel approximately half-way round their version of London’s Circle Line, known as the <span style="font-style: italic;">Yamanote-Sen</span>. There is a quicker way across the intervening distance, but it involves going down into the bowels of the earth to a subway line, whereas the <span style="font-style: italic;">Yamanote</span> always remains on the surface and is hence more civilized, in my humble opinion. At Shinjuku I alighted again and went in search of breakfast, which was soon found at a 24-hour diner who served me with a bacon-cheese-tomato toastie and a nice cup of blended Joe. Now the day was truly beginning, I felt replenished and ready for anything.<br /><br />However, the relatively short journey from Shinjuku to the conference site involved a lot of seemingly unnecessary clumping up and down stairs amid throngs of people so I was grumpy again by the time I had arrived and completed the registration procedure. More coffee was needed and in the process of getting this, scanning the conference handbook Friday schedule and bumping into people not-seen-for-ages, it was 11 am before I was in any state for going to a presentation of any kind. I could have had a decent night’s sleep, taken an early Shinkansen (or even a flight) and achieved the same result. These kinds of lessons learned are the best remembered.<br /><br />One very common topic of conversation was the Ministry of Justice’s recently introduced anti-terrorism immigration policy affecting all non-Japanese (with a limited number of exceptions). As of November 20th all such persons must be fingerprinted (index fingers of each hand) and have a digital photograph taken for the records. When I first heard about this, in late August, I was not unduly bothered. After all, the MoJ already had the print of my right-hand index finger on record and a photo (updated every five years for the ID card) and I have had the status of <span style="font-style: italic;">eijuu-ken</span><br />(永住権)<br />for more than fifteen years. Surely they didn’t want to do this to me?<br /><br />Think again laddie. The MoJ claim they destroyed all fingerprinting records (apart from those of convicted felons) in 2000 when the practice of fingerprinting for a visa of more than 90 days duration was abolished in the face of mounting protests about discrimination at home and abroad. It has only taken them seven years to reinstate the practice and now on entry and re-entry for ever and ever. It was suggested that they introduce a special gate for permanent residents like me who could pre-register their biometric details, so as to avoid interminable queues. They have only agreed to provide one such gate, at Narita in the Kanto region serving Tokyo. People using other points of ingress like KiX in the Kansai or Chubu International in the Tokai can go and whistle Dixie for all they care.<br /><br />I can understand that a case can be made for collecting such biometric data—once. There are a lot of unpleasant people around in this world, and if it means they can be apprehended more easily I have no problem in meeting the letter of the law—once. Doing the same thing repeatedly is a nonsense, as is the refusal to provide a pre-registered gate anywhere else but Narita. It is a kick in the teeth for those of us who have lived here peaceably for decades, paid our taxes and generally tried to fit in to a different culture.<br />I did not meet one person who was in favour of this new policy. Some have gone to some interesting lengths to illustrate their opposition to it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqWDeUyvx4ItqJfNPV4ZUETSRJrP57vheH7rUhbRZYdBCzJJjSgIJyAiP77MlCnBuWZprkhqfQdapNsKYpIhsCYM_WXBKp1ZK9eAXJ5TxQG9X_4fHSK9_7wGqFTwDi60BNWg0AQ/s1600-r/yokosojapan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2s2t601O_ySc7Y2UmCLto-Sqh4b3iYOwcjqBbMrMdtTNi0l_GW33mn45T7FVd9fKMPQ5IholghWk24QMp40Tbparw6n1GkJNKeIAQdqMJcvwA3izhcRmi2tCSUcBAmz7KvbuRXw/s320/yokosojapan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139339591381463330" border="0" /></a><br />If anyone would like to buy one of these T-shirts, point your browser to:<br /><http: com=""><a href="http://samuraicanuck.tripod.com/">http://samuraicanuck.tripod.com</a><br />where they can be purchased in Adult sizes XXL down to XS. I was informed by the designer that the print on the shirt is actually of his big toe, not his index finger.<br />As I do not plan to travel outside of Japan for another 12 months or so, I hope common sense will prevail and some amendments will be made to this policy in the meantime.<br /><br />On the morning of Saturday 24th November, a friend of mine and I decided to take some time out of academia and do a bit of sightseeing. We decided to go to Yasukuni Jinja (靖国神社)which translates literally as ‘Pacifying the Nation Shrine’. This place was originally constructed in 1869 by order of the Meiji Emperor, as a war memorial to commemorate those who had died in the Boshin War, fighting on the side of the Restoration. Since then it has become a general war memorial using Shinto rites to deify the spirits of all those who have given their lives fighting for Japan and the Emperor up till 1951. This includes former colonial subjects from Taiwan and Korea, not only Japanese. However,<br /><br />“One of the criteria for enshrinement at Yasukuni is that a person be listed as having died while on duty (including death from illness or disease) in the war dead registry of the Japanese government. According to documents released on 28 March 2007 by the National Diet Library of Japan, Health and Welfare Ministry officials and Yasukuni representatives agreed during a meeting, on 31 January 1969, that Class-A war criminals judged at the Tokyo Trial were "able to be honored" and decided not to make public the idea that Yasukuni would enshrine those criminals.[2] On October 17, 1978, 14 Class A war criminals (convicted by the International Military Tribunal for the Far East), including Hideki Tojo, were quietly enshrined as "Martyrs of Shōwa" (昭和殉難者 <span style="font-style: italic;">Shōwa junnansha</span>), ostensibly on the technicality that they were on the war dead registry. They are listed below, according to their sentences:<br /><br />* Death by hanging:<br /><br /> Hideki Tojo, Itagaki Seishiro, Heitaro Kimura, Kenji Doihara, Iwane Matsui, Akira Muto, Koki Hirota<br /><br />* Lifetime imprisonment:<br /><br /> Yoshijiro Umezu, Kuniaki Koiso, Kiichiro Hiranuma, Toshio Shiratori<br /><br />* 20-year imprisonment:<br /><br /> Shigenori Togo<br /><br />* Died before a judicial decision was reached (due to illness or disease):<br /><br /> Osami Nagano, Yosuke Matsuoka<br /><br />The enshrinement was revealed to the media on April 19, 1979, and a controversy started in 1985 which continues to this day. For China, North and South Korea, and other nations that suffered from Japanese invasion and imperial rule, the shrine is a symbol of Japanese fascism and extreme aggression. Liberal, socialist and communist groups in Japan also take issue with the shrine for similar reasons.”<br />Quotation from Wikipedia <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yasukuni_Jinja">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yasukuni_Jinja</a><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yasukuni_Jinja"><br /></a><br />The entrance to the shrine is marked by one of the largest <span style="font-style: italic;">torii</span> gateways I have ever seen, built of iron and quietly rusting away in the November sunlight.<br /><br /></http:></http:><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5ZynS99wtp9F0nAOyLswBiNgIedCDxes8iyAmP90KxTNHKYZCEwohIVYLcIT8Cd40cWSXsCgVLU9Cm_Qh_W14KZjSf3SSS1Lxs3cYdoxhJooeicD5fxTYH4r0fm3rbht0e3lhg/s1600-r/yasutori.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfeoTvbZUXD1jnofMipayYnJDAiMfoac0_uGaZ3QytgMZuwYweEnf1ayNrO3QcG7Tuf4dkHysMZ-m7j11zdxL-n9VQbVsEnN7yE9zMxrLFhdI7kTlaOXspY7-oOnCqBpJJsTFBKw/s320/yasutori.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139341446807335218" border="0" /></a><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja="">As we approached the main shrine we heard the twanging sound of a <span style="font-style: italic;">jamisen</span> being played by one of two elderly Okinawan gentlemen who were making a protest against recent government denials that the Imperial Army ordered civilians to commit suicide rather than surrender in the ‘Typhoon of Steel’ that marked the last major battle of the Pacific War.<br /><br /></http:></http:><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi50pdJzg0MdQCytpAiSV-RCGezKrO_nfUquBa52ga5ELjRByxRPC9NSJJyn2CpuYHwlRlZIVlg1UuV4U0YoUCj6ne4gB45POnSdddVsQrsntv0rtPnkXXtEZyJ-uQGPhCTlwx30Q/s1600-r/jamisen.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMbS-9c9S-2jvaeFZYZBFbXDGmxUMnabICQRc5dizaePSob-zCicUsstqJ6i5Owhlw1WVpqHmgDmj5TLLxxinAauslalfGv8I-fwH2sOmcufnK_V0d1lr2KnnerVg4sD2amzF1g/s320/jamisen.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139342086757462338" border="0" /></a><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja="">The main shrine itself is unremarkable, but the <span style="font-style: italic;">Yuu-shuu Kan</span> museum of history is something else again. A fully restored <span style="font-style: italic;">Zero-Sen</span> fighter plane and a couple of sizable field artillery pieces are preserved there along with numerous revisionist pieces of writing regarding the role of Japan in the years 1937–45.<br /><br />“A documentary-style video shown to museum visitors portrays Japan's conquest of East Asia during the pre-World War II period as an effort to save the region from the imperial advances of Western powers. Displays portray Japan as a victim of foreign influence, especially Western pressure. The museum fails to portray atrocities committed by the Japanese Imperial Army such as the Rape of Nanking.<br /><br />A pamphlet published by the shrine says: "War is a really tragic thing to happen, but it was necessary in order for us to protect the independence of Japan and to prosper together with our Asian neighbors." It also says that Japanese POWs executed for war crimes were "cruelly and unjustly tried" by a "sham-like tribunal of the Allied forces."[2] Their position is based on the WWII-era argument from the Japanese government that the country had never signed the Geneva Convention, and was not a signatory of any enforceable international war crimes agreement. Therefore, in their opinion, the convictions were labels placed upon them by an organization to which they did not belong.<br /><br />The shrine's English-language website defends Japanese activities prior to and during World War II, by stating: "War is truly sorrowful. Yet to maintain the independence and peace of the nation and for the prosperity of all of Asia, Japan was forced into conflict." (Quotation from Wikipedia, as above).<br /><br />As we left the shrine to make our way back to the conference we noticed a man had set up a display with photos and video screens to show that the 1937 Rape of Nanking never took place and that it is all a fabrication of the evil Chinese Communist party. Take a look...