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Hong Kong Transport - Trucks
The Hong Kong Truck Culture
The number of Trucks, Vans* and Special Purpose Vehicles (Light, Medium & Heavy) registered + licenced in Hong Kong seems to fluctuate between 120,000 - 125,000 vehicles and presumably new trucks registered are offset by old trucks being retired or sold over the border in China.
*Vans are classified as Light Goods Vehicles and are not shown in this album
In Hong Kong Trucks are classified as GOODS VEHICLES By the Transport Department - see below
☛Light Goods Vehicles - Goods vehicles of permitted gross vehicle weight not exceeding 5.5 tonnes.
☛Medium Goods Vehicles - Goods vehicles of permitted gross vehicle weight exceeding 5.5 tonnes but not exceeding 24 tonnes.
☛Heavy Goods Vehicles - Goods vehicles of permitted gross vehicle weight exceeding 24 tonnes but not exceeding 38 tonnes.
The major truck types you tend to see in urban areas are trucks carrying construction materials or waste, dump trucks, concrete mixers and all sizes of delivery trucks... outside of the urban areas it is container trucks and large trucks carrying construction materials.
The following brands of Trucks can be seen on the streets of Hong Kong and include:-
Beiben ✚ Bell ✚ CAMC ✚ CNHTC ✚ DAF ✚ Dennis ✚ Dong Feng ✚ FAW ✚ Fuso ✚ Foton ✚ Ford ✚ Hino ✚ Howo ✚ Hyundai ✚ Isuzu ✚ Iveco ✚ JAC ✚ Kato ✚ KIA ✚ Liebherr ✚ MAN ✚ Mercedes Benz ✚ Mitsubishi ✚ Nissan ✚ Renault ✚ Scania ✚ Shacman ✚ Sinotruk ✚ Suzuki ✚ Toyota ✚ UD ✚ Volvo ✚ Zoomlion
Hong Kong is a brand conscious place even for trucks (!) hence the popularity of the European brands, Scania and Man are very popular and even the older trucks look the business and they are utterly reliable.
Isuzu is the market leader in terms of sale volume for all types of trucks.
(Source - The Transport Department, Hong Kong Government)
☛.... and if you want to read about my views on Hong Kong, then go to my blog, link below
✚ www.j3consultantshongkong.com/j3c-blog
☛ Photography is simply a hobby for me, I do NOT sell my images and all of my images can be FREELY downloaded from this site in the original upload image size or 5 other sizes, please note that you DO NOT have to ask for permission to download and use any of my images!
Conscious Collaboration = Working together on the same page
Slideshare
These new drawings came as i was listening to music. i became incredibly aware of how the sound actually felt as it was moving inside my head, rushing over my earlobes and ears and the peach fuzz that we forget is there, then tumbling and ricocheting through my Eustachian tubes, passing as invisibly small vibrations through the cochlea and cochlear fluid, from there being converted into the electronic information of the brain, a language not understood by my conscious mind, assimilated by the muscles as impulse from the brain, a sharp command, a call to action, a call to arms, and from my head spreading through my body, making me move, controlling me. i was imagining what the feeling of the movement of sound in my body would look like, and one of these drawings is what happened. (Or, maybe thought and action were born at the exact same moment... It's hard to tell.)
Each one has some unique character from the next, often due to the particular music heard while making the drawing. How my body responds to the sound also weighs heavily on the direction of line, the flow of form.
They stopped being only about sound moving in me, however, and started being about energy moving in general, through space, through air, through people, and what happens to that energy as it passes through, becomes effected by; drawings of what the invisible threads that hold us together might look like. Like the rings of trees expanding in waves of friction against the world; like the radio static we no longer hear because every single station is taken up, bought; like the electric charge of lightning that raises hairs on our arms and upsets a lions disposition; maybe like the vibrations of superstring wiggling in all directions at once, all beyond our perceptual thoughts of vision; maybe like our minds while we dream or our hearts while we sing.
The more of these drawings i make, (soon you’ll see them with much more color), the more i realize they play a new role for me. These drawings represent the first time in a long time that i have made something from a less conscious, less present place. These drawings have given me the opportunity to disappear completely from the process of making art, to allow an image to happen, to come, without my baggage, my problems with the world, my morals and ethics, my sensibilities about anything. And in many of these drawings i do in fact disappear. i sit down, i begin, and when i stand the work is finished and my participation seems minimal at best. It’s as if i wasn’t there. i am aware of my arms moving across the table, i am aware of the pressure of my fingers on the markers, but little else. They are meditations for me. They relax me. They breathe for me. They refresh me.
It’s been a hard eight years. i need to purge a little. i need to breathe.
400 dollars U.S.
Marker on watercolor paper.
September 2008
18 x 24
If you are interested/affected/bored/irritated by this account, please let me know in the comments. This was written just after dad's death and the memories were raw.
Born in Birmingham on October 11th 1925. Went to Five Ways Grammar School. His father, William, died when Dad was 15. Was evacuated during the war with his mum to Monmouth. Joined the Royal Engineers and was promoted to Lieutenant. Didn’t see any action but built a lot of bridges across India and Japan, and played a lot of sport. He continued the army connection when he demobbed and joined the TA. He rose to the rank of Captain.
Went to Birmingham University for a while after the army. First job was with the weighing machine company, Avery. Became an insurance broker in Liverpool. He joined the Guardian Royal Exchange when the Royal Exchange Assurance company merged with the Guardian Assurance in 1968. He stayed with the GRE until his retirement in 1987.
Dad and Mum (Lorna) married in 1955, had Sue in ’56 and I followed in ‘62. We moved to Farndon in 1964 leaving Mum’s parents and Dad’s mother back in Liverpool.
Lorna and Denis were divorced in 1976. Dad moved in temporarily with Peter Rowlandson’s family at Twychooks near Farndon church, then moved on to lodge at Nancy’s opposite the garage. In 1978 he moved into 1, Speedsway, Farndon, and was soon joined by Claire, who stayed for several years before they went their separate ways. Dad retired in 1987 and spent many many happy days playing golf and Bridge.
His dream came true in 1994 when Mum came back to Farndon to live with him. Unfortunately the dream was shattered that same year when she died. Dad didn’t get over this and was never really the same again. Despite problems with his legs (which eventually caused him to give up golf) he still derived enormous pleasure from the golf club, the people there, and the Bridge.
Dad died at his home in Speedsway, Farndon, of bronchial pneumonia complicated by Chronic Obstructed Airways Disease on Monday, January 7th 2008.
Short pen portrait
On the face of it his appearance doesn’t sound very prepossessing. His self-perceived short stature (five foot eight – every inch of which he was always conscious about), bald pate and false teeth (since 25 when a cricket ball hit him in the mouth) don’t sound too good on paper, but Dad was a good looking lad and grew into a popular and famous (in Farndon and Curzon Park Golf Club anyway) ladies man. He was especially proud of his moustache and was often found stroking it. Dad never had a comb-over but tried his best to cover up the bald spot. The tonsure reached a maximum diameter very early on, it didn’t spread any further and this left him with a luxuriant growth around the sides and at the back through which he would drag his hands with such obvious relish and satisfaction (or was he just checking it was still there?).
He threw away his suits after he retired and spent the rest of his life in smart casual mode. Pastel shades took over from greys. He was an adventurous dresser – yellow trousers (not just for the golf course), pink shirts. Not a dandy, but careful about his appearance (it took him half an hour to get ready for the pub). He was not vain, but he was self-conscious. He hated his photo being taken.
He always thought he was skinny but actually he was quite well built and certainly not undernourished. He was fit and healthy despite suffering from piles for most of his life (everyone knew this; he was not afraid to give a commentary on his constant companions).
He had a very strong suite of ethics that included honesty and generosity (many thought – “ ... to a fault”).
He loved intellectually-challenging past-times like cryptic crosswords, quizzes, scrabble and Bridge.
He was a great dancer and women loved dancing with him.
The Masonic Lodge in Bootle was a major part of his life in the ‘60s.
Dad was renowned as a sportsman. Throughout his life he gleaned enormous pleasure from playing cricket (many clubs throughout the north west), rugby and hockey (with the army), badminton, tennis, bowls, and, of course, golf. He was a good sportsman too; Cheshire County Cricket standard (he was invited to play for them in 1959).
He was a member of Chester Curzon Park Golf Club for over 30 years and loved every minute (even the bad shots (and there were one or two) were soon forgotten). He was beloved in turn by most of the members, especially the ladies. His handicap went down to 10 at one stage, aided and abetted by a succession of drivers (including “Big Bertha”) and a thousand different putters.
His putting style was unique, no-one else putted side-on apert from Sam Snead. He swore by it but usually at it. He didn’t start a trend but he was more than happy to be a one-off and different.
He loved playing sport with me and Sue. He was a great coach. Very patient and knowledgeable.
With his wrinkles and laughter lines etched deeply into his face, his wicked chuckle and dirty jokes, his off-beat humour and his willingness to talk to anyone and everyone, Dad was a real character.
He was also an enigma.
Some Memories of Dad
Our Dad was as honest as they come; I don’t think he stole a thing in his life. When he needed some ashtrays he wouldn’t just take them from the pub, he had to ask the manager for one. And when they said no problem he insisted on paying for them, which of course resulted in a protracted argument. He usually won. Like when he was paying for drinks (he was always first to the bar) or for meals – it was always a struggle to ever pay for anything when Dad was around. Generous to a fault.
He was in Insurance for over 40 years but NEVER claimed on a thing.
He drank in moderation (usually lager, latterly white German wine) and smoked to excess.
Three main things brought pleasure to Dad – sport, smoking and the opposite sex. Not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily one at a time.
Sport, though, was his abiding passion. He held a cricket bat at the age of three and went on bowling until his late 50s. During this time he played for the army, Bootle and Sefton (both in Liverpool), Boughton Hall and Eaton (Chester). Very often he would forego the pleasures of a family holiday for the competitiveness of a cricket match. The smell of linseed oil is a strong memory for me. As are mouldy pads and cricket bags.
Entering his retirement he took to wearing really daring colours – pastel shades of pink, yellow, lime green, powder blue. Very out there. Unfortunately some of his trousers weren’t of the best quality, they lacked ... substance. They were sometimes semi-transparent and you could see his undies. This never seemed to bother him at all and he continued to wear them regardless.
Because of his recent relative immobility (very painful legs – he virtually subsisted off cocodomol) he had to give up golf and became passionate about Bridge instead. He loved intellectual card games and he threw himself into learning the ins and outs of bidding with as much gusto as once he’d devoted to sports. He was a little disappointed that I didn’t learn the game, but at least Sue learned to play in order to give him a game.
He was a young member of Edgbaston CC and collected many autographs.
He had a reputation for kindness. The new assistant secretary at the golf club said that he was the first person that she got to know at the club when he came in and gave her a hug. Another person said that he was the first person to help him when he moved into the village.
He could never understand why I was a vegetarian and was forever trying to convert me. He’d look at me and say “Go on, Tim, you’ll love this beef ... Mmmmm, this Spanish sausage is fantastic. Just try a little bit. Come on, you know you want to.” “No Dad, you want me to.”
In the last few years he had really become adventurous with his food. Previously a meat and two veg man, he moved into Camembert, goats cheese and Spanish meats. But garlic was a flavour too far. Never!
Films: war films mainly e.g. “A bridge too far”, “Tora Tora Tora”, “The Battle of Britain”, “Bridge Over the River Kwai” – he took me to see them all at the cinema. He didn’t like “Blade Runner” and eventually our tastes diverged and became too different for shared cinematic trips.
Everyone remembers Dad. At his local Barclay’s branch in Saltney, Pauline, the manager, said, “Oh Denis, of course I remember him, he was only in last month. He was such a lovely man. Always had a twinkle in his eye. Always liked a joke and had such a dirty laugh!”
He had an almost pathological fear of hospitals and doctors. You’d always know when “Casualty” or another medical drama had just been advertised on TV because there’d be “OH CHRIST!! Oh my GOD!!” followed by a frantic scramble for the zapper (some curses if he couldn’t find it) then silence (a very relieved silence). When I rang him on Sunday 6th January, and he sounded so weak and quiet, there was no way I could persuade him to call the paramedics … Perhaps I should have rang them but he’d have hated it. And he’d have hated the fuss.
Dad retired in 1987 but had spent many years leading up to this event by putting in some serious practice in order to make the most of his imminent leisure time. He was renowned for getting back from work in time for Jackanory. His routine was: drop Sue off at Queen’s School at 0900, get into office and clear desk. Leave for “The Paddock” (cafe in Chester’s precinct) at 0930 and stay there with his cronies, talking, and doing the Telegraph cryptic crossword, until 1100 when he’d nip into his car to get to his “patch” around Nantwich to arrive in time for lunch. Some work in the afternoon then back for Jackanory at 16.15. Perhaps I’m exaggerating slightly (his annual appraisals were all glowing and he always exceeded his targets) but work was definitely not his raison d’etre.
The oldest swinger in town …
Golf took over his life from about the age of 48. “Golfers World”, Ping clubs, Titlist balls, “Hill Billy” electric cart, George Parton (the Pro at Curzon Park), Vic the Secretary, milky coffees (made his own way at the club), a laugh with bar and restaurant staff, a laugh and a smoke with his mates, getting pleasure from saying, “No-one interested in the golf [on telly] then ....? Who the bloody hell is interested in this football game? ... Isn’t there cricket on the other channel? ... I wonder how the rugby’s going?” This gentle ribbing was a favourite past-time of his.
