Moments in Henley-on-Thames

Lost in heartache? Immerse yourself in art. It's cliché, but I was reminded of that advice last week while in Henley-on-Thames. I had a few days off, and spent much of it on that stretch of the Thames Path, and in the River & Rowing Museum.

As I recall, the advice suggests that such exposure will lead one to the inevitable conclusion that human suffering is ubiquitous, and, importantly, survivable. What came to mind, after exploring some of Hockney's works, and reading Murakami's focused memoir, was how a more general sense of connectedness and wonderment can also come from those sorts of moments.

David Hockney: from the beginning takes up but one room in the River & Rowing Museum, and, at first glance, didn't seem like much. Close to three hours later, I left, my head abuzz. From the collection highlighting his fascination with water to his narrating footage of his creating an etching and having it printed, I found the selections absorbing and compelling. My favourite was A Bigger Splash (1973) - all 105 minutes of it, and worth every one. I loved its pace and simplicity, and the way his works came alive in it - the live-action mirroring of The Room and Beverly Hills Housewife, for example, and growth of Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures). And to think that all this was created when my parents were in the prime of their youth. I can't explain why that thought kept circling my head. It was all so vibrant, crackling with an energy all the more apparent in the measured stillness; in a word, it felt modern.

And the day before, I'd spied a tantalising, stylised road to the horizon on the cover of a Vintage edition of Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running on a rack in the bigger Oxfam shop in Henley. Walking the Thames Path, listening to the wildfowl, and the terse instructions from a coach astride a bicycle - gosh, that's awkward... Cycling coach doesn't work... Nor does becycled coach, I'm sad to say - to his rowing student, as they both easily outpaced me in a matter of moments, I was reminded of Murakami's joy in running without music. As he comments, one can't help but feel privileged - in my case, as I looked out over patchwork sunlight on the distant marsh. And, simply put, it's inherently uplifting to read about someone harnessing that much energy - both physical and mental - particularly at the age Murakami is writing about (and at the age I'm reading it!).

In summary, I'd hoped that the opportunity for a few days away in a new place would be a short vacation of sorts, and, between the outstanding weather, beautiful surroundings and chance encounters with art, came away with so much more.

I think I've got the care bug...

What's happened to me? I'm honestly unsure. I got back from a 3-11pm shift last night completely charged up. And then today I wrote the organiser of a work trip in March - to take students to a Cardiff Devils' game! - about the possibility of helping out - despite the fact that it's a 4pm-midnight shift, and I'm already down for an 8am-3pm shift that day. Whether I'd regret it on the day is an open question, but that I'm even contemplating it... It's, well, mind-boggling.

I'm completely unused to thinking about work this way.

And it isn't just work. More generally, I find myself wishing I had more time to volunteer. There are so many great organisations and causes right here in Gloucestershire, like The Butterfly Garden, that I still haven't given time to. And I do still have some free time. But, the thing is, I know myself: I need time to recoup; otherwise, those folks I'm trying to help simply won't get my best. I'm hoping my stamina will increase as I get used to this lifestyle, but the fact is that I've spent decades sitting around at work, and then at home on my own pursuits; it's a work in progress.

Then there's other time that is free, to a point. But those evenings - and every second weekend - are, well, really important to me. I've made a lot of mistakes in my personal life, but if I had to pin down the biggest, it'd be failing to properly invest in my relationships. Back then, it wasn't about any causes I was supporting - it shames me to say that, up until a few years ago, I was living entirely selfishly - but that tension is the same; and I don't want to lose sight of what's most important to me, hands down.

Phew. That got a bit heavy. Sorry 'bout that.

Another concern is that my current roster of charities really represent squeaky wheels, of a sort. In a nutshell, they responded quickly and often to my early offers of help. They're all great, and so I'm now struggling with the idea that I should probably step back from a few - particularly some of the weekly commitments - so that I can devote time to other causes. It's particularly difficult because the motivation is mostly selfish: I want to try new things. I landed my current job that way, and a big part of me wonders what else is out there that I might like and be good at; it'll likely be related to social care, but, my goodness, what a breadth of roles that covers, even with my limited understanding.

In summary, I need to either a) prioritise where I really want to help, or b) get my mind and body fit, so I can spend those days off more effectively, or c) clone myself... Or d) all of the above.

Ask your MP to support the Pavement Parking Bill!

December 4 is a big date for the latest Pavement Parking Bill! It's scheduled to have its second reading. As Guide Dogs have said, it needs 100 MPs, in Parliament, supporting it; a big ask!

Please write to your MP, asking for their support. I've included my letter below; feel free to pillage it as much as you like. :-)

BEGIN MESSAGE

Hello Mr Chalk,

My name is John Jarvis, and I live at [REDACTED- Make sure you include your full name and address, including post code! --JJ]

I know that you are concerned about the pavements of Cheltenham: just this summer you stated that improving their quality has to be a "top priority." Pavement parking is one of the main causes of damage to paving slabs, and is a major obstacle to not only the sight-impaired and blind -- as you experienced first-hand on your recent blindfolded walk -- but also families with pushchairs and those on mobility scooters.

