Sorry. Terrible Fiddler's Dram reference there.
My heart lifts when I get catch the train to Bangor. Well, after Crewe, anyway. The landscape turns from pancake flat to coastal and mountainous, one horizon expands while the other towers dramatically. In the foreground, tatty caravan parks in places like Rhyl and Towyn have a seedy charm of their own, while mighty Eryri appears from behind the clouds (if you're lucky). The sun shone for me on Saturday - crossing Conwy harbour, it warmed the walls of the medieval castle and sparkled off the sea. I saw a massive heron lazily perched on a small boat, waiting for dinner to fin past.
Bangor itself is not dramatic or overly picturesque, though it nestles in a narrow strip between the Menai Straits and the foothills. A faux-Norman castle, a lovely old pier, the Cathedral and the university provide some drama and relief from the pebbledash, but it has a small-town charm of its own.
The sunny day wasn't exactly wasted, but Ms. Owen, Ms. Lloyd and I spent it in a sophisticated bar, largely gossiping until Vicky drove us up to the Premier Inn, a soul-destroying place if ever there was one. From the carpark onwards, you could have been anywhere in the world - even the trees weren't local. To emphasise the alienation, Vicky and Aimee forced me to watch something called Animals Do The Funniest Things while we got ready. Sorry to spoil the suspense, but they don't.
In contrast, we headed to the Greek Taverna for a drink. Quite literally, it is a shaggy, maze-like stone-built Greek Taverna hidden in a row of old houses in Upper Bangor - a unique place. The beer is just about bearable, the food is lovely and the atmosphere stunning.
Super Furries review up next - with some photos
Monday, 19 October 2009
All's right with the world
Well, obviously it isn't, but I've had a good few days after the intense pressure of last week. The sun's shining and it's a beautiful crisp autumn day. Leaves are piling up and the chill is invigorating.
Added to that, I've been to the theatre with my friends and then had a weekend in beautiful North Wales with more friends.
The Revenger's Tragedy was… interesting. The play itself is dark, bloody and malevolent - brilliant. The production was… rubbish. Very poor acting for the most part, as though melodramatic lines required melodramatic acting (or in some cases, speaking the lines as though they were in an unfamiliar and unpleasant language). The set consisted of a curtain and four chairs. More than a third of the audience left at the interval, including one of my many bosses, but not including, unfortunately, the drunk posh schoolchildren who talked loudly throughout, despite my feisty chum Hilary requesting them to 'cut it out, arseholes'! After that - a fine curry and a nightcap at my place, where my library was criticised for its shortage of Shelley (guilty).
Added to that, I've been to the theatre with my friends and then had a weekend in beautiful North Wales with more friends.
The Revenger's Tragedy was… interesting. The play itself is dark, bloody and malevolent - brilliant. The production was… rubbish. Very poor acting for the most part, as though melodramatic lines required melodramatic acting (or in some cases, speaking the lines as though they were in an unfamiliar and unpleasant language). The set consisted of a curtain and four chairs. More than a third of the audience left at the interval, including one of my many bosses, but not including, unfortunately, the drunk posh schoolchildren who talked loudly throughout, despite my feisty chum Hilary requesting them to 'cut it out, arseholes'! After that - a fine curry and a nightcap at my place, where my library was criticised for its shortage of Shelley (guilty).
Friday, 16 October 2009
Brooker vs. Moir!
The evil, homophobic, slimy 'story' about Gateley by Jan Moir has been annoying pretty much everybody in the country today - now Charlie Brooker's weighed in. He can be a bit too 'look at me' at times, but this piece is a cracker. As a taster, this is his experience of reading the article:
Which pretty much sums up my feelings every time the Mail is mentioned. The Mail was, of course, too cowardly to publish the piece in the Irish edition - perhaps they thought nobody over here would mention it to the family.
Don't forget, everybody: this paper supported the Nazis, Mosley and Enoch Powell. Its editor 'feels our pain' about the rich staying rich through the recession but just bought a 15,000 acre (yes, fifteen thousand) Scottish estate for £3.5m.
It's like gazing through a horrid little window into an awesome universe of pure blockheaded spite. Spiralling galaxies of ignorance roll majestically against a backdrop of what looks like dark prejudice, dotted hither and thither with winking stars of snide innuendo.
