Thursday, December 04, 2025

LISTENING TO - Earworms of 2025

Earworms tend to be those pieces of music which on first hearing you just cannot let them alone. Play them constantly, repeatedly, sometimes to the point of satiation. So what is gathered here at the end of this year are a unique selection of tracks that for one reason or another have hooked me completely. Its been a good year for female artists, simply because they've been doing a lot of the interesting stuff. Anyway here we go, the order is when they appeared in the year, not order of preference. 

Abracadabra  - Lady Gaga
Just when you thought Gaga was becoming too MOR, here she comes with a huge reboot to her catchy barmy best. As ever, it has you from its first opening chant, and does not let go of you until she has squeezed every ounce of bounce out of it. The video adds to the pure joy from start to finish. 

Big Booty - Moonchild Sanelly
If you want brazen in your face body positivity, a great tune and something you can dance to. Big Booty is the one you want, I just smile all the way through, this is cheeky on every possible level. She knows exactly what she is doing here.

Catch These Fists - Wet Leg
I had Wet Leg down as a one hit wonder, until I heard this. Giving it more grind and grunge they produce this belter, which comes out at you as if from nowhere. Rhian Teasdale has perfected her hard hearted stroppiness, whilst the band kick harder than ever before. 

Taxi Guy - A Certain Ratio
A Certain Ration are a favourite band from the 80's, who linger on with a few survivors to keep producing good music. Taxi Guy is this addictive piece of industrial world funk which they created and cornered the market in.

Tarkus - Emerson Lake & Palmer
This one caught me by surprise. A prog rock track from my 70's teenage years, that resurfaced during writing the My Most Loved Albums series. Its a superlative piece of hard rockin drivin jazz inflected flashy keyboard playin magisterial epic. It set the bar for many a progressive music band, that no one, even ELP could replicate.

They - Sparks
Any album from Sparks is welcomed by me, it was strange for me to find Mad! so pleasant, yet predictable. The EP which followed Madder! was much better, it has two absolute classics on it, but my favourite has to be They,  All the hallmarks of Ron Mael at his best. A song about dancers in a (strip ?) club failing to please 'the punters'.

Struggle With The Beast - Anna Von Hausswolff
After disappearing for five years Von Hausswolff returned with a hard hitting and cohesive album.. Like much of Iconoclasts, there is a veritable unrelenting wall of sound that Struggle with the Beast creates. Its the high point of the album, as it persistently drills intensity into you

Reliquia - Rosalia
It was hard to not include Berghain, but actually I adore this track the most, simply because its such an elegantly simple yet eclectic mix, there is classical, flamenco, electronic influences all extravagantly flourished here, topped by that beautiful breathy and expressive voice.  



Wednesday, December 03, 2025

RISING UP MY BOOK PILE - December 2025


My current book pile is getting to be a bit of a stack, and that's before Christmas. I haven't been devoting much time to reading, plus I am getting bogged down with one book. Theoretically I am in the middle of reading four books, but actually I'm only actively reading two.

The Less Dead by Denise Mina
One of the Scottish noir writers of detective fiction. Having read Conviction, I can tell you Denise Mina is probably one of the best such writers around. Looking forward to reading this one.
Bought from a Charity Shop







Alice Roberts - Domination
I've read her previous books on ancestry and burial practices. Like her TV presenting, her books are approachable, informative and immensely relatable. This one is about how the end of the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of Christianity.
Bought from The Whitby Bookshop






Zombies In Western Culture - Vervaeke, Mastropietro & Miscevic
A slim volume of what I suspect is more an academic outline than a fully fledged book. But I've heard John Vervaeke talking about this subject and its seems a more useful analogy than you might think. That the dominant presence of zombies in our popular movies is a reflection of our cultures unease with the loss of meaning. 
A Birthday Present
Currently Reading

The Mystical Thought Of Master Eckhart - Bernard McGinn
In my reading of Christian history and literature  I've been meaning to investigate the mystic apophatic tradition, of which Eckhart seems pretty central. This book has a favourable reputation as a broad introduction to his thought.
A Birthday Present





Migration.- W S Merwin 
A compendium of Merwin's poetry, unknown in the UK, but a much lauded man of US literature. I've taken to reading a couple of poems a day, at 529 pages I have around 170 to go. Its a bit like climbing a mountain, some very lovely views and aspects, but surrounded by a considerable amount of applied effort.  If I maintain my current level of reading, I may finish this compendium in February 2026.
Ordered from Holt Bookshop
Currently Reading

Beliefism by Paul Dolan
An apparently helpful book about how to avoid becoming polarised in our beliefs, and unable to hear opinions that don't accord with our own. A somewhat timely book. I believe I need a little help in this area myself, so lets see what this has to offer.
Bought from Book Hive Aylsham 
Poetic Diction - Owen Barfield
Subtitled -A Study In Meaning, Barfield was one of the 'Inklings' along with Tolkein & Lewis. An influential thinker whose ideas and theories about poetry and language are probably more wide ranging in their influence than I realise. I want to read this to see if I can get a grasp on what the fuss is about. Wish me luck, cos I think I might need it. Feeling a tad intimidated.
A Birthday Present