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.history.gr.jp/%7Enanking/index2.html">http://www.history.gr.jp/~nanking/index2.html</a><br /><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><br />You will notice that the main gist of these people’s arguments is dissent regarding absolute numbers of people who were killed. In this sense they are similar to the neo-Nazi holocaust denial people. They also forcibly point out that the Chinese Communist Party has been guilty of far worse massacres since 1947 and that they have no business in criticizing the defunct Imperial Japanese Army for human rights violations.<br /><br />My own take on this controversy is — a plague on both your houses. The past cannot be undone and while we should not simply forget about it, continually digging it up in order to heave motes and beams about serves no purpose. Up until recently, the Prime Minister of Japan would make official visits to Yasukuni Jinja, mainly in order to placate the right-wing financial backers of his party. However, the last leader Mr Abe notably did _not_ make a visit during his short tenure, and so far the current incumbent, Mr Fukuda has indicated no intention of doing so. As a result relations between Japan and the PRC have become more cordial and a Chinese warship made a courtesy call to the port of Tokyo last week, the first such visit since 1934. May common sense prevail...<br /><br />All of this got me thinking about my own religious upbringing at the Church of St Mary and St Cuthbert in Chester-le-Street, County Durham.<br /><br /></http:></http:></http:><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1y5oFMDtwIKKJhZAwVcDf-s9G5Zmi7Me_ZvnNPSCPAIx2KXnbVoe_bt3Klj0l6d_SZt3yZuZ_U27wsmG0Cycw7VIi_m2hKiLsEOeTCVW3cys_jlUaXH_oqyC23BTy6ZOM1p8s7w/s1600-r/Church-exterior-col.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia4ZerTZSa6IzpzNdeqeMG-ZoDKnpmB7GgvhzjILRTzxKaomZOvdyGkJtKVnyf9KgHsRVkHJgvdYSaCZ6KYdiIcapSE_k4HIq2wSNZnnpzsUaLrslRPVWAgoFgG5Mc0YaNje6o8A/s320/Church-exterior-col.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139342950045888850" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.maryandcuthbert.org.uk/index.htm">http://www.maryandcuthbert.org.uk/index.htm</a></div><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm=""><br />This church was originally established in 883 by a band of monks in flight from the ravishing Danes who had driven them from their priory at Lindisfarne. Use of the land was granted by King Alfred ‘the Great’ and this is signified by the striking red colour of the cassocks still worn by the choir. It is claimed that the Bible was first translated into English there, but this is uncertain. Certainly, the Lindisfarne Gospels had their first resting place here after removal from Holy Island, but the form of Old English used in them is now unintelligible to the modern reader.<br />Anyway, it was here that the writer got his first taste of Christianity, first at Sunday School and later as a soprano chorister.<br /></http:></http:></http:></http:><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY5rjKSC87xL_wNLuV-ZJhdOX8bWzcoYYjBQuXVU6aUGewbbv-STjKTlf9oUmZ859AVkZ_xY_tfgp2miLFqVjc0Udc0VwAaGSvJRNp5deJ8b63p9NoaqZVQDCYDnEnUNdoJK13Ow/s1600-r/choirboy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxcYuy-3ZrbICykhyphenhyphen5o1amoiFIwIKutQ2ycyXxD0gSu9omMBP6OCIlU9iHogif88tZH3fuY9B-mQgCIOX9bwrAHabbretKJKIQKjp40ahXe1Nbtxh8X5T5bo-nWNP0NFYgPO6tA/s320/choirboy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139343680190329186" border="0" /></a><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm="">The vicar at the time was the Reverend Spurr, a gentle soft-spoken man who had been a missionary to China in the 1930s and had undergone torture at the hands of the Imperial Japanese Army. I can still remember some of his sermons from the early days of my choir career, before I became bored with it all. He had a knack of utilizing less well-known Bible stories, such as that of Nicodemus, to illustrate his lesson for the week. Remembrance Sundays were always a bit of a squeeze, as a member of the Boy Scout band I would play snare drum in the Church Parade marching up the Front Street from the Scout Hut, arrive there full of hell and anti-German/Japanese sentiment then dash round the back of the church to don red cassock and snow-white surplice and ruff, emerging all angelic and sweet-singing with slicked-down hair to listen to the Good Reverend tell us about the God of Love after singing Onward Christian Soldiers...<br />We were paid for this stuff of course, one old penny (1d) for each choir practice (Tuesday & Friday) and the princely sum of two shillings and sixpence (2s/6d) for a Saturday wedding, plus the chance to participate in the ‘scramble’ when the bridegroom would, following tradition, empty his pockets of loose change into the street for urchins to fight over.<br /><br />My main reason for being a chorister was not to sing in the choir but to play football for its team, something I pursued more with passion than any skill. In later years, when the good Reverend’s sermons began to cloy, I would play with Matchbox cars or toy soldiers on the choir stalls, under the baleful glare of the choirmaster, Mr Caldwell, who was always threatening to confiscate them but never remembered to do do. Other people would imagine the vicar was a cricket umpire and estimate the score by the positioning of his hands during the sermon. It recently occurred to me that we would sing the lyrics to hymns and anthems most angelically without the slightest notion of what they meant;<br /><br /></http:></http:></http:></http:><div style="text-align: center;"><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm="">‘<span style="font-style: italic;">Cherubim and Seraphim,</span> </http:></http:></http:></http:><br /><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm=""><span style="font-style: italic;">All the Saints adore thee--</span> </http:></http:></http:></http:><br /><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Casting down their golden crowns</span> </http:></http:></http:></http:><br /><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Around the glassy sea</span>...’</http:></http:></http:></http:><br /><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm=""></http:></http:></http:></http:></div><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm=""><br />doesn’t make a lot of sense even now<br /><br />In the final year of my choir career a new rector, the Reverend Ottoson, appeared and took over the Sunday sermons. He was a real wild-fire compared with his staid predecessor and introduced all manner of new ideas to C of E services. I first heard the modern hymn <span style="font-style: italic;">Lord of the Dance</span> from him.<br /><br />In the fullness of time, my soprano voice broke and was 'like nowt nor summat’ for a year or two (to quote my grandmother) and so I was dismissed from the choir. I became a campanologist for a time, as the church has an impressive eight-bell peal, but became disinterested due to factional politics within the group.<br /><br />To finish with I should make comment on something which is making headlines in Britain right now, particularly in the tabloid press. A good-hearted English teacher from Liverpool, about my age, name of Gillian Gibbons, decided to work in Sudan so as to use her teaching skills to benefit the children of that strife-torn land in some way. One day, she obtained a teddy bear from somewhere and decided to adopt it as the class mascot. She held a class competition to decide on a name for the soft toy as part of a study of animals and their habitats. The name that was decided on by democratic vote was Muhammad, which is a very popular name for baby boys. It is also the name of the Prophet of Islam and this has caused her to be imprisoned for blasphemy for 15 days and subsequently deported. There have been reports of vengeful mobs burning her in effigy and demanding that she face a firing squad for her heinous crime.<br /><br /></http:></http:></http:></http:><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg67Msmgqg3w097sQ-aoF1DoAALC6c-ow3eUKqdp3CbS974vLH96ADFEVacgiXv1_4oLJ1-tLCaTCg3UbZdRsJaP3grBt_CKJxA439J4bksWuoFnLZX2LatkQNEqVOhvKfb_I4DmA/s1600-r/burngillgibbons.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5lUq1m69xTz0eY4o_lvQVpA-_iRgfkKFcujkgcn_fXI-oneL-h3GsCaPDfF013cI1aI7NDr3d5qpN3k7HjoypEimIZFTHGl0InQqhePsoZdBz5o4GhdXjTuMsRirJeu9wwZQ_AQ/s320/burngillgibbons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139348164136186226" border="0" /></a><http: com=""><http: org="" wiki="" yasukuni_jinja=""><http: jp="" nanking="" html=""><http: uk="" htm="">I cannot imagine what kind of deity would become vexed at having a soft toy named after him or her or one that would order someone’s execution for doing something like that. However, making decisions on behalf of one’s chosen Spiritual Being has been a human failing since time immemorial, only most civilised nations have grown out of it. For the sake of the Sudanese majority, I hope common sense prevails, as this kind of thing cannot sit well with the people who are in charge of allocating humanitarian aid.<br /><br />That's all folks! Till next time.<br /><br /><br /></http:></http:></http:></http:>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-59812520489722635942007-10-27T06:03:00.000-07:002007-10-27T09:34:46.239-07:00What I did on my holidays (2008) and after...October 27th<br /><br />Since the clocks are about to go back in Britain, announcing the end of the so-called BST (British Summer Time), it is high time I got around to updating this blog. Apologies to anyone who has been awaiting an up date, no excuses really, just a dearth of round tuit availability.<br /><br />My holidays began in Saga this year, in the last week in July when we travelled down to Kyushu to support our youngest son, Roderick Genki, as he represented his school in the discus and shot-put events of the National Inter-High Track & Field competition. He finished 18th in the shot but managed seventh place in the discus, with a throw of 47.62 metres, just missing the cut for the final. A very creditable achievement for the youngest lad on the field.<br /><br />The very next day I was on a KLM jumbo bound for the UK, glad to finally escape the sweltering heat. The weather was fair for the first week, but then turned colder, getting down as low as 11° C in mid August. I was obliged to borrow a fleece to keep warm and scrounge an extra blanket for the bed, while my sister turned on the central heating.<br /><br />During this period I paid my customary visit to St. James’s Park to see the lads turn out against the Villans of Aston Villa. We were in row Y of the Leazes End which made me suffer bouts of vertigo as I gazed down from the dizzy heights. This was the best I could do, queueing up to buy the tickets a few days before, my usual sources having proved barren. We were in good heart on the way to the ground, the Toon had won 1-3 away from home at Bolton on the 11th of August, which we took as a good omen for the new regime of Mike Ashley and Sam Allardyce. The reprehensible Freddie Shepherd was deposed as chairman of the club in a bloodless coup in the close season, bringing forth rejoicing and merriment among most Newcastle supporters.