He hated playing snooker but would often indulge me at the club after a round of 18 (or 3 in later years). It wasn’t much fun. As soon as he started to miss pots (which was within the first two shots of the game) he would lose interest. He would give up and just whack the balls without looking at them. The old bugger.
He loved and looked forward to his Sunday evening telephone conversations with me. These went on every week (bar trips abroad) for 25 years.
Earliest memories of Dad include me being bored stiff at Farndon Memorial Hall whilst the parents played out their tennis match. The bowls there were more entertaining (and quicker). The Hall was a major venue of socialising for Dad – badminton, tennis, bowls and dancing.
One memory of badminton was when we were playing a “competitive” match against a killer local team (I think it was Aldford). He decided that a shuttle cock could be played on the other side of the net so long as the net wasn’t touched – you could reach over the net to smash it down before it came over to your side – a pre-emptive strike as it were. He was adamant about this and a huge argument resulted. He won the argument and the point but was later to be proved wrong. Dad was forceful and passionate but not always right.
He was a very loving, caring, and concerned father to me. We had a close relationship. I felt very protective about him but I still persisted in causing him stress and anxiety when I went abroad even though I knew it hurt him. He didn’t like it when I went to Venezuela over the Xmas period. He was always especially worried about where I’d sleep because years ago I was a little wild and slept in cars all the time, or beaches, or on benches .... I don’t do that anymore, I’m too old, so I recently had to constantly reassure him that I was going to use hotels and beds and bathrooms. It never helped. He was convinced I was sleeping in opium dens and on motorways. Maybe he thought he’d indoctrinated me into such behaviour from an early age when he used to order me out of the house and to go and play on the electric railway lines. He was joking. The closest were in Manchester and too far for me to walk to.
With his moustache and matinee-idol looks (see the photos if you don’t believe me!) Dad always liked to think of himself as a David Niven look-alike. Then DN died and he stopped saying that, although I cruelly went on to say that he resembled Niven more and more each day. In latter years I think he evolved from DN into Leslie Philips. He never went as far as to say “Ding Dong” but his lecherous laugh and twinkle in his eye were enough.
He was not renowned for his patience (except for coaching sports), especially when driving: “Look at this proper Charlie in front. Bloody road hog. Bet he’s wearing glasses. And a flat hat. Bloody hell, can’t he go any faster?!” And what happened in later years? Never drove over 40 mph, always wore his golf cap (flat) and had to use glasses for everything. (He had several pairs (in various states of disrepair) located thoughout the house where he could find them whenever he lost his usual pair.)
He tried to teach me to drive once. It was a nightmare. “Mind that bloody car! Pull over! Pull OVER!!! There’s a bend coming up. Mind that CARRRR!” He was especially annoyed when I crashed the car. He didn’t teach me again after that.
Dad had a very difficult relationship with Sue. This started in the early 1970s when she was 14 or so and he was about 45. I always felt awful and learnt to refuse to discuss the situation. Dad was always in a bad mood after the calls. Latterly the two seemed to be moving closer which made him happier. He became more talkative and enthusiastic about the positive side of Sue and her life.
Dad had really strange ideas about Capitalism. He was a confirmed Tory (a true True Blue) but he didn’t approve of commerce, entrepreneurs or making a career from “The Trades” (even though it would have resulted in a far better income than anything else Sue and I have tried our hands on). He didn’t even approve of me carol singing when, one Christmas, I set out with Steven Taylor for a tour of the Townfield estate. Afterwards, he ordered us to give the money back, virtually accusing us of obtaining money under false pretences. He was probably right.
He used to call me Timbo.
He loved antiques shows on TV, and was always on the lookout for valuable things he might have hidden away. He’d say to us, “That’ll be worth a bit”, and “Don’t whatever you do throw that away”, and “Just have a look in the attic, Tim”, and “I’ll leave this vase for you and Sue so that you can sell it”. Cheers Dad.
Midsomer Murders and Taggert were perennial favourites. The Golf Channel was the best TV channel ever created apparently.
Deafness came on him in the last 10 years, at least he was deaf when watching TV (not so deaf when you mumbled something derogatory about him under your breath). The volume was always turned up to excruciating levels. One time when he and the neighbours were enjoying Foyle’s War and I was trying to read a book, I put some ear-plugs in. He looked at me bemused, thought about it for a couple of minutes, then muted the sound. When I took the plugs out he turned the sound up again. It was difficult to understand him sometimes, and he could be quite contrary.
Fun on a “Solo” outing
Dad was pretty dashing when young. His uniform helped this image of course. First the Royal Engineers (Lieutenant) then the TA (Captain). The girls loved him and Dad liked to reciprocate in every way he could (get away with).
Here’s a wee limerick that Sue and I came up with this week: There was an old lecher called Dennis, who played a mean game of tennis. But he was better at cricket, and had a wicked middle wicket, which he used to become quite a menace. (Apologies to Uncle Ted.)
Claire moved in with Dad in 1978 and stayed for 5 years. One of the best holidays of his life was with Claire in La Rochelle, France. This resulted in one of the most beautiful photos of Dad – relaxed, smiling and obviously really enjoying himself. After they parted in 1983, Dad had plenty of ladyfriends but always lived alone. He was forever hoping to get back with Lorna.
He went to India, Japan and Glasgow when he was in the army. He hated travelling and didn’t have a good word to say about any of these places. The food in particular was “bloody awful”. He liked Chinese food though.
He could never understand my passion for foreign travel; worse still, he became frantic with worry whenever I told him of my plans. I used to wind him up something rotten and when he asked at New Year where I was heading for next (having just come back from the Amazon jungle) I said, “Kenya”. He said, “I knew you’d say that! Of all the stupid bloody things to do ...” I’m sure he knew I was joking. Maybe.
Last year I was in New Zealand and sent him constant postcards and emails during the 3 months I was away. One email told him of the sky diving I’d done over Lake Taupo. His reply (via the golf club’s secretary) was, “Sky Diving! Golly gumdrops, or words to that effect! Glad you told me after the event!” Absolutely Dad!
During this trip I was visiting various people including researchers, soil scientists and foresters, one of whom took me for a 9.5 hour tour of forests near Gisborne and I got a constant commentary: “ This is a tree I planted in 1978 ... This is a group we planted in 1982 ... Ooooh look at that! We should have planted up there ...”. There was almost 10 hours of this and Dad sent an email back saying, “Pity about the ‘woodsman’, he really must have been a pine in the ass!” His awful puns were a joy to behold!
We went for a holiday, the two of us, a few years ago when I was 36 and he was 73. We went fishing out of Lyme Regis (he always loved boats). After 10 minutes of constantly reeling in mackerel I became bored (and a little sick of it) and went for a jaunt around the boat. It was a small boat. I was walking around the narrow running-board the other side of the cabin when suddenly I heard, “TIMOTHY!! Timothy!! Get DOWN from there!!” I shared a smile of understanding with the other 12 year old who was on the boat with his parents. Dad was forever concerned for my welfare (and always regarded me as a kid).
When our family lived together in Townfield Ave (I was 6-ish and Dad was in his 40s) the parents used to hold parties for the locals (mainly sports people and Ravenites). 6 pint tins of Watney’s Red Barrel, elegant glasses of Babysham and sausages on a stick all accompanied by Top of the Pops Hits of 1969. I think Dad was the only person not swinging.
When he played football in the Farndon Boxing Day matches for the Raven (any excuse to get out of the house and avoid cooking, washing up, kids ...) his moniker in the team sheet notes was ‘Denis “Casanova” Bromilow’. One year the notes went, “Ex Hitler Youth movement and Kerry Packer’s circus, Stanley Matthews’ records pale into insignificance compared to Dennis’s (sic) performance. Sets a new league record in this match in being 10 times older than the youngest member of the team. Made some good passes recently but has not scored yet, is still once a year man – football of course.”
I played in one of these games one year (in 1978 as “Tiny Tim”) and in the notes we were the “dual act”. In this one Dad was ‘Denis “Grease” Bromilow. Ex-army (surplus) and Buckley Wanderers. Roy of the Rovers is alive and well and living in Farndon. The player possesses such supernatural talent that he has recently become a ‘Claire Voyeur’ [Dad’s girlfriend]. Still a keen sportsman despite his age [53!] and recently played golf in 6” of snow. His legendary fitness is partly attributed to his hobby – dancing (in fact he once danced with a man who danced with a girl who danced with the Prince of Wales). Lives with Nancy whose face is beginning to smile again [Nancy was his land lady after the divorce]. After the match a collection will be made for this player and the proceeds will go to any club willing to take him.”
Once he played the match wearing a Max Wall wig. It was a bizarre sight to see him dashing down the wing with the long hair streaming out behind him and gleaming pate glaring in the sunshine (well, perhaps this effect wasn’t so unusual). But he loved the joke. Nobody else would have done it.
He was a good sprinter even into his late fifties. I remember him challenging me to a race outside Speedsway when I was 20 and he was 57. He could probably have beaten me even then, but I couldn’t run for laughing and he had to help me back into the house because I hadn’t the co-ordination to walk unaided. The faces that he pulled in order to put me off, and the absurdity of the situation (added to the fact that he might actually have won) were too much for me.
His gamesmanship with me was a gift of God; he took the skill to higher levels that I’ve ever seen. On the 9th hole at Curzon Park he would always remind me about the pond that was 20 yards beyond the tee: ”Don’t worry about the pond now, Tim. Just put the pond out of your mind, don’t let the deep, dark, inaccessable depths of the pond put you off.” Inevitably I’d drive into it and I’d throw my club down and him a dirty look. He’d just laugh with that wicked chuckle of his and think about the next trick he could play, like walking on my line on the green, or standing with his shadow over my ball, or reminding me about the out-of-bounds on the 11th or 12th, or the trees on the left at the 7th. He wanted me to do well and he wanted me to win, but he didn’t want me to win by too many!
When we played tennis (I’d be in my twenties and he in his early sixties), he could beat me without breaking sweat simply by pulling faces and reminding me about the height of the net and the need to get my shots as close to the line as possible, and to serve as fast as possible, and to remember that he was an old man. I’d be a weak, helpless wreck who could hardly lift the racket for laughing.
He loved to pull faces with the kids especially. Some of my oldest memories are of him playing Dracula with his false teeth (his lower set were knocked out when a cricket ball ran up his bat and into his face when he was in his 20s) and scaring me rigid. He was still doing this last year with Fiona’s kids.
When I was a toddler he used to sit me on his knee and ask me to press the knob on his watch. This was a special knob that opened his legs so that I fell through with a rush. He’d always catch me before I hit the ground. The thrill of it was fantastic and he’d build up the tension like a fastly approaching train so that I was giggling before I’d even touched the watch.
I remember, when I was a kid, him driving the old Morris Minor, the model with the foot control for the headlights. He would press my nose and the floor control simultaneously going “On. Off. On. Off.” Not as many traffic accidents as you might think.
He hated football but claimed to support Everton. I used t think it was because the blue shirt meant that the team was Protestant (like Man City), but then I was told the team was actually Catholic. Dad confirmed this and when I asked why he supported a Catholic team he said, “I always thought the blue colour was so much smarter”. Sweet.
Recently he began to support Liverpool but this was only to get at me (in a jokey way). I’ve supported Liverpool for years but I was originally a fanatic of Leeds United. One day when I was 10 I changed allegiance and ever since (for 30 long years) he’s been ribbing me about it. So when he started supporting Liverpool (last year, after years of me asking how Everton were doing and knowing that there would be silence) he’d say “Come on Liverpool! Aren’t my team doing well? Everton who?” and he’d look at me out of the corner of his eye, and we’d both collapse into hysterics.
He was an excellent coach – cricket, golf, tennis, any sport except snooker, which he hated. Oh, and subutteo: when I asked for it one Christmas, he warned, “OK, but I won’t play with you!”
He tried his best to mould us both into champion sportsmen. He was the parent who took us to school matches or badminton clubs. He was a very patient coach. Very methodical. Read all the coaching manuals going. Didn’t mind when I hit the cricket ball through the glass-panelled front door or his bedroom window. That didn’t stop him from continuing the programme of tuition. He was so proud when I scored 20 runs for the Rabbits at Boughton Hall when I was 15. (He didn’t seem to notice that they were bowling underarm and the fielders were unable to catch the dolliest of chances.)
Not that he was obsessed with our success. He was not disappointed when in later life we failed to get to the Olympics or play for England. All he wanted was for us to enjoy sport and to play it to the best of our abilities. He was, though, quite disappointed when in later years I gave up golf and football, but he didn’t dwell on this. Not very often anyway. Every three weeks or so he might ask, “Did you play any sport this week?” “No.” “Oh” he’d say quietly, and you could hear the regret in his voice, but he wouldn’t say any more.
Receiving the Wyatt Cup (bowls?) in the army
Toilet was the best room in the house for dad. He used to spend hours in there, probably to get away from us. Peace and quiet! Quiet fag. Book. Toilet paper. What more could a man want.