The Devil You Know by Dr Gwen Adshead & Eileen Horne

Again someone I've seen being interviewed on The Sacred podcast.  I'm always fascinated by people whose job is to interact with darker vile and unacceptable people in our society. Adshead is a forensic Psychiatrist whose patients are serial killers, arsonists, stalkers. Basicly the sort of folk the tabloids would label 'monsters'.
A Birthday Present




Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari (NEW)
Seen Harari speaking on videos several times and been really impressed with his clarity of thought and even handed nature. So I thought I'd read one of his highly thought of books.
Bought from Waterstones Norwich





The Shortest History of Japan by Lesley Downer (NEW)
I've been wanting to get a general overview of Japanese history for a while. There are plenty of lengthy magisterial tombes, that I wouldn't want to buy without some overall sense of how the history rolls out. There appears to be some sort of in joke going on between publishers about who has the briefest history.
Bought from Waterstones Norwich 





Trust by Hernan Diaz (NEW)
I heard about this from Dua Lipa's Book podcast Service 95. She was interviewing the author and this seemed an intriguing reading prospect. Four differing representations of the life of a controversial millionaire and his wife. I'm about three quarters through, and really enjoying it so far.
Bought from a Charity Shop
Currently Reading





The Orthodox Church by Timothy Ware ( NEW)
I've been thinking about reading an introduction to Eastern Orthodoxy for a while So I bought this in a book sale, its a fifty year old book, with several revised editions before now. I'm finding it a bit dry historically, surprisingly not a lot of warmth or enthusiasm for his subject coming across. Hence, I am making slow if not dogged progress with it.
Bought from the Beccles Bookshop
Currently Reading





BOOKSHOPS


Tuesday, December 02, 2025

FEATURE - Me Quedo Contigo by Rosalia

As I've been obsessively playing Rosalia's album Lux all week, You Tube has been equally obsessively throwing Rosalia videos at me. Which in this particular case I'm not complaining about. Me quedo Contigo is a classic flamenco love song from the 1980's, which Rosalia, with her ghostly choir backing, brings an intense passion that hardly requires translation. 

Unfortunately I've been unable to find a version of this video with English captions. It is clear that this is not going to be a chirpy song. It's full of pain and confusion, of love broken to pieces on stones, you know the story.  I found a site by vocal coach Beth Roars, who does a heartfelt analysis of it ( cue hand pressed to chest head tilted ) which does have a translation. She helpfully breaks down what a wonderful singer Rosalia is. This is a real treat.



Monday, December 01, 2025

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 133 - Undertones Of Mission Creep or Health Tyranny









November has been the month of a medical health review. Blood pressure steady.With controlling my diet, weight loss has been just over a stone in the last year. A recent blood test declared my health to be - satisfactory. (What a non-specific, vaguely disappointed by my lack of ambition, that term is, reminds me of my school reports ) The reading that diagnosed Pre-Diabetic last year, has dropped back to what is considered within the Normal range. Though because of the HA!, my own past confectionery consumption, and my family history of diabetes, I'm still considered 'at risk' of developing diabetes. I've therefore to maintain a gentle watchfulness. I saw how diabetes compromised the health and enjoyment of my Mum's later life, and I'd rather not have that, if I can prevent it. At the same time, I am a Lumb, brought up on sweet things for breakfast, dinner, tea and supper, so its a strong habitual sugar dependency that has been nurtured in me.  









Maintaining any healthy diet, can become a health risk in itself. One has to ask what type of health you are aiming at cultivating - medical, psychological, spiritual, financial, social even. To do 'healthier' well, requires a degree in self-knowledge and then to acquire the altogether subtler art of self management. I started this year with controlling consumption of full on confectionery and sweet things in general. A couple of specially chosen exemptions being made. I didn't aim for completely forboden. When we went out for coffee I tried to replace cake with a tea cake whenever available. But as the year has progressed the boundaries of those few exemptions has become quite permeable, shall we say. Any practice asks you to routinely monitor where you are at with it all, simply to keep it within 'healthy' parameters.









It certainly means applying a gentle self-discipline, when you become aware of the undertones of 'mission creep' beginning. Stopping eating highly processed, high carbohydrate sweet things entirely might draw a firm clear line, but I wouldn't stick to such a high bar. Occasional enjoyment has to be OK however finely delineated, but I have to admit that even this is not an easy position to hold myself steady on. I am reminded of Stephen Covey's analogy, that an airplane's course is never straight and direct, it always requires constant course corrections. Maintaining a diet, apparently, is like that too, its the general direction you are heading in that is important. On the spectrum of Obese Glutton - Dad Bod - to Svelte where am I currently?  I'm walking down the low hills of Bod, with a misty eyed vision of the Svelte valleys ahead

My other related daily routines, that might come under the broad and vacuously trendy banner of 'well being' such as morning meditation, Tai chi, journaling, resistance band exercises, these I'm keeping up with. Because they are things I largely enjoy and feel the benefit from. Alert to my tendency to freeze practices like these into rigidly enforced commitments. Having to acknowledge that I can have too much of even a good thing.









At present, I'm actively coaching myself in taking a more balanced relaxed approach. To feel more at ease with moderating any practice whenever that feels appropriate, without berating myself for being this weak willed failure at self discipline. To have an open hearted and receptive response to what I decide to do each day. So the nature of my days doesn't feel entirely prescribed or pre-ordained. In the past I have succumbed deeply to doubt, and been completely on, or completely off, with any daily practice. Being happy to modulate them in this manner, actually feels quite a step forward.