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMK1K4OmIpCvSUVygTgbFK3pvze_wG_k5i6TUWdwcJ9jtC8CaL2CSvFfr5j8TJH5u38r_iuvLEwaqz9Af_6U7tTVPEZC7bg_F1nvKhRQ9_WwpXonwdW37DkNTrJiMxEbzmcJIXPw/s1600-h/freddy-sadam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMK1K4OmIpCvSUVygTgbFK3pvze_wG_k5i6TUWdwcJ9jtC8CaL2CSvFfr5j8TJH5u38r_iuvLEwaqz9Af_6U7tTVPEZC7bg_F1nvKhRQ9_WwpXonwdW37DkNTrJiMxEbzmcJIXPw/s320/freddy-sadam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126001930362404594" border="0" /></a><br />In the event, the match was dreadful, a dour midfield 0-0 grind with about 3 shots on goal all told. The Villa could have won it had they put themselves about a little better. Newcastle were clueless. I was reduced to scanning the South Tyneside horizon for landmarks, clearly visible from our lofty eyrie, up aheight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKGkneiGS3oRb3gyPWj9v4c62JUz7COnCD1RMrXLAzU-dpHEPY3701iddD0dNi5MkBJ4-dje7ht-IfXfJl1GJYYNVTJHdeNZA7kCna_9Ek3CXgvePFmjDHMlSEbBumDHoKmimgw/s1600-h/sjp.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKGkneiGS3oRb3gyPWj9v4c62JUz7COnCD1RMrXLAzU-dpHEPY3701iddD0dNi5MkBJ4-dje7ht-IfXfJl1GJYYNVTJHdeNZA7kCna_9Ek3CXgvePFmjDHMlSEbBumDHoKmimgw/s320/sjp.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126003004104228610" border="0" /></a>Apart from Wrekenton church, I noticed that the abominable brutalist architecture of Trinity Centre Multi-Storey Car Park in Gateshead was still standing. Built in 1969, this crumbling concrete monstrosity featured in the 1971 British gangster movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Get Carter</span>, starring Michael Caine. Poor construction using raw concrete meant that by the end of the decade the building had deteriorated considerably and was listed for demolition, which was why I was surprised to see it still standing. Apparently certain people, including Sylvester Stallone of all people, felt it should be preserved as a cultural icon on account of its cinematic history and had launched an appeal to save it. Thankfully, such misguided sentimental nonsense has now been thrown out and the latest news is that this wretched symbol of urban decay is scheduled to be gone by the spring of 2008. Not a moment too soon, in the opinion of many on Tyneside and beyond.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLs2qOuGv898braImbLD_GpJDgox2LTH7yFWsJUhFyF1e5kDxDxvEMaO4eTQe0TQMrS9Y56yrhYiihYrH9b7NO_ANpxLUZbug0MDvY5uJV9SBL_LYEFZLqtrMAPwA9YSIqSVytg/s1600-h/763px-Get_Carter_carpark.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLs2qOuGv898braImbLD_GpJDgox2LTH7yFWsJUhFyF1e5kDxDxvEMaO4eTQe0TQMrS9Y56yrhYiihYrH9b7NO_ANpxLUZbug0MDvY5uJV9SBL_LYEFZLqtrMAPwA9YSIqSVytg/s320/763px-Get_Carter_carpark.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126003416421089042" border="0" /></a><br />On the way back, to compound our despondency, we noticed a pair of drenched and miserable Bactrian camels stood in the pouring rain in a field opposite the pub where we sought post-match sustenance. Part of a travelling circus, as cloven-footed beasts, these unfortunate creatures had been grounded by the governmental response to an outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease far to the south in Surrey. There is always someone or something feeling worse than yourself, I suppose. Since that first dreadful home game, the Toon’s fortunes have improved somewhat, and they currently sit in 8th place in the Premier League, played nine, won five, drawn two, lost two. This is the club’s best start to a season in over a decade, so Big Sam must be doing something right.<br /><br />After that, the weather improved somewhat and I was able to enjoy a day out in Durham where the cathedral cloisters provided some photo-ops.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwyGuAzVToP3hkc76lWIx8-CYyZiIRWECYT0J7CxJGzB_W6d-F2zZu6mnvPhggMyHPYHebfskKFpQfic_Zu_bweVH69Y82a7FduwWDZ0Nf3RseAKHr2bTu4a5Kd2MCVevRDo7vWQ/s1600-h/dcloisters.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwyGuAzVToP3hkc76lWIx8-CYyZiIRWECYT0J7CxJGzB_W6d-F2zZu6mnvPhggMyHPYHebfskKFpQfic_Zu_bweVH69Y82a7FduwWDZ0Nf3RseAKHr2bTu4a5Kd2MCVevRDo7vWQ/s320/dcloisters.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126003747133570850" border="0" /></a>On the final day, my parents took me down to Hartlepool where a fully restored nineteenth-century sailing frigate can be seen in an open-air reconstructed replica of a Napoleonic seaport. HMS Trincomalee is a Royal Navy Leda-class vessel, built in Bombay in 1817. She was constructed from teak, on account of oak shortages in Britain caused by the demand for naval shipping during the Napoleonic wars. Apparently she is the oldest warship afloat in Britain and is well worth a visit, in all her copper-bottomed glory. Down on the cramped gun deck, among the twenty-eight 18-pounder cannon, you can really get a feel for those days of ‘rum, sodomy and the lash’, as Churchill described it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIE10Gz-LY2teMkrYSeTkg_dNUh1mKH23RzXXuhp_7t3ondhmEYmOpX0Ed1EcAQ4ZQycTIhogRR47SQAkQXFvH9va-5EJ12JFRvyS9TyZcCxB78DU4m_Lbb4OjAGYFMOugWJ0m9A/s1600-h/bow.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIE10Gz-LY2teMkrYSeTkg_dNUh1mKH23RzXXuhp_7t3ondhmEYmOpX0Ed1EcAQ4ZQycTIhogRR47SQAkQXFvH9va-5EJ12JFRvyS9TyZcCxB78DU4m_Lbb4OjAGYFMOugWJ0m9A/s320/bow.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126004687731408690" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.hms-trincomalee.co.uk/">http://www.hms-trincomalee.co.uk/</a><br /></div><br />Back in Japan, the heat had not gone away and persisted till early October. During this time I noticed a report that the North-West Passage was ice-free. Global warming is a reality and no mistake. It is nearly November, and still the daytime is warm enough to discourage heavy clothing.<br /><br />Our son’s sporting prowess has continued with him taking gold medals in discus and hammer-throw at the <span style="font-style: italic;">Kinki</span> Youth tournament, first place in the discus at the <span style="font-style: italic;">Kokutai</span> National Sports Meeting and silver medal in the discus last weekend in the All-Japan Youth tournament. Thus was in the city of Oita, in Kyushu at the ‘Big Eye’ stadium, one of the venues of the 2002 World Cup.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmERG9FpIkNFSlCHDuriKt3majK52axaMppea2XDyu2xgxo_8nSjbnI-Wbd1GoOndmavwYLrjq8lLYE-yWtRCvb1Gt34K4Flw5WqUVRvJKWwwFWNeqtz8CDiSgUZLI5Y5DYko70A/s1600-h/big-eye.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmERG9FpIkNFSlCHDuriKt3majK52axaMppea2XDyu2xgxo_8nSjbnI-Wbd1GoOndmavwYLrjq8lLYE-yWtRCvb1Gt34K4Flw5WqUVRvJKWwwFWNeqtz8CDiSgUZLI5Y5DYko70A/s320/big-eye.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126005100048269122" border="0" /></a>We took the motorcycle down to Kyushu on the ferry and enjoyed a little bit of a 2nd honeymoon as this year marked our silver wedding anniversary. Our first honeymoon was in the same area, again by motorcycle. Kitted out with saddle panniers, Black Mariah served us very well over the four day weekend.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewyU42wrR8YiDgGqRIZrt7067puVTU3gR-bsJ-lW87BFxkcckBdvKXp6a0IYUSHkqU4yK7xVzZVNHD0jdJmTEIjw-NYiLbRpqaWz15kaE9nPA7voycCHIlBxABYqAE0OL_Dj0BA/s1600-h/blackmaria.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewyU42wrR8YiDgGqRIZrt7067puVTU3gR-bsJ-lW87BFxkcckBdvKXp6a0IYUSHkqU4yK7xVzZVNHD0jdJmTEIjw-NYiLbRpqaWz15kaE9nPA7voycCHIlBxABYqAE0OL_Dj0BA/s320/blackmaria.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126005546724867922" border="0" /></a>The big news recently in Japan was the announcement yesterday that Nova, the largest chain of English language schools, has filed for bankruptcy and suspended operations indefinitely. Around four thousand foreign instructors and two thousand Japanese staff are currently without income. While this is an unfortunate event (especially for the employees), the writing on the wall has been there since June when the company were forbidden by law from recruiting any more students for a period of six months. The courts ruled that their business practice, of only offering partial refunds if a contract was cancelled, was illegal. Personally, I have never heard _anyone_ say _anything_ good about Nova in all the time they have been in operation.<br />For some years now they have advertised themselves as offering <span style="font-style: italic;">eki-mae ryugaku</span> (overseas study by the train station) and promised that students could have classes at any time of the day or night, 24-7. In practice, the most popular time for an English class is 7 pm on a weekday evening and it soon became obvious that the company’s claim was hollow, leading to widespread dissatisfaction and attempts to cancel contracts for which hundreds of thousands of yen had been paid up front. The June court ruling had the effect of adding to the student exodus.<br />They also treated their staff very shabbily, having a rule that no social contact could take place between teacher and students outside of class. This was so they could charge extra for ‘free conversation’ in a special non-teaching room in each school and the students would get no language practice without paying for it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkAWoowAJ252qTG_6it_juXa6HDR0ZuKLRV4UIZjawMb2uP8qWkuv-25oXgP26nElJ0bAxxl4F1cpKyzSyIjdTGGlmp1fpR63oA_RKTfJzSsYKD-qOh_53wIKBGgwDyMGUL3A2A/s1600-h/_44199340_aaaaaaaaanova_afp203.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkAWoowAJ252qTG_6it_juXa6HDR0ZuKLRV4UIZjawMb2uP8qWkuv-25oXgP26nElJ0bAxxl4F1cpKyzSyIjdTGGlmp1fpR63oA_RKTfJzSsYKD-qOh_53wIKBGgwDyMGUL3A2A/s320/_44199340_aaaaaaaaanova_afp203.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126005967631662946" border="0" /></a>Though I feel sorry for the newly unemployed people I feel a certain satisfaction that justice has been done. I have had disagreements with certain people in the company I work for regarding the timing of classes. ‘If Nova can do it--why can’t you?’ was usually the gist of their argument. Now it has been proven that Nova are a disingenuous outfit (to put it mildly), I feel confident there will be no more such talk.<br /><br />Now the autumn weather has truly arrived, and the heat exhaustion now history, I will attempt to update this blog more regularly from now on.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-26052612429623204962007-05-22T06:12:00.000-07:002007-05-22T07:36:12.496-07:00The Motorcycle Diaries Part IV -- Hill and MountainMay 12th 2007.<br /><br />We have been invited to go on a weekend tour of Okayama prefecture with some members of the Kansai BMW owner’s club. This will involve an overnight stay at a traditional Japanese lodge near the town of Mimasaka, with a barbecue and lots of beer so it is not an unwelcome prospect.<br /><br />Akira arrives at about 9 o’clock, riding an immense Harley-Davidson FXDP 'Defender' instead of his usual Yamaha SRX café-racer. The final P on the serial type stands for ‘Police’ -- this is no ordinary ‘hog’ but a full-blown California Highway Patrol specification 88-cubic inch machine, equipped with siren and full red/blue front-end lights for flashing at people. It is built for high speed pursuit of villains and has solid rubber tyres which cannot be punctured by gunfire. To comply with the law, the siren has been disconnected and the lights cannot be flashed, otherwise it is petty much the pukka item. Akira promises me that I can have a go on it at some point over the weekend, but not just now as we have to meet the other members of our tour group, which involves a bit of heavy traffic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaUe0x0mjAdRqq_yYVX0xKL4i66qUxfi3FYp0MJ85Nh8ZID_lvPEBmOXupsZhJW1n0LxG6Y5otQlqCFVnIXVvIJo29kZldf5GPufcEPcX6xV699K2vpucnyGeWLDSvFL0OBnm5A/s1600-h/FXDP.