Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Sometimes I go for little journeys inside my head, for no particular reason except to pass the time, and because I can. They're also a good cure for insomnia, much more effective than counting sheep.
They usually start at my house in Foxwood Road in London, and often head up the hill towards Blackheath station - a seven-minute walk I did perhaps three thousand times during my eighteen years there, the last being in July 2008, so the memories are still very vivid.
Sometimes I travel so fast that the houses on either side are a blur; sometimes I stop and pass the time of day with a neighbour. It's an oddly satisfying exercise that eases the sadness of separation from England.
Now, Sergey Brin and Larry Page are doing the job for me, freeing up precious brain cells for more useful tasks like earning a living and remembering my own name. Today, they launched Google Street View in the UK, offering a 360-degree, driver's-eye experience of most of the country's main cities.
This morning, I relived the journey on my computer screen instead of in my cerebral cortex. I left my former home and set off up Lee Park, the road leading to the station.
The pictures must have been taken last summer. The trees were in leaf, a dense canopy that allows you to walk most of the way to the station in pouring rain without getting wet; the stunning rockery on the corner of Shearman Road was past its springtime best; and the people were wearing t-shirts.
I scanned their faces, trying to spot someone I knew, but they'd been blurred to protect their privacy. When Google Street View was launched in the US, people were reportedly captured sunbathing naked, breaking into other people's homes, and visiting adult bookstores.
Outside number 64 Lee Park, two women stood chatting and eyed the Google car as it passed with its festoon of cameras. Another sped past on a bicycle, and a man walked his black dog.
At the top of the hill, I strolled past Costcutter, surely London's most inappropriately named grocery store. In the window, there was a big sign saying Convenient, Fresh, Friendly, Local, Value (I disagreed with most of these descriptions, but that's neither here nor there), and posters advertising French lessons, three bottles of cider for four pounds, and a children's bring and buy sale.
I continued past Prime Time Video, where the clock read 2:05; briefly peered through the window of the Cancer Research charity shop where I used to work, but saw no one I recognised; and overtook a 54 bus as I headed towards Greenwich Park. I had one more place to pay my respects.
When Jayne died, her friends and relatives installed a bench in the park with a little brass plaque on the back in her memory (if you're ever in the area, please take some polish with you). It has a spectacular view of the Thames and historic Greenwich, and is popular with passers-by catching their breath on the way up the steep hill.
Sadly, I couldn't see the bench because it was too far away from the camera, but maybe it's just as well that this amazing technology still has its limitations. Britain is already a surveillance society, with more CCTV cameras per head than any other country in the world and with privacy and human rights way down the government's list of priorities. Sometimes, people should just be left in peace.
They usually start at my house in Foxwood Road in London, and often head up the hill towards Blackheath station - a seven-minute walk I did perhaps three thousand times during my eighteen years there, the last being in July 2008, so the memories are still very vivid.
Sometimes I travel so fast that the houses on either side are a blur; sometimes I stop and pass the time of day with a neighbour. It's an oddly satisfying exercise that eases the sadness of separation from England.
Now, Sergey Brin and Larry Page are doing the job for me, freeing up precious brain cells for more useful tasks like earning a living and remembering my own name. Today, they launched Google Street View in the UK, offering a 360-degree, driver's-eye experience of most of the country's main cities.
This morning, I relived the journey on my computer screen instead of in my cerebral cortex. I left my former home and set off up Lee Park, the road leading to the station.
The pictures must have been taken last summer. The trees were in leaf, a dense canopy that allows you to walk most of the way to the station in pouring rain without getting wet; the stunning rockery on the corner of Shearman Road was past its springtime best; and the people were wearing t-shirts.
I scanned their faces, trying to spot someone I knew, but they'd been blurred to protect their privacy. When Google Street View was launched in the US, people were reportedly captured sunbathing naked, breaking into other people's homes, and visiting adult bookstores.
Outside number 64 Lee Park, two women stood chatting and eyed the Google car as it passed with its festoon of cameras. Another sped past on a bicycle, and a man walked his black dog.
At the top of the hill, I strolled past Costcutter, surely London's most inappropriately named grocery store. In the window, there was a big sign saying Convenient, Fresh, Friendly, Local, Value (I disagreed with most of these descriptions, but that's neither here nor there), and posters advertising French lessons, three bottles of cider for four pounds, and a children's bring and buy sale.
I continued past Prime Time Video, where the clock read 2:05; briefly peered through the window of the Cancer Research charity shop where I used to work, but saw no one I recognised; and overtook a 54 bus as I headed towards Greenwich Park. I had one more place to pay my respects.
When Jayne died, her friends and relatives installed a bench in the park with a little brass plaque on the back in her memory (if you're ever in the area, please take some polish with you). It has a spectacular view of the Thames and historic Greenwich, and is popular with passers-by catching their breath on the way up the steep hill.
Sadly, I couldn't see the bench because it was too far away from the camera, but maybe it's just as well that this amazing technology still has its limitations. Britain is already a surveillance society, with more CCTV cameras per head than any other country in the world and with privacy and human rights way down the government's list of priorities. Sometimes, people should just be left in peace.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Woohoo!
