Somerset House skaters

There's an ice skating rink in the winter months in the forecourt of Somerset House, on the Strand in London. This evening it was c.0degC. ie. very bloody cold.

First thought on getting onto the ice: Gee, it's slippery.

You get an hour to skate about. Everyone goes on in one hour blocks, so you all learn together. Some learn faster than others. And then, by the end of the hour, people conk out earlier than others. It's an average size rink; with about 150 people wizzing about, mostly out of control, you've got a one in three chance of hitting someone or being hit.

Thoughts on skating:
- it hurts your ankles
- it hurts your knees (too much or maybe not enough bending of zem - not sure which one)
- people who hold hands tend to fall over more
- people who hold hands with their friends get in the way
- there's always one little shit who can skate better than everyone else
- there's always at least 3% of the people on the ice completely and utterly out of control and you must avoid at all cost (else risk being collected by their ineptitude)
- it's not difficult getting going in a reasonable way
- it's very difficult to look in any way graceful
- it gets tedius after half an hour or so, going round and round in the same direction
- an hour of this stuff is enough, once every couple of years

Which reminds me - the last time I was skating was in Central Park, NY. Not quite as grand as Somerset House, but a lovely setting nevertheless.

The Dolphins

Just one more post about Amsterdam, before I shut up about it. The evening we arrived I directed everyone down to my favourite coffeeshop in Amsterdam, The Dolphins. Site of my first proper mega paranoia experience (a story I may or may not share one of these days) it has become a favourite because it's so chilled. No doubt you could find an equally chilled coffeeshop hang-out in Amsterdam, and I've trialled many of them, however I keep coming back to this one because - well, I don't know - it's just kinda nice. Anyway, just one anecdote from the four or five visits we made to the place on this trip:

We were happily ensconsed on one of the downstairs sofas. Peacefully chatting and dreaming and doing what you do in a coffeeshop. And this American guy - no, dude - let me call him the dude - turns up with his two home-boys. I use this language because he was, like, speaking the home-boy jive talk man - it was like, Will Smith ... but without any of the charm. Weird. He was wearing a suit - all buttoned up; more out of place he couldn't have looked. However this did not seem to phase him from poncing about as if he was king dick, posturing to his mates as he sidled up to another group to ponce a cigarette, shouting into his mobile phone (making a deal, you know). And - you know - just generally being a prat. I suppose he seemed so out of place because one of the things I love about these coffeeshops is that you can relax and chill and be who you are without pretense. Not like one of those "it" bars in which you have to be wearing the right outfit, with the right people, paying through the nose for drinks, paying a guy in the loos to take a piss - that sort of thing (you know the ones I mean). No. Coffeeshops are relaxed and easy-going places, which is why I was so relieved when Mr Tryhard left, shouting into his mobile that he had to go now (no doubt to make his deal with his homies or whatever buggery bollocks he was spouting). It was a relief to see him go.

Every other time The Dolphins was a haven of chilled out relaxation. I wish there was a place like it somewhere close to home...

Amsterdam - a few more notes

- there are lots of American tourists here (especially) and, for once, the American tourists behave more obnoxiously than the British
- as with anywhere where there's heavy tourism there's loads of tourist traps (eg highly priced shitty restaurants) Thankfully they're easy to avoid because there are lots of reasonably priced good quality places which are not difficult to find
- everyone rides bikes
- bikes, universally, are those funny high ones, that all look ancient
- people are polite and friendly (apart from the easyjet staff and one of the hotel staff)

I love making unjustifiable generalisations about a place. It's very satisfying.

A few biased observations on Amsterdam

Just returned from my fourth jaunt to lovely Amsterdam. Herewith my unfounded and completely biased opinions on the place:
- it's lovely
- it's cold (this time of year). Colder, even, than London. But bright and sunny.
- there are lots of tourists
- inhabitants speak the best English of any non-English speakers anywhere
- people don't have any qualms about speaking English, even when you don't attempt any Dutch at all
- the order of priority on the streets is:
1. trams
2. bikes
3. pedestrians
3.1. cars
- it's quiet and peaceful, (except when you're trying to sleep in your hotel room in the middle of the red light district)
- there are lots of dodgy characters trying to sell crap quality class A drugs
- it's easy to buy class C drugs
- there are lots of canals
- it's very flat
- I can't think of much more because all I did was wander about a bit, and sit in several cafes

More to follow.

Two different views of Gran Canaria

Scanned a few photographs taken in Gran Canaria a few months ago. Two divergent views...