Music never played a great part in Dad’s life; he liked it but he could easily go for several years without playing a record. His Hi Fi (which he bought when he moved into his ‘bachelor pad’ in 1978) was almost sealed with nicotine stains. But I do remember certain tunes that he used to hum and certain records he had. Records such as “The World of Paddy Roberts” and Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and The Drifters. Paddy Roberts sticks in the mind. We used to sing together the lyrics of “Gentlemen must please refrain from passing water while the train is standing in the station, stationary. Workers working underneath are apt to get it in the teeth, and they don’t like it, nor would you!”, and “I love Mary ...” and “The foggy foggy dew” and ... oh, there were so many.
Dad had a habit of matching songs to the situation or to the mood. He used to heartily sing “The sun has got his hat on ... “ whenever the sun came out. Or “we’re all going on a summer holiday ...”. Or, “I’m going to buy a paper doll that I can call my own, a doll that other fellas cannot steal ....” – a tune that he used to sing in the car when he picked me up and took me to golf when I was 14, after the divorce.
He was extremely upset by the divorce. He was always crying when he picked me up for badminton at Rossett on Wednesdays, and for golf at the weekend. This went on for at least two years. One time we were driving back from the club and as per usual he was crying, and he looked at me and said, very seriously, “Should we end it here? Now? Should I drive at the wall?” I told him that it wasn’t a good idea. He often took my advice, even way back then.
In his early years in Farndon he was a parish counsellor. I don’t remember that he did a great deal but he was very proud of the fact.
Dad loved to shoot his air rifle. He would stand (not sit) for hours at a time at the kitchen window looking out for wildlife to target – foxes, crows, pigeons – nothing was safe. In later years he actually began to be interested in birds and gardens (a major major change in attitude). He even went as far as to get an ID book of birds, and he invested in peanuts and feeders for the garden. Maybe he just wanted to lure in some more victims? He would still have his 22 at the window to the back garden (along with the binoculars). The book might just have been a chance to ID the birds he shot? Anyway, I think the birds got the message. The peanuts have lasted 3 years, unchanged, and not a bird was seen in his garden. Again, his reputation went before him?
But I don’t really think so. I think he was gradually (very gradually and slowly – after 40 years) adapting to rural life and becoming interested in natural things. The fact that birds didn’t visit his feeder really made him sad. It’s a shame, if they’d come in flocks of amazing numbers and colours and diversity he would have been exalted. Having said that, I saw a robin going for a mouldy peanut in his garden today ...
Over the years I’ve sent Dad loads of postcards and letters, and he’s kept them all. I usually sent him letters after arguments over the ‘phone. I would be trying to reason with him and he was refusing to listen. So I sent long letters explaining what I was attempting to say. He kept them and I think they helped him understand me (and himself) because he could read them at his leisure and digest the contents in peace. He never ever acknowledged that he had even received the letters let alone had read them or accepted their contents.
One such letter followed a particularly disturbing incident in the clubhouse a couple of years ago. Dad was very upset about the fact that my hire-car was playing up and he thought I wasn’t doing anything about it and so he was frightened that I would end up having a terrible crash and dying. I could see his point but from where I was standing everything was OK and under control. But he refused to believe me and ended up getting madder and madder. It was especially shocking as he appeared to have forgotten that he was in a very public place. This is my description of him in the letter I sent the next day (from Scotland):
“I have to explain how I felt when you spoke to me ... Please bear with me! But it’s not going to be nice reading. We were in the club house having a coffee. You sat next to me, shooting daggers out of the corners of your eyes, muttering, not so sanely or quietly, over and over again, “Stupid! Stupid!” ... You were mad. Unhinged. Distorted. Your face was so contorted it was barely recognisable. ... Your eyes seem to pop out, they bulge when you get mad (become mad). Your cheeks sink in, your mouth gets tight, small, thin-lipped; it purses out and looks like it wants to spit spite and bile and ill-words. … Your eyes fill with hate (they do!); you look as if I have behaved in the most heinous fashion, like I’ve murdered someone, like I’m the worst person in the world.! And all I’ve done is not heeded your advice and instead I have followed my own judgement. This is how I felt about you.”
Dad never referred to the letter, but I think he appreciated the tone of it, the non-accusatory but still shocked tone. He was very rarely like this but when it happened it was not a little disturbing.
Anyone who knew Dad for any length of time would have known all about his friends, the Haemorrhoids. Dad suffered from these from ... well maybe since he was a child. Ever since I’ve known him anyway. We used to get regular updates about their behaviour and health. Usually they were behaving very badly and were extremely poorly. Not surprising really when you add up all the time he spent reading and smoking fags on cold toilets. His piles went before him (so to speak): he went to a golf club for an “away game” one day and a person came up to him to shake his hand and his first question to Dad was, “And how are your piles?” Dad had never met the guy in his life.
As a small child (maybe of 6 or 7) I would periodically get fed up with the household and would pack a small brown paper bag with cans of food, can-opener and socks with the intention of running away (which I would announce solemnly to the family if they were around). One time when I did this, Dad followed me out of the house so I picked up speed to get away from him. He matched my speed and so I went faster. Eventually we were lapping the house at a rate of knots with me just out-stripping Dad, lumbering along with my brown paper bag, and Sue and Mum killing themselves laughing in the kitchen. I’m not entirely sure what was going on in Dad’s head at the time because he could have caught me in a sprint when I was 20 let alone 6.
On the other hand, after I was divorced (from my wife, Alison) I went to Dad to talk about what was happening and about me and about what was going on for me. Dad didn’t want to hear and walked away. I tried to catch him up but he walked away faster. We didn’t actually end up chasing each other around the house but it was a close run thing. Dad definitely didn’t like to discuss close, personal things.
Dad was a collector: of autographs (cricketers and footballers); of old coins (stuffed into jars and carefully wrapped); of stamps (some still to be pasted into his album). Not professional and not obsessive but I remember cleaning pennies with HP when I was young. Cheap child (family) labour was not a thing he had strong feelings about.
I was given 5p a grey hair when I was 8 or so. (I had to pull it out, not bring it to him.) He must have been in his early 40s at the time. Memories of me bending over his head whilst he sat in the chair and watched Grandstand. We must have looked like a family of chimps.
I'd be very interested to know whatvyou think. Could you please leave a comment?
He bought a small dingy when we were young (Dad must have been in his 40s). They called it “SueTim” maybe because our neighbours, Fiona and Bill Scott, had a boat called “Fibi”. We took it on to the Dee at Farndon one lovely summer’s day. Dad was so proud and I was so excited. We sailed it up the river and were going OK – no hitches or crashes within 100 yards of setting off, quite a record for us – but then we hit a spot where some boys (Leslie Norman I remember) were swimming. Leslie swam over to us and suddenly unhinged the rudder rendering us helpless and adrift. Whilst he and his gang were almost drowning with laughter, Dad was not-so-quietly turning puce with anger. He couldn’t do very much about it and we got to the bank safely but we didn’t ever sail there again.
JOHN LENNON and YOKO ONO (talk to Robin Blackburn and Tariq Ali)
Tariq Ali: Your latest record and your recent public statements, especially the interviews in Rolling Stone magazine, suggest that your views are becoming increasingly radical and political. When did this start to happen?
John Lennon: I've always been politically minded, you know, and against the status quo. It's pretty basic when you're brought up, like I was, to hate and fear the police as a natural enemy and to despise the army as something that takes everybody away and leaves them dead somewhere. I mean, it's just a basic working class thing, though it begins to wear off when you get older, get a family and get swallowed up in the system. In my case I've never not been political, though religion tended to overshadow it in my acid days; that would be around '65 or '66. And that religion was directly the result of all that superstar shit--religion was an outlet for my repression. I thought, 'Well, there's something else to life, isn't there? This isn't it, surely?' But I was always political in a way, you know. In the two books I wrote, even though they were written in a sort of Joycean gobbledegook, there's many knocks at religion and there is a play about a worker and a capitalist. I've been satirising the system since my childhood. I used to write magazines in school and hand them around. I was very conscious of class, they would say with a chip on my shoulder, because I knew what happened to me and I knew about the class repression coming down on us--it was a fucking fact but in the hurricane Beatle world it got left out, I got farther away from reality for a time.
TA: What did you think was the reason for the success of your sort of music?
JL: Well, at the time it was thought that the workers had broken through, but I realise in retrospect that it's the same phoney deal they gave the blacks, it was just like they allowed blacks to be runners or boxers or entertainers. That's the choice they allow you--now the outlet is being a pop star, which is really what I'm saying on the album in 'Working class hero'. As I told Rolling Stone, it's the same people who have the power, the class system didn't change one little bit. Of course, there are a lot of people walking around with long hair now and some trendy middle class kids in pretty clothes. But nothing changed except that we all dressed up a bit, leaving the same bastards running everything.
Robin Blackburn: Of course, class is something the American rock groups haven't tackled yet.
JL: Because they're all middle class and bourgeois and they don't want to show it. They're scared of the workers, actually, because the workers seem mainly right-wing in America, clinging on to their goods. But if these middle class groups realise what's happening, and what the class system has done, it's up to them to repatriate the people and to get out of all that bourgeois shit.
TA: When did you start breaking out of the role imposed on you as a Beatle?
JL: Even during the Beatle heyday I tried to go against it, so did George. We went to America a few times and Epstein always tried to waffle on at us about saying nothing about Vietnam. So there came a time when George and I said 'Listen, when they ask next time, we're going to say we don't like that war and we think they should get right out.' That's what we did. At that time this was a pretty radical thing to do, especially for the 'Fab Four'. It was the first opportunity I personally took to wave the flag a bit. But you've got to remember that I'd always felt repressed. We were all so pressurised that there was hardly any chance of expressing ourselves, especially working at that rate, touring continually and always kept in a cocoon of myths and dreams. It's pretty hard when you are Caesar and everyone is saying how wonderful you are and they are giving you all the goodies and the girls, it's pretty hard to break out of that, to say 'Well, I don't want to be king, I want to be real.' So in its way the second political thing I did was to say 'The Beatles are bigger than Jesus.' That really broke the scene, I nearly got shot in America for that. It was a big trauma for all the kids that were following us. Up to then there was this unspoken policy of not answering delicate questions, though I always read the papers, you know, the political bits. The continual awareness of what was going on made me feel ashamed I wasn't saying anything. I burst out because I could no longer play that game any more, it was just too much for me. Of course, going to America increased the build up on me, especially as the war was going on there. In a way we'd turned out to be a Trojan horse. The 'Fab Four' moved right to the top and then sang about drugs and sex and then I got into more and more heavy stuff and that's when they started dropping us.
RB: Wasn't there a double charge to what you were doing right from the beginning?
Yoko Ono: You were always very direct.
JL: Yes, well, the first thing we did was to proclaim our Liverpoolness to the world, and say 'It's all right to come from Liverpool and talk like this'. Before, anybody from Liverpool who made it, like Ted Ray, Tommy Handley, Arthur Askey, had to lose their accent to get on the BBC. They were only comedians but that's what came out of Liverpool before us. We refused to play that game. After The Beatles came on the scene everyone started putting on a Liverpudlian accent.
TA: In a way you were even thinking about politics when you seemed to be knocking revolution?
JL: Ah, sure, 'Revolution' . There were two versions of that song but the underground left only picked up on the one that said 'count me out'. The original version which ends up on the LP said 'count me in' too; I put in both because I wasn't sure. There was a third version that was just abstract, musique concrete, kind of loops and that, people screaming. I thought I was painting in sound a picture of revolution--but I made a mistake, you know. The mistake was that it was anti-revolution. On the version released as a single I said 'when you talk about destruction you can count me out'. I didn't want to get killed. I didn't really know that much about the Maoists, but I just knew that they seemed to be so few and yet they painted themselves green and stood in front of the police waiting to get picked off. I just thought it was unsubtle, you know. I thought the original Communist revolutionaries coordinated themselves a bit better and didn't go around shouting about it. That was how I felt--I was really asking a question. As someone from the working class I was always interested in Russia and China and everything that related to the working class, even though I was playing the capitalist game. At one time I was so much involved in the religious bullshit that I used to go around calling myself a Christian Communist, but as Janov says, religion is legalised madness. It was therapy that stripped away all that and made me feel my own pain.
RB: This analyst you went to, what's his name. ..
JL: Janov ...
RB: His ideas seem to have something in common with Laing in that he doesn't want to reconcile people to their misery, to adjust them to the world but rather to make them face up to its causes?
JL: Well, his thing is to feel the pain that's accumulated inside you ever since your childhood. I had to do it to really kill off all the religious myths. In the therapy you really feel every painful moment of your life--it's excruciating, you are forced to realise that your pain, the kind that makes you wake up afraid with your heart pounding, is really yours and not the result of somebody up in the sky. It's the result of your parents and your environment. As I realised this it all started to fall into place. This therapy forced me to have done with all the God shit. All of us growing up have come to terms with too much pain. Although we repress it, it's still there. The worst pain is that of not being wanted, of realising your parents do not need you in the way you need them. When I was a child I experienced moments of not wanting to see the ugliness, not wanting to see not being wanted. This lack of love went into my eyes and into my mind. Janov doesn't just talk to you about this but makes you feel it--once you've allowed yourself to feel again, you do most of the work yourself. When you wake up and your heart is going like the clappers or your back feels strained, or you develop some other hang-up, you should let your mind go to the pain and the pain itself will regurgitate the memory which originally caused you to suppress it in your body. In this way the pain goes to the right channel instead of being repressed again, as it is if you take a pill or a bath, saying 'Well, I'll get over it'. Most people channel their pain into God or masturbation or some dream of making it. The therapy is like a very slow acid trip which happens naturally in your body. It is hard to talk about, you know, because--you feel 'I am pain' and it sounds sort of arbitrary, but pain to me now has a different meaning because of having physically felt all these extraordinary repressions. It was like taking gloves off, and feeling your own skin for the first time. It's a bit of a drag to say so, but I don't think you can understand this unless you've gone through it--though I try to put some of it over on the album. But for me at any rate it was all part of dissolving the God trip or father-figure trip. Facing up to reality instead of always looking for some kind of heaven.