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaUe0x0mjAdRqq_yYVX0xKL4i66qUxfi3FYp0MJ85Nh8ZID_lvPEBmOXupsZhJW1n0LxG6Y5otQlqCFVnIXVvIJo29kZldf5GPufcEPcX6xV699K2vpucnyGeWLDSvFL0OBnm5A/s320/FXDP.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067376049798308786" border="0" /></a><br />At 10 o’clock we are having a coffee at Akashi Service Area and talking to the owner of the H-D, one Mr Fujita. He has owned this remarkable machine for a couple of years but never gets time to ride it, so he has decided to sell it. This tour is a good way of showing it off to potential buyers. Today Mr Fujita is riding an ancient machine which must be about 50 years old, a 250 cc single-cylinder Meguro, which was the cash-strapped company that Kawasaki Heavy Industries purchased for its know-how when they decided to enter the motorcycle industry, at the beginning of the sixties.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4m_DBSwFDbk5IXyfRDUZVF-Am1yJr9qIDeG7llMEgbs2OsrdqbxcCX5iYWaAknicw26InrCbdKO0yw20YAvgQfBTlqaSO5-rKk7AmRLf7uKLOIrLf97N8-RZdy3mRFqm8WoGnIA/s1600-h/Meguro.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4m_DBSwFDbk5IXyfRDUZVF-Am1yJr9qIDeG7llMEgbs2OsrdqbxcCX5iYWaAknicw26InrCbdKO0yw20YAvgQfBTlqaSO5-rKk7AmRLf7uKLOIrLf97N8-RZdy3mRFqm8WoGnIA/s320/Meguro.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067376475000071106" border="0" /></a><br />He casts admiring glances at my machine, which is a modern version of the first ‘big bike’ that Kawasaki produced. Three of the other four riders are on various BMW models, two of them traditional ‘boxer’ twins and one old K-series which has an in-line 3 cylinder car-like motor. The final rider sits astride a Honda CB 1300—a very serious piece of kit with a custom titanum exhaust system.<br /><br />We depart at quarter past ten down the Kakogawa by-pass, which must be one of the most dangerous roads in the world, and try to stick together in staggered formation. After about forty unpleasant minutes we are pleased to be off this road and head on down the valley of the Ibo river towards the Harima seaside road. The Meguro begins to slow down and we all pass it, finally pulling up about half a kilometer later when we realise it has stopped. Akira and the ride captain go back to see what has happened and the rest of us dismount and I get to know them all a little better. I suppose the best way to describe us all is as middle-aged hooligans, who had motorcycles when younger because they were cheaper to run than cars, but have now gone back to them because they really are the only way to really travel and make ‘good’ time, in the best tradition of Robert M. Pirsig.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“...Plans are deliberately indefinite, more to travel than to arrive anywhere. Secondary roads are preferred. Paved country roads are the best, state highways are next, Freeways are the worst. We want to make good time, but for us now this is measured with the emphasis on ‘good’ rather than ‘time’ and when you make that shift in emphasis the whole approach changes. Twisting hilly roads are long in terms of seconds but are much more enjoyable on a cycle where you bank into turns and don’t get swung from side to side in any compartment. Roads with little traffic are more enjoyable, as well as safer. Roads free of drive-ins and billboards are better, roads where groves and meadows and orchards and lawns come almost to the shoulder, where kids wave to you when you ride by, where people look from their porches to see who it is, where when you stop to ask for directions or information the answer tends to be longer than you want rather than short, where people ask where you’re from and how long you’ve been riding...”</span><br /><br />We hear the throaty rumble of the Harley V-twin and the three riders approach, thumbs up indicating problem over. Our next stop is at a promontory called <span style="font-style: italic;">Man-Yo Misaki</span> overlooking the Inland Sea.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYfjVNjdBLMnqPhkvRmV5Ve6xVD5xxEBercu5lM4UohfzucWD_xFK5xJXGSj9LWTX5I5yxwWQblSVDeXc2StPe2X2BQImHqRSrAjdTY8N9WmQpTXhVG-2sbHwdZjMn85jMAA3Wg/s1600-h/setonaikai.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYfjVNjdBLMnqPhkvRmV5Ve6xVD5xxEBercu5lM4UohfzucWD_xFK5xJXGSj9LWTX5I5yxwWQblSVDeXc2StPe2X2BQImHqRSrAjdTY8N9WmQpTXhVG-2sbHwdZjMn85jMAA3Wg/s320/setonaikai.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067377046230721490" border="0" /></a><br />Akira explains that the Meguro was suffering from a loose electrical connection, which was easily sorted out. As there is little traffic on the Harima Seaside Road, he suggests that the next stage, as far as the town of Hinase, will be a good time for me to try out the Harley. He warns me to be careful of its bulk as it weighs nearly twice as much as my Kawasaki.<br /><br />I seat myself in the wide tractor-like single saddle, heave it upright and flick back the side-stand. It is very heavy and I struggle to get it in a position to start the engine. I take a minute to check out the unfamiliar control layout as the rest of the group depart. The left hand filler cap of the famous ‘twin’ tank is in fact a dummy, doubling as a gas gauge. There are separate left-right direction indicators on each end of the high-set bars, separate light switches for the headlight and pursuit lamps, a horn and a kill-switch and a starter button. I switch on the ignition and press the starter--but nothing happens which is somewhat disconcerting. I check everything and try it again and again, trying to remember what Akira said, feeling more and more foolish as the minutes tick by, until Akira and Mr Fujita appear. ‘Clutch!’ he yells, glaring at me through his full-face Shoei.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ah--that was it. Silly boy, the devil is all in the details…<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I depress the clutch lever, push the starter and the huge mill rumbles into life. Getting it down the winding track back to the main road is somewhat entertaining as my left boot is not used to the strange toe-heel action of the gear lever, and the weight of the thing is fearsome, just as Akira warned.<br /><br />Once on the open road, it does not appear to need gears at all with the immense torque that the Milwaukee V-twin mill has. We pick up speed and the whole feeling changes. The bike is very well-balanced and is particularly nimble through the curves, which is surprising. I keep up with the ride captain with very little effort, a relief after the initial feelings of terror. A most amazing motorcycle.<br /><br />I recall a conversation I had some time back, on the Akashi ferry with three very tidy leather-clad young ladies who all owned Harley-Davidson Sportster machines.<br />‘Why do you choose the Harley over Japanese bikes? They are very expensive...’<br />They thought for a moment and came back with the reply -- ‘Harley has <span style="font-style: italic;">soul</span>...’.<br />At the time I thought it was just a cute bit of marketing by the H-D corporation, but now I am beginning to understand what they were on about. Yowza, what a rush. My mind begins to entertain improbable and immoral fantasies about buying this particular machine.<br /><br />At the town of Hinase we stop for lunch, which is a welcome break. I have <span style="font-style: italic;">anago teishoku</span> which is a local delicacy based on conger eel. I mention that the Japanese <span style="font-style: italic;">anago</span> is of a size not much bigger than the normal river eel, but in British coastal waters the things grow to a formidable size, the world record being a female specimen caught off the West Country which weighed in at 62 kilograms and then some. One of the reasons is the large number of wrecks which litter the sea bed due to two bouts of submarine warfare in the 20th century, which provide welcome habitat for them. My banter is regarded as a fisherman’s tall tale at first, but Akira assures them that I am telling the truth. He has seen the evidence…<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSTk2zOYT39ig7uGSQY2-pnJJs8qsxlO16HppBbeDo0ky-2-2x5NmWisL8lbFeytGDAyhyphenhyphenGBtVxNszoCGAqNN_HS9I99dCMBkH16u_6er-VAVFj5LUtG2rypx7WA3uM1Zh6krCg/s1600-h/VEVANS.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSTk2zOYT39ig7uGSQY2-pnJJs8qsxlO16HppBbeDo0ky-2-2x5NmWisL8lbFeytGDAyhyphenhyphenGBtVxNszoCGAqNN_HS9I99dCMBkH16u_6er-VAVFj5LUtG2rypx7WA3uM1Zh6krCg/s320/VEVANS.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067377553036862434" border="0" /></a><br />After lunch, Mr Fujita asks me what I think of the Harley and recommends that I stay on it to enjoy the high speeds of the Okayama ‘Blue Line’ which is a scenic route like the <span style="font-style: italic;">Ban-Tan</span>. I accept his offer, partly out of the desire not to appear wimpish. It is a bit of a handful…<br /><br />However, before getting to the Blue Line we have to get out of Hinase, which involves a lot of low-speed traffic and the Harley is not good at this kind of thing, nor at the narrow country roads which follow. Once we are on the Blue Line the Milwaukee iron comes into its own again, but at the <span style="font-style: italic;">Ippon-Matsu</span> service area I almost beg Akira to take charge of it again. It is just too much work most of the time and there are not enough roads in Japan where it can be enjoyed at its best. I tell Mr Fujita ‘Thanks--but No Thanks’ and he gives me a wry grin of understanding.<br /><br />After this we leave the coast and head into the heartland of Okayama, which is aptly named as Hill-Mountain with its spectacular scenery. Before arrival at our destination we stop for a break at a roadhouse. After a while we attempt to set off again, but Mr Fujita finds that the kick-start lever has jammed on the Meguro, necessitating a push and bump-start. I begin to wonder at the risks involved in bringing such an ancient machine on a tour like this. Later on, the Meguro is repaired again, by Akira, with onlooker's commentary and unhelpful hints. Some things are the same the world over…<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRDAk0Em0BIyeKqgz9KTmThiJzCLEMPQEtNoCRcYUgPMTysfm_BpGGEUrba2aOIKHbw3Fg37PN5Ze2YFQgqksOTXa_VBUCSdwXsHp8P0FUbCtMuaqFKvuLco2hjgVaKxuxL9aXg/s1600-h/fixingJPG.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRDAk0Em0BIyeKqgz9KTmThiJzCLEMPQEtNoCRcYUgPMTysfm_BpGGEUrba2aOIKHbw3Fg37PN5Ze2YFQgqksOTXa_VBUCSdwXsHp8P0FUbCtMuaqFKvuLco2hjgVaKxuxL9aXg/s320/fixingJPG.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067378171512153074" border="0" /></a><br />The lodge we are staying at is in a gorgeous bucolic location encircled by greenery, and has plenty of customers this day with about thirty members of the Kansai BMW owner’s club in attendance, as well as our group. The evening sees a sumptuous meaty barbecue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Yagyu</span> beef and simply loads of bottled <span style="font-style: italic;">Asahi</span> beer which gets everyone in a good mood, lots of good <span style="font-style: italic;">craic</span> going on. I am well pleased that I came on this trip, having made lots of new friends.