In 2013, Guide Dogs released 'Parking Attitudes', which showed that 54% of those surveyed admitted to parking on pavements. Shockingly, over half of those people admitted to doing so despite considering the problems their parking decision would cause pedestrians. Certainly my own experience of guiding sight-impaired citizens around St Mark's and St Paul's in particular has reinforced this message: we simply cannot rely on others to park in a manner that isn't not only limiting, but also downright dangerous, for a great many of our fellow citizens.

Therefore, I hope I can count on your support of the Pavement Parking (Protection of Vulnerable Pedestrians) Bill 2015-16 at its second reading, now scheduled for Friday, December 4, 2015.

Kind regards,

John Jarvis

END MESSAGE

Update 08/04/2016: As you may be aware, the bill failed to pass its second reading. Mr Chalk had written me beforehand with his reasons for not supporting the bill; it was a well-reasoned letter, I must admit.

The latest news is that Guide Dogs is once again asking for your support! This time, they're looking to keep the pressure on DfT - and its Minister, specifically - to provide details on this research that's been promised, including when it will begin.

Peddling that lottery dream, or I feel dirty

I feel dirty.

I was scanning my RSS feed of the CBC's top stories when this title caught my eye: "How to plan your financial future after winning the lottery."

Initially, I just snorted and moved on. But then I stopped. Upset. Irritated. Why is my (old?) national news site wasting my time with this cruft? Surely the portion of Canadian tax dollars used to publish this pipe dream could be better spent? I mean, it turns out that it's a Canadian Press story, so I guess most of the work behind this story is funded by and serving corporate interests, but, still, the CBC is hosting it, right?

Just skimming the OLG site is enough to bring the corners of my mouth down. Again, I feel dirty. I mean, I can't be the only one who feels the glad-hands behind these sorts of statements (emphasis mine):

That is a description of OLG's mandated activities. Beyond that is the scope of our operations and the significant benefit OLG's revenues and our business activities bring to the social and economic life of Ontario. As you journey through different areas of this website, you will find ample evidence of the themes that guide OLG's day-to-day activities: integrity, social responsibility, world-class entertainment, a 'customer first' mindset, safety and security, strong community partnerships and investments, openness and transparency, and pride in history and tradition.

And, digging a little further, to their mission (again, my emphasis):

Second, OLG's net profit goes directly to the Government which uses it to support such services as the operation of hospitals; education, research, prevention and treatment of problem gambling; amateur sport through the Quest for Gold program; and local and provincial charities.

Am I the only one who would like to see the Ontario Government simply fund that stuff directly through tax dollars? I know, it's terribly simplistic, and the lottery has been around for a very long time, but, again, I just feel dirty. Hayek would probably say that the complexities of these problems, and the best means of supporting their solutions, are beyond the comprehension of any one of us; that we need to focus on the abstract indicator of profit to light our way, as it were. (I'm still trying to bottom his economic theories out, including the context surrounding their genesis, and whether the dawn of globalization in the 80s had him qualifying any of it.) But it just seems wrong: funding, and fuelling -- through all sorts of media -- these pipe dreams for the betterment of society.

Ultimately, and, likely, naively, I wish these energies could be applied to efficiently allocating our tax dollars, increasing or decreasing taxation as required.

Unfriended, and won't someone think of the children!

I had a very odd experience this evening. As is the way of these things, two distinct events, by their coincidence, have both increased in importance in my head.

I was walking home from the cinema, discussing the movie Unfriended with my partner, when I heard a "Hey you!" from across the street. I ignored it, and continued to press some silly point. The shout was repeated. I looked across the road and saw four kids aged between, maybe, 9 and 12. (I'm absolutely terrible at this sort of thing, mind.)

What followed was very confused, because: 1) we were attempting to communicate across two lanes of traffic, 2) I'm pretty sure they were using a British expression for some sort of tit-for-tat game with the soccer ball one of them held, and 3) I wasn't really listening very well, because, hello, there are some kids over there, yelling at me and gesturing like they're going to throw that ball into busy traffic!

And then they did!

And... I was going to say, over the honking, screeching traffic of my imaginings, but that isn't what happened. Over the cars that silently stopped and then moved on once the ball was out of their way, they shouted, "Throw it back!"

I guess one of their number must've run across the street to fetch it at some point, because, even as I launched into my "Boys..."

I'm not kidding, I really think I said, "Boys."

"You can't play in traffic! Someone will get hurt! Honest, this isn't a game!"

That last bit's a direct quote; I remember because part of me was thinking, "Really? Really? That's the best you've got?" I was just so upset and wrong-footed.

Even as I threw myself to these young wolves, I saw they had the ball again.

Until they threw it once more. With similar results. (Thank goodness!)

I was beside myself at this point. I think they could tell. I don't remember what I said, in response to their entreaty to follow their lead, but I suspect it was more of that terribly-compelling stuff about getting hurt.

When I look back on it now -- and after the post-mortem (not literally, thank goodness!) with my partner -- I'm sure their ringleader -- who didn't appear to be the oldest, interestingly -- was genuinely confused by me. Whether it was my accent, or that the guy in a hoodie actually turned out to be his dad, I couldn't say.