They're letting me out of here. I finally got my advance parole, which has nothing to do with my extensive criminal activities, but is a piece of paper allowing me back in to the United States if I leave.
Until now, if I'd gone to England or anywhere else, I'd be deemed to have abandoned my application for legal permanent residence. So now Pam and I have the pleasant task of listing all the people and places we want to see when we go there in May.
I already have one engagement: I'm going to do a presentation on my walk at the conference of my professional body, the Institute of Translation and Interpreting.
Years ago, if I'd received such an invitation, I'd have mumbled an excuse, but now I'm following the dictum of my late wife Jayne: Say yes first, and worry later.
Having spent years translating other people's often mind-bogglingly tedious PowerPoint presentations, I now have to learn to use this arguably indispensable communication tool myself - and hopefully not put too many people to sleep.
Until now, if I'd gone to England or anywhere else, I'd be deemed to have abandoned my application for legal permanent residence. So now Pam and I have the pleasant task of listing all the people and places we want to see when we go there in May.
I already have one engagement: I'm going to do a presentation on my walk at the conference of my professional body, the Institute of Translation and Interpreting.
Years ago, if I'd received such an invitation, I'd have mumbled an excuse, but now I'm following the dictum of my late wife Jayne: Say yes first, and worry later.
Having spent years translating other people's often mind-bogglingly tedious PowerPoint presentations, I now have to learn to use this arguably indispensable communication tool myself - and hopefully not put too many people to sleep.
Monday, March 9, 2009
There is such a thing as a free lunch, but I was stupid enough to forget this.
On Saturday, I paid seven dollars and something for a cabbage and a handful of potatoes from Mr Okra, the itinerant fruit and veg salesman who drives his elaborately decorated truck up and down the streets of New Orleans six days a week, chanting a list of his wares through a PA system like a muezzin in a minaret: "I have oranges. I have bananas. I have mirlitons".
On Sunday, I stood on Judge Perez Drive and cowered as tens of thousands of cabbages, potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic bulbs, lemons, grapefruit, limes, apples, bananas, candy, moon pies and even bags of ice and sugar rained from the sky.
It's that time of year again: just as the Mardi Gras hangovers fade and we've started thinking about work again, along comes another excuse to unplug our laptops and party.
This time the pretext is St Patrick's Day, when everyone in New Orleans takes to the streets in a spontaneous outburst of celebration after suddenly discovering Hibernian genes lurking in their DNA. My mistake was not to realise that the party started nine days before the event itself.
The people on the parade floats throw not just beads and cuddly toys but the ingredients for corned beef and cabbage, fondly believed to be the dish that people in Ireland eat on St Paddy's, though it's about as Irish as bratwurst and sauerkraut. They also distribute whatever food they have gathering dust in their pantries.
As a result, for a few virtuous days each year, we abandon our habitual diet of fried chicken and beignets and begin consuming our five daily portions of fruit and vegetables as hospital emergency rooms fill with people hit by flying cabbages.
The parade on SundaySunday, March 1, 2009
At the end of Debbie Fagnano's calliope recital yesterday, I asked her to play You Are My Sunshine. It has very special memories for me, and I'd heard her playing it a couple of times before.
Afterwards, she told me something I didn't know: it's one of the state songs of Louisiana, credited to country music star and two-times state governor Jimmie Davis - though in fact he bought the copyright from the original writer.
It's a strange song, part mourning for a lost love:
The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
And I hung my head and cried.
This is followed by what sounds like a thinly veiled threat of violence, perhaps a late-night visit from a posse of redneck cousins:
I'll always love you
And make you happy
If you will only say the same
But if you leave me
To love another
You'll regret it all some day.
And then, tacked on at the end, comes this delightful agricultural and culinary irrelevance:
Louisiana my Louisiana
the place where I was born.
White fields of cotton
green fields of clover,
the best fishing
and long tall corn;
Crawfish gumbo and jambalaya
the biggest shrimp and sugar cane,
the finest oysters
and sweet strawberries
from Toledo Bend to New Orleans.
Somehow, it's a good choice of anthem for this tragicomic shambles of a state.
Afterwards, she told me something I didn't know: it's one of the state songs of Louisiana, credited to country music star and two-times state governor Jimmie Davis - though in fact he bought the copyright from the original writer.
It's a strange song, part mourning for a lost love:
The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
And I hung my head and cried.
This is followed by what sounds like a thinly veiled threat of violence, perhaps a late-night visit from a posse of redneck cousins:
I'll always love you
And make you happy
If you will only say the same
But if you leave me
To love another
You'll regret it all some day.
And then, tacked on at the end, comes this delightful agricultural and culinary irrelevance:
Louisiana my Louisiana
the place where I was born.
White fields of cotton
green fields of clover,
the best fishing
and long tall corn;
Crawfish gumbo and jambalaya
the biggest shrimp and sugar cane,
the finest oysters
and sweet strawberries
from Toledo Bend to New Orleans.
Somehow, it's a good choice of anthem for this tragicomic shambles of a state.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