Which pretty much sums up my feelings every time the Mail is mentioned. The Mail was, of course, too cowardly to publish the piece in the Irish edition - perhaps they thought nobody over here would mention it to the family.
Don't forget, everybody: this paper supported the Nazis, Mosley and Enoch Powell. Its editor 'feels our pain' about the rich staying rich through the recession but just bought a 15,000 acre (yes, fifteen thousand) Scottish estate for £3.5m.
Sarcastic yet entirely hypothetical Friday conundrum
Imagine that an institution was instituting swingeing cuts (say, 250 jobs), cutting modules and degree courses, generally making staff unhappy, reducing classroom contact time and increasing class sizes. Then try to imagine how students might feel about all that.
Now put yourself in the chair of the student newspaper's editor (print run 250). You might feel that this is a news story. After all, it's been in the local paper, the regional papers and the Times Higher Educational Supplement, as well as on regional television.
Next, imagine that you're a university official. Do you tell the editor:
a) we respect the freedom of the press. Publish away.
b) we value students' opinions. Let's see what they think.
c) we disagree with you, but the students' union is the independent voice of the student body so we can't stop you
or
d) if you publish any of this, we'll take disciplinary action and possibly legal action against you.
I edited my union paper for a while. Many of the students' union officers strongly objected to what I printed. One accused me of working for MI5 (I'd cancelled the star-signs thing, whatever it's called), others printed a special edition rubbishing my claims (I've since been proved right). Once or twice, pressure was applied by the university when they didn't want embarrassing stories covered, but not once did anyone ever threaten my academic career, or consult lawyers.
Any thoughts?
update: The Union Newspaper...
Now put yourself in the chair of the student newspaper's editor (print run 250). You might feel that this is a news story. After all, it's been in the local paper, the regional papers and the Times Higher Educational Supplement, as well as on regional television.
Next, imagine that you're a university official. Do you tell the editor:
a) we respect the freedom of the press. Publish away.
b) we value students' opinions. Let's see what they think.
c) we disagree with you, but the students' union is the independent voice of the student body so we can't stop you
or
d) if you publish any of this, we'll take disciplinary action and possibly legal action against you.
I edited my union paper for a while. Many of the students' union officers strongly objected to what I printed. One accused me of working for MI5 (I'd cancelled the star-signs thing, whatever it's called), others printed a special edition rubbishing my claims (I've since been proved right). Once or twice, pressure was applied by the university when they didn't want embarrassing stories covered, but not once did anyone ever threaten my academic career, or consult lawyers.
Any thoughts?
update: The Union Newspaper...
Ben! Stop messing with my head
Thanks to his gift of Katie Price's Perfect Ponies, Amazon now recommends more Katie Price, alongside books about Letter Carving and typography, thanks to my previous purchases. At some point their computer will blow up in the face of the contradictions. Perhaps it thinks I'm planning a monumental (well, it would have to be) statue of Jordan, with an inscription in Comic Sans…
I've just finished teaching for the week. For the poetry seminar, I'd asked the class to bring in poems which were important to them. They surpassed my expectations. Eliot, Silkin, Betjeman and some by amateur poets. Silkin's 'Death of a Son' brought me near to tears, the selection from The Waste Land was a fascinating example of modernist writing and Betjeman's 'Slough' was serious and funny. Agard's 'Half-caste' was a great poem to talk about poetry as its practiced and read. The students talked about the poems emotionally and intelligently: a success.
Here's the Silkin (1955) and you can hear the poet reading it here (about half way through the recording):
Death of a Son
(who died in a mental hospital aged one)
Something has ceased to come along with me.
Something like a person: something very like one.
And there was no nobility in it
Or anything like that.
Something was there like a one year
Old house, dumb as stone. While the near buildings
Sang like birds and laughed
Understanding the pact
They were to have with silence. But he
Neither sang nor laughed. He did not bless silence
Like bread, with words.
He did not forsake silence.
But rather, like a house in mourning
Kept the eye turned in to watch the silence while
The other houses like birds
Sang around him.
And the breathing silence neither
Moved nor was still.
I have seen stones: I have seen brick
But this house was made up of neither bricks nor stone
But a house of flesh and blood
With flesh of stone
And bricks for blood. A house
Of stones and blood in breathing silence with the other
Birds singing crazy on its chimneys.
