The Sunday Reflection #95 - Pubs, Pubs, Pubs - and what you can learn from visiting nine of them in one night!

 Last night, I visited nine pubs and had a drink in each one. We were on one of my best friends sons stag night. A group of fifteen of us dressed up as characters from the Super Mario game and went on a pub crawl organised by his other son. You may think that this is a strange topic for a Sunday Reflection, but I learned quite a lot and I really wanted to share it. We were on Brighton. We emerged from our Airbnb at 7pm and headed to the first of the pubs. We were on a tight schedule. The first pub we passed was not on our itinery. It was the Golden Cannon. It's in the heart of LGBTQ+ district, but is a proper old style pun , which wouldn't seem out of place in Burnt Oak. The locals saw us and and rushed out and invited us in, amused by our outfits. Given the warm welcome, we had to oblige. The scheduled beer for the first stop was a pint of Guinness. As I rather like Guinness, this went well. A local put One Step Beyond by Madness on and we all did the conga around the pub and down the road. The guvnor then gave us a round of Baby Guinness shots. It was a brilliant start. We then moved on. As we made our way down the street, people were stopping us to have their picture taken with a group of fourteen blokes, all dressed as in silly attire.

Now I am not going to bore you with the details of the other pubs and drinks, but I will share a few things.  Three of the venues we visited were not on the list we had planned. They saw us and invited us in because the saw we were good natured and having fun. We went in and I guess we spent £200 in each. We also had a great crack with all of the locals. All of these pubs were independent. We went in one pub, which we didn't feel especially welcome in. It wasn't a party atmosphere and I guess if you want a quiet pub, you don't want 14 blokes being silly. They did serve us, but it wasn't the vibe for either us or them. O'Neils refused to let us come in. It was pretty clear that they had decided that we were 'too large a group' to let in, despite the fact that it was clear that we were good natured and having a laugh. The other large chain we went to was Wetherspoons. Although they let us in, there was a scowling member of security standing by us for the entire duration of our visit. I found it quite antagonising really. I rarely drink on Wetherspoons, and it sort of confirmed my prejudices that Wetherspoons lacks atmosphere and is not really much fun. 

Another one of the highlights was an impromptu stop at The Little Havana bar for some impromptu Karaoke. As the night was warm and dry and we were having a good crack, quite a few revellers joined in. The bar owner got into the vibe as well. 

It was a brilliant night. I go to a lot of pubs and clubs, not usually so many on one night and I don't normally drink as much in one sitting, but such occasions are to be savoured. It confirmed my views of the large pub chains, which are run by people who don't drink in them. Soulless and dull. I also love quirky pubs, community pubs and best of all, bars with a bit of music on. I get that students etc, on a low budget, love a 'spoons' but to me they are horrible. 

What I found interesting was the different attitudes of the door staff. The big chains had aggressive door staff that were keen to assert their authority. The smaller pubs had doormen who saw we were up for a crack and got into the spirit with us. I get that the big chains have 'policies' but anyone who has spent any time around pubs at all can see straight away who is going to be a problem and who isn't. I believe that a visit to the pub should be good for the soul. If all it does is suck the energy out of you, then it is a bit self defeating. 

The bottom line for me was that we stopped by for drinks in nine different places and seven of them were a great crack. Perhaps the most interesting thing is that all had their own vibe. All were unique, apart from the 'Spoons' which just felt like you were in a 'Spoons', which is great if you like that sort of pub. I don't. I realised that I don't actually go to the pub to drink. I go to the pub to have a crack. Pubs that don't really want people having fun are not really for me. 

The Sunday Reflection #94 - Being happy isn't easy!

 A rather strange thought occurred to me this morning, and I thought I'd explore it further. The thought "Being happy isn't easy". You may think that is a strange thing to say, but I was contemplating the times in my life when I've been truly happy. If we remove romantic dalliances from the equation (which ultimately require a lot of hard work), I was musing on the recent rehearsal I had with The False Dots. It was exteremely productive and I went home buzzing. We completed a new song, which I absolutely love. At the end of the rehearsal, our trumpet player Tom commented as I drove him to the pub "that was hard on my voice". Tom was singing the new song. I apologised. I tend to be a bit of a slave driver when working on arrangements. Tom said "Oh no, it's great to get things together". Some of my happiest moments have come as a result of being in a band and I really don't think people appreciate how much work goes into making music.

Similarly, in my former working career, I used to work in IT support on real time payments systems. Often I ended up with the difficult jobs and fixes, the ones other people had struggled with. I used to see it as a challenge. One particular problem, I actually had a dream about the fix, woke up, checked things and realised I'd dreamed the solution. It had seemed almost impossible to fix. Sadly my boss turned down the overtime request for my time a'kip. But I used to get a real buzz and feel happy when I completed a hard job.

With our studio business, it has been a massive achievement keeping it running for  47 years. There have been times when it seemed that all was lost, especially when lockdown hit. I've learned to keep calm and work twice as hard. There is a myth that the route to happiness is to have no responsibilities and nothing to do. It would kill me. I thrive on pressure and putting myself to the test and I feel happiest when I come through. And when I fail? I try and learn and get it right. When I used to play football, I'd always play in defence. I used to love playing against skillful forwards and working out their tricks and stopping them. When I got to 33, I played against a young whippersnapper, who was incredibly quick and had great feet. Nothing I could do would stop him. I was dejected. Six months later, we played the same team and it turned out he was now a professional playing for Charlton. I felt a bit better. But it also taught me that you have to accept your limits! Knowing yourself and doing your best, is in my opinion the key to success. But for me a big part is having someone who supports me as my partner is the magic ingredient. Neither of us is perfect, but we work well as a team. I'd recommend that

The Sunday Reflection #93 - Waking up with a feeling of deep trepidation and doom

 What is going on? I woke up with a sense of deep trepidation. A feeling that everything is about to go terribly wrong and that there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop any of it. I was in a state of total panic. There was no rational reason, but I am a deeply superstitious person and I believe that we do get inclings of bad things in the pipeline. 

I got to thinking about my Dad. In our last proper conversation he told me about the night his bomber was shot down. In the morning, his reaar gunner and best mate Spud Murphy told him he'd had a terrible nightmare that they'd been shot down bombing the oilfields in Ploesti, Romania. He told Dad that he was in the turrets dying in flames with machine gun bullets in his chest. The crew were on their last mission and Dad wanted to get home. Spud begged Dad to skip the op if Ploesti was announced as the target. Dad told him that he couldn't, just because someone had a nightmare. When the target was announced, Spud turned white and was terrified. Dad told him that it would be fine and they'd all be going home tomorrow. 

As they approached the target, a bizarre thing happened. In the co-pilot, another pilot from his squadron, Jack Scheider, who had been shot down the previous week appeared. He said to Dad "Laurie, it's a killer the way these Wimpeys go down". Before he could react or process the information, a German night fighter attacked, shooting out an engine and the rear turret. Dad did the standard evasion manouvre, but the fighter attacked again. The crew bailed out. apart from Spud. Dad just got out in time. He told me that as he was bailing out, he said a prayer to the Virgin Mary, asking to be spared and to be given his three score and ten. When Dad was recounting this, he said he was now worried. He was 69, in his three score and tenth year. The deal was about to expire. Rather like Dad told Spud, I told him not to be silly. 

I then said to Dad "That must've been the worst day of your life". He looked at me and welled up slightly. He said "Oh no, when your Mum was diagnosed with cancer and the Doctor told me she would be dead within three years and we had to make arrangements, that was worse". I was surprised. Dad explained "When you are a bomber pilot in a war, you are prepared and trained for such things. You become hardened as you see mates in other crews die, when you are shot down, you are too busy trying to survive to worry too much. When Mum was ill, I was totally unprepared and had no control. There was nothing I could do". I was shocked to silence. Dad then said "I was lucky though, I spoke to Fr Traynor (and elderly catholic priest and Dad's best friend). He told me that when there is no hope, you always have prayer. Pray for Gods mercy and the strength to do the right thing whatever". 