RB: Do you see the family in general as the source of these repressions?
JL: Mine is an extreme case, you know. My father and mother split and I never saw my father until I was 20, nor did I see much more of my mother. But Yoko had her parents there and it was the same....
YO: Perhaps one feels more pain when parents are there. It's like when you're hungry, you know, it's worse to get a symbol of a cheeseburger than no cheeseburger at all. It doesn't do you any good, you know. I often wish my mother had died so that at least I could get some people's sympathy. But there she was, a perfectly beautiful mother.
JL: And Yoko's family were middle-class Japanese but it's all the same repression. Though I think middle-class people have the biggest trauma if they have nice imagey parents, all smiling and dolled up. They are the ones who have the biggest struggle to say, 'Goodbye mummy, goodbye daddy'.
TA: What relation to your music has all this got?
JL: Art is only a way of expressing pain. I mean the reason Yoko does such far out stuff is that it's a far out kind of pain she went through.
RB: A lot of Beatle songs used to be about childhood...
JL: Yeah, that would mostly be me...
RB: Though they were very good there was always a missing element...
JL: That would be reality, that would be the missing element. Because I was never really wanted. The only reason I am a star is because of my repression. Nothing else would have driven me through all that if I was 'normal'...
YO: ... and happy ...
JL: The only reason I went for that goal is that I wanted to say: 'Now, mummydaddy, will you love me?'
TA: But then you had success beyond most people's wildest dreams...
JL: Oh, Jesus Christ, it was a complete oppression. I mean we had to go through humiliation upon humiliation with the middle classes and showbiz and Lord Mayors and all that. They were so condescending and stupid. Everybody trying to use us. It was a special humiliation for me because I could never keep my mouth shut and I'd always have to be drunk or pilled to counteract this pressure. It was really hell ...
YO: It was depriving him of any real experience, you know...
JL: It was very miserable. I mean apart from the first flush of making it--the thrill of the first number one record, the first trip to America. At first we had some sort of objective like being as big as Elvis--moving forward was the great thing, but actually attaining it was the big let-down. I found I was having continually to please the sort of people I'd always hated when I was a child. This began to bring me back to reality. I began to realise that we are all oppressed which is why I would like to do something about it, though I'm not sure where my place is.
RB: Well, in any case, politics and culture are linked, aren't they? I mean, workers are repressed by culture not guns at the moment ...
JL: ... they're doped ...
RB: And the culture that's doping them is one the artist can make or break...
JL: That's what I'm trying to do on my albums and in these interviews. What I'm trying to do is to influence all the people I can influence. All those who are still under the dream and just put a big question mark in their mind. The acid dream is over, that is what I'm trying to tell them.
RB: Even in the past, you know, people would use Beatle songs and give them new words. 'Yellow submarine' , for instance, had a number of versions. One that strikers used to sing began 'We all live on bread and margarine' ; at LSE we had a version that began 'We all live in a Red LSE'.
JL: I like that. And I enjoyed it when football crowds in the early days would sing 'All together now'--that was another one. I was also pleased when the movement in America took up 'Give peace a chance' because I had written it with that in mind really. I hoped that instead of singing 'We shall overcome' from 1800 or something, they would have something contemporary. I felt an obligation even then to write a song that people would sing in the pub or on a demonstration. That is why I would like to compose songs for the revolution now ...
RB: We only have a few revolutionary songs and they were composed in the 19th century. Do you find anything in our musical traditions which could be used for revolutionary songs?
JL: When I started, rock and roll itself was the basic revolution to people of my age and situation. We needed something loud and clear to break through all the unfeeling and repression that had been coming down on us kids. We were a bit conscious to begin with of being imitation Americans. But we delved into the music and found that it was half white country and western and half black rhythm and blues. Most of the songs came from Europe and Africa and now they were coming back to us. Many of Dylan's best songs came from Scotland, Ireland or England. It was a sort of cultural exchange. Though I must say the more interesting songs to me were the black ones because they were more simple. They sort of saidshake your arse, or your prick, which was an innovation really. And then there were the field songs mainly expressing the pain they were in. They couldn't express themselves intellectually so they had to say in a very few words what was happening to them. And then there was the city blues and a lot of that was about sex and fighting. A lot of this was self-expression but only in the last few years have they expressed themselves completely with Black Power, like Edwin Starr making war records. Before that many black singers were still labouring under that problem of God; it was often 'God will save us'. But right through the blacks were singing directly and immediately about their pain and also about sex, which is why I like it.
RB: You say country and western music derived from European folk songs. Aren't these folk songs sometimes pretty dreadful stuff, all about losing and being defeated?
JL: As kids we were all opposed to folk songs because they were so middle-class. It was all college students with big scarfs and a pint of beer in their hands singing folk songs in what we call la-di-da voices-'I worked in a mine in New-cast-le' and all that shit. There were very few real folk singers you know, though I liked Dominic Behan a bit and there was some good stuff to be heard in Liverpool. Just occasionally you hear very old records on the radio or TV of real workers in Ireland or somewhere singing these songs and the power of them is fantastic. But mostly folk music is people with fruity voices trying to keep alive something old and dead. It's all a bit boring, like ballet: a minority thing kept going by a minority group. Today's folk song is rock and roll. Although it happened to emanate from America, that's not really important in the end because we wrote our own music and that changed everything.
RB: Your album, Yoko, seems to fuse avant-garde modern music with rock. I'd like to put an idea to you I got from listening to it. You integrate everyday sounds, like that of a train, into a musical pattern. This seems to demand an aesthetic measure of everyday life, to insist that art should not be imprisoned in the museums and galleries, doesn't it?
YO: Exactly. I want to incite people to loosen their oppression by giving them something to work with, to build on. They shouldn't be frightened of creating themselves--that's why I make things very open, with things for people to do, like in my book [Grapefruit]. Because basically there are two types of people in the world: people who are confident because they know they have the ability to create, and then people who have been demoralised, who have no confidence in themselves because they have been told they have no creative ability, but must just take orders. The Establishment likes people who take no responsibility and cannot respect themselves.
RB: I suppose workers' control is about that...
JL: Haven't they tried out something like that in Yugoslavia; they are free of the Russians. I'd like to go there and see how it works.
TA: Well, they have; they did try to break with the Stalinist pattern. But instead of allowing uninhibited workers' control, they added a strong dose of political bureaucracy. It tended to smother the initiative of the workers and they also regulated the whole system by a market mechanism which bred new inequalities between one region and another.
JL: It seems that all revolutions end up with a personality cult--even the Chinese seem to need a father-figure. I expect this happens in Cuba too, with Che and Fidel. In Western-style Communism we would have to create an almost imaginary workers' image of themselves as the father-figure.
RB: That's a pretty cool idea--the Working Class becomes its own Hero. As long as it was not a new comforting illusion, as long as there was a real workers' power. If a capitalist or bureaucrat is running your life then you need to compensate with illusions.
YO: The people have got to trust in themselves.
TA: That's the vital point. The working class must be instilled with a feeling of confidence in itself. This can't be done just by propaganda--the workers must move, take over their own factories and tell the capitalists to bugger off. This is what began to happen in May 1968 in France...the workers began to feel their own strength.
JL: But the Communist Party wasn't up to that, was it?
RB: No, they weren't. With 10 million workers on strike they could have led one of those huge demonstrations that occurred in the centre of Paris into a massive occupation of all government buildings and installations, replacing de Gaulle with a new institution of popular power like the Commune or the original Soviets--that would have begun a real revolution but the French C.P. was scared of it. They preferred to deal at the top instead of encouraging the workers to take the initiative themselves...
JL: Great, but there's a problem about that here you know. All the revolutions have happened when a Fidel or Marx or Lenin or whatever, who were intellectuals, were able to get through to the workers. They got a good pocket of people together and the workers seemed to understand that they were in a repressed state. They haven't woken up yet here, they still believe that cars and tellies are the answer. You should get these left-wing students out to talk with the workers, you should get the schoolkids involved with The Red Mole.
TA: You're quite right, we have been trying to do that and we should do more. This new Industrial Relations Bill the Government is trying to introduce is making more and more workers realise what is happening...
JL: I don't think that Bill can work. I don't think they can enforce it. I don't think the workers will co-operate with it. I thought the Wilson Government was a big let-down but this Heath lot are worse. The underground is being harrassed, the black militants can't even live in their own homes now, and they're selling more arms to the South Africans. Like Richard Neville said, there may be only an inch of difference between Wilson and Heath but it's in that inch that we live....
TA: I don't know about that; Labour brought in racialist immigration policies, supported the Vietnam war and were hoping to bring in new legislation against the unions.
RB: It may be true that we live in the Inch of difference between Labour and Conservative but so long as we do we'll be impotent and unable to change anything. If Heath is forcing us out of that inch maybe he's doing us a good turn without meaning to...
JL: Yes, I've thought about that, too. This putting us in a corner so we have to find out what is coming down on other people. I keep on reading the Morning Star [the Communist newspaper] to see if there's any hope, but it seems to be in the 19th century; it seems to be written for dropped-out, middle-aged liberals. We should be trying to reach the young workers because that's when you're most idealistic and have least fear. Somehow the revolutionaries must approach the workers because the workers won't approach them. But it's difficult to know where to start; we've all got a finger in the dam. The problem for me is that as I have become more real, I've grown away from most working-class people--you know what they like is Engelbert Humperdinck. It's the students who are buying us now, and that's the problem. Now The Beatles are four separate people, we don't have the impact we had when we were together...
RB: Now you're trying to swim against the stream of bourgeois society, which is much more difficult.
JL: Yes, they own all the newspapers and they control all distribution and promotion. When we came along there was only Decca, Philips and EMI who could really produce a record for you. You had to go through the whole bureaucracy to get into the recording studio. You were in such a humble position, you didn't have more than 12 hours to make a whole album, which is what we did in the early days. Even now it's the same; if you're an unknown artist you're lucky to get an hour in a studio--it's a hierarchy and if you don't have hits, you don't get recorded again. And they control distribution. We tried to change that with Apple but in the end we were defeated. They still control everything. EMI killed our album Two Virgins because they didn't like it. With the last record they've censored the words of the songs printed on the record sleeve. Fucking ridiculous and hypocritical--they have to let me sing it but they don't dare let you read it. Insanity.
RB: Though you reach fewer people now, perhaps the effect can be more concentrated.
JL: Yes, I think that could be true. To begin with, working class people reacted against our openness about sex. They are frightened of nudity, they're repressed in that way as well as others. Perhaps they thought 'Paul is a good lad, he doesn't make trouble'. Also when Yoko and I got married, we got terrible racialist letters--you know, warning me that she would slit my throat. Those mainly came from Army people living in Aldershot. Officers. Now workers are more friendly to us, so perhaps it's changing. It seems to me that the students are now half-awake enough to try and wake up their brother workers. If you don't pass on your own awareness then it closes down again. That is why the basic need is for the students to get in with the workers and convince them that they are not talking gobbledegook. And of course it's difficult to know what the workers are really thinking because the capitalist press always only quotes mouthpieces like Vic Feather* anyway. [Ed. Note: Vic Feather 1908-76 was General Secretary of the TUC from 1969-73.] So the only thing is to talk to them directly, especially the young workers. We've got to start with them because they know they're up against it. That's why I talk about school on the album. I'd like to incite people to break the framework, to be disobedient in school, to stick their tongues out, to keep insulting authority.
YO: We are very lucky really, because we can create our own reality, John and me, but we know the important thing is to communicate with other people.
JL: The more reality we face, the more we realise that unreality is the main programme of the day. The more real we become, the more abuse we take, so it does radicalise us in a way, like being put in a corner. But it would be better if there were more of us.
YO: We mustn't be traditional in the way we communicate with people--especially with the Establishment. We should surprise people by saying new things in an entirely new way. Communication of that sort can have a fantastic power so long as you don't do only what they expect you to do.
RB: Communication is vital for building a movement, but in the end it's powerless unless you also develop popular force.
YO: I get very sad when I think about Vietnam where there seems to be no choice but violence. This violence goes on for centuries perpetuating itself. In the present age when communication is so rapid, we should create a different tradition, traditions are created everyday. Five years now is like 100 years before. We are living in a society that has no history. There's no precedent for this kind of society so we can break the old patterns.
TA: No ruling class in the whole of history has given up power voluntarily and I don't see that changing.
YO: But violence isn't just a conceptual thing, you know. I saw a programme about this kid who had come back from Vietnam--he'd lost his body from the waist down. He was just a lump of meat, and he said, 'Well, I guess it was a good experience.'
JL: He didn't want to face the truth, he didn't want to think it had all been a waste...
YO: But think of the violence, it could happen to your kids ...
RB: But Yoko, people who struggle against oppression find themselves attacked by those who have a vested interest in nothing changing, those who want to protect their power and wealth. Look at the people in Bogside and Falls Road in Northern Ireland; they were mercilessly attacked by the special police because they began demonstrating for their rights. On one night in August 1969, seven people were shot and thousands driven from their homes. Didn't they have a right to defend themselves?
