“So you’re not good at sports. It’s a very small part of life.”
So says Marge Simpson to her daughter Lisa, just as Homer walks in chanting: “sport sport sport sport sport sport sport sport.”
As I watch episode upon episode of The Simpsons on a particularly hung over Sunday, I’m reminded by my yellow friends that sport is a huge part of some people’s lives and totally irrelevant to others. Take me for example. My brothers and father are all extremely sporty; my dad used to play squash for Kenya, my older brother is hoping to compete in the 2012 Olympics in the 800 metres and has already run for Great Britain and my younger brother played county rugby. As you can imagine they’re all very fit and healthy. Even my mum is a fan of sport and regularly plays tennis and takes part in charity fun runs and bike rides. I seem to be the only member of the family who thinks sport is a bit meh. And for those who aren’t au fait with the word “meh”, in my case I would define it as “not interesting enough to care about.”
Don’t get me wrong - I undoubtedly appreciate the physical prowess and skill that it takes to play professional sport and the discipline required to perfect one’s art. And, let’s not mince words, certain sports stars are very easy on the eye (hint: the man I’m thinking of plays rugby and was once going out with Kelly Brooke. Initials DC.) To be honest I can even understand why people enjoy watching sport; I imagine it’s exciting if you’re into that sort of thing and besides, everyone has to accept very early on in life that different people happen to like different things. My boyfriend drinks whiskey and beer, both of which I find repellent and conversely I love cheese in an overtly reverent manner and Harry can’t stand the stuff. My best friend at university liked Samuel Beckett, whereas I found his stuff needlessly esoteric. I loved WB Yeats and she thought his writing was a load of drivel. In short, different horses for different courses.
My real gripe isn’t with sport in general; it’s with football. I can’t stand the disproportionate way that people worship it. It seems unreasonable to get that worked up over something which is only meant to be for entertainment purposes. Oh okay, and is sometimes a remarkable display of human talent which should be justly admired, blah blah blah. But quite clearly there are some things going on in the world which are truly worthy of our abject attention. Wars, poverty, crime, injustice, sexism, racism, homophobia, xenophobia and naturally the scourge of The Daily Mail and its loyal morons to name but a few. The answer to this puzzle is obvious: thinking about the above is depressing. I don’t need to take a poll to know that most of us would much rather watch a sitcom than the news. But just because human nature is unlikely to change, doesn’t mean that (for the most part) we don’t all know deep down that we should care more about the important issues and less about which team won the Premier League (or in my case, which celebrity has just been dumped.)
My second problem with football is the money. Motor racing is also an obvious candidate for a dressing down, but football’s got to be the worst. At least with motor racing the guys are risking their lives – in “the beautiful game” they keel over at the slightest provocation and feign injury. Wake up chaps; there’s a rather well known game called rugby where guys really do get the stuffing knocked out of them; we’re not impressed by your wet blouse theatrics. These ill educated, immature thuggish fairies get paid thousands of pounds a week, in many cases earning more in a year than thirty average Britons. How is that fair I ask you? For crying out loud, nurses get paid around twenty one to twenty seven thousand a year, and what they’re doing must be a gruelling and often thankless task, but is undeniably vital, unlike football. Again the answer for why these spoilt men-children are disproportionately rewarded is simple. There’s a ton of money in football and there’s hardly any in the bottomless NHS pit.
But I’m not going to let a little thing like practicality or reality divert me from my Utopian society, where sport is appreciated with an appropriate level of adulation. A world where boys can actually afford a season ticket to see their team play and where teenagers aren’t plucked out of school before they’ve even passed a GCSE so they can spend the next twenty years earning millions for kicking a ball about (and probably cheating on their wives and girlfriends in between matches and coke binges.) And most importantly, a world where grown men don’t think it’s acceptable to brawl or weep bucketfuls because their team lost. Wouldn’t it be a breath of fresh air to hear a Millwall supporter utter the words: “hey, it’s just a game”? Because let’s face it, it is!
Just think what the earth would be like if a huge portion of the money that’s pumped into the bloated football industry was sent to third world countries or used to provide jobs and houses to the world’s many homeless? Imagine if those who gleefully participate in game-related punch ups were prepared to get up and fight with such avid passion for women’s rights or Amnesty International. Picture the loyalty and lover like devotion football fans have for their teams and transfer it to the plight of an African child. You have to admit it would be a very different world to live in. Almost certainly a better one. But unquestionably the most persuasive incentive for subscribing to my Utopia would be that ol’ kill joys like me would cease our insistent ranting and turn our talents to something more useful. Like getting off our fat self righteous arses and taking up a sport.
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Magnificent Maps at the British Library
What was it that Allan and Barbara Pease said about women and map reading? Oh yes: women can’t read maps. Well, far be it for me to criticise a book I haven’t read, but there is one thing I can state for definite. You don’t need to be able to read maps in order to enjoy the Magnificent Maps exhibition at the British Library. You don’t even need to have a particular interest in cartography, although I’m sure it helps. Quite frankly if you're interested in art, history, politics or even a touch of the absurd, then this exhibition may well tickle your fancy.