Dad then said "Never forget that, when all seems lost. Prayer will always get you through". At the time I was an atheist. I didn't want to insult Dad and tell him it was all mumbo jumbo. What struck me and made me re-examine my views on such things, was the extraordinary resilience and strength my Dad had. He never really seemed to be phased by anything. I always had the feeling that whatever happened, he'd find us a way through. Whatever I may think of his faith and sometimes strange religious ways, it worked for him in a way that was undeniable. What was odd was that he combined aspects of Roman Catholicism with superstitions of the local aboriginal population where he was born in the outback of Australia. He believed he could make weather. He would turn off the radio if "The Sun aint gonna shine anymore" came on. He believed that you could kill people just by wishing them dead, but if you did, your soul would be bound to them and you'd likely end up in hell. He believed that any deal made with God was unbreakable, but you had to be careful, as he found out with his 'three score and ten' deal. He didn't return to Australia after the war until 1976, as a gypsy had read his fortune before he left and told him that if he left, he'd never returned. My mother told me that on the flight to Australia in 1976, he told her that the plane would crash and it was her fault for not trusting the Gypsy curse. Mum dismissed it.

Which brings me back to this morning. I was lying there in an abject sense of panic. I thought of Dad and that conversation and took his advice. I said a prayer. The panic eased and I felt more able to face the day. Bad things may happen. Bad things always happen. We face them and we do what we can to get through them. One of the things my Dad cautioned me with was "Whatever happens, stay calm and composed and make rational decisions. You can't stop bad times, but you can get through them and good times will come again". 

I feel a lot better now. Have a wonderful Sunday. I hope nothing bad happens to you, me or anyone we love today. Here is a little piece of punk rock, written in my bedroom, with my then bandmate Pete Conway, as we drove my poor old Dad mad learning guitar. This was pretty much a diatribe against his views on everything, as I was a disaffected teenager. I have come to the conclusion that it was me who was probably WRONG!

The Sunday Reflection #92 - Who are the traitors?

 I used to work a stones throw from the Tower of London. I had to actually walk through it to get to my office from Tower station. Oddly, I've never been inside to see the Crown jewels. In fact I have a deep aversion to the building and it gives me the creeps. I am not silly enough to want to see it demolished and replaced with a block of flats, that would be ridiculous, but the building has a terrible history. I am not quite sure whether this aversion dates from my times at St Vincent School, where Irish nuns would regale us with tales of British inhumanity and injustice, and how heads of 'traitors' would be placed on spikes outside the tower, as a warning to anyone who might consider opposing the monarch of the day. 

It may also have been down to the fact that an ancestoral relative of mine, Chidiok Tichborne, a poet and an opponent of Queen Elizabeth the first was held in the tower and hung, drawn and quartered for his role in the Babbington plot. For me, I have always felt an affinity with Chidiok. He is 400 years (almost to the day) younger than me. He was an idealistic young man, who wanted a better world. Chidiok joined the Babbington plot in response to Queen Elizabeth banning Roman Catholicism. It seems insane in this day and age that a Christian religion, which had recently been the state religion could be banned and the followers persecuted, but that was the climate in which Chidiok lived.

My father, a proud Roman Catholic, always mentioned with great pride that three Tichbornes are listed as official Roman Catholic Martyrs in the annals of the Catholic Church, Chidiok was the most high profle, but Thomas Tichborne, a Catholic Priest and Nicholas Tichborne, who helped spring him from prison, were also executed by the English state. Catholic worship was banned in England until 1781 and in 1829 Catholics were once again allowed to hold public office.

I am not a historian, however I think there are some important lessons to be learned from history. If we do not learn such lessons, then we may make the same mistakes again. I find the concept of people killing each other over religious differences to be completely sick. The fact that there are many places in the world this still happens is a stain on humanity. Fortunately, Catholics and Protestants seem to have moved on (although there are still tensions in places like Glasgow and Northern Ireland). In England, the main cause of the schism was the dispute between Henry VIII and the Pope over the annulment of his marriage. By most measures, now we'd consider Henry to be a psychopath and a sociopath. He had ultimate power and could exercise it in England as he saw fit. 

What the Nuns at St Vincents never really taught us was that there was more to the Potestant cause than just Henry's loins. The Vatican at the time was a deeply flawed institution. Many such as Martin Luther felt that it had lost its way and was more about maintaining unstitutional power than spreading the message of peace and love. When I researched the issue, I was quite disturbed to find that the deeper I dug, the more I agreed with Luther's criticisms of the Church. Had I been around at the time and heard Luthers criticisms, I may well have lined up on his side. As both the Pope and Henry weilded power without balances and checks, Europe descended into a dark period of religious war. 

Fast forward to 2026. We have Donald Trump as the most powerful man on the planet. He fires anyone who disagrees with him. He has launced a war against a theocracy in Iran, where the Mullah's control the country and have a despised religious police to enforce their edicts. The more I see of Trump, the more he reminds me of Henry VIII. He is partial to a wife or three. He portrays himself as a ' defender of the faith' whilst completely ignoring the basic principles of the religion (fhonesty, forgiveness, faithfulness). 

More worrying for me, is the demonisation of Islam on social media. I am not a Muslim, but I know many honest, decent and caring people who are. I believe that seeing their religion constantly being abiused by people who know nothing about it, is extremely dangerous. Given the history of this century, it would be naive and stupid to deny that there are a small minority of very dangerous radical islamists who have shown themselves to be hellbent on causing death and destruction. But they are a tiny minority in their community. There are similarly dangerous, mentally unstable people in all faith communities. The history of England has plenty of examples of religious crime. Sadly, if we look at nations such as the USSR and China, which adopted atheism as the national faith system, it is no better. 

To me, the lesson is that unchecked power is the problem. Whether that power is hard power, as used by Donald Trump, or soft power, where people submit to "infallible religious authority" my view is that without checks and balances, people are repressed and death and misery follows. 

I started this blog discussing The Tower of London. It's most famous entrance traitors gate, was where many entered to meet their fate. It may seem strange to some that the last person executed at the Tower was in living memory,  was Josef Jakobs, a German spy, who was shot by a military firing squad on August 15, 1941. I believe that the term traitor is much misused. To me, a traitor is someone who willfully sells out friends or a principle for a degree of personal gain. My ancestor Chidiok Tichborne did not betray his beliefs. Of course if you try and assinate a monarch and get caught, it will not end well. But to me he is not a traitor. His poetry, inspired the final song on my bands new album. His poem, written the night before his execution, makes up the middle eight. This one is for you, my spiritual brother.

Traitors (To The Tower)

 
The darkest secret is the one that you hide from yourself
You're terrified that it will emerge from the back of the shelf
We built those walls of stone to keep the fear in
But it's the cancer in our soul that denies the truth of our sin
 
The tower holds the jewels
But its meaning is a tool
And behind the smiling face
Are the darkest of places
 
The darkest secrets of our kings and queens
 
(The Tichborne Elegy)
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made;
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
 
The tower holds the jewels
But it's meaning is a tool
And behind the smiling face
Are the darkest of places
 
The darkest secrets of our kings and queens X 4

The Sunday Reflection #91 - Careful what you wish for in life

 A few years ago, I was having a sort out of the junk I've acquired over a lifetime. I found a bunch old school books from my time at St Vincents. My kids were appalled at how inept I was at writing. I wrote about it and gave an example in one of my dyslexia blog series. In one of the other books, our teacher asked us what we wanted to bewhen we grew up. I think my answer may shock you. I said "I want to have a shed and a pond in my garden". Interestingly. I have 2 sheds and 2 ponds these days, so I can confidently say I have succeded. You may think that this shows an extraordinary lack of ambition. I think it shows a maturity far beyond my age. I wanted something achievable, which would bring me great joy. What I really wanted was a shed with a workbench and lots of tools that I could sit in all day making and mending things, then a very large pond I could go fishing in after a day in the shed. Sadly, I've not acheived that level of shed/pond ownership and in truth my interests have changed. But there is a small part of me that would love that.

I recall being humiliated by the teacher who set the problem. They felt that this was not something to aspire to. They wanted me to say I wanted to be a bank manager, an estate agent or a motor mechanic. Some of the class came up with some wonderful dreams of jobs. A few wanted to be builders like their Dad's, others wanted to be racing car drivers and footballers. The teacher treated such unachieveable dreams as far more sensible than mine. They were complimented on their ambition. When I was fourteen, I had a career counselling session at Finchley Catholic High School. I recall it well. The teacher asked what I wanted to be. I said "An astronaut". I had learned from my previous experience. Once more I was berated. This time for being stupid and selecting something that was completely unrealistic. I still have the sheet of paper. Suggested options? Mowing lawns for Barnet Council or working as a motor mechanic. Shortly after, I discovered Punk Rock and I knew exactly what I wanted to be. 