They then left us alone, amazingly (with hindsight). Even after a cyclist, who'd passed us as I was twisting my ankle on a curb -- I hadn't even watched where I was going, such was my concern for these budding misanthropes -- came back our way and, kicking their ball with him, said, "This is where you steal their ball." His expression screamed, "Wow, you don't get this much, do you? Might want to keep your head there, mate." I don't know whether they ever came back for it.

But it might not have gone that way, under other circumstances. I assumed I was the guy who would just ignore that sort of lot; that I certainly wouldn't provoke, nor even invite banter. But apparently I was wrong. Apparently, my outrage at such blatant public endangerment can reach dizzying heights. Either that, or my threshold for speaking out has dropped considerably since last I checked.

Which, honestly, is a probably the case, and a big surprise.

It's that most pedestrian of things, though, isn't it? I'm getting older. I cannot possibly relate to these kids. I couldn't conceive of acting with such blatant disrespect for others at that, or any, age. If I did, and it ever got back to my parents, a hiding would've been the least of my worries. I mean, obviously the air's thick with a failure to parent here, but, as hinted at earlier, again my coincidence presses with likely-false significance.

During Unfriended, I couldn't help but think that many of the compromising positions the central character had been caught in were, in the grand scheme of things, not so bad. Survivable, certainly. And here too is my complete failure to relate. That to unplug from a persona that's been completely razed is just as impossible as picking up and leaving a 'real' life when you're under your parents' roof.

Which all points to an underlying worry: how do you raise a child in this environment? How do you instill in them, sensibilities about the consequences of posting a video of their peer paralytic drunk in their own mess, or of throwing a ball into traffic? I'm being a bit facetious here, of course: I think I have a handle on the latter, but the former isn't so simple; it's tied up with all sorts of things, like when do you buy them their first phone? Are the instincts that I've developed, from my own childhood on -- "Shut that off and go out 'n' play" -- going to impede my own child's ability to make and nurture relationships, or worse, ostracise them?

I keep thinking that a neighbourhood of like-minded parents with children around the same age as mine would be most helpful. (That, or at least another generation of one or both of our families in very regular contact.) But then I remember that I don't really know any of my neighbours now, and many of those who I do have to interact with minimally, I don't like very much. But the point stands: this just doesn't seem like something one can do on one's own.

Work, and being "born to it"

I was helping out at our local Mencap social club the other evening when one of the other helpers came up to me and said, out of the blue, "You know, it's like you were born to this," or words to that effect. I'd just been playing a spirited game of what a few of the members call Wizer -- a sort of Beggar-My-Neighbour for many, I guess, although I'm notoriously rubbish at card games.

It was a wonderful moment, particularly as I looked to a time when I wouldn't be able to volunteer with them. (Or anyone else. The tl;dr is that the visa I hope to get won't allow it.) It's the sort of thing I never imagined anyone saying about me; just the opposite, in fact: up until last year, I'd worked in IT for a few decades, visibly struggling in many of those jobs. Some of that was down to trying lots of different roles -- some tangential to even the most generous definitions of computer science -- but I also think a good chunk was down to aptitude.

That may come across as a bad attitude, but hear me out: I believe that this last year or so has been one of the best of my life, and that a lot of that is down to me; my attitude, my perspective. When I say that I think I was working at pursuits that didn't really suit me, it isn't through a prism of regret, lamenting time wasted. I suspect that I needed that time, and those experiences, to properly assess what's now before me. And while I'm not certain, that hardly matters; time flows in one direction. One thing I will say, though, is that I think anyone, at any time in their lives, can benefit from dabbling.

Aptitude is tough to pin down. Contemplation can help, but only up to a point. Then, it's a matter of diving in. And that may seem like the most obvious statement in the world, but, trust me, it's been a profound lesson for me (and could be for others with a similar personality, I suspect). You want to be able to hash it out in your head, and you just can't; not completely. And, for me, the best bit has been when, with that yet to learn, you put yourself out there, and, out of the blue, someone tells you that you just might've found it.

Final thought: aptitude isn't everything. And applying it doesn't preclude rough days. But what I can say, from recent experience, is that having someone else point it out regarding a pursuit that you find very rewarding is an amazing feeling.

Getting people the help they need

Today I've had a lesson in how difficult it can be to get people the help they need.

Back in July of last year, I contacted Insight Gloucestershire about the befriending role they'd advertised for. By August, I was trained up, approved and ready. Initially, I got a few messages about a lady who might be interested in having visits, only she's very busy at the moment. That was great: if they're physically able, I think, ideally, you hope to build their confidence till you're out of a job, really, and it sounded like she was well on the way.

But that was it.

Later, through driving for Outlook -- Insight's young adults' social club -- I met some younger users. Last month, one of them said that, if I had some time on my hands, Guide Dogs was "desperate for people in Cheltenham." Their website didn't list anything closer than Gloucester, but, through the contact passed to me, I quickly learned that it was true.