<br /><br />The next day starts early with a traditional breakfast of rice, fish, <span style="font-style: italic;">miso </span><span>and pickles</span>. I take a post-prandial stroll outside and check out some of the views.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QMB8sLzQxk0aX1_DUU90v3k8t8pE1KtwuI8mvRwgE4o9GOShZreu-dnIStHHRJdPplQH6jEndI_R1LAjeneuzB-_IZj47SSwH-ivlGZck1WtvYoxRWZejBZX6kZ5EOGNpO4G0A/s1600-h/lodge.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QMB8sLzQxk0aX1_DUU90v3k8t8pE1KtwuI8mvRwgE4o9GOShZreu-dnIStHHRJdPplQH6jEndI_R1LAjeneuzB-_IZj47SSwH-ivlGZck1WtvYoxRWZejBZX6kZ5EOGNpO4G0A/s320/lodge.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067378854411953154" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3_O7p0DQeZwVHOMKyEuwzk_2t6Ou7IdKdKbfWcFooJgcFtrPaqNU6vjNmjByGgDwVvqDdzWYLweSUjirj7uGsdWV53KLtiUG90o5PEO8GE-pkkVmpKiLiuv4shK7H4ugCREx2Q/s1600-h/lodge:bikes.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3_O7p0DQeZwVHOMKyEuwzk_2t6Ou7IdKdKbfWcFooJgcFtrPaqNU6vjNmjByGgDwVvqDdzWYLweSUjirj7uGsdWV53KLtiUG90o5PEO8GE-pkkVmpKiLiuv4shK7H4ugCREx2Q/s320/lodge:bikes.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067379331153323026" border="0" /></a><br />At 10 o’clock two members of the Mimasaka Fire Brigade show up and give some of us a lecture/demonstration of Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation and also the use of the Artificial External Defibrillator device, in case we ever come across an emergency situation at the roadside. I hope I never have to use the knowledge I have gained, but it is another reason to be pleased I came along.<br /><br />After lunch Akira and I set off along Route 429 which crosses the spectacular <span style="font-style: italic;">Shibiki Toge</span> pass back into Hyogo Prefecture. It is simply some of the best motorcycling I have ever done, in fabulous scenery and I resolve to come back and do it again some time. Unforgettable…<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoVqwEGnT6Vc-Z_H7QKqi6j6aq-3rYEXAb1Xcu25XKVq5YMn9doWNnIwbQ0hjUD0ggW9G5RIrxcbfQGw5wzNo82n0cZCJJeFbqlHDAYiv8nyz7yukNRPv1ntnX0fdp5IlutOvfQ/s1600-h/shibikitoge.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoVqwEGnT6Vc-Z_H7QKqi6j6aq-3rYEXAb1Xcu25XKVq5YMn9doWNnIwbQ0hjUD0ggW9G5RIrxcbfQGw5wzNo82n0cZCJJeFbqlHDAYiv8nyz7yukNRPv1ntnX0fdp5IlutOvfQ/s320/shibikitoge.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067379631801033762" border="0" /></a><br />We stop for a break at <span style="font-style: italic;">Ichinomiya Onsen</span> while we wait for Mr Fujita and the others, who set off earlier in the day to tour southern Tottori. They experienced the emergency treatment lecture last year. The hot-spring water is soothing to tired muscles and minds and we have a good soak and chew of the fat in the outdoor <span style="font-style: italic;">rotenburo</span> bath, putting the world to rights. The water is salty, not as harsh as sea-water but definitely saline. We are miles from the ocean; there must be halite in the rock strata that the spring water percolates through.<br /><br />When our companions finally turn up, somewhat later than expected, Mr Fujita is riding pillion with the ride captain. The Meguro has finally given up the ghost with a clogged carburettor and has had to be abandoned back up the road, for later retrieval and repair. Mr Fujita tells me his next move is to buy a Kawasaki W650 like mine. He has fallen in love with Black Mariah. Been there and done that mate...<br /><br />We finish the day in our traditional manner, over <span style="font-style: italic;">ramen</span> noodles and <span style="font-style: italic;">kara-age</span> chicken, plus some <span style="font-style: italic;">gyoza</span> dumplings which are the speciality of the road-house chain.<br /><br />We have done over a thousand kilometers in less than a month, which means that Black Mariah is presently off the road, waiting for a new Dunlop TT 100 to be fitted to her rear end. This will be the third time for this exercise, at just over 24,000 km on the clock.<br /><br />Many more happy trails lie ahead, I am sure. She has adequately filled the hole left in my life left by having to give up <span style="font-style: italic;">kendo</span>. I'll be back…</div>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-73889696618500544072007-05-05T04:12:00.000-07:002007-05-05T04:47:39.091-07:00The Motorcycle Diaries part III-- Over To the Fourth Country --<br /><br />Golden Week is here again and our dromomaniac motorcycling tendency along with it. This year we have decided to have a crack at <span style="font-style: italic;">Muroto Misaki</span> in Kochi prefecture on the island of Shikoku, the smallest of the four main islands in the Japanese archipelago. The ‘fourth country’ is a liberal translation of the name Shikoku. I spent the first two and a half years of my married life on Shikoku, but that was in Matsuyama in Ehime Prefecture at the western end of the island. Kochi Prefecture straddles the southern portion with its gorgeous sweep of Tosa Wan and the capes at each end of it, <span style="font-style: italic;">Ashizuri Misaki</span> to the west and <span style="font-style: italic;">Muroto Misaki</span> to the east. When we lived there, Shikoku was not connected by bridge to the main island of Honshu and there were no expressways so a 360 cc twin-cylinder two-stroke van with a top-end of 65 kph was quite adequate transport.<br /><br />How times change. In the short space of a quarter-century three bridge systems have been built linking Honshu and Shikoku and once over there, a choice of three expressways awaits the intrepid road user.<br />Our journey begins at 8:15 on April 29th, a national holiday celebrating the late <span style="font-style: italic;">Showa</span> Emperor’s birthday. It used to be known as ‘Green Day’ for some reason and the plans to resurrect the former name were a topic of bitter debate for some time in the National Diet. Something about reference to the Pacific War, it seems.…<br />This year it is a Sunday so <span style="font-style: italic;">‘Showa</span> Day’ is actually the following day, given as a holiday in lieu to make up the ‘Golden Week’.<br />The weather is warm and bright and we are swiftly down to Tarumi Junction and its masses of grey concrete which make up the approach routes to the Akashi Straits Bridge. With its centre span of 1991 meters this is currently the world’s largest suspension bridge and it certainly feels like it as we accelerate up the ramp and feel a fairly stiff crosswind blowing up out of the Inland Sea.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84qNV-g6KB5YfPNUILXW9DI014qlf86Oy5yx4KDH1MRwWL1JlkbjMqLUSjRT9nN4rN5_qBYrxJ0MSaOBtTqfdfwxYSa_fg41-xUNO21ghVhIuGyV4bDEgY00gF5F9eo4vHquL1w/s1600-h/800px-Akashi_Bridge.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84qNV-g6KB5YfPNUILXW9DI014qlf86Oy5yx4KDH1MRwWL1JlkbjMqLUSjRT9nN4rN5_qBYrxJ0MSaOBtTqfdfwxYSa_fg41-xUNO21ghVhIuGyV4bDEgY00gF5F9eo4vHquL1w/s320/800px-Akashi_Bridge.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061033832057281922" border="0" /></a><br />Due to the high toll fee, I don’t normally use the bridge unless it is to show it off to someone who has never seen it, and then only to the first service station/exit at Iwaya. However, we have our sights further afield this year and go straight on past, down the two-lane blacktop at a steady hundred and ten kph. Black Mariah is turning over at about 4000 rpm at this speed and she feels relaxed, with plenty of poke in reserve if necessary. We have spectacular views of <span style="font-style: italic;">Osaka Wan</span> on our left and then as the highway cuts across to the west of Awaji island, equally spectacular views of the azure <span style="font-style: italic;">Seito Naikai</span>, dotted with little fishing vessels. As we approach the mountainous southern end of Awaji, I notice four or five large wind turbines in rotation, making use of the almost constant airstream.<br /><br />Before we know it we are off Awaji and crossing the Naruto Bridge onto Shikoku and Tokushima Prefecture and before very much longer we have paid our tolls at Naruto Interchange and have pulled up at a Lawsons combini for some caffeine nourishment. I feel a twinge of pain in my back and shoulders and realize that sustained high-speed riding on an un-faired ‘naked’ motorcycle involves considerable physical input. The canned coffee goes down well and we go outside to check the machines. Readers of this blog will recall that last year, our first stop came along with the realization that Akira’s Yamaha had an intermittent fuel leak which was not a welcome development at that stage. No such trouble this year as since that time, the machine has undergone major overhaul work, involving a rebore and head skim/valve grind, carburettor purge and fitting of an industrial-strength oil-cooler in engineer’s blue. The two bikes draw admiring glances from jealous car-drivers. They are _cool_ I must admit...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuV4WHeeLZg0mUIRpn4oxCqSpq5f0LQn1axJ0Vir-OylVLEFZZFBvt692MXzyUwDj1UEOjxoEkXb2FZV1MW1Ezf5evaG3t5hvEE8tsmDTmvKguCeVGQr7WXNAIDD2VabNbiMOuw/s1600-h/yam&kwak.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuV4WHeeLZg0mUIRpn4oxCqSpq5f0LQn1axJ0Vir-OylVLEFZZFBvt692MXzyUwDj1UEOjxoEkXb2FZV1MW1Ezf5evaG3t5hvEE8tsmDTmvKguCeVGQr7WXNAIDD2VabNbiMOuw/s320/yam&kwak.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061034660985970066" border="0" /></a><br />Then it is off into fairly heavy traffic on a four-lane road leading into and through the city of Tokushima. There is no margin for error as buses, trucks taxis and private cars jockey for position, switching lanes at will. Fortunately, our way to the south on Route 55 is well sign-posted and requires no right or left turns as it proceeds directly through the heart of the city. We are soon across the Katsuura River and the traffic thins considerably as the landscape changes, from commercial outlets and fast-food joints to flooded rice paddies with sparse green shoots of transplanted rice poking through the muddy water like whiskers on a teenage chin. Sometimes we pass a farmer hard at work on his rice transplanter machine, a most weird-looking tractor-like device with high ground clearance and skinny cast wheels, laden with trays of rice shoots. Also, flying proudly from many farmhouse buildings are the gorgeous <span style="font-style: italic;">koi-nobori</span>, the carp streamers which indicate that there are children in the household. Always good to see, these bits of eye-candy form an essential part of the Japanese springtime experience.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLvrxWwUqlN1kGp3Mizw_Ld2yqWf0op_esK5sGOLd5L0YEamLWoseNmZxL9TQMVaTbWGEr8QnJJCodS70OV1oEkENmBEo4sJO4-GNiK7UNtCTtCxC533GpA6AeU8ctjTxlyg2Cg/s1600-h/Koinobori4797.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLvrxWwUqlN1kGp3Mizw_Ld2yqWf0op_esK5sGOLd5L0YEamLWoseNmZxL9TQMVaTbWGEr8QnJJCodS70OV1oEkENmBEo4sJO4-GNiK7UNtCTtCxC533GpA6AeU8ctjTxlyg2Cg/s320/Koinobori4797.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061035592993873314" border="0" /></a><br />As we approach the town of A-Nan I notice three immense, towering, tripod smokestacks and wonder what kind of facility they serve. The road takes a sharp detour to go around the industrial estate and it turns out that they are part of a power generation plant, all battleship-grey steel and dark brown ceramic insulators. There is no smoke emanating today, but the whole place has a sinister cast to it and I am pleased to be away from it as the land begins to rise.