Overheard in a shop this afternoon, on the subject of the necktie: “It’s the final piece in fashion’s jigsaw puzzle”.
Archive for July, 2005
The Gallic force is growing strong in me: petanque until dark last night, and this morning a wonderful gypsy swing CD arrives from Provence: violin, guitars, double-bass, percussion, scat and to cap it all, a trombone.
I dreamt I drove to an orchard in Somerset, wore a generally unsuitable but suitably apple-green suit, found lots of good friends and even a couple of close relatives there, heard three great bands, played Cold Weather (Lee Perry) and She Brings the Rain (Can), as the drizzle turned into rain, on a lovingly homemade dub soundsystem complete with echo sampler which was handy since only one deck was working, stayed up til dawn, but threw the towel in when I saw a hire van waltzing around a field (doing 3-point turns in time with The Blue Danube).
I look forward to the next such dream.
Another Cornish wall, (from the other day, since I haven’t taken any pictures for a little while, but I think we can confidently assume it’s still there).
More drama beneath the streets of South London today. Our cops don’t usually shoot people; it’s not cricket, you see. The BBC reporter said they called an air ambulance for the victim and ‘tried to revive him’. She must have been reading too much Harry Potter: the guy had been shot – some say in the head – five times from close range.
There’ll be an enquiry, but I think it’s fair to assume for the moment that the police had not forgotten the rules, and had good reason to believe this guy was carrying explosives. We should watch carefully, but not rush to judgement.
Having said that, it’s obvious that the law-makers and security forces must tread very, very carefully. An anxiety-driven slide into heavy-handed tactics could lead to irreversible mistakes, and in any case would be exploited and turned into jihadist propaganda, completing the vicious circle of resentment, fear and violence. (In case I’m not making any sense, I think Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib illustrate the point quite effectively.)
Extra: review of press coverage three days on
4.30pm
Little has emerged about these four explosions, but the police are calling them ‘partial detonations’, and eyewitness descriptions of small bangs, smoke, bright light and a smell of burning rubber hint at detonators or thunderflashes, i.e. scary, but relatively harmless compared to, say, Glen McGrath.
What we have so far from eyewitness reports on Sky and the BBC:
Shoreditch: a small explosion on a bus was initially said to have blown out some windows, but this looks like an exaggeration, and there may have been no more than smoke.
Warren Street: A man made “an exclamation as if something had gone wrong” and was injured as his backpack exploded. Passengers fled smoke and a smell of burning rubber.
Oval Station: a young man threw a large black backpack onto a tube and ran off, at which point the bag not so much exploded as “popped” like “champagne” or “a balloon”.
Shepherd’s Bush: a man threatened to blow himself up and then ran off, intact.
So the anxiety barometer is up, but only temporarily, and life goes on. Successful disruption, then, or incompetent destruction? I have mixed feelings about the possibility that this is the work of a bunch of amateurs (in the perjorative sense of the word, as employed by Ian Brown vs The Late Show).
While we wait for these guys to be caught, can we rush a Bill through Parliament to ban unnecessary mentions of the Blitz?
Extra: Stef finds himself within a police cordon for the second time in a fortnight.
I was glad to be on my bike today, but not so comfortable to be carrying an oversized backpack.
I was listening to the radio, hoping to hear England complete their historic dismantling of the Aussies in the first day of the Ashes. Instead, I heard the first confused reports come in about security alerts, incidents and small explosions around London. I passed buses being emptied, police closing off tube stations and cordoning off major roads. So far, though, this doesn’t appear to be at all on the scale of what happened on the 7th, and the same surprising calm and good cheer prevails (easy to say from a safe distance, I know).
I have a shocking confession to make: I’m sorry, but it’s quite exciting to be in London today. And another one: the backpack was full of wedding invitations.
In the spirit of yesterday’s round-up, today we turn from the verbal to the visual.
There’s an achingly beautiful portrait by Visualmente, and a typically unblinking one by The Snowsuit Effort. SomethingInMyEye recalls David Bailey’s shots of 60’s London, while Don’t Panic calmly watches people calmly watching the flames. Quarlo and Fijaciones say something about solititude and prospects in cities old and new.
Finally, Happy Birthday and congratulations to Miles and Mute.