I've just now returned from their My Guide - Level 1 training -- which, incidentally, is identical to the training I received from Insight last summer -- to learn that there's a woman who has been waiting to be matched up in the My Guide program since June 2014.

And she lives five minutes from me.

It's so upsetting. To think that this woman isn't suffering in silence, like so many sight-impaired people in this country; no, she's made the effort, asked for help, but because I offered my time and services -- call it befriending, or My Guide, or whatever; it's all the same thing, really -- to a different organisation, we both spent more than six months waiting.

Thanks to the people I've met through Insight, I now have some idea of how isolating these sorts of disabilities are; how low you can get. Six months could be an eternity. Guide Dogs was just telling me that the typical wait-time for a dog is a year. Waiting six months, a year, for some independence, for that little bit of help to build your confidence from, is something I really can't imagine.

I don't know what the answer is, but surely there needs to be some sort of front door that everyone -- users and service providers -- talks to, as a first step. Even if it simply routes them to the appropriate spot, a situation like this wouldn't have happened.

Volunteering with Yellow Submarine: six months on

As I read my earlier post about volunteering with Yellow Submarine again, the first thing that struck me -- well, the second thing, 'cause I had a huge grin on my face again after reading those holiday highlights -- was how little things have changed in the last six months.

People who know me will be scratching their heads -- in many ways, the last six months have seen more change in my life than in any other, or certainly since childhood -- but what I mean to say is in how I feel about the work I do with Yellow Submarine. In fact, it's inspired me to commit to finding full-time work in social care. And I say that with my feet firmly on the ground.

Certainly the rose-coloured glasses can be seen in that earlier post. I've since spoken to many people in social care, of course, and at least a few have tried to (gently!) point out that all the foibles of the world are represented in those we care for. (Of course!) Still, I maintain that were the proportion of kindness and generosity I've seen amongst those I've supported also true of the wider world, we would hardly recognise it.

And that's where I want to end this post (again): highlighting a few of the amazing people I've had the good fortune to meet through working with Yellow Submarine -- on ten holidays now, and many day activities -- and my local Mencap group:

A gift from Spa Club K.

• K. might've been born at a music festival, he was so at home during WOMAD. I'll never forget our walk to the main site one morning: suddenly K. has left the path, only to return with a wonderfully-costumed young lady in matching hoop skirt and parasol on his arm, looking pleased as punch.
• Just last week, I was lucky enough to meet D. as part of Yellow Submarine's Compass Project. We must've been chatting off 'n' on for close to an hour before he let drop that he was in a documentary; such an amazing person, and so modest! (It's called Ups of Downs, embedded below.)
• And last, but certainly not least, is K., from my local Mencap group (known as the Spa Club). He's a bit of a Renaissance man: he draws, paints, acts, runs half-marathons, keeps bees, will soon be coaching football... Rarely a week goes by that I'm not flabbergasted, learning of his latest project or yet another of his past pursuits. And then, the other week, he presented me with a drawing he'd made, for me.

I actually cannot express what this all means to me. I just feel... honoured to be a part of it.

Movie Review - Lucy (2014)

I first heard about Lucy on Zawinski's site; I stopped reading fairly quickly, but unfortunately he was really positive early on. Then he, or possibly someone else, brought up Her; I'd forgotten the context, but the point is that I'd really enjoyed that movie -- although I can see some of the criticisms that CGP Grey has raised -- and so, it's fair to say that when it came to Lucy, I had significant expectations.

(Besson himself isn't the best indicator for me: I remember really embracing Léon -- which I saw as The Professional -- but that was a long time ago, and it's difficult to know how much of the enjoyment I got from The Transporter and Taken is down to his writing.)

***** SPOILERS BEGIN *****

Opening with CGI was a mistake, I felt. My first thought was, "Oh no, I'm in another Marvel movie." But it got interesting quickly; very interesting. I think the first half hour of the movie is its strongest. There's real tension and threat, and a good pace with little exposition. And I really liked the cuts and interplay: a shot over the bow that things could get surreal, which this material lends itself to, I think few would argue.

Things start to fall apart shortly after the hospital scene. For me, that should've been a farewell to Lucy as we've known her. It's beautiful and poignant, that conversation with her mother. From then on out, it's going to be difficult to convince us that Lucy is in any danger. (That said, I did like the 'reminder' kiss later on -- that was a reminder for us too, and served to reinforce the transformation.) Besson ignores this at his peril, I feel, as the movie sags in the middle. The car chase should've been heavily cut; it was pointless in the face of Lucy's flawless performance. Similarly, while the first, aborted shootout really worked -- Lucy stopping it before it even began -- the second was just ridiculous; a chance to squeeze in some action where it had no place being.

Other than that shootout, however, things definitely picked up for the conclusion. Again, I liked the surreal bits. But what I keep coming back to, now, is Besson's ambition; he really reached with this, and almost got it, at times -- particularly in the opening, as I've said. What really lets him down in the conclusion is the music: it simply can't live up to the concepts he's presenting. He needs something like Sunshine's Adagio in D Minor or 2001: A Space Odyssey's Also sprach Zarathustra, and doesn't come close, in my opinion. He might've been better off using silence, at times.