The weather in November has been so damned unpredictable, more often stormy and wet, than sunny but chilly. I've been forced to spend more time indoors than perhaps I'd have liked. Though I have finally finished prepping the gardens for winter, which took some consistency in re applying effort, given the persistent interruptions from the turbulent nature of the weather. This present week is relatively calm, I've made the most of it by taking a daily walk in Sheringham Park, or schlepping back from town after my Tai-chi class. A walk every day is the ideal, but that isn't always practically feasible. 









I now have an app on my smart phone that monitors the number of steps I walk, and rewards me with fatuous 'Heart Points' when I raise my heart beats sufficiently. Whether I achieve this comes down. I have found, to the difference between a gentle stroll and a brisk walk. You get a report each day and a weekly aim. Used as a guide this is fine, but I can see that if I did raise my ardency to fully adopt this, how it could easily become another form of health tyranny. Belting up any steep incline I encounter. Luckily there aren't many of those in Norfolk.

On our one and only pre-Christmas visit into Norwich, on the Park & Ride Bus, travelling into town we passed a Sandwich Cubicle with the simple, yet innuendo packed name of Hazel's Big Baps. As we proceeded down the scuzzy alternative delights of Magdalen Street, I spotted a cafe window which professed on its window decal that it served Coffee and Inappropriate Conversation. Or did I misread that?

LISTENING TO - Lux by Rosalia


Boy oh, Boy oh, Boy, are we being treated to a beaut of a late late entry to album of the year here. After Anna Von Hausswolff's album Iconoclasts at the end of September, I thought that award had definitively been sewn up. But there we are, just a few days after Iconoclasts was released, came Lux by Rosalia, and the Catalan has stamped in her claim. Lux is shockingly good, on first hearing I was momentarily lost for appreciative words. Opening with the two minutes plus of Sexo, Violencia y Llantas, she lays out her first statement of intent, and it startles you into giving this album your full and present attention. As a career move, plus the quality of the songwriting, this is such a surprise your jaw can only drop.


This is adventurous,passionate, ravishingly beautiful, shocking and gut wrenching, frequently all within one song. And that one song is the lead track released in advance of the album - Berghain, featuring Bjork and Yves Tremor. It hits you strongly from its opening chorus sung in German - 'His fear is my fear, His rage is my rage, His love is my love, His blood is my blood', into which Rosalia's delicate soprano voice enters operatically 'I keep many things in my heart, That is why my heart is so heavy' and later 'I know very well what I am, Tenderness for coffee' Then comes an interlude and Bjork's  recognisable manner of phrasing intoning the line 'the only way to save us is through divine inter -vention'. 


It is clear throughout Berghain ( which means mountain grove in German, and is also a secretive underground Berlin Nightclub ) that this song is not always talking about mundane ordinary love. In fact the song contrasts the debasement of plain love in comparison to surrendering to the uplifting liberating quality of saintly love. Ending with a rare male voice on this album making a startling and unsettlingly repeated declaration - ' I'm going to fuck you til you love me'   I mean, this is simultaneously as invigorating as a cold shower and a deeply unnerving slap. And this song becomes an achoring talisman for the style and tone of the rest of the album. Beautifully written and sung songs about the testing steady nature of divine love set against the tawdry erratic and sometimes tragic nature of its terrestrial version. 

Rosalia took two years off in order to research female saints and sages, fine tune her songwriting, and learn how to write in a baroque musical style. Much has been made in the publicity of the thirteen different languages she sings in on this album. All this intense creative effort might end up feeling more than a tad pretentious for a modern popular songwriter, if it wasn't pulled off with such a committed and totally captivating flourish. She really does know what she is trying to convey here, and brings to it a heft and profundity you really do not find very often in music. It is hard to not resort to hyperbole over the quality of what you are hearing here. Repeated listens, do however, only reveal still more of its spiritual depths and emotional range, the bursting romanticism at its core. At some point words themselves fail you, they start to feel increasingly inadequate representatives for feeling.


Whatever Rosalia touches she does make entirely her own. Whether that is classical orchestration, the operatic control, flashbacks to her flamenco past, eruptions of contemporary electro beats, all of these things really shouldn't meld so well on a modern pop album, but they do here, because she is right, left and centre holding it together. One of the best examples is Reliquia. A ravishingly simple song about sacrifice and loss. It begins listing a litany of losses, but the music has a joyful feel as if its casting aside and letting go of the body shamed stigmata of modern life and love. 

I lost my hands in Jerez and my eyes in Rome
I grew up and learned audacity around there in Barcelona
I lost my tongue in Paris, my time in LA
My heels in Milan, my smile in the UK

But my heart has never been mine, I give it away
Take a piece of me, keep it for when I'm gone
I'll be your relic


But after ending with

Eternal, agitated sea, the eternal song
Has neither exit, nor my forgiveness

then, wow, it bursts into this concluding gloriously exstatic eruption of drums and sharply edited electro beats. 