I wanted to be in a punk rock band, with a beautiful wife and a great gan of mates. I wasn't bothered about being rich, I just wanted to play gigs in small clubs and have fun. Like the pond, I have achieved it. There are downsides, though. When you get to sixty three, you still love doing gigs, as I did yesterday, but you suffer for your art. My back, knees and ankles hurt like hell, after all the jumping around and lugging gear. We had a blast though, and that is why I will do it until I can't (or no one will play music with me).

As for having a beautiful wife, that has it's downside. It's bad enough when people say "what on earth is she doing with you?" it's even worse when you are having a drink with a drunken mate and they tell you of their undying lust for your missus. I used to take such comments as a compliment, but I've always kept a beady eye on them after! And having a great bunch of mates. Well you have to work on that and often, I end up drinking far too much as I feel I have to be part of the gang and I don't want FOMO. It will probably be the death of me. But in truth I am lucky.

I have mates who's biggest dream was to have a well paid job. They liked the idea of the cash, but the downside is that it takes over your life. They missed the best bits of their kids growing up. For some, it lead to the breakdown of relationships and abject misery. It also lead to the neglecting of friendship groups, leading to isolation. I bumped into an old school mate on the tube. Successful, well off and totally miserable. He was telling me how it all went wrong in his life. I felt quite sad. Then he started boasting about his cars and his money. I felt even sadder, he'd become a crashing bore. He was very sniffy about me playing in a band. I think he assumed that I actually lived in a shed and my toilet was a bucket. 

A female colleague I used to work with had a different dream. She wanted a fancy wedding. She was obsessed with the idea. She chose a man who was photgenic. She forced him to go to a local church that was pretty for a year, so they could marry there, even though he was an atheist. The wedding and the reception were the most fancy I've been to. When it was done, she realised that  what she wanted was a big day, where she was the centre of attention. The drudgery of married life and kids was not for her. She decided it was all her husbands fault. He was a steady bloke, great job, generous, pleasant, committed father, etc. She decided he was too boring for her and left him and the kids. I bumped into her a couple of years after the divorce. She confessed that she'd only married him for the fun of the big day. She'd not thought about what comes next.

And ther elies the rub. If you want a shed and a pond, apart from the odd bit of maintenance, you know what you are getting yourself into. If you want a fancy wedding, you then have a spouse to live with. If you get a well paid, important job, you get a load of brain damage and stress with it. My Mum once gave me a very sound bit of advice. She said "When you are making important life decisions, always think about where they will leave you in ten years time". Now in ten years time, I'll be 73. For me, right now, the financial decisions I make in the next couple of years will decide whether I'll be living in the shed then. Will I still be in a band. I hope so. I hope my wife, kids and friends are all still fit, fun and healthy. I hope we look back on the current period as a bit of a blip on the road of life, and the idiots and conflicts that dominate our news channels have become items for the history books.

Nothing lasts forever. The last decade for me has been a mixture of terrible and absolutely fantastic. I think that is the way of life. I've had personal challenges, business challenges, the world has seen pandemics, bad politics and financial pressures. But the times with famaily, friends and band have been fantastic.  For me, it is our best ever recordings. Ten years ago, when the Brexit vote was the big news, I couldn't have predicted the good or the bad things that have dominated the last few years. At the time, I wrote a blog, in the aftermath of Brexit, where I posted a message of hope. Although my optimism has had a battering since then and I am more cynical, I think it is still basically true. The loudmouths will always be heard and the quiet, reasoned people drowned out, but that doesn't mean they are the majority. It has long been said "Careful what you wish for". In truth, these days, I wish for little, health and happiness. If the Good Lord is listening, which I am sure they are, I hope that they hear my wish. I hope that if it is granted, it is in a way that makes everyone on the planet just a little happer and healthier as well. I cannot sign off without mentioning England and the World Cup. Come on England, put in a good performance. Mexico are one of the teams I prefer. It is a country I hope to spend some more time in. I hope our fans make us proud, whatever happens.

Keep the faith.

 Yesterday saw a real pinnacle on the journey, with the launch of The False Dots new album "We don't live in America". We are reaping the fruits of involving our Trumpet player Tom Hammond in the songwriting process. I've been previewing the album on the blog recently. I'd really appreciate a listen and a like. Please check it out

The Sunday reflection #90 - Would the world be a better place if Christianity had never emerged

 A good few years ago, I was having a beer in the pub with a mate of mine, an avowed atheist, who occasionally, when the mood takes him, decides to try and wind me up about religion. Personally I think the world would be a better place if we didn't try and force our views on other people, I try not to, but he is a wind up merchant and has always mistaken my reticence to discuss my desire to discuss such things in the pub as a sign of weakness, rather than respectful good manners ( when he reads this, I am sure the statement will wind him up no end, which is a very good thing as far as I am concerned).

Given that my personal creed is largely based on trying to be a decent human being, to do a bit of good if I can and to try a live and let live, I've never really sought to study the bible or any other religious text to justify my actions. I think it is all pretty simple. I get a lot of personal benefit from attending church, not least an hour when no one bothers me in the week. It is good to learn who is not well, who has passed away, etc. Last year, I reconnected with one of my best schoolmates from Primary School when I saw his Mums funeral announced in the parish newsletter. I get why people can't stand the whole thing, and respect that we all walk different roads.

Anyway, back to my mate. He said to me "You do realise that Jesus didn't rise from the dead and the world would have been a better place if all of his followers had just gone back to being fishermen, rather than going around peddling fairytales". I don't know if he expected me to get upset at this notion. Unlike many Christians, I realise that just because various accounts are written in various books, people do make stuff up. But that wasn't the thing that interested me in the proposition. Just suppose they had taken what probably would have been a very logical course of action if they'd followed my mates advice? What would have happened to the world? Well firstly, there would have still been the ten commandments and the Jewish religion. That had been around for a few thousand years and I doubt it would have disappeared. 

It is part of the human condition to seek answers. These days we largely do it through scientific practices, but the practice of science in its current form is a relatively new development. It developed largely through the development of education and universities. Oxford University does not have a single founding date or a specific founder. Instead, it evolved organically starting in the late 11th century as scholars gathered in the city to study theology, philosophy, and the liberal arts, driven by the church's need for educated clergy. Oxford is the worlds third oldest university. Bologna is the second.. Again it was founded to teach canon law etc. The oldest is actually in Morocco, the University of al-Qarawiyyin, which is over 200 years older than both, but was a Madrassa, teaching Islamic studies. Oxford added chairs of science in the 1600's. It can be argued that this was the starting point of what we may consider the modern world.  That is not to say science didn't exist. You only have to look at some of the ancient wonders of the world to see that very clever engineers had their heads around scientific principles, but centres of excellence are needed for science to flourish and this grew out of places that were originally studying theology. 

None of us can hazard a guess how all of this would have developed if Christianity had simply never existed. The fact that there are a myriad of other religions and philosophys such as Budhism, Hinduism, Zoriastrianism, etc that do not really share a common ancestry with Christianity shows that people have always liked the idea of some sort of formal religion. I believe that the mass of people who have followed Christianity for the last 2000 years, especially until the modern concepts of athiesm developed, would have simply found something or someone else to believe in. As no one knows what the alternative future would look like, no one can really say it would be better or worse. My own personal view, is that it would probably be worse, but if we look at China, which is an ancient civilisation, with little Christian infulence, it functions and is an ordered society. I visited China in 1991 and chatting to some of the Chinese people we met, all of whom were authorised party members and heavily vetted, I was fascinated to find that forty years of a Communist government and a state sponsored atheistic state had made them far more superstitious than us silly Westerners. 

I was keen to know if they were superstitious. Knowing many Chinese love gambling, I asked about this and sure enough, you can remove religion, but basic superstitions are far harder to deal with. In fact, I think in some ways Christians are far less superstitious ( I know many atheists will disagree on the basis that they see Christianity as a superstition), but I don't know anyone who's day will be ruined if their bus ticket has an unlucky number. In Japan, a country I've not visited but again one that has no Christian tradition, society is far more regimented and organised that in Britain. People kill themselves when they lose face and it is almost impossible to break out of the social strata you find yourself in. It has many good things, it is a very safe society, but I can't say that I fancy living there. 