Speaking of Kubrick -- and it was hard not to think of him, with the early appearance of the primitive Lucy -- I would've loved to have seen his take on this script. I also think Chan-wook Park could've done more with it. Again, it's on the surreal, trippy stuff that this movie lives or dies for me, and both of them would've grabbed that with both hands, I feel. I think it was with the overhead shot of Mr. Jang's body in the chair near the end that I realized I'd been thinking about Park for some time, but, with hindsight, it was obviously the casting of Min-sik Choi as well; I just didn't recognize him -- consciously anyway -- until the end of the movie.

***** SPOILERS END *****

With all that, you could be forgiven for thinking I didn't like the movie. Not so. I'm glad I saw it. There were some great... no, fantastic shots, and, as I've said, the opening was really strong. I'd just suggest you temper your expectations, going in.

Volunteering with Yellow Submarine: what it's meant to me

I'd talked about volunteering for years. I even gave up a few days here 'n' there. But that was part of the problem: my framing, however subtle or unconscious, was about losing.

And then everything changed.

I wanted to stay abroad, to stay in the UK, and volunteering -- being sponsored to volunteer -- was my best option. Filtering the list of licensed sponsors based on a reasonable commute left me with a few dozen options, from which Yellow Submarine quickly stood out. It just sounded fun. I wanted to know more.

I didn't know what to expect -- I had no experience with social care, or people with learning disabilities. From the first moment I contacted them, the staff and other volunteers have been so warm and welcoming.

It's hard to exaggerate the effect this experience has had on me. I really do look at the world differently now. These people I've met... the relationships they have with each other are so kind; so tender. Not all, of course, but most (by far), are courteous at the very least. And that's true of all the dealings I've had with the holidayers, without exception.

It's hard to credit -- or it was for me; and it isn't like I'm a cynical person by any stretch -- but I guess the simplest way to put it is that all the folks I've met -- and that's three groups now, not to mention the others I've met on days out -- approach others with a respect you don't often see these days. And I don't mean awe, or with a sense of inferiority; just with an appreciation of others' time. There's a gratitude in their exchanges that, frankly, I find so uplifting. You're just happy to know them. When the bus dropped me off after the Blackpool holiday, M. said, "Oh, John, I really going to miss you." It's a moment that still leaves me with a lump in my throat, in the best possible sense.

And then there's the pride that comes with volunteering for an organization like Yellow Submarine. The staff and volunteers I've met bring so much to the job. In my career, I've been lucky enough to work with some incredibly talented people, but there's something special about seeing those sorts of people apply their talents and energies in a pursuit that so obviously helps individuals and their families, day in, day out. It's truly inspiring, in a way that I can't say I ever really understood before now.

Incidentally, Yellow Submarine has just published a report based on a recent survey of affected parents, in the light of Oxfordshire County Council's warning that significant cuts to children's disability services are planned for late 2014/2015. To read some of the feedback in the appendices is to understand how much the holidays I help out on (as an example) mean to these people and their families.

I think I'll end this post with a few holiday highlights (thus far, and in no particular order):

• Seeing M. and M.'s faces as we walked out beside the pitch at Anfield, during our tour. This was quickly followed by excited, simultaneous jumping up and down and hugging, repeating "I can't believe we're here!" over and over. To play even the smallest role in bringing that sort of unbridled joy into someone's life is such a pleasure and privilege. A grin splits my face every time I think about it -- or write about it, apparently. :-)
• Hearing J. say that he didn't want to go home (at the end of the Dorset holiday), after having had a bit of a rough start, with many calls home. That excitement and those smiles were so rewarding.
• At Sea Life in Weymouth, having a lady stop me and, smiling widely, ask, "Is he always like that?" as G. shouted boisterous and heartfelt wishes from the sidelines to fellow Yellow Submarine holidayers and staff boarding a ride. He's amazing; so happy and selfless -- and I was grinning ear-to-ear as I relayed as much to her.

I can hardly wait for the next holiday!

I don't get it, and other dangerous ideas

I spent most of Christmas offline, and so missed the controversy surrounding Justine Sacco in late December. For anyone who isn't aware -- there must be a few dozen or so ;-) -- she was a public relations executive at the media company, IAC, prior to being sacked over a tweet that many -- including, importantly, IAC -- deemed "offensive" and "hateful". She has since apologized (through the South African newspaper, The Star, having deleted many of her accounts, including the infamous Twitter one):

... For being insensitive to this [HIV/AIDS] crisis — which does not discriminate by race, gender or sexual orientation, but which terrifies us all uniformly — and to the millions of people living with the virus, I am ashamed...

I find many aspects of this story, and the fallout, of interest:

• The Data effect or humour is tricky, and how the Internet exacerbates this, sending it well beyond our tribes and context;
• The intersection of the high of the Internet troll/vandal, mobbing and being seen to act; and, finally,
• Maintaining a pervious worldview: has the Internet changed anything?