YO: That's why one should try to tackle these problems before a situation like that happens.
JL: Yes, but what do you do when it does happen, what do you do?
RB: Popular violence against their oppressors is always justified. It cannot be avoided.
YO: But in a way the new music showed things could be transformed by new channels of communication.
JL: Yes, but as I said, nothing really changed.
YO: Well, something changed and it was for the better. All I'm saying is that perhaps we can make a revolution without violence.
JL: But you can't take power without a struggle...
TA: That's the crucial thing.
JL: Because, when it comes to the nitty-gritty, they won't let the people have any power; they'll give all the rights to perform and to dance for them, but no real power...
YO: The thing is, even after the revolution, if people don't have any trust in themselves, they'll get new problems.
JL: After the revolution you have the problem of keeping things going, of sorting out all the different views. It's quite natural that revolutionaries should have different solutions, that they should split into different groups and then reform, that's the dialectic, isn't it--but at the same time they need to be united against the enemy, to solidify a new order. I don't know what the answer is; obviously Mao is aware of this problem and keeps the ball moving.
RB: The danger is that once a revolutionary state has been created, a new conservative bureaucracy tends to form around it. This danger tends to increase if the revolution is isolated by imperialism and there is material scarcity.
JL: Once the new power has taken over they have to establish a new status quo just to keep the factories and trains running.
RB: Yes, but a repressive bureaucracy doesn't necessarily run the factories or trains any better than the workers could under a system of revolutionary democracy.
JL: Yes, but we all have bourgeois instincts within us, we all get tired and feel the need to relax a bit. How do you keep everything going and keep up revolutionary fervour after you've achieved what you set out to achieve? Of course Mao has kept them up to it in China, but what happens after Mao goes? Also he uses a personality cult. Perhaps that's necessary; like I said, everybody seems to need a father figure. But I've been reading Khrushchev Remembers. I know he's a bit of a lad himself--but he seemed to think that making a religion out of an individual was bad; that doesn't seem to be part of the basic Communist idea. Still people are people, that's the difficulty. If we took over Britain, then we'd have the job of cleaning up the bourgeoisie and keeping people in a revolutionary state of mind.
RB: ...In Britain unless we can create a new popular power-and here that would basically mean workers' power--really controlled by, and answerable to, the masses, then we couldn't make the revolution in the first place. Only a really deep-rooted workers' power could destroy the bourgeois state.
YO: That's why it will be different when the younger generation takes over.
JL: I think it wouldn't take much to get the youth here really going. You'd have to give them free rein to attack the local councils or to destroy the school authorities, like the students who break up the repression in the universities. It's already happening, though people have got to get together more. And the women are very important too, we can't have a revolution that doesn't involve and liberate women. It's so subtle the way you're taught male superiority. It took me quite a long time to realise that my maleness was cutting off certain areas for Yoko. She's a red hot liberationistand was quick to show me where I was going wrong, even though it seemed to me that I was just acting naturally. That's why I'm always interested to know how people who claim to be radical treat women.
RB: There's always been at least as much male chauvinism on the left as anywhere else--though the rise of women's liberation is helping to sort that out.
JL: It's ridiculous. How can you talk about power to the people unless you realise the people is both sexes.
YO: You can't love someone unless you are in an equal position with them. A lot of women have to cling to men out of fear or insecurity, and that's not love--basically that's why women hate men...
JL: ... and vice versa ...
YO: So if you have a slave around the house how can you expect to make a revolution outside it? The problem for women is that if we try to be free, then we naturally become lonely, because so many women are willing to become slaves, and men usually prefer that. So you always have to take the chance: 'Am I going to lose my man?' It's very sad.
JL: Of course, Yoko was well into liberation before I met her. She'd had to fight her way through a man's world--the art world is completely dominated by men--so she was full of revolutionary zeal when we met. There was never any question about it: we had to have a 50-50 relationship or there was no relationship, I was quick to learn. She did an article about women in Nova more than two years back in which she said, 'Woman is the nigger of the world' .
RB: Of course we all live in an imperialist country that is exploiting the Third World, and even our culture is involved in this. There was a time when Beatle music was plugged on Voice of America....
JL: The Russians put it out that we were capitalist robots, which we were I suppose...
RB: They were pretty stupid not to see it was something different.
YO: Let' s face it, Beatles was 20th-century folksong in the framework of capitalism; they couldn't do anything different if they wanted to communicate within that framework.
RB: I was working in Cuba when Sgt Pepper was released and that's when they first started playing rock music on the radio.
JL: Well hope they see that rock and roll is not the same as Coca-Cola. As we get beyond the dream this should be easier: that's why I'm putting out more heavy statements now and trying to shake off the teeny-bopper image. I want to get through to the right people, and I want to make what I have to say very simple and direct.
RB: Your latest album sounds very simple to begin with, but the lyrics, tempo and melody build up into a complexity one only gradually becomes aware of. Like the track 'My mummy's dead' echoes the nursery song 'Three blind mice' and it's about a childhood trauma.
JL: The tune does; it was that sort of feeling, almost like a Haiku poem. I recently got into Haiku in Japan and I just think it's fantastic. Obviously, when you get rid of a whole section of illusion in your mind you're left with great precision. Yoko was showing me some of these Haiku in the original. The difference between them and Longfellow is immense. Instead of a long flowery poem the Haiku would say 'Yellow flower in white bowl on wooden table' which gives you the whole picture, really....
TA: How do you think we can destroy the capitalist system here in Britain, John?
JL: I think only by making the workers aware of the really unhappy position they are in, breaking the dream they are surrounded by. They think they are in a wonderful, free-speaking country. They've got cars and tellies and they don't want to think there's anything more to life. They are prepared to let the bosses run them, to see their children fucked up in school. They're dreaming someone else's dream, it's not even their own. They should realise that the blacks and the Irish are being harassed and repressed and that they will be next. As soon as they start being aware of all that, we can really begin to do something. The workers can start to take over. Like Marx said: 'To each according to his need'. I think that would work well here. But we'd also have to infiltrate the army too, because they are well trained to kill us all. We've got to start all this from where we ourselves are oppressed. I think it's false, shallow, to be giving to others when your own need is great. The idea is not to comfort people, not to make them feel better but to make them feel worse, to constantly put before them the degradations and humiliations they go through to get what they call a living wage.
Tariq Ali is editor of London's New Left Review, a filmmaker and novelist, and has written more than a dozen books on world history and politics, including 1968 and After: Inside the Revolution (1978) and the 1987 Street Fighting Years: An Autobiography of the Sixties. He was prominently involved in 60s antiwar and radical politics; Jagger, a personal friend, is said to have written "Street Fighting Man" in his honor.
Causes
The fears of enclosed spaces is an irrational fear. Most claustrophobic people who find themselves in a room without windows consciously know that they aren’t in danger, yet these same people will be afraid, possibly terrified to the point of incapacitation, and many do not know why. The exact cause of claustrophobia is unknown, but there are many theories.
Amygdalal
The red structure is the amygdala.
The amygdala is one of the smallest structures in the brain, but also one of the most powerful. The amygdala is needed for the conditioning of fear, or the creation of a fight-or-flight response. A fight-or-flight response is created, when a stimulus is associated with a grievous situation. Cheng believes that a phobia’s roots are in this fight-or-flight response.
In generating a fight-or-flight response, the amygdala acts in the following way: The amygdala’s anterior nuclei associated with fear communicate with each other. Nuclei send out impulses to other nuclei, which influence respiratory rate, physical arousal, the release of adrenaline, blood pressure, heart rate, behavioral fear response, and defensive responses, which may include freezing up. These reactions constitute an ‘autonomic failure’ in a panic attack.
Brain synapse
A study done by Fumi Hayano found that the right amygdala was smaller in patients who suffered from panic disorders. The reduction of size occurred in a structure known as the corticomedial nuclear group which the CE nucleus belongs to. This causes interference, which in turn causes abnormal reactions to aversive stimuli in those with panic disorders. In claustrophobic people, this translates as panicking or overreacting to a situation in which the person finds themselves physically confined.
Classical conditioning[edit]
Claustrophobia results as the mind comes to connect confinement with danger. It often comes as a consequence of a traumatic childhood experience,[7] although the onset can come at any point in an individual’s life. Such an experience can occur multiple times, or only once, to make a permanent impression on the mind.[6] The majority of claustrophobic participants in an experiment done by Lars-Göran Öst reported that their phobia had been "acquired as a result of a conditioning experience." In most cases, claustrophobia seems to be the result of past experiences.
Conditioning experiences
A few examples of common experiences that could result in the onset of claustrophobia in children (or adults) are as follows:
A child (or, less commonly, an adult) is shut into a pitch-black room and cannot find the door or the light-switch.
A child gets shut into a box.
A child is locked in a closet.
A child falls into a deep pool and cannot swim.
A child gets separated from their parents in a large crowd and gets lost.
A child sticks their head between the bars of a fence and then cannot get back out.
A child crawls into a hole and gets stuck, or cannot find their way back.
A child is left in their parent's car, truck, or van.
The term ‘past experiences,’ according to one author, can extend to the moment of birth. In John A. Speyrer’s ‘’Claustrophobia and the Fear of Death and Dying,’’ the reader is brought to the conclusion that claustrophobia’s high frequency is due to birth trauma, about which he says is "one of the most horrendous experiences we can have during our lifetime," and it is in this helpless moment that the infant develops claustrophobia.[9]
In an MRI, the patient is inserted into the tube.
Magnetic resonance imaging, or the MRI, has been attributed to the onset of claustrophobia. Since a patient has to be put into the center of a magnet to optimize imaging, the patient finds themselves in a narrow tube for an extended period of time. In a study involving claustrophobia and the MRI, it was reported that 13% of patients experienced a panic attack during the procedure. The procedure has been linked not only to the triggering of ‘preexisting’ claustrophobia, but also to the onset in some people. These panic attacks during the procedure make it so the patient is unable to adjust to the situation, and therefore the fear remain.
The conditions inside a mine
S.J. Rachman tells of an extreme example citing the experience of 21 miners in the Claustrophobia section of ‘’Phobias: A Handbook of Theory, Research, and Treatment.’’ These miners were trapped underground for 14 days, during which six of the miners died of suffocation. After their rescue, ten of the miners were studied for ten years. All but one were greatly changed by the experience, and six of those developed phobias, phobias that involved "confining or limiting situations." The only miner who did not develop any noticeable symptoms was the one who acted as leader.
Another factor that could cause the onset of claustrophobia is "information received." As Aureau Walding states in ‘’Causes of Claustrophobia,’’ many people, especially children, learn who and what to fear by watching parents or peers. This method does not only apply to observing a teacher, but also observing victims. Vicarious classical conditioning also includes when a person sees another person exposed directly to an especially unpleasant situation. This would be analogous to observing someone getting stuck in a tight space, suffocated, or any of the other examples that were listed above.
Prepared phobia[edit]
There is research that suggests that claustrophobia isn’t entirely a classically conditioned or learned phobia. It is not necessarily an inborn fear, but it is very likely what is called a prepared phobia. As Erin Gersley says in ‘’Phobias: Causes and Treatments,’’ humans are genetically predisposed to become afraid of things that are dangerous to them. Claustrophobia may fall under this category because of its "wide distribution… early onset and seeming easy acquisition, and its non-cognitive features." The acquisition of claustrophobia may be part of a vestigial evolutionary survival mechanism, a dormant fear of entrapment and/or suffocation that was once important for the survival of humanity and could be easily awakened at any time.[15] Hostile environments in the past would have made this kind of pre-programmed fear necessary, and so the human mind developed the capacity for "efficient fear conditioning to certain classes of dangerous stimuli."
Rachman provides an argument for this theory in his article: ‘’Phobias.’’ He agrees with the statement that phobias generally concern objects that constitute a direct threat to human survival, and that many of these phobias are quickly acquired because of an "inherited biological preparedness.]" This brings about a prepared phobia, which is not quite innate, but is widely and easily learned. As Rachman explains in the article: "The main features of prepared phobias are that they are very easily acquired, selective, stable, biologically significant, and probably [non-cognitive]." ‘Selective’ and ‘biologically significant’ mean that they only relate to things that directly threaten the health, safety, or survival of an individual. ‘Non-cognitive’ suggests that these fears are acquired unconsciously. Both factors point to the theory that claustrophobia is a prepared phobia that is already pre-programmed into the mind of a human being.
Treatment
Cognitive therapy
Cognitive therapy is a widely accepted form of treatment for most anxiety disorders. It is also thought to be particularly effective in combating disorders where the patient doesn’t actually fear a situation but, rather, fears what could result from being in such a situation.[17] The ultimate goal of cognitive therapy is to modify distorted thoughts or misconceptions associated with whatever is being feared; the theory is that modifying these thoughts will decrease anxiety and avoidance of certain situations.[17] For example, cognitive therapy would attempt to convince a claustrophobic patient that elevators are not dangerous but are, in fact, very useful in getting you where you would like to go faster. A study conducted by S.J. Rachman shows that cognitive therapy decreased fear and negative thoughts/connotations by an average of around 30% in claustrophobic patients tested, proving it to be a reasonably effective method.
In vivo exposure.