Edward Scissorhands

So, another year older, and a trip to the theatre. Edward Scissorhands; I have no connection to the film - never seen it - don't know the story. A packed house at Sadler's Wells, in Angel. Dancing, lights and all that.

By interval I was ready to slit my wrists. A more boring show I havn't seen. L and I retreated to the pub while M watched the second half.

The weather in London is wet, cold and miserable. Flying to Amsterdam tomorrow with M, A and D. With a bit of luck the weather there will be better. This'll be my fourth trip to Amsterdam and I'm beginning to think I should have chosen somewhere else. I can't think of anything I want to do there other than sit in a cafe and read a book.

Then again, maybe I'm just being grumpy. Maybe all I need is a hearty meal and ... :o)

sine qua non

sine qua non \sin-ih-kwah-NON; -NOHN; sy-nih-kway-\, noun: An essential condition or element; an indispensable thing

I can feel that something is missing...

Subjectivity & relativism (the search for truth)

A grand title, but just because I needed to write a few more of MY thoughts:

I shouldn´t have to apologise for having or expressing opinions, thoughts, or impressions of a place or event; seeing from my point of view, or relative to my own history or culture - the world that I know. I don´t profess to tell the "truth" or to be giving an unadulterated or objective view. I don´t and I can´t, and that assumption should be read into everything I write, every photograph I take, every word I speak...

Words that I write might be interpreted by someone else according to their own set of histories and cultures - their own point of view. That´s fine: take them and mould them as you wish.

A blog is a space for subjectivity and relativism. Just as most public spaces for expression (the newspaper, the art gallery, the advertising billboard, the bumper sticker...) are equally spaces in which individuals express their outpourings the result of their own histories, cultures, expectations...

Better not to see the world in terms of "truth" and "lies", "right" and "wrong", black and white (etc) but to see it, and to read it, as an amalgam of accumulated histories, each of which weaves its own way to reach a given point. The given point being the text, the painting, etc from which meanings can then be further generated. Better to think about how we generate meaning, where we generate that meaning, how different individuals arrive at different meanings with the same input - the same "given point".

A clever person knows that the "world as they see it" is nothing but an amalgam of meanings generated from their own personal histories. Meanings float, bend and twist to the reader / viewer.

Being self aware has much to do with knowing your own point of view is an illusion constructed by yourself (sub-consciously) from the culture, history, experiences, and shared memes that have been passed to you from various sources. The self aware individual knows that he or she is not the centre of the universe, but that they can never see anything other than from their own point of view.* Their own universe is one of billions.

Just to make it plain. The writings on this blog are my thoughts, from my point of view. Nothing more and nothing less. (And, quite apart from anything else, I doubt anyone reads them anyway).

* They can, however, imagine accurately another point-of-view with the aid of their own. This is usually described as "empathy". However what most people think of as empathy is as illusory an impression as thinking we know the "truth" about something.

New Year´s Eve in Aluche

After New Year´s Eve dinner with my love´s family, we headed to a local bar in Aluche, a suburb of Madrid. We got there at 02h30, and it was heaving with people. It had by far the thickest cloud of cigarette smoke in any bar I´ve ever been to. (Later someone succeded in opening a window, which was rapidly closed by the propietor explaining that it had to be so for the noise. Hence the cloud). We found a space to talk and dance, and (like a cliché waiting to happen) before I knew it it was 07h30 and they were turning the lights on for people to go home. The happiest part of the evening was being able to converse in (broken) Spanish with loads of M´s friends who I´ve only previously been able to communicate via intermediary with. It is such a relief to be able to squeeze out a few words in another language and to be understood. And to listen to people and understand what they are saying to me. I should think the (Spanish sized) Barcardis helped in this department, breaking down my inhibitions about making mistakes. (It also broke down my barriers about dancing like a crazed baboon; which surprised me a bit. Up until now I´d stuck with the idea that something stronger was required for that ... but maybe it´s just because I love dancing.) V, a Madrileño lawyer living and working in Seville, is of the belief that Robbie Williams has modelled his moves on mine. Quite possibly there´s an illicit tape out there somewhere doing the rounds.

On the way home we stopped off for traditional New Year´s Day breakfast of chocolate and churros. In the drunken words of R the policeman, está la puta madre.

I surprised myself with how much fun I had. I was delighted with being able to communicate with M´s friends and hope it´s another big step in being able to communicate properly; I really want to just be another one of their mob, rather than M´s English speaking Australian partner. Most of all, for M´s sake, I don´t want to have to rely on her all the time to do my communicating for me. I dropped into bed exhausted and happy, looking forward to a bright and productive 2006.