There are far too many noteworthy songs on this album, to mention them all. My current most beloved one is Mio Christo Piange Diamanti ( My Christ Cries Diamonds ). Rosalia says this is the nearest thing she has written to an operatic aria, and it certainly has the suggestive feel of one. Sung in Italian, she shows off the complete expressive register of her voice, the end result is impressive. Her voice, though not trained in the manner of a professional opera singer, has a natural vocal dexterity and often an earthy expressive ease, an intimate quality in the smallest husky vocal inflection. Plus a firm directness and honesty with which she convinces you that whatever it is, this is a vocal performance worth listening to. Ending on one crystal clear top note. I can't recommend this album highly enough.

Bellissimo, Bellissimo, Bellissimo


CARROT REVIEW - 8/8




Monday, November 17, 2025

RANDOM SNIPPETS - No 4 - Battles With Oneself














In films today, when they show us a medieval battle scene, you see vast phalanxes of archers launching arrows into the air. Hundreds and hundreds of them fall upon the enemy lines in a lethal thunderstorm. This bares a similarity with how our mind operates. Hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second, assaulting ourselves with damaging self limiting thoughts, created by our mind. Constantly besieged by self generated attacks upon who or what we think we are. 

This is how the story we tell ourselves about ourselves can become such a debilitating thing. It swamps us, assaults us, unrelentingly all the time. Raining down at times, so intensely, we have to find some way of seeking shelter or relief from it. That's why we crave pleasure and distraction so much, to bring us some temporary relief from all the penetrating arrows of self-criticism, self-justifications, self-lacerating, self-imprisoning thoughts. 

There is an internal war going on, one which we tell ourselves we are constantly losing. We can end up feeling so embattled, so involved with just dealing with it, we never have the time to question what exactly is going on here, why can't we ever find any peace? Why is it we feel so hemmed in all the time? However, it is you who is perpetuating this phoney war, you who ends up fighting with yourself,  all the time. So it is you who can call a ceasefire, and you who can bring about that state of peace. You can bring to an end the whole 'battle scenario' anytime you like. 

It is, however, a characteristic of these internalised 'stories' about our self identity, that written into the story itself is one fundamental lie, a deception that tells you that 'You' cannot do that. That 'You' are uniquely incapable of stopping it.  Defeating the pernicious nature of that one untruth, is the first step anyone can take towards liberating themselves.  *


An edited and further adapted extract from my Morning Journal
Originally written 17th November 2025

* Though I've used this metaphor of arrows and being embattled to make a specific point, the idea of seeing one self through the lens of an armed conflict is ultimately not an ideal one. Something less defensive, more open hearted and kinder in tone is what I'd be looking for. 

Sunday, November 16, 2025

FAVE RAVE - Leonard & Hungry Paul

 
Every now and then you find a programme comes along that somewhat defies catagorisation. Is it a drama, is it a light comedy or a light comedy drama or light dramatic comedy? The BBC appears to believe Leonard and Hungry Paul is primarily a light drama. Whereas other programmes which exuded a similar tone as Leonard & Hungry Paul, such as The Detectorists, were defined as comedy. Where ever we eventually decide to place it, it sits there somewhat winsomely smiling back at you looking mildly embarrassed and lightly shrugs its shoulders, putting its hands in its pockets and walks away.

The novel this series is based on, was written by Irish writer and blues-folk musician Ronan Hession and became a word of mouth bestseller. Its subjects are quite ordinary people, with relatively uneventful lives. Two men in their thirties Leonard and Hungry Paul are friends who meet regularly to play chess. Leonard lives alone in his Mothers house who died recently, and works as an underappreciated and underutilised editor for a children's encyclopedia publisher. He is attracted to Shelley who works in the same office, and wants to ask her out. Hungry Paul, has very low ambitions for himself, living at home with his parents, and his sister Grace, whose about to get married. He can't quite work out how to launch himself on the world, and whether indeed he should do so at all. He spends his time making hospital visits to hold patients hands and the occasional day postal delivering. 

Though that is pretty much the basic set up of the series, this cannot capture the subtle underplaying of its wit and perceptiveness of its dialogue, and how the voice over narrator ( voiced by Julie Roberts ) is an essential part of how the humour is delivered. Leonard, is played by Alex Lawther, who is having a bit of a career moment this year. having already had central parts in Andor and Alien Earth, all exploiting his geeky nervous style of acting. To which he can now add, the socially inadequate Leonard. Ably supported by Laurie Kynaston as Hungry Paul and Jamie-Lee O'Donnell as Shelley.

This series manages to create and hold its very pleasurable tone steady. Its not an easy thing to write about ordinary lives without that becoming at some point trite,tedious or vaguely patronising. And Leonard and Hungry Paul avoids falling into any such pitfalls. It is quite the most simple hearted and kind little light comedy drama. One that emits oodles of warmth for its characters, their foibles as well as their charms, as it takes you for a modest gently meandering walk through its world. I wasn't entirely sure about its tone for the first quarter of its running time, but by the end of twenty nine minutes I was won over by it, completely hooked. I am currently trying to resist guzzling down all its six episodes far far too rapidly.