This method forces patients to face their fears by complete exposure to whatever fear they are experiencing.[17] This is usually done in a progressive manner starting with lesser exposures and moving upward towards severe exposures. For example, a claustrophobic patient would start by going into an elevator and work up to an MRI. Several studies have proven this to be an effective method in combating various phobias, claustrophobia included. S.J. Rachman has also tested the effectiveness of this method in treating claustrophobia and found it to decrease fear and negative thoughts/connotations by an average of nearly 75% in his patients. Of the methods he tested in this particular study, this was by far the most significant reduction.
Interoceptive exposure
This method attempts to recreate internal physical sensations within a patient in a controlled environment and is a less intense version of in vivo exposure. This was the final method of treatment tested by S.J. Rachman in his 1992 study. It lowered fear and negative thoughts/connotations by about 25%. These numbers did not quite match those of in vivo exposure or cognitive therapy, but still resulted in significant reductions.
Other forms of treatment that have also been shown to be reasonably effective are psychoeducation, counter-conditioning, regressive hypnotherapy and breathing re-training. Medications often prescribed to help treat claustrophobia include anti-depressants and beta-blockers, which help to relieve the heart-pounding symptoms often associated with anxiety attacks.
Studies
MRI procedure
Because they can produce a fear of both suffocation and restriction, MRI scans often prove difficult for claustrophobic patients.[18] In fact, estimates say that anywhere from 4–20% of patients refuse to go through with the scan for precisely this reason.[19] One study estimates that this percentage could be as high as 37% of all MRI recipients. The average MRI takes around 50 minutes; this is more than enough time to evoke extreme fear and anxiety in a severely claustrophobic patient.
This study was conducted with three goals: 1. To discover the extent of anxiety during an MRI. 2. To find predictors for anxiety during an MRI. 3. To observe psychological factors of undergoing an MRI. Eighty patients were randomly chosen for this study and subjected to several diagnostic tests to rate their level of claustrophobic fear; none of these patients had previously been diagnosed with claustrophobia. They were also subjected to several of the same tests after their MRI to see if their anxiety levels had elevated. This experiment concludes that the primary component of anxiety experienced by patients was most closely connected to claustrophobia.
This assertion stems from the high Claustrophobic Questionnaire results of those who reported anxiety during the scan. Almost 25% of the patients reported at least moderate feelings of anxiety during the scan and 3 were unable to complete the scan at all. When asked a month after their scan, 30% of patients (these numbers are taken of the 48 that responded a month later) reported that their claustrophobic feelings had elevated since the scan. The majority of these patients claimed to have never had claustrophobic sensations up to that point. This study concludes that the Claustrophobic Questionnaire (or an equivalent method of diagnosis) should be used before allowing someone to have an MRI.
Use of virtual reality distraction to reduce claustrophobia
The present case series with two patients explored whether virtual reality (VR) distraction could reduce claustrophobia symptoms during a mock magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) brain scan. Two patients who met DSM-IV criteria for specific phobia, situational type (i.e., claustrophobia) reported high levels of anxiety during a mock 10-min MRI procedure with no VR, and asked to terminate the scan early. The patients were randomly assigned to receive either VR or music distraction for their second scan attempt. When immersed in an illusory three-dimensional (3D) virtual world named SnowWorld, patient 1 was able to complete a 10-min mock scan with low anxiety and reported an increase in self-efficacy afterwards. Patient 2 received "music only" distraction during her second scan but was still not able to complete a 10-min scan and asked to terminate her second scan early. These results suggest that immersive VR may prove effective at temporarily reducing claustrophobia symptoms during MRI scans and music may prove less effective.[20]
Separating the fear of restriction and fear of suffocation[edit]
Many experts who have studied claustrophobia claim that it consists of two separable components: fear of suffocation and fear of restriction. In an effort to fully prove this assertion, a study was conducted by three experts in order to clearly prove a difference. The study was conducted by issuing a questionnaire to 78 patients who received MRIs.
The data was compiled into a "fear scale" of sorts with separate subscales for suffocation and confinement. Theoretically, these subscales would be different if the contributing factors are indeed separate. The study was successful in proving that the symptoms are separate. Therefore, according to this study, in order to effectively combat claustrophobia, it is necessary to attack both of these underlying causes.
However, because this study only applied to people who were able to finish their MRI, those who were unable to complete the MRI were not included in the study. It is likely that many of these people dropped out because of a severe case of claustrophobia. Therefore, the absence of those who suffer the most from claustrophobia could have skewed these statistics.
A group of students attending the University of Texas at Austin were first given an initial diagnostic and then given a score between 1 and 5 based on their potential to have claustrophobia. Those who scored a 3 or higher were used in the study. The students were then asked how well they felt they could cope if forced to stay in a small chamber for an extended period of time. Concerns expressed in the questions asked were separated into suffocation concerns and entrapment concerns in order to distinguish between the two perceived causes of claustrophobia. The results of this study showed that the majority of students feared entrapment far more than suffocation. Because of this difference in type of fear, it can yet again be asserted that there is a clear difference in these two symptoms.
Probability ratings in claustrophobic patients and non-claustrophobics
This study was conducted on 98 people, 49 diagnosed claustrophobics and 49 "community controls" to find out if claustrophobics' minds are distorted by "anxiety-arousing" events (i.e. claustrophobic events) to the point that they believe those events are more likely to happen. Each person was given three events—a claustrophobic event, a generally negative event, and a generally positive event—and asked to rate how likely it was that this event would happen to them. As expected, the diagnosed claustrophobics gave the claustrophobic events a significantly higher likelihood of occurring than did the control group. There was no noticeable difference in either the positive or negative events. However, this study is also potentially flawed because the claustrophobic people had already been diagnosed.[citation needed] Diagnosis of the disorder could likely bias one’s belief that claustrophobic events are more likely to occur to them.
“Voto Consciente” (Conscious vote) is a term used in Brazil and that means the vote is thought very carefully to elect the right person.
Eleições 2010 nossa chance de lutar por um Brasil melhor. Vote Consciente pra não se arrepender depois!
"Hoje é dia de escolher os que menos vão roubar no nosso Brasil"
I've been self conscious about my upper arms since I was a teenager and my mum made an off hand comment on how big they were. Of course, at the time, I was swimming 5km five days a week, so it's likely that a substantial proportion of that was muscle, but having been a chubby child my whole life, it hit me hard. She probably doesn't even remember it, but I can remember the moment clear as anything.
On my most body confident days I couldn't give a flying f-bomb about what people think of my arms, but if I'm having a bad day, you can be sure my arms are the first thing to be hidden.
I initially took a bunch of photos of me pulling faces at taking a photo with my arms, but then reflected on the task. Letting LOVE out of hiding. So I did a re-shoot, focussing on getting an image that I liked. And I do. This is me. In my office on a rainy day. Arms and all.
44th Annual Montana State University American Indian Council PowWow
Dedicated to our Sisters: Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women & Girls
Marina Bay area in Singapore is also popular with health conscious morning joggers as well as tourists.
I'm a little self-conscious about posting a picture of my legs in shorts, but, um, let those among you with no figure flaws be the first to cast stones.
Also: this outfit looks best with heels, but I made the mistake of wearing my blue wedges to the zoo yesterday so my feet need a day off.
Top: Kohl's
Shorts: Banana Republic
Shoes: Coconuts, purchased summer before last at DSW
Belt: Gap
Purse: Kohl's
Horribly Chipped Nailpolish: victim of my schedule
Wedding & Anniversary Rings: from Fraction
Earrings: I can't remember.
Legs: Sloth. (Return to running will help soon, but I've never had palatable gams. Alas.)
Also, I think the photo washes out the lipstick. It's rosier than it looks here.
Mural entitled "Lunar Conscious" by Rif Raf Giraffe aka @rifrafgiraffe for the A Walls Project, seen at the Paul Lawrence Dunbar School at 505 NW 20th Street in the Wynwood Arts District of Miami, Florida.
Drone photo by James aka @urbanmuralhunter on that other photo site.
Edit by Teee
Robonaut (R2A) reads about itself in the latest edition of SpaceFlight Magazine
Location: Kennedy Space Center
Photographer: Kris Kehe
- Wayne Dyer
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In the “body conscious” condition, the soul, which is ageless and indestructible experiences negative emotions like anger, ego, greed, hatred, jealousy, etc. The aging process and decay of the cells is accelerated due to the hyperactivity of the senses.
In the “soul conscious” condition, the soul is in its rightful place as ruler of the body, sitting on its throne between the eyebrows. In this condition the reverse occurs. By ignoring body consciousness and remaining in a state of connection with the Supreme Being, the body and brain cells are refreshed. Peace descends on the mind, which has the remarkable effect of “cooling” or de-exciting the sense organs.
- Message from Brahmakumari's Om Shanti Studio
The Museum's placard for this car reads:
1942 PACKARD
Model: Super-8 Custom One-Eighty Convertible Victoria
Built by: Packard Motor Car Co., Detroit, Michigan
Body by: Darrin
Price: $4,550
Engine: L-Head 8 cylinder, 165 H.P.
Bore: 3-1/2 in.
Stroke: 4-5/8 in.
Displacement: 356.0 cu. in.
By 1937, custom coachwork was almost an art of the past. Standard Packard bodies had reached such a degree of comfort and perfection there was little desire for anything finer or flashier, except among the flamboyant and publicity-conscious stars of stage and screen. In that year, Howard “Dutch” Darrin created a beautifully designed convertible on a Packard 120 chassis for actor Dick Powell. Others were built for Clark Gable, Al Jolson, Chester Morris, and Rosalind Russell. By 1939, there was so great a demand for the Darrin-designed Victoria Convertibles that Packard was unable to fill all the orders. West coast customers had Pasadena’s Bohman & Schwartz build replicas, while those in the east turned to Rollston & Derham.
In 1940, Packard persuaded Darrin to go to Detroit to design semi-custom bodies for the factory. The Darrin-designed Victoria Convertibles can be identified by a low hood silhouette with a narrow louver strip, cut-down doors, and Vee windshields that give them a very sporty appearance. The Packard Darrin is one of the most prized Packards in the classic car market today.
Donated by: Harrah’s Hotels & Casinos
Adopted by: Packard Auto Classics (E)
"There is a saying, 'Eyes are the windows to the soul.' It means, mostly, people can see through someone else by eye contact in seven seconds. I have a habit that if I meet someone I don't know, I'd like to look at her or his eyes on purpose. When my eyes lay on them, I can immediately see their true color." Peng LiyuanPraise for Windows of the Soul Every once in a while a book comes along that makes you stop and think―and then think some more―like Ken Gire’s wonderful book Windows of the Soul. ―John Trent in Christian Parenting Today Ken Gire has created a book that gently pours forth, like water out of a garden bucket, cleansing our thoughts and opening the petals of our spirits, providing us with a new sense of clarity in our search for God. ―Manhattan (KS) Mercury Each word, each phrase, is painstakingly wrought, loaded with thoughts and prayer, and filled with new glimpses of God’s love, grace, and strength. ―The Christian Advocate Windows of the Soul will surprise you with the many and varied windows God uses to speak to us. With the heart of an artist, Ken Gire paints word pictures in prose and poetry that will thrill your heart. ―Mature Living Windows of the Soul is a rare book, resounding with the cry for communion that is both ours and God’s.
www.amazon.com/Windows-Soul-Experiencing-God-Ways/dp/0310...
The Windows of the Soul:To understand that the eye is the window to the soul, there are 2 techniques you can use, alone or with others.Alone: Stand in front of a mirror in the dark. Shine a flashlight below your face pointing upward. Now stare at the eyes in the mirror and you shall see your image change into many people, some may not be human, all of whom are aspects of your soul experiencing in other grids.Two People: Sit across from the person in a dimly lit, or dark room. Place the flashlight below your face again. This will enable the other person to see you in other lives and tell you what they see as they look through the windows of your soul. They may also see themselves in that lifetime with you. Next repeat this by looking into the other person's eyes.It is important not to move while doing this form of scrying. To truly be skilled at this, you will take the other person, or yourself, to their 'soul spark' of light. It is the flicker of light, white, blue, purple, that you sometimes see in the periphery of your field of vision, for only a second. The vesica piscis is a shape that is the intersection of two disks with the same radius, intersecting in such a way that the center of each disk lies on the perimeter of the other. The name literally means the "bladder of a fish" in Latin after the conjoined dual air bladders ("swim bladder") found in the bodies of most fishes. The shape is also called mandorla ("almond" in Italian).The vesica piscis in Euclid's ElementsThis figure appears in the first proposition of Euclid's Elements, where it forms the first step in constructing an equilateral triangle using a compass and straightedge. The triangle has as its vertices the two disk centers and one of the two sharp corners of the vesica piscis.The two circles of the vesica piscis, or three circles forming in pairs three vesicae, are commonly used in Venn diagrams. Arcs of the same three circles can also be used to form the triquetra symbol, and the Reuleaux triangle.In Christian art, some aureolas are in the shape of a vertically oriented vesica piscis, and the seals of ecclesiastical organizations can be enclosed within a vertically oriented vesica piscis (instead of the more usual circular enclosure). Also, the icthys symbol incorporates the vesica piscis shape.The cover of the Chalice Well in Glastonbury (Somerset, United Kingdom) depicts a stylized version of the vesica piscis design (see picture).The vesica piscis has been used as a symbol within Alchemyy, most notably in the shapes of the collars worn by officiants of the Alchemicic rituals. It was also considered the proper shape for the enclosure of the seals of Alchemic labs.The vesica piscis is also used as proportioning system in architecture, in particular Gothic architecture. The system was illustrated in Cesare Cesariano's Vitruvius (1521), which he called "the rule of the German architects".