But this was silence,
This was something else, this was
Hearing and speaking though he was a house drawn
Into silence, this was
Something religious in his silence,
Something shining in his quiet,
This was different this was altogether something else:
Though he never spoke, this
Was something to do with death.
And then slowly the eye stopped looking
Inward. The silence rose and became still.
The look turned to the outer place and stopped,
With the birds still shrilling around him.
And as if he could speak
He turned over on his side with his one year
Red as a wound
He turned over as if he could be sorry for this
And out of his eyes two great tears rolled, like stones,
and he died.
I've just finished teaching for the week. For the poetry seminar, I'd asked the class to bring in poems which were important to them. They surpassed my expectations. Eliot, Silkin, Betjeman and some by amateur poets. Silkin's 'Death of a Son' brought me near to tears, the selection from The Waste Land was a fascinating example of modernist writing and Betjeman's 'Slough' was serious and funny. Agard's 'Half-caste' was a great poem to talk about poetry as its practiced and read. The students talked about the poems emotionally and intelligently: a success.
Here's the Silkin (1955) and you can hear the poet reading it here (about half way through the recording):
Death of a Son
(who died in a mental hospital aged one)
Something has ceased to come along with me.
Something like a person: something very like one.
And there was no nobility in it
Or anything like that.
Something was there like a one year
Old house, dumb as stone. While the near buildings
Sang like birds and laughed
Understanding the pact
They were to have with silence. But he
Neither sang nor laughed. He did not bless silence
Like bread, with words.
He did not forsake silence.
But rather, like a house in mourning
Kept the eye turned in to watch the silence while
The other houses like birds
Sang around him.
And the breathing silence neither
Moved nor was still.
I have seen stones: I have seen brick
But this house was made up of neither bricks nor stone
But a house of flesh and blood
With flesh of stone
And bricks for blood. A house
Of stones and blood in breathing silence with the other
Birds singing crazy on its chimneys.
But this was silence,
This was something else, this was
Hearing and speaking though he was a house drawn
Into silence, this was
Something religious in his silence,
Something shining in his quiet,
This was different this was altogether something else:
Though he never spoke, this
Was something to do with death.
And then slowly the eye stopped looking
Inward. The silence rose and became still.
The look turned to the outer place and stopped,
With the birds still shrilling around him.
And as if he could speak
He turned over on his side with his one year
Red as a wound
He turned over as if he could be sorry for this
And out of his eyes two great tears rolled, like stones,
and he died.
Just for Ben
Reading his comments on Plashing Vole about music, you'd think he listened to nothing but Timberlake, Dizzee Rascal and P-Funk, and that I listen to nothing but wet indie lo-fi. But I've seen Ben's music collection, and it's far from being as cool as he seems. He even married a Belle and Sebastian fan, so there's obviously room for sentiment.
I listen to a huge range of music, I just don't go on about it on here because I suspect most of you wouldn't be interested. However, just for Ben, I'm currently listening to Cerys Matthews' new one. In Welsh.
I listen to a huge range of music, I just don't go on about it on here because I suspect most of you wouldn't be interested. However, just for Ben, I'm currently listening to Cerys Matthews' new one. In Welsh.
Carter-Ruck are back, back, BACK!
Less than a week after trying to ban any reporting of a parliamentary question about their client Trafigura's poisoning of 30,000 Ivorians, they've written to every MP and peer claiming that as the matter is 'sub judice', MPs can't have a debate about the affair!
Er… does that mean that nobody - MP or not - can talk about any matter that's moving through the courts? Can our elected representatives not choose to discuss whatever's important to this country? Not according to Carter-Ruck.
Luckily, the Speaker's pretty clear:
Which is élite-speak for 'go fuck yourselves'.
What I don't quite get is why Trafigura think this is good for their company? Perhaps as esssentially very bad men engaged in a filthy business, public opinion doesn't matter, but they aren't making any friends - and the Tory MPs who'll (unfortunately) be in government soon take affronts to Parliamentary authority very seriously indeed.
Er… does that mean that nobody - MP or not - can talk about any matter that's moving through the courts? Can our elected representatives not choose to discuss whatever's important to this country? Not according to Carter-Ruck.
Luckily, the Speaker's pretty clear:
"It is not sub judice under the house's rules ... There is no question of our own proceedings being in any way inhibited."
