Tora Tora Tora!

Dive!
Originally uploaded by Dark Hunter.

It's coming up, it's coming up, it's DARE

I'm just back from Malta.

It was brilliant. I've never been anywhere with so much sense of history, not even Italy, Scotland or even India. You pretty much fall over the history everywhere you go, concentrated on three main periods:

1) The Prehistoric temples - the earliest, at Ggantija on Gozo, was supposedly built in 3600 BC
2) The Great Siege by the Turks in 1565 - 30,000 Turks were killed by the Knights
3) The Second World War - 5000+ air-raids on Malta by the Axis from 1940-1943

Malta is like a small, very dry and dusty version of 1950s Britain with a suntan. There are even red post boxes and British cars. Most of the tourists are also Brits. Egg and chips, pale ale, pubs - it's all there. They even refer to the local currency as 'the pound', even though it's really the Maltese lira (LM).

The island is about 30% urbanised, and is dotted with huge churches that dominate the skyline. Small stone walls split up the dusty brown fields. The sea is bright blue and though there are not many beaches, there are a number of amazing natural habours, notably the grand harbour between the capital, Valletta, and the '3 cities'. This harbour is where the fortifications, both renaissance and modern, are concentrated.

More to come...

In the Wrong Song

I wrote this just before I went to India and came back to find my band turned against me. How apt:

In the wrong song

I’m in the wrong song
I’ve been droning on
For far too long
Droning on and on
For far too long
In the wrong song

I hoped it would change
Grow into something less strange
Into something not quite so deranged

I hoped I would find
My otherness easier to hide
Easier to conceal and fester inside

I’m in the wrong song
It’s been going on
For far too long
In the wrong song
It feels so wrong
Like I don’t belong

I fight to find the words
That bubble up to surface
They settle on top of the absurd

I try to find the rhyme
I strive desperately to stay in time
Or prop up the structures that I undermine

I’m in the wrong song
I’ve been going on and on
For far too long

In the wrong song
I don’t belong
I’ve come undone
My isolation has begun

In the wrong song
I’m hunted down
I’ve come undone
My persecution has begun

In the wrong song

Raus

The post below is a classic example of why I shouldn't be blogging at a quarter to eight, still at work!

Get out!

Die freiheit ist nicht mehr frei

So just where is this blog going?

I've been posting some pictures recently and I'll admit it does make it look a lot more interesting, admittedly at the cost of making myself and some of my friends that little bit easier to stalk, but hey - Freedom is free no longer.

I've been writing about a variety of cr&p - from Greece to gurning, from Fascism to friendship and from Eggham to egg fried rice. That was a little contrived, was it not? And I hope that this variety continues. I suppose I shouldn't be 'hoping' as it's only me that decides if it does or not. And not you. Or some meta-blog-being that is the real phat controller behind it all.

It's all down to me.

I was in the midst of some random 4am conversation a few weekends ago when I someone else summed up my philosophy with the above phrase. This kind of surprised me somewhat, as I hadn't really looked at it that way. I blame society and other people for a lot of things, but I suppose my views about religion, love, and most things do come down to me believing pretty firmly in the value of taking decisions for myself.

So believing in nothing means that you end up having to believe in yourself.

If you don't believe in heaven or reincarnation or anything (I'm deeply skeptical about any of humanity's attempts to explain or describe an afterlife) then it's only what you do in your lifetime that counts - then you face the deep dark void. If you don't belief in god or fate or his divine holiness Pramukh Swami Maharaj then all your decisions, your suffering, your pleasure and the sum of your life's actions can only be laid at your own feet. And can only be blamed on yourself.