If I think of the countries that seem to have a culture where people enjoy themselves, I think of places such as Ireland and Brazil. All have strong Christian traditions. One of the benefits of Christianity is the concept of big festivals. As I'm the man who wrote a song called "We all love a party", I realised that my upbringing ingrained the concept of having a big party at the drop of a hat. Although Christmas is not a religious feast for most Brits, we still have the muscle memory. Now of course there is a good argument that the Church just nicked the festival from the Vikings and their celebration of the equinox. I don't think too many will argue that dumping the Viking traditions of raping and pillaging, but keeping the party is a good thing. 

So to sum up. As it is impossible to argue that Christianity hasn't had a massive influence on the deelopment of society over 2,000 years and we have no idea what would have happened if it wasn't around, we can only speculate. I explored some of these ideas with my mate. He had to conclude that without Christianity it was more than possible that some alternative religion that was less benign may have taken hold and we'd all still be in the dark ages.  He changed his position to be that Christianity should have been abolished (along with all of the worlds other religions), when educated people started to decide it was a load of old nonsense. I was surprised at this rather illeberal take on the subject. If people decide religion is not for them, that is fine. I went to a school that tried rather clumsily to brainwash me. The fact that I do not get upset when people say things such as my mate said in the pub indicates they've failed. But a situation where we had the controls on religion that China and the USSR had would be far worse, as far as I am concerned.

The thing I've found most strange of all about religion and faith is that those who try and ram it down your throat are generally those with the least real understanding of it. They often have a complete lack of natural empathy so don't realise how annoying they are to the rest of us. I had to throw one of the out of the studio reception not too long ago for bothering other customers and dishing out religious leaflets. When I asked him to leave, he got quite irate and told me I was stopping him saving people. In actual fact, I found him far more annoying than my mate who tries to wind me up.

The Sunday Reflection #89 - Something to look forward to?

What makes us human? We are living in the age of the rise of AI and there is much talk about AI achieving sentience. There are AI chatbots that appear to be human to those interacting with them. We already have the technology to make robots that have the physical appearance of a human being, can be programmed to act like a human and do many of the tasks that human beings do. Who knows, such andriods may already walk amongst us. If such a robot looks human, behaves like a human, talks like a human and no one can spot it's a robot, is it a human? Is it a sentient being. I used to work for a company called SPL International, a software company. They had a subsidiary called "British Robotics". It sounded very exciting, but the systems they manufactured were automation products for manufacturers such as British Leyland cars. The year was 1983 and we were living through the rise of Thatcherism. My boss told me that there was a bright future for British industry, as we were world leaders in industrial automation. This was the future. We'd have huge factories, where the only staff would be the security guard on the front gate and a few staff to service the robots and make sure they were oiled. 

I said "What will all the workers do?". He said "Every time there has been a technological revolution, the same question has been asked, people always find something to do". He explained that in 1800, the UK had an extensive network of Stage Coach routes.. There was a huge economy built around them, estimates of over 100,000 horses being used to run routes between cities, ports, etc. As railways started replacing the stagecoach routes, the stagecoach operators started campaigning against them, saying it would destroy the UK's economy, if all of those horses were made redundant. Instead we got the industrial revolution and the UK became the worlds wealthiest country. 

Sadly, he was wrong. Margaret Thatcher decided that the UK should not be making anything and rather than being automated, our factories shut down. The people that used to work making things largely moved to working in call centres, answering phones. Now we have AI to do that, we all know what a joy it is chatting to chatbots. Invariably, they waste ten minutes of your time and then you get put onto someone in  a call centre, usually offshore, where you get another hour of your time wasted. Eventually, if you are lucky, you get through to someone who can actually sort the problem out. Usually they are up in Scotland or somewhere. My business had some major issues with BT a couple of years ago, we ended up with our own "Incident manager". A real human being, who ensured we didn't have to go through hours of hell talking to AI chatbots and offshore people who have a script that doesn't cover your problems. 

The problem with AI is that it is superb at fixing problems that it has encountered before. However if it is a new problem, that isn't in its knowledge bank, it has no answer at all. But it is the future, so it seems. Which brings us to the question, what will we all be doing ,when AI is doing all of the clever stuff and robots are doing all of the menial stuff? I think the demise of the stagecoach network might give some clue. Before the steam engine was invented and the railway network mushroomed, no one really had a clue that it would usher in the industrial revolution. By 1885, Britian was different place to what it was in 1775. The steam engine facilitated all manner of industrial innovation, that would have been unimaginable a hundred years before. So the answer is that if AI really is going to be a revolution in the way that the steam engine launched the industrial revolution, we are simply not in a position to predict.

To give you an example, in the 1960's Gene Roddenberry created a futuristic world. The crew had communicators, there were automatic doors that went swish when they opened. The brigde of the USS Enterprise had all manner of knobs and buttons. It was a great stab at predicting the future. But it had not anticipated the fact that we'd be using touch screens. When the Internet was first devised, it was anticipated that its main use would be for sharing scientific papers and trade information. A relative of mine was working for Microsoft, when the general public first started getting into the online world. He suggested that they set up a system to monitor what people were using Microsoft's search engine to look up. To his and most other people's surprise, the most popular search term was "Fisting". It was the first clue that people were far more likely to share porn than scientific papers on the net. I was chatting to an expert in robotics and he said that he anticipates the two big markets for humanoid robots to be the military and the sex industry. He added that the conflict in Ukraine is actually redefining what military conflicts of the near future will be like. In effect, there are huge zones patrolled by unmanned zones, that it is unsafe for a human to enter. Hollywood predicted androids like the Terminator, but there is no real need to make a military robot humanoid in form. It is cheaper and more effective to build things that are suited to a single purpose. Which I suppose means that it will be the sex industry that will drive the development of humanoid style robots. What worries me is that if people start to prefer sex with sexbots to other humans, then that might end up finishing off the human race. It would be quite ironic if the robots that did for the human race were not ones like the Terminator, but ones built to facilitate the realisation of every fantasy we could have.

This week, I went to see Octogenarian American Jazz Pianist & Singer Ben Sidran at Ronnie Scotts. The show included a set of his rather thought provoking songs and some amazing improvisation. While we have musicians of such quality, who produce such wonderful music, but also provoke us with challenging lyrics, I think humanity will be alright. In just under two weeks, The False Dots release our new album "We don't live in America". It is the product of a team of musicians and an excellent producer working as a team. I hope you listen to it and enjoy it, but also I hope that it persuades you that humans can still do stuff that is pretty interesting. There is hope!

As I stated, predicting the future is almost impossible, but there are lessons and pointers. Perhaps the biggest is that there is no point trying to stand in the way of technology. The second is that the future rarely ends up looking like we think it will. The third, is perhaps the most disturbing. All empires come to an end and usually they collapse from the middle, when the people running them get too lazy and debauched to do the hard work of running them. The achillies heal of technology is that it needs huge amounts of electricity to run. AI is gobbling up ever more huge amounts of electricity. In some ways it is like a virus attacking a body, it multiplies continually, taking over cells. Eventually there are none left to take over and the host and the virus dies. I do wonder what happens when AI needs more energy than the world can produce? Will we all go back to pens and papers?  The trouble with distopian tales of the future and conspiracy theories, where all of the ordinary people get eliminated, is that it misses one simple fact. If you can't get a bloke to unblock your drain, your house will become uninhabitable. I suspect that if you want a future proof job, then being a plumber is not a bad option. Until people no longer need a toilet that works, you will have a well paid job. 

The Sunday Reflection #88 - Them and us

This morning there are two main stories on BBC Radio London news that are very different, but are both worthy of some thought and reflection. The first is that it is the ninth anniversary of the Grenfell Tower fire. A terrible disaster caused by catastrophic criminal negligence. Yet no one has ever been prosecuted for this. It is almost impossible to take anything positive from the tragedy. It is a stain on our city, our country, our legal institutions and politicians. We've had Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak and Sir Keir Starmer in No 10 Downing Street. Sadiq Khan has been the Mayor of London. All should be deeply ashamed of themselves. I have no doubt that if 72 politicians died as a result of such negligence, all of those responsible would have gone to prison. I can recall waking up to hear the news and seeing the smoke rise when I looked out of my bedroom window. As I took Thameslink into town and got relatively closer, it was clear what a big fire it was. I could glibly state that there were aspects of the community response that showed the best of us, but I genuinely think that we should be outraged at the whole thing and not search for mitigations and things to make us feel more comfortable with our communal failure.