I really liked the Guardian's column on the incident: Srinivas does a great job of tackling the difficulty with sarcasm, and with a worldview largely composed of stereotypes and sound-bites. Another great piece that stood out was on the Ethics Alarms blog (author's emphasis):

... [W]e each are responsible for [the cultural enforcement of ethical values;] thinking hard about right and wrong and joining in the shared societal duty of enforcing those standards that will ensure the best, happiest and most productive lives for as many people as possible. That process, however... requires the responsible application of the ethical virtue of proportion. We do not make society better by turning it into a fearful place where a single misstep brings abuse and shame down upon our heads from the entire community...

I do hope that we get to a point where we can forgive people their foibles, be they based in the immaturity of youth, a dark sense of humour or a momentary slip in the filter over an inner Allie Brosh.

Tasting notes - Cotswold Lion Brewery's Winter Woolly

I'd wanted to try this at the Strand the other night, but it was just going off. (As I understand it, it's their policy to order small, changing their six handpumps often.) Luckily, Favourite Beers -- "good friends" of the Cotswold Lion Brewery's, according to the latter's site -- had it in stock.

The nose was great: very bright, with hints of cinnamon, and possibly something of cloves. The head was fantastic throughout, no doubt due to the inclusion of wheat in the recipe. I felt there was some nutmeg in those first few mouthfuls, with a slight bitterness in the aftertaste. The mouthfeel was fantastic. As the bottle warns, there was quite a bit of sediment in the bottom -- just a bit of extra flavour in my books! All in all, a lovely pint for shaking off the last of a very blustery day!

Tasting notes - Prescott Ales' Winter and New Bristol Brewery's Super Deluxe Stout

I had my first opportunity to try Prescott Ales' seasonal Winter at the Sandford Park Alehouse today. It's a ruby stout, and a beautiful pint: deep red, with excellent head retention. The initial nose was overwhelmingly cocoa powder. That first taste was trickier: definitely a candied fruit of sorts; initially, I settled on strawberry, and, if I'm honest, found it a bit too sweet.

However, about halfway through the pint, the sweetness mellowed, taking on more cherry overtones. There was also some mocha in that long, lingering aftertaste, I think. Tasty stuff!

---

I also spied New Bristol Brewery's Super Deluxe Stout, and couldn't resist a taste. (At 7.0% ABV, I stuck with a half, though.) As the barman pulled it, he muttered, "That's the darkest beer I've ever poured." It truly did look like obsidian in the glass. As I breathed it in, my mind immediately went back to my mum's kitchen and the baker's (baking) chocolate she always had on hand.

That first taste was an explosion; honestly. I couldn't keep track of everything I was tasting: there was certainly a milder chocolate, and a fruitiness again, but, as with the Winter, I couldn't be more specific. What was clear in my mind was a word: delicious!

After a few minutes, I again settled on cherry notes, but tending to the very edge of medicinal in this case. There was marzipan in the aftertaste as well. About halfway through I picked up hints of nutmeg, which made sense, because I'd already been thinking it was perfect for the season. All in all, beautifully balanced, with great mouthfeel.

Tasting notes - Summer Wine Brewery's Rouge Hop

There's a cheeky note on the bottle about taste being subjective, and not wanting to presuppose what the drinker's "sophisticated palate" will pick out. Erm, not sure about that one, but I'll do my best.

The first thing that struck me about the nose was the hops; specifically, what I associate with Motueka hops. (Upon reading SWB's page on the beer, which states that it's dry-hopped with Simcoe and Cascade, I think I see where I went wrong: BrewDog's Punk was really a watershed moment for me -- and many others, of course -- and so those hop flavours have really stuck with me, and as New Zealand sourced, specifically. However, that said, Cascade are a big part of many other distinctive pale ales, including Sierra Nevada Brewing Co.'s, which I can also taste in the Rouge Hop, with hindsight. But I'm getting ahead of myself.) The other element I picked up in the nose was a bit of a nice red apple; say, a Royal Gala or Jazz.

There was some excellent bitterness in the flavour initially, but it falls off a bit too quickly, for me. There's also something very faintly metallic in the aftertaste; I don't know how to describe it, except to say that it reminds me of tap water I've had... well, somewhere away from home. (I'm not saying that's a bad thing, by the way; probably just further evidence to support that study I read fairly recently about how the water we grow up on, and its particular balance of chemicals, minerals, etc., will always seem right to us, regardless of any empirical evidence to the contrary. [Edit: I think I've found it; see below]) I'm sure I'd be treading on dangerous ground to speculate on the Yorkshire water...

That bitterness was nicely pronounced by about the halfway mark, incidentally, completely masking any of the aforementioned aberrations in the aftertaste.

---

On the taste of water:

The subjective nature of water tastes has been revealed regularly during taste testing, says Arthur von Wiesenberger... He reckons that we form subconscious memories of water. At a blind water tasting held by The San Francisco Chronicle in 1980, a highly mineralised, non-carbonated French bottled water was hidden among the tap water. It scored poor marks with all of the judges except one, who was French. For him it was the best-tasting and he commented that the water reminded him of home.

According to Wiesenberger, this demonstrates that our taste buds and brain have a strong recall, even with the subtle taste of water.

The article also discusses, at length, whether there's a north/south divide on the subject.