<br /><br />We have picked up a travelling companion clad in natty leathers, riding a very smart Honda CB400 tricked out in streetfighter style. We have fun dicing it with each other through a series of ascending curves and then down the other side through the small town of Mi-Nami to follow a single-track railway to the town of Mu-Gi. The lad on the Honda takes his leave of us here with a cheery wave and we do not see him again.<br />Now I can smell the sea, or rather the Pacific Ocean, and we soon catch sight of it as the road hugs the coast winding past a series of spectacular inlets, with basaltic grey sandy beaches. It is a lovely road for motorcycles and I begin to feel a deep sense of relaxation and oneness with the universe.<br /><br />I am rather harshly reminded that relaxing on two wheels is never a good idea, when one of my <span style="font-style: italic;">bêtes noires</span> -- a farmer in a small white pick-up, suddenly pulls out in front of me, gabbling into a mobile and puffing on a gasper, true to form. He gets a sustained blast on the klaxon and rude signs with the fingers as I overtake, but continues on his way oblivious as we enter Kochi Prefecture, tossing the fag-end out in the slipstream for good measure. What a prat...<br /><br />From here down to the cape the road is blissfully quiet with very little traffic, apart from the odd bus or like-minded motorcyclist. I begin to see signs written in <span style="font-style: italic;">katakana</span> phonetic script advertising something called <span style="font-style: italic;">hoe-ru uotchingu</span> and wonder what on earth it can be. Then I see a water spout a few hundred yards offshore followed by a grey-black humped shape and finally the tail fluke of a surfacing whale. Whale-watching for tourists has now replaced killing them for food and profit in this area. Kochi was at the centre of the Japan whaling industry until the IWC moratorium a quarter-century ago. There have recently been calls from some sources to re-establish commercial whaling as there is evidence that some species like the minke have recovered their numbers sufficiently to sustain it. These calls are countered by shrill opposition which to my mind is more based on emotion than logic. The reality is that when whale meat was seen as a cheap and invaluable source of protein in the post-war decade, Japan was a country impoverished by its reckless charge into the Pacific War and its aftermath. Times have changed and no mistake. A whole generation has grown up never knowing the taste of whale meat. Japan can afford to import anything it wants nowadays. I have tried whale meat just once and was not impressed with its oily texture. I am pretty sure that any attempt to re-establish commercial whaling as a going concern will be doomed to failure, on the grounds that there is no market for the meat, apart from as dog-food which would be disgraceful. No-one in their right mind would choose oily whale over juicy Australian or US beef.<br />I am tempted to stop and watch the whale myself but the cetacean is moving away from the coast and is soon lost from view.<br /><br />We round the final bend and a sign announces our arrival at destination. I insist on a photo as proof.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAr9avfQW8Tlcr0blsIRISkBDe02UIzkIPGQKiIVtir2C4bwIiY1svY-c0ejdN_6YbNY3kwEcHaYjgxMK7eL5vSA4OiSsRx6QQlg7CShpbuiHxMtp7WxMP1gRNj8Iw4546WRNrQ/s1600-h/murotomisaki.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAr9avfQW8Tlcr0blsIRISkBDe02UIzkIPGQKiIVtir2C4bwIiY1svY-c0ejdN_6YbNY3kwEcHaYjgxMK7eL5vSA4OiSsRx6QQlg7CShpbuiHxMtp7WxMP1gRNj8Iw4546WRNrQ/s320/murotomisaki.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061036726865239474" border="0" /></a><br />There is but one place to eat, so we go in there and enjoy spaghetti <span style="font-style: italic;">bolognese</span> which is not bad. After repast we take a walk on the rocky shore. Akira comments that the scenery is exactly the same as on the other side of the Pacific in California. I decide to estimate where old Hernando must have sat in Panama to inspire the words of John Keats.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He star'd at the Pacific - and all his men</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Look'd at each other with a wild surmise -</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Silent, upon a peak in Darien.</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoml-3LqL-YNsR53ecLqjhi7-oOkwQ2MKz8jHTdWUmyTjCAYvckbKthIkhDHTLoBcF7jf3gODobBc7JA4kr-Lc3JwckqhUF41mwWCua8wWXhheGzrGg_CE2w-02uk1raE0yMasw/s1600-h/darien.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoml-3LqL-YNsR53ecLqjhi7-oOkwQ2MKz8jHTdWUmyTjCAYvckbKthIkhDHTLoBcF7jf3gODobBc7JA4kr-Lc3JwckqhUF41mwWCua8wWXhheGzrGg_CE2w-02uk1raE0yMasw/s320/darien.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061037285210987970" border="0" /></a><br />Afterwards, we remount and set off on the return journey. We have been studying the map and it looks like Route 193 will provide an interesting detour on the way back to Tokushima. This involves retracing our path as far as Awakainan, where the farmer nearly got me, and then turning left up the valley of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Umibe</span> river.<br /><br />At first this seems like a great idea, for about half an hour we are haring along a deserted winding country road with a great surface and gorgeous mountain and mixed-deciduous forest views. However this soon comes to an end and the road narrows to almost a single track with passing places. It also begins to wend up wards through dense cedars and the available light is cut down sharply. We keep going,onward and upward with a short 10 km detour to take a look at a famous waterfall, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Todoroki Taki</span>. Unfortunately there is hardly any water in it, making the experience feel a bit like the pub with no beer. By the time we get down from the mountain my shoulders and biceps are aching from the effort of controlling the Kawasaki at low speeds along narrow roads strewn with fallen rocks and my nerves are shot through with the terror of wobbling past sheer drops with no guard rail. We have been at it for about 105 minutes but have only covered about 50 km as the crow flies. Madness...<br /><br />At the first hint of civilisation I locate a vending machine and quench my raging thirst. Akira says he’d like to do it again sometime...<br /><br /> If I wasn’t so tired I’d have a good mind to laughingly fell him with a right cross...<br /><br />The next leg of the journey is considerably easier, along the winding course of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Naka</span> River in valleys of deep green. There is not much water in it though, and a considerable amount of silt deposits. In a few places hydraulic excavators made by the company that employs us both are at work in attempts to dig out the watercourse. Maybe they are going to dump the silt in the sea, where it really belongs. We soon see the reason for all this -- a dam. This is a problem which is becoming more and more evident each passing year. There is only one river in all of Japan which does not have a single dam along its course, which is a real shame. That fortunate water course is the <span style="font-style: italic;">Shimanto-gawa</span> in southern Kochi Prefecture. I’d like to see it some day but there has been no time this trip. The state of the other rivers is no dam good at all...<br /><br />At dusk we pull off the road in the township of Uragawa, to have dinner at a roadhouse. This comes in the form of <span style="font-style: italic;">miso-ramen</span> and deep-fried <span style="font-style: italic;">kara-age</span> chicken and has never been so welcome. Hunger is definitely the best seasoning of all, and no mistake.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzc30Q8LMyXm9fU9Z00TxmmZAor5JtrG9rs9TYasEZvE7mvTEMRMSGYrBXtJPfE8ye9zC-z3iCR0nolTEOAQWEEvWwGDraKofDL59On_kD2tkBAOoyvPlNTExax7_cut8f1xAVoA/s1600-h/nosh.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzc30Q8LMyXm9fU9Z00TxmmZAor5JtrG9rs9TYasEZvE7mvTEMRMSGYrBXtJPfE8ye9zC-z3iCR0nolTEOAQWEEvWwGDraKofDL59On_kD2tkBAOoyvPlNTExax7_cut8f1xAVoA/s320/nosh.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061038187154120146" border="0" /></a>After retracing our course through the neon-bright city of Tokushima and back over the bridges along the expressway to ‘our’ island, I bid goodbye to Akira. As I pull up outside our house at 21:15, I check the odometer. 13 hours and 570 kilometers is a new single day record for me--and it feels like it. It surely does...<br /><br />Epilogue:<br />Newcastle United are slouching to a miserable mediocre mid-table position in the Premier League, looking likely to finish with a record low points total for the club. The end of the season 2006 – 7 can’t come quickly enough for me. At least there will be derby games with the Mackems next season as Sunderland are guaranteed promotion either as Championship champions or runners-up. All I can do is pray for more scoreboards like this...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0s0N-PKh3WhzRMHJ5RifQ1NFBasqzHPRC0VOQN-p44EfrxlOZj-SZrtdpFMl7W5KvAKXN7zaqGlQhvw7DLDqsVfg5oXq_Uwux2yFAxBBuFYXRLwed9ZC67wMRwRuwmH__eZMqg/s1600-h/2006-04-17scoreboard-s.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0s0N-PKh3WhzRMHJ5RifQ1NFBasqzHPRC0VOQN-p44EfrxlOZj-SZrtdpFMl7W5KvAKXN7zaqGlQhvw7DLDqsVfg5oXq_Uwux2yFAxBBuFYXRLwed9ZC67wMRwRuwmH__eZMqg/s320/2006-04-17scoreboard-s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061038818514312674" border="0" /></a>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-15734433191471356142007-04-04T05:39:00.000-07:002007-04-04T05:55:38.639-07:00Sakura, Sakura...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZl7BLWPCzAN7G-PcLgd340miHAA42AxD2WZ-_nz05PtSpn0bg6EvOTAwFhdbdll3T-21qwqeJ0WFdpFrlRoULG8DIqPJ3PtxXTyPyMHxzavkAXKugV4UZMpUzB3HzTKlpMcFdCg/s1600-h/DSC00403.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZl7BLWPCzAN7G-PcLgd340miHAA42AxD2WZ-_nz05PtSpn0bg6EvOTAwFhdbdll3T-21qwqeJ0WFdpFrlRoULG8DIqPJ3PtxXTyPyMHxzavkAXKugV4UZMpUzB3HzTKlpMcFdCg/s320/DSC00403.