The other big story is the World Cup. Scotland's first World Cup victory for 36 years. I have a confession to make. I've not seen more than 20 minutes football. I am a football nut and I love the World Cup, but for some reason I have not fallen in love with the tournament yet. The football authorities, as far as  I am concerned, are corrupt and damaging to the sport. Football has always been the sport of the ordinary working people. All you need is a ball and a few mates and you can have a kick about. A few jumpers for posts. It has been a massive part of my life. I am a season ticket holder and a shareholder in Hadley FC, a local non league team. You could buy a season ticket for 20 years for the cost of an average seat at some of the games. I love the fact that it is open to all nations and races. BUt the exclusion of a referee on what looks very like racial grounds is sickening. If it wasn't for the fact that I genuinely get excited by watching football and love supporting England, I would probably not bother with it at all this time. I feel that by watching, I am somehow endorsing Donald Trump. Completely irrational, I know. But that is how I feel. I feel that FIFA have debased football. 

Both issues, in their own way demonstrate the total contempt that those in power have for the rest of us. Like the mirror that shows us the spots and blemishes on our faces, Grenfell and the World Cup give us a stark reflection of how those in power hold us in contempt. Them and us has never been more starkly demonstrated. It is all rather depressing. I wish I could pick the bones of something good out of it all, but I simply cannot. 

The Sunday Reflection #87 - Even people who are not nice can enrich your life

 I never knew any of my Grandparents. My Dad's parents died before he met my mother. He didn't really talk too much about his mother, other than giving the impression that she was very bright and capable. They lived in the outback of Australia, his Dad was an engineer. Dad would tell stories of his genius for engineering. He was a specialist in boring wells and in the oil industry. In the Australian outback, artesian wells provided water that kept cattle stations and towns running and his expertise was highly sought after. Dad really never discussed what sort of a man he was. On my Mums side, all of my siblings got to meet my Grandmother. She was, by all accounts a lovely lady. I was hugely jealous. I am the youngest of six and I missed out on Nana, she passed two years before I was born, in 1960. 

However of all of them, the one who I am most curious and interested in is my Mothers Father, A certain James Fanning. Born in Dublin, his family had Republican links, but his father was a policeman in the Dublin Constabulary. After retiring as a Policeman, he had properties and used to get my Grandfather to collect debts. My mother told me he left Ireland as the family had IRA connections and he was getting hassle from the authorities. My cousin, who has done some research, suggests it may have been to get away from his dictatorial father. He stowed away on a boat to England, only it wasn't a boat to England. It was going to Argentina. When he didn't arrive in Liverpool and his food and drink ran out, he presented himself to the Captain and was made to work his passage, doing the worst work possible. When he arrived in Argentina, he hated it, but had to work their for six months, to pay for his passage home. When he eventually arrived in England, he met my Grandmother and got married. Apparently he was dapper and intelligent. However, fate intervened and he was conscripted into the Army, gassed and badly injured. When he got back, he was a different man. A bitter alchoholic. My mother was born in 1925 so never knew the old version. She just new a bitter man, who was selfish and often very embarrassing and unpleasant. She grew up hating him. He died in 1948 at 66, when his lungs failed. 

When I was a kid, most of the stories she told about him, were of his acts of selfishness and inconsideration. How he would eat all of the bacon when the family rations were given in the war. The kids got the bacon rind. How he would drink eight pints every day, regardless of family finances. How my Grandmother had to work to keep the family afloat and hide money and food from him for the children. How he embarrassed her when she brought boyfriends home. He would have a sixth sense. The only days she recalls that he didn't go to the pub was when she was bringing someone to meet the family. He would then proceed to humilate her and the chap would never be seen again, He would tale care to show the worst side of himself. 

When she met my Dad, an Australian pilot, and thet decided to get married, Dad had to ask for his permission. Mum was terrified. Dad said he'd meet him at the pub. That would spare Mums blushes. They got on like a house on fire. Permission was granted. Mum's fears were unfounded. Shortly before he died, she challenged him on his behaviour. He said "Laurie didn't care what I was like, he wasn't a snob, if those other fellas had really liked you, they'd not have cared either, they'd have wanted to save you from all this".

Sometime in the late 1990's, I was chatting with my Mother. She told me a startling thing. She said that she'd changed her mind about her Father. She had realised why he did what he did and why he was like he was. She had forgiven him. I was intrigued. She told me that she had once asked her mother why she had stayed with such a tyrant. The family all called him "The Encumberance". Her mothers answer saddened her. She said "I was lucky to still have a husband after the war, many didn't. The war changed him, but he gave me the best things in life". My Mum asked what she meant and she replied "All of you, my children are the best things in my life. I've never minded working hard and making sacrifices and seeing you all grow up happy has been the best thing in my life".

My mum then explained that she had been reflecting on many of the things her father told her and she'd realised that he was preparing his children for a harsh, unforgiving world. He told her he was delighted when she married my father, as he had an English name and she wouldn't have to put up with anti Irish prejudice. In London at the time, many hotels etc had signs saying "No blacks, No Dogs, No Irish". The Irish were assumed to be think and uncouth by many of the English, only fit for working as labourers. He was exceptionally intelligent. A socialist and an internationalist. He hated Nationalism in all of its guises. He ensured that my Mother understood this. He also said "The Boys will have to look after themselves, they will get by, you and your sisters will have to survive by using your brains". He told her that if she wanted to get on, she would have to take responsibility for everything. Women who rely on men, often end up with nothing. At the time, she thought this was his wallowing in self pity, but her and her sisters all, to some extent, benefitted from having this drummed into them. She was a far better businesswoman than my Father a businessman. She wouldn't fritter cash away in the bookies, orspend impulsively.

I was thinking about this conversation this morning. I often think about Mum on a Sunday morning. I miss her a lot, although towards the end of her life, she was not happy and I was actually relieved when she went. She was very intelligent and insightful. As I get older, I understand her relationship with her father much better. If she was around there are a lot of questions I'd have, but I will never know. One of the things that intrigues me most though, was whether she thought having a rather difficult father actually meant she was better prepared for the world as it really is.  We probably hate to admit it, but people who are not nice can enrich your life. In my life, people have badly let me down on a few occasions. Te perverse thing is that they've always ended up doing me a favour. Mind you, I am pleased that I did not have such a difficult relationship with my Dad. 

Have a wonderful Sunday. Here is a song I wrote a few years back when I was looking back on my own youth.

The Sunday Reflection #84 - Inspiration, truth and rejection

      My front garden with below some of the blooms       

What makes me get out of bed in the morning? Well the glib answer is a cup of tea and the need to walk our dogs, but I am sure you know that is not what I was really asking. It is the fact that every day is different. Some days are wonderful, some are awful, most are days where life just passes you by. Some days I wake up with things to do, events to go to, people to meet. Sometimes there is nothing in the diary. The first thing I do is look out of the window. Is the Sun shining? Is it raining? Unlike nearly all of my neighbours, I still have a front garden. It is the first thing I see when I leave the house. It gives me inspiration and sets me up in the right frame of mind for the day. For me that is more important than being able to jump straight in my car. Even when it is raining and miserable, the garden reminds me that plants need rain. 

If it is raining, that will make some of my decisions for me. The clothes I wear, the way I get to work. I rarely drive, it is a lovely walk. If the sun is shining, I take the more scenic route. This time of year, I'll often stop in Mill Hill Park and photograph the blossoms and trees, if the light is right. On such days, it is not hard to find inspiration. If it is belting down with rain, and I drive, it is hard to feel inspired. As a songwriter, I seek inspiration in the strangest of places. I was walking to work last week and I walked down Flower Lane. I used to deliver papers to people in the street. There were all sorts of people on the round. I did the round for two years and got to know many of the people. Some were nice, some were not. There were three houses in particular that I have stories about. I told one of them in yesterdays blog. I wrote a brand new song about the second story earlier this week. It's called Naughty Naughty, but you'll have to wait to learn more of that. 