Of course this is not to deny the actions and effect of others - I'm not, despite accusations to the contrary, a complete solipsist - but you should certainly be able to rely on yourself. That's the key, I think. Nearly all the people I know who are unhappy (or seem so) with their lives are those that aren't strong enough to not rely on others, and their unhappiest moments come when their constructs of other people collapse, or they themselves are let down. Nearly all the (seemingly) happy, or maybe relaxed is a better word, people I know are able to get on themselves. This doesn't make them less sociable - they just have the quiet calm and peace that comes with knowing you can fall back on yourself, with nothing else, and you will be OK.

Who am I writing this for?

Monsters of Rock

Monsters of Rock
Originally uploaded by Dark Hunter.

Shortly before embarking on their fearsome, ground-breaking tour of Cardiganshire, Colostomybag, or the 'Monsters of Rock', as they are colloquially known, relax in their no-expense-spared, lavishly decorated 18th Century Maisonette.

Note their trademark 'Devil's Horns' hand signals. Many music journalists and fashion critics have felt that this gesture eloquently sums up their in-your-face style of post-apocalyptic agit-punk-funkadelia, crossed with a late 70s west-coast-style of progressive doom rock.

Bassist Nitro (left) told NME:
"We're just sick of people stereotyping us. Just because we sang about eating our own families doesn't make us cannibals! Doesn't the modern world have any grasp of irony?"

Virtuoso piccolo player Aggro (centre) corrected Nitro:
"It's no' tha' we dinna' approoov o' cannibals, it's jes' tha' we found ye cannae get rid o' the stains tha' easily"

Lead singer and part-time Kabbadi player Kenzo, who refuses to be interviewed except in his underwear, bellowed hoarsely:
"What do you think of my pants? Are they not clean enough for you, peasant?"

Are you feeling a little bit scared?

You should be.

Colostomybag will soon be appearing in a burnt-out backroom in a cr&ppy pub near you. Provided you live within 10 minutes bus ride from Cardigan, that is.

Hmmm...

Hmmm...
Originally uploaded by Dark Hunter.

Looking fairly confused, to be honest. My co-photographee looks less so.

Maybe it was the sunstroke? Or that 2 euro sangria carton?

I'm sure it wasn't the chlorine...

Pietersen

Pietersen
Originally uploaded by Dark Hunter.

Although I shamelessly pinched this off the BBC site, I am nonetheless proud to be posting my first tribute to the England team for regaining the ashes from the Aussies.

KP nuts!

Thumbsup

Thumbsup
Originally uploaded by Dark Hunter.

Some of us in the pool in Spain.

Happy happy
Joy Joy

The great update

So, you're all no doubt asking what you've missed...

Quite a lot, actually

Mostly SPAIN - I went for a week to stay in a villa with its own pool just south of Javea in SE Spain, south of Valencia. Wonderfully relaxing and a lot of fun as well. Lots of late night swimming and stupid games. Met some cool new people and was also great to catch up with some old schoolfriends.

One really interesting thing I noticed was the graffiti on the road signs - Javea had been daubed out and replaced by Xabia - the Valenciana dialect name. It's interesting that right now regional issues around language should be raising their head - I had assumed most of that was in Catalonia and the North, and that this area would just be a mix of Catalan and Castillian, but obviously not. The 'Xabs' are on the warpath. Funny thing was that they all sounded like they were speaking Castillian, unlike in Barcelona where the Catalan sounds more French than 'Spanish'.

I wonder if this process is being replicated all over Spain? It must have pretty dire consequences on things like National Curricula, universal texts, publishing etc. Imagine if every part of the UK had different spellings or even a language like the Welsh. Blwdy hel!

The other confusing part of this was that Jesus Pobre, the nearest village, seemed to be immune to the J-X process that Xabia implied. Maybe the Lord transcends language? Actually it's lucky he does otherwise it would be Xesus, or Chees-us. I don't think the Church would be happy about Christ being incarnated in some form of cheesy (but not actually cheese) snack...

WAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH

Yes!

We won the Ashes!

I can barely remember 1987 so it's pretty special for me.

Email I sent to my cousin earlier today:

KP
KP
COME ON
HAVE IT

And so he did.