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049552364338058098" border="0" /></a>Cherry blossom is everywhere now, at least in Western Japan. Always a welcome sight, letting us know that Spring has truly arrived. We had a slight cold snap after my last blog entry on March 4th, reminding me that the old saying of ‘Ne’er cast a clout, till May be out’ should be modified to ‘… till March is out’ to suit the climate of Japan. This does show us that the world was indeed a colder place in 1732 , when the saying was coined. There is some dispute as to whether May refers to the 5th month or to the May tree or hawthorn, which blooms in late April, but in either case if you leave your winter woolies on that long you are going to be somewhat sweaty. Another, less welcome harbinger of Spring is the phenomenon of <span style="font-style: italic;">kohsa</span>, or fine yellow sand loess borne on the prevailing wind from the Yellow River region of mainland China. It makes formerly clear views very hazy and settles everywhere, making freshly washed cars look dirty. Perhaps the Three Gorges dam will make a difference by irrigating desert areas, but I doubt it. For those who suffer from it, this is also the season of <span style="font-style: italic;">kafunshoh</span>, or pollen allergy, a condition similar to hay fever. The main culprit is the cedar tree, which is found everywhere in Japan in vast monoculture forests. These were planted as part of a post-war government scheme to become self-sufficient in timber for construction purposes, displacing the natural mixed-deciduous forests to a large extent. As millions of households had been destroyed by American bombing during the Pacific war, this would seem to have been a sensible policy. However, no-one foresaw the vast boom in Japan’s GDP and the gradual appreciation of the yen vs the dollar that was coming. As a result, it is cheaper to import lumber from North America and the domestic industry can hardly be described as a going concern. Most of the labour force are close to retirement age and lumber is not an attractive proposition for the young techie generation, along with agriculture in general. So the cedar trees stand uncut on the hills and mountains in serried ranks, giving off pollen by the bucketful in Spring to irritate the eyes and noses of sufferers. It even affected me to a certain extent last year, bringing on sneezing fits two or three times a day. So far in 2007, I have been OK but there is a way to go yet. I did hear that some enterprising botanical researcher had developed a kind of vaccine for the cedar tree which will suppress its pollen-producing tendency, but the size of the task in inoculating each individual tree must beggar belief.<br /><br />Last time I blogged I was hopeful that Newcastle United were going to bring some joy to their long-suffering supporters and get into the last eight of the UEFA Cup. They started off well enough on March 8th, beating the Dutch side AZ Alkmaar by four goals to two at SJP in the first leg. Surely, we all thought, surely they can defend a two-goal lead next Thursday. Well, they could not, going down 2-0 to allow AZ the passage on the away goals rule. Since then, they have lost twice in the League, 2-0 away at Charlton Athletic and 0-1 to Manchester City at home last Saturday. This latest reversal has seen the fans turn against the manager and chairman in great numbers. One man marched onto the pitch and tore the remainder of his season ticket to shreds in front of the dug-out. Another did the same thing with his replica team shirt, not a cheap item. Some people take the fortunes of their team very seriously indeed. To make matters worse, the rival team Sunderland have been sweeping all before them and are now being given odds of 1-2 for promotion to the Premier League. It is not the best of times to be a Toon supporter, but (according to The Sporting Life) the club have just announced plans to increase the capacity of SJP to more than 60,000 along with some very posh housing development as part of a £300-million development scheme, at almost the same time as announcing an operating loss of £6.9 million, mainly due to inept player trading and amortisation. All of this will be done by ‘external financing’ and is still subject to official approval. They are obviously looking into a rosy-pink crystal ball or they are on some wondrous kind of hallucinogenic.<br /><br />‘... But who has won? … At last the Dodo said <span style="font-style: italic;">“Everybody</span> has won and all must have prizes...’<br /><br />The Six Nations Championship turned out to be a kind of Lewis Carrollian caucus race in the end, with the Frenchies nicking it at the death by 3 points but every team ended up with something to shout about, even the wooden spoon men, Scotland. All good stuff and a good advert for the noble ‘game for hooligans played by gentlemen’.<br /><br />England are in the Super Eight stage of the Cricket World Cup, being contested in the West Indies. Having won one and lost one match, they are being given odds of 14-1 to win outright. On the other hand Australia are at 11-10. I think the bookies know what they are doing... However, the series has been overshadowed by the murder of the Pakistan coach, Bob Woolmer, after they were eliminated from the competition by Ireland, not normally thought of as a cricketing powerhouse. There is heavy suspicion that a gambling syndicate were involved, possibly because the dead man was about to blow the whistle on a vast global match-fixing syndicate. A very dirty business, however you look at it.<br /><br />Here in Japan, we have all been horrified by the grisly murder of a young English teacher, Lindsay Ann Hawker, in Ichikawa, near Tokyo. She was found naked and battered in a bathtub filled with sand on the balcony of an apartment inhabited by one Tatsuya Ichihashi, who is now the chief suspect. According to the reports he fled barefoot when the police came to the apartment, acting on a tip-off. Quite how he managed to evade capture is anyone’s guess, but he is still at large. Ichihashi is the one pictured left below. If you see him, please inform the police as to where and when. They really need to talk to him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAD9c8sR5j3Qj9U_pyoL4fJZDW7OVEWC2I5pN_rl8Pu3pbEoIuIfittjglzJUKsNkzDmfzRUo5xws1wfjk8bqovVhwJ1OSGl48e3UVwunSHpIYJoeaPWXqD-iGKUvpRGKTixBAw/s1600-h/0,,2007150149,00-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAD9c8sR5j3Qj9U_pyoL4fJZDW7OVEWC2I5pN_rl8Pu3pbEoIuIfittjglzJUKsNkzDmfzRUo5xws1wfjk8bqovVhwJ1OSGl48e3UVwunSHpIYJoeaPWXqD-iGKUvpRGKTixBAw/s320/0,,2007150149,00-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049553073007661954" border="0" /></a>The most recent news is that the suspect Ichihashi was involved in the stalking of another female English teacher last year, whose complaints to the police fell on deaf ears. The young woman was sufficiently traumatized to quit both her job and the country. Unbelievable incompetence by Chiba’s finest. Sitting on their hands while a genuine threat was reported and allowing a barefoot suspect to get clean away. <span style="font-style: italic;">Shinjirarenai</span>!<br />The unfortunate Lindsay appears to have been under the impression that Japan is a perfectly ‘safe’ country and there was no risk in going to the apartment of a total stranger to give him a private English lesson. Foolhardy, to say the least. Japan is quite ‘safe’ on the surface but there are dark undercurrents to the society which manifest themselves from time to time. Some five or six years ago, a British night-club hostess, one Lucie Blackman was murdered in similar fashion and then dismembered and dumped in a seaside cave, crudely encased in concrete. The trial of her alleged killer, one Joji Obara is still going on, though an official ruling is expected soon. Unfortunately, this latest terrible event has given the lower-end English tabloids (like The Sun) an excuse to print all sorts of garbage about how Japan is a nation packed with sadistic male perverts whose main jollies are got by humiliation and torture of women. I’m not saying that people like that don’t exist here but really, this is pretty rich stuff from a country which produced Peter Sutcliffe (the Yorkshire Ripper) and Dr Harold Shipman (Doctor Death)...<br /><br />The words ‘glass houses’ and ‘throw stones’ spring readily to mind. Never let the facts get in the way of a good story...<br /><br />I should try and finish on a cheerful note so it is with a glad heart that I note the ‘Prods’ and ‘Taigs’ of Ulster (Norn ’Iron) are finally in sight of a lasting agreement. Former bitter enemies, the DUP's ‘Reverend’ Ian Paisley and his Sinn Feinn counterpart, Gerry Adams have finally agreed on a devolution deal and will sit together in Stormont Castle starting May 8th.<br />To quote the good Reverend:<br /><br />‘<span style="font-style: italic;">We must not allow our justified loathing of the horrors and tragedies of the past to become a barrier to creating a better and more stable future.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In looking to that future we must never forget those who have suffered during the dark period from which we are, please God, emerging.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">We owe it to them to craft and build the best future possible and ensure there is genuine support for those who are still suffering.</span>’<br /><br />Now that’s more like it lads! The Lion can lie down with the Lamb after all...<br />For some strange reason, I think it is really going to work this time. We shall see.Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-49824370742443151182007-03-05T04:02:00.000-08:002007-03-05T04:39:09.399-08:00Early SpringMarch the Fourth it is and about time I put something up on this blog. After all it’s supposed to be an abbreviation of web-log, implying something updated pretty regularly if not daily. A good excuse might be that this 17-inch G4 PowerBook was out of action from Dec 31st until last weekend--a period of about eight weeks. I was able to keep computing due to the generosity of my daughter, Aya, who sportingly allowed me to set up an account on her iBook and use it in the evenings and weekends--so it isn’t really a good excuse. No the real reason is simply that I’ve been overwhelmed with part-time work and have been kept busy up till about 22:00 every night since we came back from our New Year break in Kyushu. Just why I behave like this became apparent when my partner in this translation/proofreading/rewriting work came around with a chit for the taxman which showed that the PowerBook has paid for itself four times over with the work I’ve done on it since assuming ownership about a year ago. Mustn’t grumble then...<br />The reason why the machine was out of action so long came down to my fault in mis-diagnosing the problem. Once it was correctly diagnosed, the good folks at the Apple Store, Shinsaibashi, Osaka took it in for a week and restored it to health, simultaneously relieving me of the ¥en equivalent of about sixty-five quid for parts and labour. A learning experience--the nature of machines. They break sometimes and then it costs money to fix them.<br />The last time I blogged, just before Christmas, I was expressing hope that the England cricket team were going to turn themselves around and at least win one Test Match in the Ashes series. Well, enough said about that, though they did set a dubious kind of record in the least number of days a team has ever retained the hallowed trophy. To their credit, once the Ashes debacle was over they did record one victory over the Oz in a one-day international.<br />Then it was the turn of the England rugby team to set hearts a-flutter as they comprehensively demolished Scotland by forty-two points to twenty in the Calcutta Cup with the great Jonny Wilkinson scoring a record twenty-seven points in the course of the game. One try, two conversions, five penalties and a drop goal has a nice spread to it. That was on February 3rd at Twickenham and they were looking good for the Six Nations championship. Since then they have laboured to an unconvincing win over Italy and been well and truly turned over (43-13) by the Irish by at Croke Park. It was fitting in a way that the Irish should have won the fixture since the last time an English ‘team’ was at the venue in 1920, it was the Black-and-Tans (and the RIC and Auxiliaries) firing on the crowd and players at a Gaelic football match, killing fourteen unarmed civilians. This was in reprisal for the activities of Michael Collins and his ‘Twelve Apostles’ who had successfully assassinated fourteen English secret-servicemen and military intelligence officers (known as the Cairo Gang) earlier the same day.