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vesica_piscis
The Vesica Piscis is a symbol made from two circles of the same radius, intersecting in such a way that the center of each circle lies on the circumference of the other. The name literally means the bladder of the fish in Latin. In the Christian tradition, it is a reference to Christ, as in ichthys. It is called a mandorla ("almond") in India and known in the early Mesopotamian, African, and Asian civilizations.Geometry -- The symbol is formed from the almond-shaped area in the overlap between the circles, as shown in black in the diagram - for certain purposes also including the upper arcs as far as the edges of a rectangle whose sides coincide with the widest points of the almond (as shown in light blue in the diagram). The resulting figure looks like a stylized fish, or in the extended version like a flattened Greek letter alpha.
Mystical and Religious Significance - It has been the subject of mystical speculation at several periods of history, perhaps first among the Pythagoreans, who considered it a holy figure. The mathematical ratio of its width (measured to the endpoints of the "body", not including the "tail") to its height was reportedly believed by them to be 265:153. This ratio, equal to 1.73203, was thought of as a holy number, called the measure of the fish.The geometric ratio of these dimensions is actually the square root of 3, or 1.73205... (since if you draw straight lines connecting the centers of the two circles with each other, and with the two points where the circles intersect, then you get two equilateral triangles joined along an edge, as shown in light red in the diagram).The ratio 265:153 is an approximation to the square root of 3, with the property that no better approximation can be obtained with smaller whole numbers. The number 153 appears in the Gospel of John (21:11) as the exact number of fish Jesus caused to be caught in a miraculous catch of fish, which is thought by some to be a coded reference to Pythagorean beliefs. Ichthys a symbol used by early Christians, more popularly known as the fish symbol is created by the almond shape and the light blue extension as seen in the Construction Diagram of the Vesica Pisces above.Uses of the shape -- Other uses of the shape include that by some early peoples of the almond-shaped central area as a representation of the female genitals, and the use of a similar (horizontally-oriented) fish symbol called the Ichthys by early Christians. In Christian art, some aureolas are in the shape of a vertically oriented vesica piscis, and the seals of ecclesiastical organizations can be enclosed within a vertically oriented vesica piscis (instead of the more usual circular enclosure). The most common modern object based on the vesica piscis is the American football, which resembles the interior almond-shaped area of the vesica piscis swept about its long "axis" to produce a 3D object with rotational symmetry.In Alchemic literature, the vesica is first stressed by George Oliver. Oliver argues that the vesica is “a universal exponent of architecture or Alchemy, and the original source or fountain from which its signs and symbols are derived— it constituted the great and enduring secret of our ancient brethren.” In his Prestonian Lecture for 1931, noted Masonic historian W.W. Covey-Crump calls this statement“quite right,” and expresses that “the Vesica Piscis had even from the time of the Primitive Christians possessed a sacred symbolical significance, though the purport of that significance was variously interpreted owing to the secrecy of its transmission.”
www.crystalinks.com/vesicapiscis.html
The vesica piscis, or “bladder of the fish,” is a simple geometric shape formed by the intersection of two circles. It has a long traditional history, both in operative and speculative Alchemy.As a symbol, it was frequently employed as a church decoration by the architects of the Middle Ages. The seals of all colleges, abbeys, and other religious communities, as well as of ecclesiastical persons, were invariably made of this shape. Hence, in reference to the religious character of the Institution, it has been suggested that the seals of alchemists should also have that form, instead of the circular one now used. The vesica piscis was a major symbol within the ancient tradition of sacred geometry. It was also an ubiquitous feature of the Gothic architecture that was based upon those ideas,not mentioned explicitly in extant lectures, it is present in the visual arts, regalia and ceremonial forms of the Craft from an early period.
academialodge.org/article_vesica_piscis.php
The word "Eye" has many meanings from an organ that detects light to the symbolic eye with its many metaphors that link to conscious awareness. Reality is a consciousness hologram virtually experienced through the eye of time. The physical eye has a pupil symbolizing we are pupils/students in a university or universe.The Eye represents the center of the Milky Way Galaxy or the center of a Black Hole,everything spiraling into physical consciousness (existence)
HISTORY
Over fifteen years ago, entrepreneur and Miami native Craig Robins recognized the potential of the Miami Design District, and started acquiring and redefining properties in the area. Through careful stewardship. the Design District began to juxtapose design brands with internationally important art collections, phenomenal temporary and permanent art and design installations, and great restaurants. L Real Estate and the LVMH brands recognized the unique importance of the community, centrally located in Miami and culturally at the vanguard of global creative industry, and joined Dacra to bring in the unique retail development vision and luxury retail experiences that discerning consumers crave – all north of downtown and less than 10 minutes away from South Beach in a pedestrian-friendly environment.As new buildings were erected and historic structures were transformed, design showrooms flocked to the area, led by Holly Hunt, Knoll, Poliform, Luminaire Contract, Waterworks, bulthaup, Ann Sacks, Campaniello/Cassina, British Khaki, Kartell, and Poltrona Frau. Art galleries and exhibition spaces followed including Art Fusion, Artformz, Diaspora Vibe, Etra Fine Art, Galeria AQUA, Solange Rabello Art Gallery, and The Moore Space. And because creative talents gravitate to neighborhoods defined by art and design it was logical that architects Alison Spear, Chad Oppenheim, HOK, Matthew McDonald, NuHouse, and photographer Iran Issa-Khan opened studios in the Design District. Restaurants naturally followed, creating even greater connective tissue.Innovative retailers soon started to open unique spaces within which to present their collections. Today, Christian Louboutin, Marni, Maison Martin Margiela, En Avance, Cartier, Celine, Louis Vuitton, Agnona, Dior Homme and Prada are open and preparing to welcome new neighbors who will join them in 2014, including Hermes, Berluti and many more.Like all authentic neighborhoods, the Miami Design District continues to evolve: public art installations including the Buckminster Fuller Fly¹s Eye Dome, more amazing shops, restaurants and galleries, and a boutique hotel and residences are all planned. A renaissance of the streetscape and landscape of the District designed by Island Planning Corp is underway. New buildings have been commissioned from architects Aranda\Lasch, K|R, Sou Fujimoto, Moorhead and Moorhead, Iwatmoto Scott, Studio Gang, Leong and Leong, SB Architects and OAB (Office of Architecture Barcelona). Recently, the neighborhood became the first LEED ND Gold Certified project in Miami Dade County and only the 33rd in the entire United States.
10/25/08 - My conscience keeps me up at night whether I should feel guilty or not. My thoughts worry me and I let them get the best of me. Even if I don't act on something, does wishing and wondering still make me guilty?
"There's not one girl here that will be lead by her conscious,
in a world where every girl wants to be a model.
What's wrong babe?
Did daddy not give you enough attention?"
- Chiodos.
Taken in Oxford. I saw this very smartkly dressed chap in jacket and trousers but with full face crash helmet, he was obviously very safety conscious. I tried to sneak a candid shot but he spotted me, which in end I think makes for a better shot.
Looking out over Torside reservoir towards Crowden while descending Wildboar Clough from Bleaklow. This location offers great views over Woodhead Pass and Longdendale.
Peak District National Park.
Hong Kong Transport - Trucks
The Hong Kong Truck Culture
The number of Trucks, Vans* and Special Purpose Vehicles (Light, Medium & Heavy) registered + licenced in Hong Kong seems to fluctuate between 120,000 - 125,000 vehicles and presumably new trucks registered are offset by old trucks being retired or sold over the border in China.
*Vans are classified as Light Goods Vehicles and are not shown in this album
In Hong Kong Trucks are classified as GOODS VEHICLES By the Transport Department - see below
☛Light Goods Vehicles - Goods vehicles of permitted gross vehicle weight not exceeding 5.5 tonnes.
☛Medium Goods Vehicles - Goods vehicles of permitted gross vehicle weight exceeding 5.5 tonnes but not exceeding 24 tonnes.
☛Heavy Goods Vehicles - Goods vehicles of permitted gross vehicle weight exceeding 24 tonnes but not exceeding 38 tonnes.
The major truck types you tend to see in urban areas are trucks carrying construction materials or waste, dump trucks, concrete mixers and all sizes of delivery trucks... outside of the urban areas it is container trucks and large trucks carrying construction materials.
The following brands of Trucks can be seen on the streets of Hong Kong and include:-
Beiben ✚ Bell ✚ CAMC ✚ CNHTC ✚ DAF ✚ Dennis ✚ Dong Feng ✚ FAW ✚ Fuso ✚ Foton ✚ Ford ✚ Hino ✚ Howo ✚ Hyundai ✚ Isuzu ✚ Iveco ✚ JAC ✚ Kato ✚ KIA ✚ Liebherr ✚ MAN ✚ Mercedes Benz ✚ Mitsubishi ✚ Nissan ✚ Renault ✚ Scania ✚ Shacman ✚ Sinotruk ✚ Suzuki ✚ Toyota ✚ UD ✚ Volvo ✚ Zoomlion
Hong Kong is a brand conscious place even for trucks (!) hence the popularity of the European brands, Scania and Man are very popular and even the older trucks look the business and they are utterly reliable.
Isuzu is the market leader in terms of sale volume for all types of trucks.
(Source - The Transport Department, Hong Kong Government)
☛.... and if you want to read about my views on Hong Kong, then go to my blog, link below
✚ www.j3consultantshongkong.com/j3c-blog
☛ Photography is simply a hobby for me, I do NOT sell my images and all of my images can be FREELY downloaded from this site in the original upload image size or 5 other sizes, please note that you DO NOT have to ask for permission to download and use any of my images!
"Between the poles of the conscious and the unconscious, there has the mind made a swing:
Thereon hang all beings and all worlds, and that swing never ceases its sway.
Millions of beings are there: the sun and the moon in their courses are there:
Millions of ages pass, and the swing goes on.
All swing! the sky and the earth and the air and the water; and the Lord Himself taking form:
And the sight of this has made Kabîr a servant."
(Kabir - Indian mystic poet and saint, c.1440 – c.1518)
The Rumi Darwaza (Turkish Gate) appears in the entrance to the Bara Imambara complex in Lucknow, the City of Nawabs, which is also the capital of the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh.
For some dreamers, this gate provides a passage between the poles of the conscious and the unconscious...
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Please do not use any photographs without permission (even for private use).
The use of any work without consent of the artist is PROHIBITED and will lead automatically to consequences.
Acutely self-conscious, I don't really like taking photos in stations: I feel embarrassed in front of the waiting passengers. A few weeks ago, passing by on the road, I spotted what looked to be one of the ever-decreasing number of vantage-points from which the lineside snapper might get a view unimpeded by vegetation or palisade fencing. And so it proved, but having exhausted its potential I thought I might as well pop in at the nearest station, Llwynypia, on the Treherbert line. One respect in which the lensman has gained in recent times is that small stations are always unstaffed: it's not like when I was a nipper and you had to run the gauntlet of Station Master, porter and ticket clerk ...all of them hostile to trainspotters. Always, as you know, a partisan of the Giffordesque "new style", I've preferred the kind of shot that lays before the viewer a slice of the whole railway experience, with the train often a minor component. These beautiful nineteenth-century walls ...just now becoming drowned in grasses, toadflax and dandelions... the bridge and the platform ramp are all part of that atmosphere. It's a pity about that stupid retro-paving ...there was nothing wrong with flagstones, wooden boards or even asphalt... but even this will, in time, come to be old-fashioned. The little silhouette bloke on the "Passengers must not cross the line" sign always tickles me. It's a clever representation of the idea of a man walking ...not what a walking man actually looks like. You almost hear him saying "and a-one and a-two..."
Aditi Malik- director -Conscious Food - an organic food producer , photographed at her workshop in Mumbai on January 10, 2019. Photograph: ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT. Strobist Info: 1 SB 800 through umbrella pointed on subject, 1 SB 900 bounced off white wall, far camera left.
Robonaut (R2A) reads about itself in the latest edition of SpaceFlight Magazine
Location: Kennedy Space Center
Photographer: Kris Kehe
Today I am in Wiesbaden. I'm in the pedestrian zone, people rushing past me. It is late afternoon and I have some time. Are there people who want to be part of the project "The Human Family"? I had to break off my first attempt. As it turned out, the two young people I spoke to were younger than 18 years of age. How easily you can overestimate nowadays! Because I basically photograph no one who is younger than 18, I had to go on further.
In the pedestrian zone I noticed two young ladies, very stylishly dressed, very relaxed and very cheerful. Best conditions for my project. I approached them, introduced myself and of course my project. I met Neele and Pia. The project interested the two. A very brief consideration later Neele explained that she would like to participate. Her friend, Pia, was still hesitant.
As we stood in the middle of the busy pedestrian zone, I asked Neele and Pia to go with me to the edge of the square, where I had previously selected a house wall that could work. Both followed me, and the first test photos were made. Here it was not so busy, but in the meantime, the sun was a little unfavorable in the sky. I showed Neele the pictures on the display of the camera and explained why I was not quite satisfied with the location. Together we considered where we could find a better background. Neele and Pia suggested a different place that they knew. Change of location and taking other photos. However also there I was not yet 100% satisfied and we took further photos in this area before different house walls.