Tasting notes - Art Brew's Bristol Bock

Sorry: rinsed the bottle before shooting

Brewed for Bristol Beer Week, this was my first, much-anticipated taste of the small Dorset brewery's product.

There wasn't a lot to the nose, but what I did faintly pick up struck me -- oddly, I'll be the first to admit -- of bubblegum (à la Hubba Bubba). About a third of the way in, this had faded completely, replaced by a slight maltiness.

At 7.0% ABV, the lovely, silky mouthfeel was hardly surprising; the same goes for the pleasing warmth that began a few mouthfuls in. The aftertaste was superb, continuing far longer than I'd expected, progressing from predominantly malty to the mellow tang of raisins.

Tasting notes - Weird Beard Brew Co. and Sad Robot Brewing's Saison 42

I love saisons; period. With that distinct aroma and flavour that's clearly Belgian, but also (dangerously) refreshing, they typically embody everything about beer that excites and interests me. Add to that yet another reason to drop a palms-out "Don't Panic!" in conversation, and my heart's pit-a-pat before I've even found the bottle opener.

My initial impression of the nose was a bit rushed, as the bottle went volcanic upon opening. I quickly recovered, however, and once the head was manageable, dove in. I'm still green on the subtleties the various malts and yeasts contribute to the finished product -- on the latter, note that I'll be tasting BrewDog's Unleash the Yeast shortly -- but all the fruitiness I expected was there; particularly lime.

I've always been a fan of the Belgian mantra "For vitamins!" as they swirl and drink the dregs of any unfiltered or bottle-conditioned beer, and so ignored the bottle's instructions for separating the beer from its sediment. (Justin Hawke, of the Moor Beer Company, wrote an excellent treatise on the beauty of all drinks cloudy recently.) The result was, to my eye, indeed "orange-coloured," (the bottle, again) and chock-full of goodness. Bobec hops were used, and I noted a nice bitterness coming through as I got a third of the way in. Finally, that carbonation that initially gave me some gyp settled to a pleasing sharpness on the tongue throughout.

For more information on this great saison, check out Weird Beard Brew Co.'s blog.

Tasting notes - BrewDog's IPA Is Dead

This is cross-posted from another blog I used to write, in anticipation of a similar post about their Unleash the Yeast. Can't wait!

Having recently read about the Cicerone Certification Program State-side, and with the BrewDog four-pack IPA is Dead sitting in the fridge, I figured a lazy Sunday might be a good time to see what the ol' palate's capable of. Keep in mind that, until today, I'd have been hard-pressed to name more than a few varieties of hops -- the famous Saaz, and maybe one or two from Arbor Ales' awesome Single Hop Series. And, believe me, I'd enjoyed many a hop-tastic beer in relative ignorance. Still, for what it's worth, my fledgling notes on BrewDog's excellent pack -- in the order I drank them -- follow. I'll reflect on what I've read since afterwards.

• Motueka: full-on; what I love about Punk.
• HBC: of grass/greens initially; more bitter/acidic later. Less power than Motueka.
• Galaxy: more like Motueka, but again, less power; and brighter, with a citrus tang in the finish.
• Challenger: English, like a bitter, in the nose especially; tons stronger, though, with heavy citrus in the finish.

To be honest, I had some serious, cheeks-puffed-out, arms-raised moments of relief as I read the following on Wikipedia, BrewDog's site, etc.:

• Motueka: Punk is indeed made with New Zealand hops. I couldn't pick out the lemon or lime that BrewDog reference, though.
  
• HBC: I can see what BrewDog are on about with the sweet potato, but only in retrospect.
• Galaxy: really happy with this one as well, 'cause "citrus tang" should've read "grapefruit" -- hindsight again, yes, but you have to understand: my palate is notoriously muddled; getting that much is an accomplishment in my books.
• Challenger: another big win for me: not only pegging the locale, but also the lemon.

On the strength of this result, I think I'll move on to the aforementioned Single Hop Series from Arbor Ales; I know I like their Nelson Sauvin, but Favourite Beers has many shelves of others I've never tried.

Movie Review - The Counselor

As the credits rolled, and I was wondering why the cheetah handlers were listed so far down -- just above the caterers, in fact -- the attendant, pausing in his clean-up, asked me whether I'd enjoyed the movie. We were the only ones in the theatre by then, and as the few folks who'd taken in the matinee hadn't left him any significant work that I could see, I felt I had a few moments to reply.

"I think so," I said, after serious reflection, eventually nodding my head, as if some inner conflict was just then resolved.

I went on to say that I suspected I'd enjoy the book more; that the dialogue -- more soliloquies at times, really -- certainly grabbed me, and while I felt that some of the actors were able to carry it, many failed to capture the gravitas. I'd put Rubén Blades, Bruno Ganz and Javier Bardem (in that order) in the former category, and, in the latter, certainly Pitt and Diaz. Diaz in particular had a very tough role to play, and while I don't think she did a terrible job, many of her scenes were too light, too airy. Scott surely has a role to play in that as well; her world was undoubtedly purposely clean and sharp for contrast, but I just felt that maybe in the camera angles, or possibly the soundtrack, some of her awful emptiness needed to be conveyed.