Which is élite-speak for 'go fuck yourselves'.
What I don't quite get is why Trafigura think this is good for their company? Perhaps as esssentially very bad men engaged in a filthy business, public opinion doesn't matter, but they aren't making any friends - and the Tory MPs who'll (unfortunately) be in government soon take affronts to Parliamentary authority very seriously indeed.
Jan Moir, PI
Ewarwoowar, good chap that he is, got his hands dirty by reading an article in the Daily Mail, which - as we've previously established - is the world's lowest, most hypocritical newspaper.
Jan Moir discusses the death of Steven Gateley, an unexceptionable Irish former pop star, who dies suddenly from pulmonary oedema while on holiday with his (male) partner, aged 33. The death was declared to be from natural causes by the coroner.
Except by highly-qualified pathologist Jan Moir. In a masterpiece of deduction ('young gay men don't die of natural causes'), she announces that Gateley was murdered, and names a Bulgarian man as the murderer (the Mail doesn't like foreigners, gays, and especially gay foreigners), which I'd have thought was pretty actionable. She accuses the family of hushing it up to avoid shame (they 'maintain' and 'insist' that there's a family history of heart failure), and then declares that Gateley's demise isn't 'natural' (her speech marks) because 'as a gay rights champion' (evidence?) it proves that civil partnerships don't work.
That's right. A young man's death proves that civilised recognition of same-sex partnerships is wrong, according to this self-styled Champion Of Gays.
As always in these evil pieces of 'journalism', it's all about insinuation of the nastiest kind. For the first time, I'm recommending that you go over there and attack, attack, ATTACK!
Jan Moir discusses the death of Steven Gateley, an unexceptionable Irish former pop star, who dies suddenly from pulmonary oedema while on holiday with his (male) partner, aged 33. The death was declared to be from natural causes by the coroner.
Except by highly-qualified pathologist Jan Moir. In a masterpiece of deduction ('young gay men don't die of natural causes'), she announces that Gateley was murdered, and names a Bulgarian man as the murderer (the Mail doesn't like foreigners, gays, and especially gay foreigners), which I'd have thought was pretty actionable. She accuses the family of hushing it up to avoid shame (they 'maintain' and 'insist' that there's a family history of heart failure), and then declares that Gateley's demise isn't 'natural' (her speech marks) because 'as a gay rights champion' (evidence?) it proves that civil partnerships don't work.
That's right. A young man's death proves that civilised recognition of same-sex partnerships is wrong, according to this self-styled Champion Of Gays.
As always in these evil pieces of 'journalism', it's all about insinuation of the nastiest kind. For the first time, I'm recommending that you go over there and attack, attack, ATTACK!
In the Wildersness
A while back, I had some fun at the expense of Nazi Alan B'stard lookalike, Geert Wilders, who was turned away from the UK for being a grubby little racist demagogue.
Now he's back for a bit of nose-rubbing with British scum - the UK Borders/Immigration service has decreed that he's allowed in - presumably on the basis that one more racist won't make that much difference.
No doubt Mr Wilders will claim that he's not racist, he just hates Muslims. In that case, I assume that his manifesto will call for the expulsion of all white Dutch converts to Islam. It's just too glib - like Christianity, Judaism and all the other faiths, there are groupings and sects ranging from the token to the fanatic, and there are individuals ranging from the Mass-every-day (my mother) to the weddings and funerals only brigade. Wilders, however, agglomerates all Muslims into one giant, scary THEM, despite the evidence that immigrant and minority groups tend to take on the attitudes of the country to which they move.
One more thing: Wilders lives in the Netherlands. Why can't he take the train to the UK? It takes 2-3 hours, whereas the plane requires two hours check-in, baggage reclaim, travel in to the city. His country will sink first of the European states!
Now he's back for a bit of nose-rubbing with British scum - the UK Borders/Immigration service has decreed that he's allowed in - presumably on the basis that one more racist won't make that much difference.
No doubt Mr Wilders will claim that he's not racist, he just hates Muslims. In that case, I assume that his manifesto will call for the expulsion of all white Dutch converts to Islam. It's just too glib - like Christianity, Judaism and all the other faiths, there are groupings and sects ranging from the token to the fanatic, and there are individuals ranging from the Mass-every-day (my mother) to the weddings and funerals only brigade. Wilders, however, agglomerates all Muslims into one giant, scary THEM, despite the evidence that immigrant and minority groups tend to take on the attitudes of the country to which they move.