CARROT REVIEW - 7/8




POEM - The Gardening Of Time

I am not finished yet
I declare as I wash down
the path in the garden
the old arthritic man in me
gently fiddles ineffectively
with weeds
trims errant bushes
clears mounds of leaves things
that need attending to
are added to the
purposeful small garden of tasks
seemingly so I cannot say
this job is done
yet

and through these
insufficient deeds
the hours into days well
they pass peacefully enough
with only this gaggle of
humble activities of note
though there are days 
where I can't be arsed with
even this,
that or the other
luxuriating in my age
and indolence
because I can
and will given the time
lounge around sheepishly

deaf to plaintive echoes of my Mother
incanting disparaging phrases
of any notion that I
could sit around all day
doing nothing
when nothing can be
so delightful a frisson of freedom
from care about any
inculcated remonstrance
too old yes too bloody old
for any of that
I puff up some cushions to
let body mind and purpose
find some shut eye

existing can that really
be redacted to an exercise
in the time
and productivity
of a neat garden in winter
or did I miss some salient point
or sagacity along the way in
the meaning of meaning
is it in the doing 
or the endgame that
life is at its best isn't life normally a job
left incomplete abandoned to
the accompaniment of some tune
filched from Thomas Tallis
to activate all the tear ducts
of mourners in the perfectly
manicured garden 
of remembrance


Written by Stephen Lumb
November 2025

Friday, November 14, 2025

FINISHED READING - On Friendship by Andrew O'Hagan

 

These essays were originally conceived to be broadcast on Radio Four. In them Andrew O'Hagan reflects upon the many different forms of friendship he has encountered in his life. Beginning with childhood friendships, the friends who you grow up and share enthusiasms with, the type of friends we make through our work, how animals form a type of unconditional friendship, the imaginary friends of childhood and those a novel writer invents, how the internet is adjusting the definition of what a friend can be. 

There are two stand out chapters. One on 'Losing Friends' where O'Hagan remembers his friend Keith Martin who was the inspirational catalyst for his very moving novel Mayflies, about the loss in later life of an old friend from his teenage years. The other is a chapter about how he met and became friends with Edna O'Brien. Who he touchingly celebrates their uniquely platonic form of friendship with an older, distinctly eccentric, fiercely independent minded woman. This was for me the real delight of this short volume. the obvious reciprocity of love and appreciation between O' Hagan and O'Brien leaps fondly off the page.

"I poured her another glass. She reminisced about the first time we had dinner and recalled me telling her my daughter's name.
'I remember where we sat at the Wolseley' she said.
'I've had lovely times with you. And we have....not identical sensibilities but a lot of resemblance, whether that's race or disposition. I know that you're a wounded man who handles it very impeccably and very plausibly.' 
'Who knows' I said, 'but there's friendship in the speculation."

Throughout all these essays, O'Hagan reflects cogently and with all his captivating linguistic flare, not just on the particularities of one friendship, but broadens this out to ponder on our need for and the benefits of friendship. What they provide us with, that the intimate closeness of our love partners cannot. 

" We each wander so much of the road alone that it's nice to have someone else, a friend who knows the weather and is minded to share their umbrella."

A lovely short book, that brings a melancholy to mind for friendships that have been lost and smiles of recognition at the life enhancing conspiratorial joys of camaraderie.


CARROT REVIEW - 5/8




FINISHED READING - Fractured by Jon Yates

 

We all sense that our society is currently not in a good place. We feel the divisive nature of our political discourses, the increasing racism and intolerance, and we bemoan the lack of community, as though  that were something that has been robbed from us without our say so. In Fractured, Jon Yates takes a cool look at why our society feels this way. Suggesting how this came about, what the primary causes are. Though at times sobering, the book actually has a strong vein of optimism running through it, that we can and must find a way to reverse this drift towards division and uncivil conflict 

These days it's quite common to blame it all on social media, but Jon Yates says that really is simply another symptom of a social move towards individual isolation, that we already had become people living within bubbles of the like minded. People Like Me syndrome has had a long presence within human society. Our liking to surround ourselves with folk we agree or are in sympathy with, are educated similar to us, have similar tastes, social status and aspirations to us, is not in principle a bad thing. But, if this is the only thing that binds us then it becomes a major social driver, where we are unable to talk with people from a different background, class or race, and may even find ourselves feeling instinctively hostile towards anyone who is remotely different from us. We all bare a measure of responsibility for how this situation has arisen. For what Yates encounters as he reviews our parlous state, is a society lacking in much sense of a shared common life. 

In past eras, when we lived in smaller villages and social contexts, we moved around less, so you really had to get on with the folk around you, even if you disagreed with them or they lived lives very different to oneself. This rubbing up and along with individual differences is actually good for us, and it's vital in cultivating a more cohesive sense of society. In the past they also shared the common religious context of a faith. In this country this was Christianity, this gave everyone a sense that despite our differences there was something else that asked us to work at getting over them, of even transcending them. Such rural communities were effectively torn apart during the population exodus caused by the Industrial Revolution. This produced a huge amount of social disruption and divisiveness. And there was a period when this newly urbanised society was in danger of falling apart and tipping into revolution. What in the end stopped that from happening, was an explosion of community based voluntary organisations,charities, clubs, societies, associations, social and political initiatives that brought together all types of individuals, and this slowly brought into being a more cohesive sense of urban society emerging.