The third story? Slightly duller. One of the houses was that of a senior journalist. He got every paper every morning. He was the only house on the road that got the Morning Star. One day he was in the garden as I arrived. I handed him the papers and we had a chat. I asked him how he got any work done if he had to read all of those papers. I also asked him why read them, if other papers had already printed the stories. He explained that often he'd realise from reading interviews etc, that other journalists had missed a key fact, not asked the key question, etc. He'd then be on the trail and many of his scoops started in this way. I quite liked the sound of being a journalist and asked him how you got involved. He suggested that many people start on local papers and if they are any good, they progress.

I discussed this with my Dad. He knew Dennis Signy, the editor of the Hendon Times, and I suggested he could ask him about a job for me. My Dad's response was "I didn't know you could read and write". English was not my strong point at school (being dyslexic). I really had nothing other than an inkling that I might make a good journalist, certainly nothing to back it up. But Dad did arrange for me to go for a beer with him and Dennis. Dennis gave some advice. I was still at school "Get involved in the school magazine, enter writing competitions, write letters to papers and keep them and then come back when you have a body of work". Fair advice, but advice I didn't take. I found writing boring and difficult. Inspiration counts for nothing if you let it wither. Doing this blog has convinced me that I would have done a great job, but I was too lazy and stupid as a teenager to do what I needed to do. Being inspired is not enough.

Dennis told me the truth. He wasn't patronising or condescending. He made it clear that journalism was both a job and a calling and the best journalists have two qualities that I've come to realise are in short supply in this world. They tell the truth and they take risks. When we watch journalists in places like Ukraine, they are at risk. Many journalists die in the execution of their work. Many more are locked up by repressive regimes. In thecurrent Trumpite era, truth seems to be a relative than an absolute commodity. As to courage? I genuinely never thought we'd see a situation where journalistic freedoms are under threat in liberal democracies. But they are. There is a concept that has emerged over the last few years, that disturbs me greatly. It is the concept of "my truth". The idea that we can have our own version of truth, often a truth that is not backed up by evidence. Often a truth where challenging dangerous ideas and concepts is wantonly dismissed. If there is evidence that undermines "my truth" it is simply ignored. There is a whole industry based on undermining provable facts, with lies, distortions and untruths. A new tool has emerged in this. It is AI. We now have a situation where almost no picture, video or any other evidence can be treated as real. It is almost as if the whole concept of truth and reality has become obsolete. Where does this take us? 

Lets take something really boring and mundane. Lets imagine that there is a wonderful, historic trout river in Somerset. A journalist hears that a water company has been discharging raw sewage into it. They go down, interview local people, take pictures and videos of dead fish and the other detritus of sewage, then interview the local MP. They contact the water company for a quote, as all decent and fair journalists do. What if the water company, on hearing about a journalist sniffing around, get their PR department to debunk the story fake news, claim the pictures and videos are AI generated. What if they invite the MP in, present their version of the truth, make donations to running the MP's office. What happens to the story? Who do we believe? Why should we believe anything? 

And that leads us to the dark downside of all this. Rejection. The scenario I described above is made up. It is fake news. It is a scenario I invented in my head. It is plausable. It may even have happened, but it is fiction in as much as until I decided to construct such a story, it didn't exist (even if it really has happened). However, the scenario I described is happening every day, with the major details changed. Multinational companies employ PR departments to debunk genuine stories. MP's get donations from lobbyists to ensure that the version of the truth the companies want to be told gets told. Journalists, who have done their homework, been honest and decent and told the truth have been hounded. In the UK the story of Carole Cadwalla is a cautionary tale for all of the dangers of being a journalist. In the US, we have a President attacking whole news organisations constantly. Of all of the aspects of the Cadwalla case, the most disturbing is the complete lack of support for her from the paper she was working for. 

Rejection and failure by an employer to support staff, is in my opinion, the worst form of cowardice. When the organisation that is failing is one that is supposed to be a bastion of truth, one relied on by hundreds of thousands of people for honest and fair news, it is sickening. This blog only started after a blog I wrote for the Barnet Times was dropped after the paper was put under pressure by the Tories running Barnet Council (Read about it here). The difficult thing for me, was that all I had done was told the truth and broken a story that other outlets, such as the Jewish Chronicle then picked up on. Not one iota of the of what I said was disputed or challenged. A former Chairman of the Chipping Barnet Tories even left a comment supporting me. The only regret I had was that I loved being associated with the Barnet Times. It was a lifelong ambition to write for them. I wasn't sacked because I was no good. My blog was actually the most read thing on their site, when they sacked me. I was sacked for telling the truth. A difficult truth and one that their largest advertiser (Barnet Council) didn't like. But when it comes down to it, do I regret posting a story that exposed the truth that Barnet Council had posted a video featuring anti semitic comments by a neo Nazi? No.  To me, rejection was a price worth paying for telling the truth. It always will be.

This morning at mass I was in a sombre mood. In the bulletin, was the news that the father of a friend has passed away. He was a contemporary of my Dad, perhaps one of last few. His son was at St Vincents, FCHS and also an alter server with me. His parents were stalwarts of the local community. It got me thinking about my Father. I can remember discussing the Watergate scandal with him. I was fascinated by the courage and persistence of the journalists who exposed Nixon. Dad cautioned me "Being a Roman Catholic should have taught you one lesson, if you tell the truth to a baying mob, you might just get crucified". I was shocked. I said to Dad "Are you saying that we should buckle in the face of screaming mobs?". That seemed a very un-Dad thing to say. His response stuck with me. He said "No, not all, if you put yourself in that position, you have to tell the truth, but you need to go into such situations with your eyes wide open and realise what is likely to happen". He added "There is a saying, don't put your head above the parapet if you don't want to get shot. What they don't tell you though, is that if no one puts their head above the parapet, you all get bayonetted". Another lesson of the Easter season, one that is difficult to come to terms with, is that every one of the people who accompanied Jesus on his travels deserted him, when the baying mob came for him. Truth has a heavy price, but if no one has the courage to tell the truth, we are all well and truly doomed.

On that note, have a great weekend. 

The Sunday Reflection #84 - Don't worry because we are all only figments of our own imaginations!

 Many years ago I was chatting with an esteemed philosopher, a man far more intelligent than myself or anyone else I've ever met. He asked me a pretty fundamental question "Do you believe you actually exist?". It wasn't a questiul ul on that I had considered at all. Ever. My glib answer was "Well of course I exist, because I wouldn't be stitting here with you having this conversation". He persisted "But how do you know any of this is real?". Maybe it is all justa figment of your imagination. Maybe, you are somewhere else completely, with no eyes, no ears and just a vibrant imagination and you've constructed a massive fantasy". I responded "I am sure if that was true, it would be far less mundane and I'd be leading the life of James Bond, rather than painting window frames in the rain in Golders Green (my job at the time). Although the good professor was fascinated by the nature of existence, I wasn't at all and I am not sure I am now. However truly intelligent people have spent their whole life agonising over the meaning of life and existence, why we are all here and what is the purpose of this journey. My problem with this is that the time I spend worrying whether all of this is the figment of my imagination and I am really in a coma in hospital ward imagining it all, or just a few lines of code in Gods massive AI generator, is time I could far more productively spend playing my guitar and writing new tunes for the bands next album. 

The good professor was most disappointed with my lack of curiosity about the nature of existence. He knows my eldest brother who could hypothesise for hours on such matters and enjoys such discussions. This weekend I was at the wedding of a friends daughter. It was a wonderful event. Lots of people gathered together having a marvellous time. As is my want, I ate and drank far too much and today I was rather tired as we travelled back on the train today. I love trains as you get time to think. I started to think about the good professor and his fascination with the nature of existence.  That conversation was nearly fifty years ago.  I started to wonder if I'd have answered the question in a different way if we had the conversation now (not a possibility as the professor has passed away). I think I'd still be a massive disappointment. If anything, I am even less interested now than I was then in such questions. My defective dyslexic brain can only deal with tangible concepts. I am fascinated with minutae of recordings by punk rock bands fiftey years ago. I can spend hours discussing the sociological impact of music on society and how rock and roll has redefined the world. I am fascinated by the way the collision of Punk and Reggae in 1977 tore up all of the old rules of music and popular culture and gave rise to a completely different type of music, clothing, writing and art. Subjects I am sure the good professor would find banal beyond belief, but that is what excites me. But I did start wondering about whether, should the professor be correct and all of this is a figment of my imagination, why so much of what I've invented in my head is so utterly crap. Why invent all of the people who annoy me? Why don't England ever win the World Cup? Why don't my dead mates magically come back to life? Why has the dog become incontinent? The only reasonable explanation is that I am a figment of someone else's imagination and they don't like me. Some friends have become very animated about the concept that we all live in the Matrix, a huge computer simulation and they constantly seek glitches. My problem with this is I worked in commercial IT for 37 years and if we were living in a computer simulation, then surely all of the code I had to fix in those years would have been properly written if are all just in an AI simulation on the Matrix. 