One more thing: Wilders lives in the Netherlands. Why can't he take the train to the UK? It takes 2-3 hours, whereas the plane requires two hours check-in, baggage reclaim, travel in to the city. His country will sink first of the European states!
They use my bathroom!
This is stunning (via Pharyngula): a judge in - well, you guess the country - refuses to marry interracial couples but says he isn't racist:
I know that the US is much more democratic than the UK - and this can be the result. A registry officer in this country would be sacked and charged with several offences for this, quite rightfully. I trust this one's going to a higher court.
"I'm not a racist. I just don't believe in mixing the races that way,"Bardwell told the Associated Press on Thursday. "I have piles and piles of black friends. They come to my home, I marry them, they use my bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else."
I know that the US is much more democratic than the UK - and this can be the result. A registry officer in this country would be sacked and charged with several offences for this, quite rightfully. I trust this one's going to a higher court.
Yo! Bumrush the show!
Good morning, children. I can almost see light at the end of this week's tunnel, and what a week it's been. The latest on the redundancy front is that the uni has threatened to advance the compulsory redundancy phase if we keep saying nasty things about the vice-chancellor (such as calling on her to resign). Oooh, scary!
Neal turned up last night, tired, hungry and beardy after spending a week with the hippies at CAT, eating lentils and building his test walls (he's doing an MSc. in sustainable building). I fed him meat, made him use a cup and saucer as part of my drive to live in a civilised fashion, and he's probably still asleep. I wish I'd spent the week in Wales with hippies!
Rather shamingly, I found the passport I'd lost 5 or 6 years ago. Having blamed my former landlord for accidentally chucking it out, it turned up as a bookmark in a biography of Samuel Beckett…
Tonight, a little more culture: The Revenger's Tragedy at the Arena theatre in Wolverhampton, followed by curry with my sophisticated and suave colleagues Ben, Frank and Hilary. It's by Thomas Middleton (it used to be attributed to Tourneur), was first performed in 1606 and is still considered shocking, dark and violent. Highly recommended.
Then tomorrow it's off to Bangor University, for its 125th anniversary: there's a discussion between novelists James Hawes and Philip Pullman which I might not arrive in time for, then Super Furry Animals performing in the main hall. My friends Aimée and Vicky are also attending, so we'll have a good gossip as we haven't got together in a very long time.
Neal turned up last night, tired, hungry and beardy after spending a week with the hippies at CAT, eating lentils and building his test walls (he's doing an MSc. in sustainable building). I fed him meat, made him use a cup and saucer as part of my drive to live in a civilised fashion, and he's probably still asleep. I wish I'd spent the week in Wales with hippies!
Rather shamingly, I found the passport I'd lost 5 or 6 years ago. Having blamed my former landlord for accidentally chucking it out, it turned up as a bookmark in a biography of Samuel Beckett…
Tonight, a little more culture: The Revenger's Tragedy at the Arena theatre in Wolverhampton, followed by curry with my sophisticated and suave colleagues Ben, Frank and Hilary. It's by Thomas Middleton (it used to be attributed to Tourneur), was first performed in 1606 and is still considered shocking, dark and violent. Highly recommended.
Then tomorrow it's off to Bangor University, for its 125th anniversary: there's a discussion between novelists James Hawes and Philip Pullman which I might not arrive in time for, then Super Furry Animals performing in the main hall. My friends Aimée and Vicky are also attending, so we'll have a good gossip as we haven't got together in a very long time.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
More Sad Hits
(That's an in-joke, by the way - the title of another Damon and Naomi album). However, here's an even sadder song: Low covering the execrable Bee Gees' song, I Started A Joke to stunning effect. There's also a faster version on their recent DVD which is, weirdly, even more melancholy.
Low are a great band. Utterly sad and intense, and two-thirds Mormon, one-third recovering heroin-addicted Mormon, yet so utterly ROCK. I've loved them for years, but only saw them once, in the swety upstairs room of a rubbish pub in Wolverhampton. The place was so packed that once rooted to a spot, you stayed there (stuck to the floor). Acquiring a beer meant passing a £5 note backwards. Eventually it reached the bar, and a glass would begin the return journey, reaching you with probably two-thirds of the liquid remaining. The non-Mormon in the band would sometimes furtively swig from a can, braving the glares from his bandmates, and between them they produced the loudest, loveliest noise I've ever heard.