<br /><br />I do hope that both nations can now move on from such frightful events, after eighty-seven years amd let bygones be bygones.<br /><br />Whatever the poetic nature of the victory for the Irish, the scale of the loss for England has been devastating, particularly as our main weapon, the boot of Jonny Wilkinson, was kept very quiet all match. The latest news is that he has a hamstring injury, which is a bit unsettling as we take on France at Twickenham on March 11th. It will be a do-or die affair, particularly as Ireland will probably have clinched the Triple Crown the day before by beating Scotland.<br />Meanwhile, while all of this was going on, my main squeeze Newcastle United FC were quietly lifting themselves out of the relegation mire with a series of gritty performances, probably the best of which was against Liverpool at St James’ Park on February 10th, when Martins and Solano scored a goal each to win the game two-one. It was especially good after they had gone behind in the sixth minute to a soft goal gobbled up by Craig Bellamy (aka the Gob of Glamorgan) who was obliged to leave the Toon under a cloud a couple of seasons back. A frightful bounder, by all accounts, but a handy goal-poacher nevertheless.<br /><br />As it stands Newcastle are in tenth place in the Premier League, exactly mid-table with a record of:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">P 29 (Home) W7, D5, L3 F 23 A 17 (Away) W3, D2, L9 F 11 A 20 Pts 37 Goal diff -3<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">To be sure, I have seen a lot worse but it’s hardly the kind of stuff which inspires blind faith. All Geordie expectations are now on the UEFA Round of 16 which sees The Toon take on the Dutch side AZ Alkmaar at SJP on Thursday March 8th. The away fixture in The Netherlands is on the following Thursday. It is our only hope of any tinware this season and hopes are high, particularly as the injury list is showing signs of improvement. Even Michael Owen has been kicking a ball again. More to the point is the fact that the great rivals Sunderland AFC have hit a purple patch under Roy Keane and have taken 26 points from the last thirty to look very likely candidates for an early return to the Premiership. Bragging rights are at stake all across the North-East of England. In the unlikely event that we do win the thing it will be the first major trophy brought back since the halcyon days of 1969, when the competition was known as the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup.<br /><br />Howay the Lads.<br /><br />As for the family, my eldest son made us all proud by graduating from Nishinomiya Kofu High School last Saturday, while his younger brother made sure of his place at Amagasaki High School in late February. For some reason known only to himself, the <span style="font-style: italic;">cho-nan</span> decided an appropriate way to celebrate graduation would be to dye his hair the colour of straw, which did not amuse his father very much. His appearance reminded me of Heinrich Hoffman’s character <span style="font-style: italic;">Struwwelpeter</span> (Straw-headed Peter).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQo1QM-33Rsjp3oq2dXZMc7SY-kuCr6JUOlsXONcTyDYGmQl9HONj8u9Pl99-kGgI87X49rFkbh2cTQeEevppGelYl8pCNE7u8ExFyrSQcAGkHQb7RM_685ANk3_RnAGw6OYIfTA/s1600-h/180px-H_Hoffmann_Struwwel_03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQo1QM-33Rsjp3oq2dXZMc7SY-kuCr6JUOlsXONcTyDYGmQl9HONj8u9Pl99-kGgI87X49rFkbh2cTQeEevppGelYl8pCNE7u8ExFyrSQcAGkHQb7RM_685ANk3_RnAGw6OYIfTA/s320/180px-H_Hoffmann_Struwwel_03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038411060276907026" border="0" /></a>Ah well, boys will be boys, one more year of teens for him.<br /><br />The weather is warming up fast and some of the first midges of the season met their untimely end on the face-shield of my Arai helmet on Sunday. Usually they don’t make an appearance till about April. It doesn’t bode well for the summer, be prepared for a scorcher...</div>Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-6288613687994972172006-12-23T05:56:00.000-08:002006-12-23T06:00:59.787-08:00God rest ye merry gentlemen...Saturday, December 23rd 2006<br />Two days till Christmas and might as well end up the year’s blogging on a cheerful note. Not that I ever celebrate Christmas very much any more. I only ever have December 25th off when it’s a Sunday; something which always comes as a surprise to the each year’s generation of students who always seem a little disappointed when I don’t go on about how I celebrate. Where I come from, the North of England, it always seemed to me that the New Year was a more important celebration--and that is the way it is in Japan.<br />In theory anyway. A walk down the road for the casual observer would see garish American-style outdoor illuminated decorations bedecking houses with reindeer, Santas, angels and holly, each household trying to outdo the other in how much power they can waste. It is an annual source of amazement to me, when less than 1% of the population are Christian. Of those, I think the majority are sober types like Methodists or Baptists for whom showy Christmas is not really part of the deal.<br />Since mid-November, the shopping malls have been similarly done out, with schmaltzy Yuletide tunes assaulting the ear at every turn. It’s nothing to do with Christ, but everything to do with Roman Saturnalia and the other pagan festivals which the early Christian missionaries felt it was convenient to adopt. The Yule log and decorated fir-tree from the Vikings, the mistletoe from the Druids, turkey from the Native Americans and so on. Very eclectic.<br />One part of it all that I’ve got no problem with is the notion of ‘Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men’. Would that it were true! There seems to be more strife now across the face of the globe than I can ever remember, but that’s maybe because I have access to more information now than I ever did before--thanks to broadband Internet access.<br />On Dec 28th, we will be on the road to Saga for about a week’s worth of doing very little. Sitting in the <span style="font-style: italic;">kotatsu</span> and eating <span style="font-style: italic;">mikan</span> oranges, I hope to catch up on some reading and to not go near a computer for the duration. We were going to leave on the 27th but my youngest son has to attend a special ceremony where he will be presented with the Kobe City 最優秀選手 (<span style="font-style: italic;">sai-yuu-shuu-sen-shu</span>) award for 2006 aka the Blue Riband or MVP of sports, on account of his performances this year. It’s dog-with-two-tails time again...<br />In the New Year, I’ll be looking into the world of web-cams so we can see more of the family back home rather than just Skype-talking to them. I’ve been messing with a discarded Sony Digital Handycam to see if I could make that do the job of a web-cam, but alas, it has only a lowly USB connector and FireWire is what is needed.<br />In the meantime--all the best for ’07 to those who read this blog.<br />I’ll be back…Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17726975.post-36005169194443760002006-12-13T05:04:00.000-08:002006-12-17T07:24:26.802-08:00Birds of a feather...One of the first things I remember about entering the University College of Wales in September 1973 was that people were getting very agitated about events in Chile. With good reason, as it turned out. At first reports were very unclear, sounding more like rumour and counter-rumour, but it soon became very clear that a disgraceful event had taken place. The democratically elected Chilean president Salvador Allende had been overthrown in a bloody coup d’etat, with the full complicity of the USA, merely because he was a socialist. It was led by Augusto Pinochet, who previously had been a trusted presidential aide, in charge of the military. Allende did not survive the coup, allegedly taking his own life. For the next 17 years Pinochet ruled Chile with an iron hand, establishing one of the longest lasting dictatorships in Latin America.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrtnSkqNu_WYS5R_PAT-kgd_5Neya2H5KogknD-S-9JeYPQ_EfVp7JHuFUB0boxupNM3MuX6cue64X2Wv0uY4iODKPOeJmKDmyfw2FayTPGpJpDME4pJc8ekGnJVDqTvz1dUsMw/s1600-h/180px-Pinochetjunta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrtnSkqNu_WYS5R_PAT-kgd_5Neya2H5KogknD-S-9JeYPQ_EfVp7JHuFUB0boxupNM3MuX6cue64X2Wv0uY4iODKPOeJmKDmyfw2FayTPGpJpDME4pJc8ekGnJVDqTvz1dUsMw/s320/180px-Pinochetjunta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5007997270696961426" border="0" /></a>Who’s your Daddy?<br /><br />He and his thuggish entourage soon revealed that they had little use for democracy, viciously crushing any opposition to their rule. This resulted in approximately 3000 people dead or were simply not there anymore. The verb ‘disappear’ was given a new transitive format. The 1977 ‘Operation Condor’ and the infamous ‘Caravan of Death’ were among the devices used to further his program of obliterating resistance. By 1990 he had been forced from office and spent the rest of his time among us deftly avoiding trial for his crimes against humanity, at the same time allegedly building up a hoard of ill-gotten gains in murky overseas accounts. He was incarcerated in Britain for about 18 months in the late 1990’s awaiting trial for human rights abuses, but finally managed to wriggle off the hook on the grounds his state of health had made him unfit to stand trial. One of his strongest defenders was the former UK Prime Minister, Margaret Hilda Thatcher, who argued that he was ‘a true friend’ to Britain thanks to his support during the Falklands War. It is my considered opinion that Thatcher showed her true colours at this time, and that we saw in Pinochet’s actions what she would have done to her opponents during her time in power, had she not been constrained by a parliamentary democracy.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXhycbWhPqlwq26_lrxYbFt9DBGj1totY0DXrG2aU-wsRNKsRDdBriLAfHJG4sm0wdNnwpic6ZgfzeqNX5KVUHU03E3BUuwbxP3O4COV5NH3BeOV_iF8ueJ4eiEvTTmw9C-99xw/s1600-h/_42337051_thatcher_ap.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXhycbWhPqlwq26_lrxYbFt9DBGj1totY0DXrG2aU-wsRNKsRDdBriLAfHJG4sm0wdNnwpic6ZgfzeqNX5KVUHU03E3BUuwbxP3O4COV5NH3BeOV_iF8ueJ4eiEvTTmw9C-99xw/s320/_42337051_thatcher_ap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5007998026611205538" border="0" /></a>Britain needs ‘true friends’ of Pinochet’s ilk like a collective hole in the head.<br /><br />The evil old monster has now gone to his grave, without ever having to answer for his crimes. For some people, Pinochet was and remains a hero, on the grounds that he was strongly influenced by the Chicago School of Economics, using its tenets to ‘transform’ Chile into South America’s strongest economy.<br />Oh, I see, so that’s all right then...Cap'n BrainDeathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05827159419554618431noreply@blogger.com0