And then I got around to the basic question "Why are we all here?". If we are not and we are all just the musings of a giant brain in jar of junk, it is actually quite reassuring. If that is true, there is nothing to worry about, is there? But then again, next time my daughters train is delayed and she is late home, or Donald Trump starts another war and I start fretting, I will realise that sadly if it is all a big simulation, it is not one we are supposed to enjoy. If we really all are just bits and bytes in a big computer, if it doesn't want us to know, it will simply delete our RAM when we start to figure it all out. Maybe that's why the dinosaurs disappeared!

My philosophy is rather simple and rather dull. Enjoy the good times and in the bad times keep the faith that it is just a passing phase. Whether it is all real or not is actually pretty irrelevant. 

The Sunday Reflection #83 - This is not what I signed up for!

 I first started writing the Barnet Eye in October 2008. I didn't expect a lot. I thought that if I was lucky a couple of dozen people would read it. I thought I'd get bored with it after a couple of months and do something else. I thought no one was interested in the rantings of a dyslexic punk rock musician, who was prone to ranting about the shortcomings of Barnet Council, moaning about the absurdity of life and wallowing in the uselessness of my football team of choice (Manchester City, who were a very different beast back then). I was so convinced that no one was interested, I never even bothered to look at the readership stats of the blog. I thought that knowing no one was interested, would make me give up. To me amazement, after six months, curiosity got the better of me. I found that the blog had 60,000 views. More people than watch Man City on a Saturday at the time.

I didn't expect a bunch of other people to be inspired and start blogging about Barnet. I didn't expect National TV, National and Local Radio and the newspapers to start taking an interest. I didn't expect the local government minister, Eric Pickles to compliment the Barnet Bloggers. I didn't expect to get asked to write a chapter of a book published by a well respected publisher, or to write articles for The Guardian. I didn't expect death threats from lunatics, enraged by what I had to say. I didn't expect social media companies to ban me, for reasons they wont tell me (yes x.com, that's you I am talking about), even though they have stated that I've been reinstated. I didn't expect to make friends as a result of the blog. I didn't expect to produce films that would be shown at the Phoenix Cinema, The House Of Commons and The Edinburgh Festival. 

I didn't expect any of this. In January 2008, if someone had asked me what I expected any obituary to say about me (not that I expect one), I'd have said "Roger Tichborne was the founder of Mill Hill Music Complex studios in Mill Hill. He played guitar in an obscure London band called The False Dots and he was married with three children". The whole blog thing was an accident. I am not sure whether it was a lucky one. 

This morning I was at the 8.30 mass, where I normally formulate this blog feature in my head. The gospel today is the one where a couple of the followers of Jesus are walking down the road and a bloke joins them. They chat to him, then have dinner with him. It is only when he breaks the bread that they realise that it is the risen Jesus. I don't really talk much about religion in this feature, but this is one of my favourite Gospels. Not because of the religious significance, but because it is a great example of how the bleeding obvious can be staring us in the face and we are far to wrapped up in our own worries and intrigues to see it. I love the bit where the penny drops as to who their companion is. Jesus immediately disappears. To me it is a subject lesson in the fact that you don't really realise what you've got in life till its too late. 

For reasons I can't quite fathom, the reading made me think about this blog and its effect on my life. Being a 'famous blogger' has changed me. When I read the earliest blogs, I had a fearlessness about my writings. I was charged up with energy to confront injustice and call out people who were not doing their jobs properly. Re reading them, I realise why many people thought I was a bit of a humourless maniac! The local Tories, who ran the council, dismissed me as a humourless  swivel eyed Trotskyite maniac. As such I was easily dismissed. Then, a few of them realised I wasn't. The oddest thing happened. When they realised that I often wrote blogs that were funny and that they were looking ridiculous, they became a lot more worried. When Richard Cornelius became the Leader of the Council, things changed. Like me, Richard had a sense of humour. I did an April Fool blog that really wound him up. He sent me an email. It didn't threaten me, he just said that it was extremely funny, he'd had a good laugh at it, but suggested I removed it, as someone reading it on any other day of the year may not get the joke. Because Richard was polite, good mannered and pleasant, and didn't get riled by me winding him up, I largely stopped poking fun at him. At civic events we'd chat and joke. Often he'd try and figure out who was leaking information from his group of councillors. I suspect that if I'd told him at the time, he'd have been deeply shocked, but if I told him now he wouldn't. I'm not telling anyone though. 

In 2022, when Labour took the council, it was all change. I had expected them to do a lot of really obviously sensible things. They didn't. I expected them to put together a proper arts strategy for Barnet (they asked me to help, then ignored everything I said), they haven't. I expected them start a new era of openness. They haven't. For the first council elections since I started blogging, I have no interest at all in the outcome. The Tories are useless. Labour are useless. Reform are clueless. The Lib Dems are not interested in Barnet. I was asked to stand, but refused, as I am Chairman of the Mill Hill Services Club and felt it would be a conflict of interests.

So what do I want to happen? My preference would be to see a situation where no party or two parties had enough councillors to have control. A Tory/Reform coalition would be a disaster. Labour don't deserve another term. Some sort of coalition where Lib Dems, Greens and local residents would, I believe bring back some sort of focus to local people. Both the Tories and Labour seem more interested in being friends with developers and people simply seeking to cash in on the wealth in Barnet, rather than doing good for the hard pressed residents. I have a personal interest to state. Pete Williams, a green candidate in Mill Hill is a candidate. I've known Pete for years and will be voting for him. I will also be voting for the Lib Dem candidate Charles Wakefield as I am a party member. And my third vote? I really do not want to see Reform get in. I will be voting for Conservative Elliot Simberg. I have known Elliot for a very long time. He is a decent man and has told me that he will never defect to Reform. I have never voted Conservative before, but I am seriously worried that Reform will get in. 

I did not sign up to be a Barnet Blogger to promote a Conservative candidate. However I am not going to lie or seek to curry favour with anyone. I am not going too say Elliot is the best of a bad bunch, because I believe he is a decent man and that would be a lie. We disagree on politics, but I've shared a scotch with him and commend him as a human being and given the choices, that is all I can really say.

And I urge you to think very long and hard about who you vote for. Think about what sort of people you want to run the Borough. Think about what will happen if we have no councillors with any experience. Think about who tactically will give you a regime you can live with. I doubt that many people who read this blog will agree with y choices. But I make the with a clear conscience. 

The Sunday Reflection #82 - Backbone!

Dad supervising repairs to his Wellington
bomber at Foggia Main Air base in Italy
in 1944.  These men hadbackbone
and gumption

Life is a strange thing. Every experience you have, good or bad, gives you another tool in the toolkit of life. Every mistake has a lesson, every victory should give pause for reflection. Every conversation is stored away and anything useful filed. I was born very lucky. My father had lived a life so full and varied that I was passed an almost full toolbox almost before I set out on my own journey that is life. One piece of advice that he passed on to me, which I always take full account of is this. I guess I was sever or eight at the time. It was before my Mum had surgery for cancer. She had been advised to get a good holiday to builder her up. Dad had to stay behind and run the business. During the week, I stayed with my Uncle Jimmy and Aunty Josie and their ten kids. I was at the same school as their son Gregory, so we both went to school and came home together. At the weekend, I was in Dads care at home. This was wonderful. We had bacon sarnies for breakfast, pie and chips at the cafe for lunch and he got some steak for dinner. During the day, I spent it with him at his car crash repair business, MacMetals. He gave me a job sorting out some big trays of nuts and bolts. He gave me half a crown wages, which bought a good stock of sweets. My sisters had gone with Mum to Spain (Dad wouldn't set foot in the country because Franco was a Fascist and he didn't like Fascists). 