Post World War 2, this network of social voluntary organisations has been in gradual decline. People don't join them in quite the same numbers anymore. Television means we just don't go out and socialise as much, if at all. Pubs are not the local focal point they were, we don't join voluntary associations, we live a more singular and socially isolated lifestyle, even from our neighbours. Before the internet arrived a shared communal life was already endangered. Social media has merely accelerated this pre-existing trend. But like the period of change and upheaval post the arrival of the Industrial Revolution, we are, in Yate's opinion, in an interregnum, where we painfully feel this lack of cohesion and don't know if it can be restored, or how. Any social movement towards correcting this lack of a shared common life has not yet formed itself. Human society, however, can not survive without closer communal relationships, so Yates is confident it will eventually emerge, but whether it will arrive in time is the question.   

As you look down your street at the people who are your neighbours, are they pretty much the same class, race and education, with similar aspirations to you. If so, this has not happened by accident. We might believe we live in a multi-cultural society, but the UK is quite effectively socially, economically and racially segregated. Analysis says its as segregated as some of the the worst cities in the US.. Racists may complain about immigrants not learning English and living amongst their own culture, but fail to notice that, regardless of race, everyone is separating themselves off from people that are not like them in cultural, social or economic ghettos of one sort or another. Yates says this is all an expression of People Like Me syndrome, and an ever increasing demand to have a choice where, how and with whom we live. Racial homogeneity in a culture is not really the solution to creating a sense of a common life that some people believe it to be. Humankind is generally too full of a radically wide range of different, potentially difficult people. We can all be a bit of a pain in the minds of other folks.

There are two drivers then, that are slowly destroying the shared sense of a common life, and a sense of connection with people not like us. First, a major social or economic upheaval or crisis, and second increasing choice about where we live, where we are educated, and who and how we socialise with other people. Left to choice, People Like Me rules everything we do. And collective communal contexts become habitually avoided, because we fear conflicts, of encountering differing viewpoints to our own. 

The knock on effects of this expands outwards. Innovation requires us to be open to working with other people and their ideas, productivity needs us to be able to work effectively in teams with all types of people, schools which are not substantially mixed in class and race, don't cultivate the sort of skills and abilities to network and work well together.. Instead we are hurtling towards further division, as the gap between richer and poorer widens, and equality of opportunity becomes stifled. If our economy is currently stalled, its because when wealthy people become wealthier they tend to bank their money and live off the interest, whilst working class spend money as and when they have it. The later is a major driver of our economy. Too much money is currently in too few very wealthy hands and our economy is stagnating as a result. It's no wonder the very poorest in our society are sick of the constant struggle to make ends meet, and are getting angrier and more disruptive with every passing year. So the lack of a shared common life is actually a much bigger deal than we give it credit for.  

Yates concludes his book by outlining a few options for a way forward, and their pros and cons. We could just sit this current phase out and wait for the backlash and a more communal focus to re-emerge. Or we could try to engineer more communal initiatives. A characteristic of the emergence of charities, societies, clubs and associations was they were entirely voluntary, which is both their strength and weakness. There are very few mandatory communal requirements placed upon us these days, jury service is probably the only one. But what if, at a pivotal moments in your life, in childhood, adulthood and retirement there was an obligation to explore ways you could serve your society in the company of a wide range of people. It maybe the time is not yet right for such ideas. So lacking such initiatives currently, Yates concludes his book by outlining - Thirty two things you can do right now.

Fractured is accessible and brilliantly written with an immensely convincing exposition for how we got here, but it's also clear what direction we need to start heading in to turn the situation around. I found this has already affected the way I view the turbulence of our era. It's an inspirational book, that has set me thinking about many things, a lot of the time it's what small step I could take, to break out of my little retirement bubble?

CARROT REVIEW - 8/8






Wednesday, November 12, 2025

WATCHED - Nine Perfect Strangers

 

Nine people arrive at the Tranquillum retreat centre. Each of them has chosen to come here not really knowing what to expect, but all have reached a moment of crisis in their life. They need some time away from all that. The retreat centre is directed by Masha (Nicole Kidman) a woman whose immoral high flying past came to an end with someone trying to murder her. There are elements in this previous life that are still unresolved, even though she has developed this therapeutic retreat on the basis of her own experience and route back to psychological wellness. 

All the retreatants were hand picked by Masha, some paid through the nose, others a discounted price. As the series progresses the turbulence in their personal lives comes into sharper focus, as well as Masha's reasons for choosing them. But her therapeutic methods are highly unconventional. if not illegal. And its clear that things on previous retreats did not always go well. Masha is receiving threatening texts and emails,someone from her past has it in for her.  

With Micheal Shannon, Melissa McCarthy, Samara Weaving, Luke Evans and Regina Hall amongst the cast, this is packed with star performers. The script is witty and often playfully irreverent. As the retreat progresses elements of backstories get pieced together. Relationships fracture and mend, people's motivations become mixed or morally dubious. As a whole Nine Perfect Strangers is quite effective, with a low key 'who done it' element to it. Kidman, Shannon and McCarthy in particular shine out here, primarily because a large part of the drama circles around them. Samara Weaving and Melvin Gregg's characters are woefully underwritten, and could easily have been written out at no loss to the dramatic narrative. Luke Evans does his best with an unappealing character, whose story arc never quite becomes fully rounded or his eventual turn around explored or explained.

Nicole Kidman is having one whale of a time playing the slightly spooky, maybe unhinged, Masha, her accent is light, its audiblity is slightly variable. But without her ability to dominate the screen, its clear this dramas creaking old tropes would have rattled a bit too noticeably. On the whole I enjoyed watching it as a drama, though it never quite became gripping essential viewing. They made a second series, I can't imagine at all why they thought that would be a good idea, but I wont be setting aside any time specially for it.