Now, if I hadn't glanced at Rotten Tomatoes before heading out, I doubt I would've pulled that out; I would've been overwhelmed with, as some of their top reviewers state, the script's lack of cohesion, and, thanks to an enormous cast, its inability to get any real investment from us. Ultimately, it struck me as a collection of McCarthy's favourite passages -- and don't get me wrong; I think many of them are doozies! -- which is hardly a recipe for a great film.

I notice that the Coen brothers adapted No Country For Old Men, and that McCarthy's only other screenplay is almost as old as me. I think that's significant. Still, I was serious when I said I think I'd enjoy the book; some of that dialogue was fantastic. Maybe I'll start with his Pulitzer-Prize-winning The Road.

Canada and the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TTP) Agreement

Some shouting on Tumblr caught my eye this morning. It was the first I'd read about the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TTP) -- I know, I'm living under a rock (on the other side of the pond, in a land that hasn't signed up to it, to be fair). Free trade agreements are great polarizers -- I sought out rocks to live under as a kid, yet well remember the Chicken Littles of NAFTA -- and this one is no exception: unsurprisingly, there are Intellectual Property issues; we've been dealing with U.S. pressure in this arena for most of my adult life, it seems. Apparently, there are also farming concerns. (In Japan, farmers have been protesting for years against their country's inclusion in the TTP, which was just ratified this summer.)

(The cartoon is by Greg Perry, and courtesy of The Tyee.)

One of the many things I missed regarding the TTP was the public consultations. Geist says IP/copyright was the hot topic. As others have stated, the biggest concern for me is all the secrecy that surrounds the agreement. Yes, as CBC reporter, Curt Petrovich, raises, the negotiations themselves require it, but surely any fruitful consultation would've required information on our conditions for entry, the associated cost-benefit analyses, etc. Otherwise, statements like this sound more like platitudes:

Gerald Keddy, the parliamentary secretary to the trade minister, insisted that Canada's marketing boards will be protected.

"Let's be clear, we've signed free trade agreements with nine countries around the world and we've been able to look after supply side management in every single one of those," he said.

Particularly in the light of this sort of reporting:

For two years, Canada has been lobbying heavily to get into the talks. The Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade balked at the onerous demands coming from Washington, but in the final days the file was taken over by the PM's chief of staff who was dispatched to Washington to secure Canada's entry, apparently at any cost.

Sight unseen, the government of Canada has agreed to accept any negotiating text on which the nine current members have already reached consensus. According to the USTR, this includes all agreed ("unbracketed") text within chapters that are still open, not just completed chapters. To date, only one chapter has been completed.

Still, I'm coming to the party late, and I'd be lying if I said that securing trade with the Asian market at any cost sounds completely wrong-headed.

The Best Canadian Comics or Humans just keep on creating

In typical fashion, I've spent the morning crawling in and out of the rabbit holes of my mind. (I'm not well today, by the way, so this may get weird.) It started with The Best American Comics 2010, which arrived in the mail last week; the inside cover art, specifically, which is called the endpaper, apparently. I never knew that. Don't know whether I like the name, to be honest, since it's also inside the front cover. Anyway, I found Theo's blog, then was looking up a few of the other artists, like James Kochalka -- yes, I'm sure I've read his stuff before, but the ones that Gaiman picked out for BAC 2010 had me falling in love all over again -- when I thought, why isn't there a Best Canadian Comics? (I'd just read Rebecca Kraatz's Snaps and thought it deserved to be in such a 2011 anthology, at the very least.)

Well, it didn't take me long to find the Doug Wright Awards -- again, holy embarrassing that that took so long, but at least I know all about winners like Seth and Michel; oh, and Rebecca won their Best Emerging Talent award in 2007! Nothing else that big really jumped out at me, so I decided to write them then and there. We'll see what they say, but it wasn't long after that that I realized that BAC actually accepts North American submissions, and that publications like The Devil's Artisan and publishers like Drawn & Quarterly and Conundrum Press already do a pretty good job of promoting Canadian talent. (Check out the former's whopper of a Year In Review post, for example; not limited to Canadian pubs, granted, but still awesome.) Still, an anthology couldn't hurt, right?

Then, as always happens when I dive in the pool that is my stack of to-read comics, I get completely overwhelmed with all the cool stuff I've been missing while reading sci-fi, travelogues, etc.; particularly when I find their blogs and follow a dozen recommendations down the interwebs. And that's when I realize that that old monkey I'm still afraid of, but need, to spur me on, Mr. Well Read, is growing. And he isn't sticking with the soapbox favourites like:

• You say you love Golding, but you still haven't read The Spire;
• There's more to Shakespeare than you studied in school, you know; and,
• Really? You still haven't picked up that lovely edition of Moby Dick?

No, every year now, there are a few more must-reads; soon to be 'Classics', whatever that means these days, in their own right.

This isn't a lament, by the way. Like I said, I need the monkey to egg me on, the slow, easily distracted reader that I am. No, if anything, it's a blessed time to be alive. Doubly so if you love comics.