During the course of the day, he got into an altercation with someone in the workshop. I didn't know the person. They were not an employee or a customer. My Dad was a bit of a hardnut, an Aussie ex RAF officer who'd been a prisoner of war. You didn't mess with him. He had a bad temper. Whatever happened escalated extremely quickly. I knew not to mess with Dad when he had red mist. What had started as an amicable discussion, suddenly turned very nasty. My Dad shouted a stream of profanities as the said individual and told them that if they didn't F--- Off he'd throw the chap in the incinerator. This was not an idle threat. He'd thrown a local gangster in, when they had threatened him and demanded cash. I now believe Dad had PTSD from the second world war, which is why he could turn so quickly. The odd thing was, he'd switch back just as quickly, almost as if nothing had happened.

That evening, I asked Dad what it was all about. He seemed slightly embarrassed, but he explained. The said individual was a member of an organisation that my Dad belonged to. Some money had been misappropriated. My Dad was scrupulously honest and generous and he was horrified to learn what had happened. It was absolutely clear what had happened and who was responsible. Dad was mates with a chap called Charlie Dawson, who was the local copper. Dad wanted the culprit to be nicked and exposed. He felt stealing off a charity was despicable and the act of a total low life. The person who had visited him, was the person who had collated all of the evidence. Dad had asked to see him, and suggested that the information be turned over to Charlie. 

He had come down and to my Dad's absolute horror, he'd been told "I have destroyed the evidence". It transpired that the bloke who visited my Dad was his best mate and he didn't want to dob him in. Worse still, without the evidence, the individual in question would be remaining in situ.  My Dad was horrified and what sent him over the cliff was the individual in question then stated "Now it's only our word against yours and no one will believe you". Dad was not stupid and he knew this was most probably true. I asked Dad what he was going to do. His response shocked me. He said "Son, in life you will learn one lesson. You will meet people like that. People who you think are friends, but when the chips are down, you learn they are cowards and have no backbone". Dad went on. He said "In the RAF, I put my life on the line for what was right every night. I had to have the total trust of my crew and they had to have the total trust of me. If that broke down, we would all die. However, you'll learn that in normal life, it is quite acceptible to lack backbone and indulge liars and theives". He added "The reason they get away with it, is because people who should know better indulge them". I was intrigued. But I asked again "Dad that doesn't explain what you are going to do about all of this". His response was intriguing. He said "Son, you've got to learn one lesson. Wars are a long game and they are not decided on the first battle. Now this lot have revealed their true character, I will wait and I will catch them out sooner or later and I will make sure I have what I need to do what needs to be done. People like that always screw up sooner or later". And that was that. Or so I thought.

As I said at the start of this blog. Life is a strange thing. I had always wondered if my Dad was right in this case. He never mentioned it again to me. I doubt he would have, if I'd not seen his melt down. But the last time I had a proper night out with Dad, over a whisky at 2am in the morning, I asked if he remembered the incident and what had happened. Had the bad men got their comeuppance? He laughed and said "Well, it was quite tragic really". Dad went on to explain that he was so morally outraged about the theft of the cash that he'd decided to go around and front the bloke who nicked the money. I think his intention was to smack him in the mouth and tell him what he thought of him. He went around to his house and told him he needed to discuss a serious matter. He was beckoned in and offered a whisky. The guy then explained that not a soul knew this and he asked for him to keep it quiet. Dad told him that it would have to be a very good story. He then explained that he'd been told he had terminal cancer and had no more than six months to live. He was very well insured, but he'd be dead so the cash was no good to him. He'd taken the cash from the charity and paid for a ten day luxury cruise with his wife, as he was still well enough and he'd always promised her. He'd changed his will and when he passed away, the charity would receive a large bequest, far more than he'd 'borrowed'. Dad told me that he was completely taken aback and agreed to never mention it. Sure enough, after he passed the bequest was made. Although not strictly moral or legal, Dad understood completely that it wasn't petty pilfering. Dad asked whether the treasurer knew. He said no. Dad then explained that when the charity accounts were prepared, it was clear that there was a large sum missing. Not only that, but the peperwork was missing. The treasurer came under suspicion and could offer no reasonable explanation, so was thrown out of the charity and became a pariah. The assumption was that he'd nicked the money. Dad said that given his behaviour he felt it was up to him to explain his actions. He said "That's the price of not having a backbone, if he'd have confronted his mate then maybe they could have sorted something out, but he was too much of a coward to ask and a man like that should never be in charge of money at a charity". 

Dad then said, and this is the key point. "Never be afraid to ask difficult questions. Sometimes there is an explanation that you would never have expected. If  you are too cowardly to ask questions don't complain when people think you are the one who has been up to no good". As I wake up today and survey the world around me,  I see a world where too many men lack backbone. If you lack gumption, don't complain when it comes around and bite you on the backside. God bless you Dad, wherever you are right now.

The Sunday Reflection #81 - Something to believe in?

 I broke one of my hard, fast rules of life on Friday. My band, The False Dots had a gig at The 100 Club for the London International Ska Festival. The show was sold out and was absolutely brilliant. I don't know if you are a musician, but when you play to a packed hall and smash it, there really is no feeling in the world like it. When I woke up on Friday morning, I felt absolutely awful. I had that feeling when a cold is coming. I felt hot, clammy and shakey. Given that this is perhaps the biggest and most important gig the band have played for decades, this was not good. I had planned to go to the noon service at The Sacred Heart for Good Friday and then to Hadley FC, before trekking down to the 100 Club. I decided to stay in bed and try and get myself in shape for the gig. I have a form of faith, so I prayed for the strength to get through the day. My Catholic guilt was telling me that if I was going to do anything, it should be attending Church. But I also have a faith that God put me here for a reason. I believe that reason is to make music and make people happy. So off I went to The 100 Club. Even though it's a day of fasting absitinence, something I always follow, I had a few beers. I felt the good Lord had given me a pass.

It was an amazing night. The band has really come a long way in the past five years. I've always loved what we do, but we are in a very sweet place at the moment. I've learned that you never know how long such moments last and to embrace them. A large group of my friends bought tickets to support us, but more pleasing was the hundreds of strangers, dancing, nodding and smiling and the dozens who told us after the show that they loved it. Here is a short clip of Trumpet Tom singing the Prince Buster classic "Free Love", with guitar legend Boz Boorer guesting on lead guitar.

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A post shared by The False Dots (@thefalsedots)

Something to believe in? I got at around midnight and I was absolutely shattered. I got home and it all caught up with me. I slept like a log. At around 8.30am my wife woke me with a cup of tea. We had another Ska fest gig to attend at 1pm and we had friends to meet first, dogs to walk, etc. But when she woke me up, I was in the middle of a vivid dream. One of those gigs that you sometimes have that make you think. That I will remember until the day that I die. In my dream, I entered a dark room with a large table, a big spread with candles. Holding fort was my cousing Tessie. Tessie was my age, but died of covid during the pandemic. She was born with Downs syndrome and suffered from dementia in her last few years. I got on with her. She always told me I was her favourite cousin, but then again she probably told all her cousins that. We got on well. She was feisty, cheeky and naughty. When I was little, I was actually jealous as she had a free pass to do what she liked and everyone just said "That's just Tessie". 

Anyway, in my dream I entered, sat at the table and Tessie said "My favourite cousin". I was overjoyed to see her again. I asked how are you. She replied "Oh, it's great here. I don't have to pretend to be stupid anymore". This answer surprised me so I asked what she meant. "God sent me and I was weak and vulnerable, so he could see who the arseholes really are". When she said this all her friends burst out laughing. It all became clear to me. The life we live here is a completely different realm. Wherever we go on the next phase, we see through all of the bullshit and we are not encumbered with the baggage of human existence. I realised that Tessie had just as much of a purpose as I have with my music, that everyone has, but often don't see. Tessie's job was to give us the chance to be the best version of ourselves around her. But now, she could just enjoy herself and be the witty, naughty, fun loving person she always was but we stuggled to see. No one was judging her anymore. She was in a wonderful place, having fun with  friends.

When Clare woke me up, I was actually cross. I'd not had the chance to really to ask the questions I wanted. I was back. All I could think was "Who will be at the table with me when I get there, will I understand my purpose?". Of course, all you cynics out there will say "It's just a dream, it means nothing". Maybe, maybe not. For a moment though, perhaps the second time in a day, I was blissfully happy and I actually realised it was all going to be alright. I thought I'd share it with you. Do with this gift as you will, but please, try and be happy and make other people happy. I've failed in that mission too many times.

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