CARROT REVIEW - 5/8






READING ALOUD - W.S.Merwin Reads - The Love for October

 

When you read W.S.Merwin's biography, you see very little that tells you what sort of a man he was. Extremely productive and driven as a poet, the delicate thoughtful nature of his writing, is often like turning over and examining a tumbling stone. A common trope in his poetry is to see everything as if viewed through the framing of a particular window. There is a certain unknowable insularity to his character and writing, I can't imagine he was ever the life and soul of a party, did he ever get drunk and out of control? Married three times might indicate he could've either been difficult to live with, or was drawn towards women that he really was incapable of fully meeting. 

The Love of October, reflects on youthful perception. saying in its first line

'A child looking on ruins grows younger
but cold
and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than all the months of spring'  

As indeed he once was. Born right at the end of September, October was indeed Merwin's first month alive in this world. So his choice of this poem as one to read aloud, has some strong personal links for him.

Friday, November 07, 2025

MY OWN WALKING - November Journal 2025









Like most folk, I sometimes get far too caught up in the intricate tangle of my self justifications. The finely woven warp and weft of my own terribly tedious self story. So much so that it can be one devil of a job putting a stop to it. To cease the constancy of my weaving it. And then, comes the day when I can for some reason, after some directional wind change, I see through it just one tiny little chink. How the intensity of any perceived injury to ones selfhood, is firmly embroidered into it with sutures of my own making.   

I say this, full knowing one of the Buddha's wisest utterances, urged us to become closely familiar with the pain caused by 'the second arrow.' The first arrow being our experience of suffering, the second arrow our response to that suffering. That second arrow being by far the more dangerous to life, because it is entirely a self-inflicted wound, ever so easily embedding itself into 'that story of our self'. Usually with the help of a charitable variation of  'poor me' narrative. And, once ensconced, it sits there like an AIDS virus, waiting for future suffering to provide advantageous circumstances for yet another virulent outbreak of self pity.

With this years extended prolongation of Autumnal mildness, I'd became prematurely lulled into thinking that Winter's onset this year was hopefully delayed. So the arrival of damper, chiller winds and turbulent storms, arrived like an unwelcome salesman at my doorstep. After months and months from spring through to an indian summer, I'd got used to milder weather and the consequent low level of bodily discomfort. Then over the matter of seemingly a mere few days the weather changed, and that discomfort cranked up. Furiously aching joints and muscles, most tender particularly in the hips and lower back. Voltarol gels could do too little to pacify its inflamation and soreness.

One morning, post another fitful incomplete nights sleep, I arose in one cross patch of an internal bad mood. I did not feel well disposed towards my usual morning routine of practice, and this had been increasingly so for a couple of days. I'd sort of struck a deal with myself, to take the level of it all down by a peg or two. To maintain a morsel of connection with the continuity of practice. But by this particular day, the most I could persuade myself to do was to meditate, and that was after quite an extensive period of coercive encouragement. Once I did sit down to meditate, it was clear there was a job of work to do, cultivating a more loving and kinder relationship towards myself. Bring on the Metta bomb.

A Metta Bhavana meditation practice,is most usually a progression of five distinct stages. But this can be stripped down to the simpler mode of it radiating outwards, which given my current level of resistance, was probably advisable. So I began with as much gentle encouragement I could find, to cultivate loving kindness for myself, my body, my mental states, my overall state of being, and then gradually expanding that out to the people surrounding me, to the area, county and country, to the world, to the universe and the cosmos. Wishing all to be existentially well, to be happier, more content and less suffering beings. All its usual generic elements were there, where paradoxically, I was placed at the living centre of my own mettaful cosmos. But by the end, when I got up, the discomfort in my hips and back had quite dramatically diminished. 

All of which caused me to reflect more deeply on the role of the second arrow in suffering. Now I do have osteoarthritis present in some major joints, there is no getting away from that, nor the consequences thereof. And its certainly been my experience that changes in barometric pressure, the severity and depth of weather fronts, can sometimes put my whole body physically on edge. But what this meditation experience pointed out, was how much the depth and prolongation of my bodily aches and pains, can also be due to, in my very being, hating and loathing them on almost an existential level. The self antagonism, once I noticed it, seemed quite obvious.

So much of the intensity of any suffering is down to how you feel about the suffering, not the suffering itself. Now this infinitesimally small insight, does not in itself take away the original cause of the pain or discomfort, but just encourages me to turn off the bloody megaphone. Whenever I start writing about physical ailments and how this or that particular part of this body of mine is aching or aging, it makes me hyper aware of how frequently I use the word 'my' as I write, That I take my body, and my osteoarthritis, and my pain, and my suffering, and my advancing age, and turn them into the largest badge I can wear. One that declares a technicolour statement - 'look on the size of my suffering, you bitches, and despair' .

And there, right there, I stop myself to further remark - my goodness me, how unkind you can be, just in the general castigating tone in which you converse with yourself.  Listen to how the purpose of words dance around from reactivity to insight, then back to reactivity again. It's also to recognise the heavy rainfall that the second arrow brings with it, and how that precipitation forms the precursor and resplendent rainbow of a third, maybe fourth or fifth bit of self injury - should you let it. 