Low aren't the only band to cover I Started A Joke: here's Faith No More doing a rather fine version!
Low are a great band. Utterly sad and intense, and two-thirds Mormon, one-third recovering heroin-addicted Mormon, yet so utterly ROCK. I've loved them for years, but only saw them once, in the swety upstairs room of a rubbish pub in Wolverhampton. The place was so packed that once rooted to a spot, you stayed there (stuck to the floor). Acquiring a beer meant passing a £5 note backwards. Eventually it reached the bar, and a glass would begin the return journey, reaching you with probably two-thirds of the liquid remaining. The non-Mormon in the band would sometimes furtively swig from a can, braving the glares from his bandmates, and between them they produced the loudest, loveliest noise I've ever heard.
Low aren't the only band to cover I Started A Joke: here's Faith No More doing a rather fine version!
Guess who's back…
OK, I'm not feeling that cocky, but at least it's over. Turns out I'd prepared several more hours lecture material than the two scheduled, and I'm pretty sure I've sucked all the fun out of Much Ado About Nothing by the simple means of over-analysis (with a side-order of New Historicism), but the job's done, and they're a great bunch of students who are polite enough not to throw fruit when I assay a pun…
Damon and Naomi, amongst my very favourite melancholy singers, did a song called The New Historicism. They also did one on Lacanian psychoanalysis called The Mirror Stage. Neither are recorded on the web, but here's their version of Sandy Denny's No More Sad Refrains, which is lovely.
Damon and Naomi, amongst my very favourite melancholy singers, did a song called The New Historicism. They also did one on Lacanian psychoanalysis called The Mirror Stage. Neither are recorded on the web, but here's their version of Sandy Denny's No More Sad Refrains, which is lovely.
Youtube isn't just for fat kids trying out dance moves, you know
This is Stile Antico, the new kids on the block currently dominated by The Sixteen and the Tallis Scholars
Sophisticated media - same old users.
All hail Maxi Sopo, who updated his Facebook status to tell all his friends about his new home. As you do.
Unless, of course, you're a fugitive from justice, like Mr. Sopo. He'd skipped off to Mexico. One of his friends works for the US Department of Justice. Now he's back under lock and key.
Morning all! It's ten hours since I was last in the office, meaning that I spent much longer at work than at home over the last couple of days. I'm genuinely thinking about bringing a pillow in so I can nap under the desk. I tried that over the summer and it worked very well, apart from banging my head on the underside every time someone knocked on the door.
Unless, of course, you're a fugitive from justice, like Mr. Sopo. He'd skipped off to Mexico. One of his friends works for the US Department of Justice. Now he's back under lock and key.
Morning all! It's ten hours since I was last in the office, meaning that I spent much longer at work than at home over the last couple of days. I'm genuinely thinking about bringing a pillow in so I can nap under the desk. I tried that over the summer and it worked very well, apart from banging my head on the underside every time someone knocked on the door.
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Books as balm to heal
Just got Östergren's The Hurricane Party, a future dystopian retelling of Norse mythology. One day I'll even get round to reading it…
Room meat
I nicked the phrase from In The Loop. It's the practice of stuffing a meeting with extra bodies to make the principals feel valued.
I've had a very bad day. Apart from a swim at 8.30 (a minute slower than usual), I've co-organised a big union meeting and took the minutes (more stuff to type up), and attended another soul-sapping departmental meeting. At least the union meeting brought us some militant joy - motion for holding a ballot to call for the V-C's resignation passed nem con. The departmental meeting was Foucauldian - all these brilliant teachers and scholars forced to spend an hour and a half trying to work out the intentions and mistakes of a management class which has zero interest in students or our own wellbeing. Fatuous, flaky ideas become fact, as we collude in deskilling ourselves and undereducating our students, despite being able to spot the gaping flaws a mile off. Nobody in that room wants to be a bureaucrat, nobody wants to dumb down our courses, yet a management knife is being held at our throats.
However, it's 4.45: time, finally, to get down to some actual academic work, and prepare the Shakespeare lecture. How wonderful it would be to have the time to read widely and prepare well in advance, then circulate it to the support staff with plenty of time. But no - late and rushed is the way the university appears to want it. It's just such as shame that I'm prevented from doing my best - why should the students?