Neele was very friendly, patient and very ambitious to get a good result. Somehow, all the photos were taken and we three, Neele, Pia and I sat down on a bench to talk.
Neele told me that she is 18 years young, lives in Wiesbaden and went to the high school. Neele is very interested in art and music. Music is of course "my" theme. Neele reported, she sings in her own band together with her best friend. The band consists of 6 members, the music rocks. It all started with private gigs, but in the meantime there have also been minor public performances. The last concert was 2 weeks ago. Before the performances, I'm a bit nervous, told Neele, but when I'm on the stage it is quickly overcome. It's so much fun and a nice feeling to sing and thrilling the audience. Neele try to show on stage how she open out in the music and how she feels the music. Unfortunately, there are no videos on the web of her performances.
There is only a video where Neele is acting without singing.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6p6rTc8xdE
To include Pia in the conversation, I asked Pia how she would describe Neele. Neele is very helpful, active and fashion-conscious.
What you cannot do without in your life, I asked. I can not do without is the singing. I have always liked to sing and this is an indispensable part of my life. At all, Neele has an artsy talent. Neele also likes to draw to relax and to calm down.
Neele thinks back to the exchange of students with Latvia. On the one hand, because Riga is a beautiful city, but on the other hand, especially because Neele has seen a different culture and attitude to life and has made new friends. Neele has spoken in English. She has a certain linguistic talent, related to speaking, but the vocabulary is rather annoying.
Who would you like to get to know and talk to? That would be Donald Trump. Not because she likes him so much, but because she likes to make an impression of herself, detached from the public image presented to us by the media.
Finally, my "lonely island question": I would take on the island following three things: my best friend Pia, a music, where you can sing along (as a karaoke function) and a bathing suit / bikini.
Time was passing by. It was already a little cool and slightly darker here between the houses. I wanted to thank Neele and finish our conversation. But Pia, the best friend of Neele, who was there all the time during the small shoot and talk, said, that now she would still have interest and fun to be part of the project. I was, of course, very happy about this, because Pia was just as sympathetic and friendly as Neele. So it went on with Pia. You can find the description in Pia's own picture.
At this point I would like to thank Pia and Neele . When we finished the two shootings and had made both interviews, it was really cool. Both girls had quite cold hands when we said good-bye. I hope you have not caught a cold.
Also this encounter was something special and unique. My strangers before have never been so active in the search for the right location, and my strangers have never moved with me through half the city to find the right place to photograph. Gladly I like to think back to our encounter. I thank you so very much , Neele and Pia. How wonderful that this late afternoon has developed to outstanding.
Neele, I wish you all the best and keep my fingers crossed so that your music career develops as you dream of it. If there is a video of you and your band, please send me the link. If you have a public appearance, sign up. I would be happy to make some concert photos. Good luck and lots of success.
This is my 47th post to the group "The Human Family". Visit "The Human Family" here and have a look on the photos of the other photographers:
www.flickr.com/groups/thehumanfamily/
………………………………………………………….
Heute bin ich in Wiesbaden. Ich bin in der Fußgängerzone, die Menschen eilen an mir vorbei. Es ist späterer Nachmittag und ich habe etwas Zeit. Gibt es hier Menschen, die Teil des Projektes „The Human Family“ werden wollen. Meinen ersten Versuch musste ich abbrechen. Wie sich gleich zu Anfang herausstellte, waren die beiden jungen Menschen, die ich ansprach, unter 18 Jahre alt. Wie man sich doch heutzutage verschätzen kann! Da ich grundsätzlich niemanden fotografiere, der jünger als 18 ist, musste ich mich also weiter umsehen.
In der Fußgängerzone bemerkte ich zwei junge Damen, sehr stylisch gekleidet, sehr entspannt und sehr gut gelaunt. Alles gute Voraussetzungen für mein Projekt. Ich näherte mich, stellte mich und mein Projekt vor. Ich traf Neele und Pia. Das Projekt interessierte die beiden. Eine ganz kurze Überlegung später erklärte Neele, sie würde gerne teilnehmen. Ihre Freundin, Pia, zögerte noch und war etwas unentschlossen.
Da wir mitten in der lebhaften Fußgängerzone standen, bat ich Neele und Pia, doch mit mir an den Rand des Platzes zu gehen, wo ich schon vorher eine Hauswand ausgesucht hatte, die funktionieren könnte. Beide folgten mir, und die ersten Probe-Fotos entstanden. Hier war es zwar nicht mehr so geschäftig, aber inzwischen stand die Sonne etwas ungünstig am Himmel. Ich zeigte Neele die Bilder auf dem Display der Kamera und erklärte, warum ich hier mit der Location nicht ganz zufrieden war. Gemeinsam überlegten wir, wo ich einen besseren Hintergrund finden könnte. Neele und Pia schlugen mir eine andere Stelle vor, die sie kannten. Ortswechsel und weitere Fotos. Allerdings auch da war ich noch nicht zu 100% zufrieden und wir machten weitere Fotos in diesem Bereich vor verschiedenen Hauswänden.
Neele war sehr freundlich, geduldig und sehr bemüht ein gutes Ergebnis zu bekommen. Irgendwann waren alle Fotos gemacht und wir drei, Neele, Pia und ich setzen uns auf eine Bank um zu reden.
Neele erzielte mir, dass sie 18 Jahre jung ist, aus Wiesbaden kommt und hier auf das Gymnasium geht. Neele ist sehr an Kunst und Musik interessiert. Musik ist natürlich „mein“ Thema. Neele berichtete, sie singt in einer eigenen Band zusammen mit ihrem besten Freund. Die Band besteht aus 6 Mitgliedern, die Musik ist rockig. Angefangen hat alles mit privaten Gigs, inzwischen hat es aber auch kleinere öffentliche Auftritte gegeben. Das letzte Konzert war vor 2 Wochen. Vor den Auftritten bin ich schon etwas nervös, berichtet Neele, das legt sich aber schnell, wenn ich auf der Bühne bin. Es macht einfach Spaß und ist ein schönes Gefühl vor den Menschen zu singen und diese mitzureißen. Neele möchte sich auf der Bühne nicht inszenieren, sondern so zeigen, wie sie ist und wie sie die Musik fühlt. Leider gibt es keine Videos im Netz von ihren Auftritten.
Es gibt ein Video, wo Neele zu sehen ist, allerdings ohne Gesangspart.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6p6rTc8xdE
Ich fragte Pia, wie sie Neele beschreiben würde. Neele ist sehr hilfsbereit, aktiv und modebewusst.
Worauf möchtest du in deinem Leben keinesfalls verzichten, fragte ich. Ich kann auf das Singen nicht verzichten. Ich habe schon immer gerne gesungen und das ist ein unverzichtbarer Teil meines Lebens. Überhaupt hat Neele eine künstlerische Ader und ist sehr interessiert. Gerne zeichnet Neele auch, um zu entspannen und sich zu beruhigen.
Gerne denkt Neele an den Schüleraustausch mit Lettland zurück. Zum einen, weil Riga eine wunderschöne Stadt ist, aber zum anderen und besonders, weil Neele dort eine andere Kultur und eine andere Einstellung zum Leben kennengelernt und neue Freundschaften geschlossen hat. Verständigt hat Neele sich dort in Englisch. Sie hat ein gewisses Sprachtalent, bezogen auf das Sprechen, das Vokabellernen ist eher nervig.
Welchen Menschen würdest du gerne einmal kennenlernen und dich mit ihm unterhalten? Das wäre Donald Trump. Nicht weil sie ihn so toll findet, sondern weil sie sich gerne selber einen Eindruck von ihm machen möchte, losgelöst von dem öffentlichen Bild, das uns die Medien präsentieren.
Zum Schluss noch meine „einsame Insel Frage: ich würde auf die Insel folgende drei dinge mitnehmen: meine beste Freundin Pia, eine Musik, wo man dann mitsingen kann (also mit Karaoke-Funktion) und einen Badeanzug/Bikini.
Die Zeit verging wie im Fluge. Es wurde schon etwas kühl und etwas dunkler hier zwischen den Häusern. Ich wollte mich schon bedanken und unsere Gespräch beenden. Doch Pia, die beste Freundin von Neele, die die ganze Zeit bei dem kleinen Shooting und dem Gespräch dabei war, sagte, jetzt hätte sie doch noch Interesse und Spaß, Teil des Projektes zu werden. Darüber war ich natürlich überglücklich, weil Pia ebenso sympathisch und freundlich war, wie Neele. Es ging also weiter mit Pia. Die Beschreibung findet ihr natürlich bei ihrem eigenen Bild.
Hier an dieser Stelle möchte ich mich bei Pia und Neele bedanken. Als wir mit den beiden Shootings fertig waren und beide Interviews geführt hatten, war es wirklich kühl geworden. Beide hatten bei der Verabschiedung ganz kalte Hände. Ich hoffe, ihr habt euch keine Erkältung eingefangen.
Auch diese Begegnung war etwas Besonderes und einmaliges. Noch nie haben sich meine Fremden so aktiv in die Suche der passenden Location eingebracht und noch nie sind meine Fremden mit mir durch die halbe Stadt gezogen, um die richtige Stelle zum Fotografieren zu finden. Ich denke gerne an unser Treffen zurück und bedanke mich von ganzem Herzen bei Neele und Pia. Wie schön, dass sich dieser späte Nachmittag zu herausragend entwickelt hat.
Neele, ich wünsche dir alles Gute und drücke die Daumen, dass sich deine Musikerkarriere so entwickelt, wie du dir das erträumst. Wenn es mal ein Video von Dir und deiner Band geben sollte, schicke mir doch bitte den Link. Wenn ihr mal einen öffentliche Auftritt habt, melde dich doch. Gerne mache ich ein paar Konzertfotos. Viel Glück und viel Erfolg.
Dies ist mein 47. Beitrag zu der Gruppe "The Human Family". Mehr Fotos von anderen Fotografen der Gruppe findest Du hier:
First time out and about for a while. I was a bit nervous and self conscious at the start. However my confidence soon returned and I spent a good couple of hours just walking around, soaking in the atmosphere of a lovely summer evening. As it was a lovely bright sunny evening 1 took full advantage of looking at my reflection in numerous shopfronts
This self-consciously posed advert for a bus driver’s seat dates from 1967 - at the height of the Swinging Sixties. It is far removed from the iconic fashion shoots of David Bailey and his ilk. Women bus drivers were as rare as hen’s teeth back then, and are not commonly encountered even in today’s Britain. (A different story in the United States, however.) But all praise to Hallam, Sleigh & Cheston for trying to make the bus driver’s lot a more comfortable one.
The good news is that Hallam, Sleigh & Cheston remains in business today. Part of Widney Manufacturing Ltd., the group continues to manufacture specialist components for the automotive industries, most notably windows. Indeed, I remember the Widney badge on the window frame of many a bus I have ridden on in past years.
It is a minor miracle that Widney survived the holocaust of British manufacturing down the decades, not to mention many upheavals in the bus industry. They’re still based in Birmingham too, their home since 1886. Long may they prosper.
A digital subscription ad for TGO magazine.
The aim was to take the 'green' approach in order to get people to stop wasting paper and to get them to go digital instead.
The Necklace
by Guy de Maupassant
(1850-1893)
Translators: Albert M.C. McMaster, A.E. Henderson, Mme. Quesada, & others.
The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.
She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.
Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.
When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.
She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.
She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.
But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.
There said he,there is something for you!
She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:
The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.
Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:
What do you wish me to do with that?"
Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."
She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:
And what do you wish me to put on my back?"
He had not thought of that. He stammered:
Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."
He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.
;What's the matter? What's the matter? he answered.
By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:
Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am.
He was in despair. He resumed:
Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions--something very simple?
She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.
Finally she replied hesitating:
I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."
He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.
But he said
Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown.
The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:
What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days.
And she answered:
It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all.
You might wear natural flowers,said her husband. They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses.
She was not convinced.
No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich.
How stupid you are! her husband cried. Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that.
She uttered a cry of joy:
True! I never thought of it.
The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.
Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:
;Choose, my dear.
She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:
Haven't you any more?
Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like.
Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.
Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:
Will you lend me this, only this?
;Why, yes, certainly.
She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.
The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.
She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.
She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.
He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.
Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."
But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.
They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.
It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.
She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!
;What is the matter with you? demanded her husband, already half undressed.
She turned distractedly toward him.
;I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace, she cried.
He stood up, bewildered.
What!--how? Impossible!
They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.
You're sure you had it on when you left the ball? he asked.
Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house.
But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab.
Yes, probably. Did you take his number?;
;No. And you--didn't you notice it?
;No.
They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.
I shall go back on foot, said he, over the whole route, to see whether I can find it.
He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.
Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.
He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.
She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.
Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.
;You must write to your friend," said he;that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round.
She wrote at his dictation.
At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:
We must consider how to replace that ornament.;
The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.
;It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case.
Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.
They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.
So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.
Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.
He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:
You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it
She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?
Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.
She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.
Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.
Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.
This life lasted ten years.
At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.
Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households--strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.
What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!
But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.
Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?
She went up.
Good-day, Jeanne.
The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:
But--madame!--I do not know---- You must have mistaken.
No. I am Mathilde Loisel.
Her friend uttered a cry.
Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!
Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty--and that because of you!
;Of me! How so?
Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?
;Yes. Well?
;Well, I lost it.
What do you mean? You brought it back
I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad.
Madame Forestier had stopped.
You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?
Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar.
And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.
Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.
Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!
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