Thursday, November 06, 2025

PAINTING A THOUSAND WORDS - Autumn Leaves ( 1855-1856 )

 

John Everett Millais,at the precocious age of eleven won himself a place at the Royal Academy Art School. By the time he was twenty,in 1848, he was a founding member of The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. His painting Christ in the House of his Parents (1849-50) provoked accusations of blasphemy. This fueled his rise to fame, wealth, establishment respectability, a knighthood and eventual baronetcy. However, as is often the case, artistic child prodigies take their 'genius' far too much for granted

It has been frequently said of Millais's artistic career, that he squandered his talent for money and status. A view based upon subsequent work as an illustrator, the paintings executed for commercial advertising, the drained palate of his later painting used to such emotionless effect. All would indicate some truth to this opinion. The early colourful effervescence of his talent, didn't just fizzle out and die, it carried on afterwards as a deathless ghostly apparition of itself. But by the mid 1850's, when he was painting Autumn Leaves, Millais had become the leading light and acceptable face of the Pre-Raphaelites. A transgressively vivid painter of allegorical literary or biblical scenes,with often this sense for the transient,elements of mystery and complete mastery of the mournful mood. Autumn Leaves was the first in a sequence of paintings to explore that season as a metaphor for impermanence. Two other paintings in this occasional series The Vale of Rest(1858-62 ) and Chill October (1870) were to follow.


In some respects the progression of their subject matter exemplifies the slow malformation of Millais's artistic muse. The Vale of Rest appears, at first glance, to echo the sentiments of Autumn Leaves. Taking place at twilight, where two nuns are very hurriedly digging a grave before it gets too dark to see what they are doing. What was perhaps merely suggestive in Autumn Leaves, is made emphatically plain in Vale of Rest. The allegory is presented with a much heavier handed intent, earnestly reaching out to make itself known. It drives home its evidently mordant moral undertow. The seated nun on the right, looking pointedly straight out at the viewer, as if to say - remember this. As a painting this is not subtle.


By the time we reach Chill October fourteen years later, what we are presented with here is a rather bleakly plein-air painting of a Scottish loch, boggy and windy and cold hearted. No figures, allegorical or otherwise, are present, just a vague sense of an underlying mood from the earlier works resurfacing.The place is desolate, lost of any sense of direction for its soul, devoid of human context or frailty. Its not then unreasonable to question why this shift in focus happened ?

The original seven members of The Pre-Raphealite Brotherhood were an unwieldy mixture of like minded young painters and poets. For all their stated idealism, it is in the nature of such artistic movements to be internally fractious, loosely aligned and inherently fragile collectives. Holman Hunt and Millais, were the visual realists, whereas Rossetti and his artistic acolytes were the more seriously aligned medievalists. Both sides dedicated to restoring the spiritual to art. The religious controversy over Millais’s Christ in the House of his Parents in 1850 proved too much for the devout Stephen Collinson, who left the group.

This was the first, but not the final straw for the Brotherhood, but that too would be supplied by Millais. John Ruskin had been the sole vocal champion of The Brotherhood, keeping them financially and artistically directed. Millais went to paint a portrait of Ruskin at his Scottish home, over the Summer of 1853. Ruskin had married Effie Grey in 1848 when she was nineteen, and he was twenty eight. Yet five years later when the handsome dashing Pre-Raphaelite Millais turns up, Ruskin had yet to consummate that marriage. Millais and Effie fast fell deeply in love and literally ran off together. The marriage to Ruskin ended up being very publicly anuled, bringing a degree of shame and disapproval into Ruskin's revered orbit. Though he continued to financially support Hunt and Rosetti, The Brotherhood was summarily ripped apart by the ensuing public scandal.


Three years later Millais married Effie, she has since been unfairly made to take the lion share of the blame for Millais’s declining artistry. Yet here he is in that very same year of his marriage painting Autumn Leaves. The two central young girls,dressed in the modest dark blue clothing of the middlingly wealthy, are Effie’s sisters, Alice and Sophie. The younger children are meant to be peasants, as they are wearing poorer styles of dress. They’re making a bonfire. All look upon the smoldering pyre of autumn leaves the girls have been gathering, collectively transfixed. The background sky has sickly sulphuric slashes of yellow and bruised purpley blue. It is twilight, the landscape shadowy, all we see are the barest of outlines.


This painting has a Chekovian air, of trapped lives with limited future prospects. The faces of the elder girls bare concerned strained faces. For some reason this bonfire building is not eliciting any childish playfulness, or sense of this being a fun thing to do. The girls look on instead rather sombre, with bowed depressed demeanours. It is as though something has died, and no one here feels willing to openly enjoy even a simple task. Whilst lost childhood innocence is a recurrent Millais theme, I’m not sure that is precisely what is being conveyed here. Its meaning feels more multi-layered than that. It is as though they’re mourning a loss, ritually burying someone or something underneath this huge pile of bronzed leaves. The tone is sorrowful, emotions just about staying contained. The littlest girl with the red bow is holding an apple, frequently interpreted as a reference to Eve and the temptation of the snake. What is the simmering symbolism of a smouldering pile of leaves? This is portraying life requiring death, as a cycle within life itself, of recurring moments of cremation. Millais understood all too clearly, what he had lost, destroyed and sacrificed to secure his love.