I've had a very bad day. Apart from a swim at 8.30 (a minute slower than usual), I've co-organised a big union meeting and took the minutes (more stuff to type up), and attended another soul-sapping departmental meeting. At least the union meeting brought us some militant joy - motion for holding a ballot to call for the V-C's resignation passed nem con. The departmental meeting was Foucauldian - all these brilliant teachers and scholars forced to spend an hour and a half trying to work out the intentions and mistakes of a management class which has zero interest in students or our own wellbeing. Fatuous, flaky ideas become fact, as we collude in deskilling ourselves and undereducating our students, despite being able to spot the gaping flaws a mile off. Nobody in that room wants to be a bureaucrat, nobody wants to dumb down our courses, yet a management knife is being held at our throats.
However, it's 4.45: time, finally, to get down to some actual academic work, and prepare the Shakespeare lecture. How wonderful it would be to have the time to read widely and prepare well in advance, then circulate it to the support staff with plenty of time. But no - late and rushed is the way the university appears to want it. It's just such as shame that I'm prevented from doing my best - why should the students?
Copenhagen - the coercion starts here
When the various anti-terrorism laws were set in place, the government promised everybody that these powers were to cope with a limited, awful problem. Some idiots believed it. Perhaps one of them (though I doubt it), was Chris Kitchen, an environmentalist activist.
Amongst those with other ideas were the police, who realised that the Terrorism Act 2000 could be used to harass and obstruct anyone with whom they have an ideological disagreement. They don't need to go about the hassle of charging, court appearances, juries and all the other checks and balances which attend the prosecution of justice in a democracy.
Mr. Kitchen was on the bus to Denmark when he was hauled off it under the Terrorism Act to see whether he was a terrorist. On protesting that environmentalism isn't terrorism, the officer informed him that 'terrorism means a lot of things' - which a) isn't true and b) demonstrates the inevitable creeping use of oppressive laws to stifle citizens' freedom of movement and expression.
Sure, it's an isolated case - so far. A fair few hundred people are heading to Copenhagen, and they're not terrorists, just people who want to remind those in the motorcades and fancy hotels that more than just votes are at stake. Time for the police to remember that their duty is to the public, not to those with whom they agree.
Amongst those with other ideas were the police, who realised that the Terrorism Act 2000 could be used to harass and obstruct anyone with whom they have an ideological disagreement. They don't need to go about the hassle of charging, court appearances, juries and all the other checks and balances which attend the prosecution of justice in a democracy.
Mr. Kitchen was on the bus to Denmark when he was hauled off it under the Terrorism Act to see whether he was a terrorist. On protesting that environmentalism isn't terrorism, the officer informed him that 'terrorism means a lot of things' - which a) isn't true and b) demonstrates the inevitable creeping use of oppressive laws to stifle citizens' freedom of movement and expression.
Sure, it's an isolated case - so far. A fair few hundred people are heading to Copenhagen, and they're not terrorists, just people who want to remind those in the motorcades and fancy hotels that more than just votes are at stake. Time for the police to remember that their duty is to the public, not to those with whom they agree.
Wacky Wednesday's here again
Hello all. Despite the mirth occasioned by the Perfect Ponies discussion, today's one of utter misery. Four meetings, one of which I'm partly leading (yuck) and all of which are going to be awful - redundancy, restructuring the curriculum etc. etc. then an all-nighter finding a way into Much Ado for ver kids, because actual teaching and intellectual struggle comes a very poor second to bureaucracy in this place. No time even to go fencing. Grrr…
Any listening to/reading the new Hitchhikers' Guide sequel, by Eoin Colfer? Cynical Ben is, and isn't impressed. I haven't received my book, but quite like the radio adaptation so far.
Any listening to/reading the new Hitchhikers' Guide sequel, by Eoin Colfer? Cynical Ben is, and isn't impressed. I haven't received my book, but quite like the radio adaptation so far.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Neigh thank you…
I confess myself confused. 'Fess up!
In other book news, I've received a replacement for my missing The Day of the Triffids, Angela Carter's Shadow Dance (to my shame, I thought I had everything she wrote) and a free copy of George Ritzer's Globalization: A Basic Text, which will be good for students.
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