The first two things I noticed on my initial circuit were that (a) some of the maps are simply superb works of art and (b) a lot of them are (in geographical terms) incongruously wrong.
If you (like me) are more concerned with pure aesthetic enjoyment, the majority of maps are utterly magnificent. Vivid pinks, blues, ochres and golds are the order of the day, accented with depictions of creatures, both mythical and real. Some of the maps even have inscriptions on them denoting areas of interest, which I deduce were scribbled by the explorers themselves and add a splash of sociological interest.
As for the factual errors, in some cases this might be down to an understandable lack of knowledge (being that back in the “olden days” photographic and/or cartographic equipment was either non-existent or plainly not as accurate as what we are lucky enough to enjoy in the modern era). However, in many cases the inaccuracies appear to be of a much more Machiavellian nature. Often the country of origin appears much bigger than it really is (presumably for the purpose of intimidation or revelling in national pride) and frequently includes a plethora of desirable commodities amongst the typically lush and vitally reproduced landscapes (perhaps a veiled attempt to gloatingly cock a snook at the visiting lords of neighbouring lands?)
When viewed in this light, the purpose of maps in bygone ages becomes increasingly clear. They were not merely there to educate, interest or entertain - some were political tools, drawn for the purpose of war; either to wage it or to prevent others from waging it on them.
Amongst the more traditional maps, hang intricately woven tapestries. These, certainly worthy of prominence as status symbols, can easily be pictured hanging in the studies or great halls of rich noblemen, specifically those which designate huge tracks of land to a single family. I was delighted to recognise, on one of these gargantuan embroideries, the village of Great Bedwyn were my partner’s family live and the nearby town of Marlborough where I myself went to school.
By far my favourite piece in the entire collection is the map of London, drawn by Steven Walters. It is an illustration of astounding intricacy, depicting London as it if were a huge island, with the neighbouring towns represented as tiny isles, just off the coast of the vast capital body. If you don’t go to this exhibition for any other reason, then go purely for this. It’s definitely worth it. The detail is astonishing; I could have spent the entire day looking at just this and still not noted every feature.
So from “women can’t read maps' to a far more apt and satisfying quote. As Miguel de Cervantes wrote in Don Quixote: “Journey all over the universe in a map, without the expense and fatigue of travelling, without suffering the inconveniences of heat, cold, hunger, and thirst.”
For that is what you can do at the British Library, and you won’t only be traversing the world, but time as well. And, as an added bonus, you can always pop outside to the over priced café if you start to feel a bit too fatigued.
The first two things I noticed on my initial circuit were that (a) some of the maps are simply superb works of art and (b) a lot of them are (in geographical terms) incongruously wrong.
If you (like me) are more concerned with pure aesthetic enjoyment, the majority of maps are utterly magnificent. Vivid pinks, blues, ochres and golds are the order of the day, accented with depictions of creatures, both mythical and real. Some of the maps even have inscriptions on them denoting areas of interest, which I deduce were scribbled by the explorers themselves and add a splash of sociological interest.
As for the factual errors, in some cases this might be down to an understandable lack of knowledge (being that back in the “olden days” photographic and/or cartographic equipment was either non-existent or plainly not as accurate as what we are lucky enough to enjoy in the modern era). However, in many cases the inaccuracies appear to be of a much more Machiavellian nature. Often the country of origin appears much bigger than it really is (presumably for the purpose of intimidation or revelling in national pride) and frequently includes a plethora of desirable commodities amongst the typically lush and vitally reproduced landscapes (perhaps a veiled attempt to gloatingly cock a snook at the visiting lords of neighbouring lands?)
When viewed in this light, the purpose of maps in bygone ages becomes increasingly clear. They were not merely there to educate, interest or entertain - some were political tools, drawn for the purpose of war; either to wage it or to prevent others from waging it on them.
Amongst the more traditional maps, hang intricately woven tapestries. These, certainly worthy of prominence as status symbols, can easily be pictured hanging in the studies or great halls of rich noblemen, specifically those which designate huge tracks of land to a single family. I was delighted to recognise, on one of these gargantuan embroideries, the village of Great Bedwyn were my partner’s family live and the nearby town of Marlborough where I myself went to school.
By far my favourite piece in the entire collection is the map of London, drawn by Steven Walters. It is an illustration of astounding intricacy, depicting London as it if were a huge island, with the neighbouring towns represented as tiny isles, just off the coast of the vast capital body. If you don’t go to this exhibition for any other reason, then go purely for this. It’s definitely worth it. The detail is astonishing; I could have spent the entire day looking at just this and still not noted every feature.
So from “women can’t read maps' to a far more apt and satisfying quote. As Miguel de Cervantes wrote in Don Quixote: “Journey all over the universe in a map, without the expense and fatigue of travelling, without suffering the inconveniences of heat, cold, hunger, and thirst.”
For that is what you can do at the British Library, and you won’t only be traversing the world, but time as well. And, as an added bonus, you can always pop outside to the over priced café if you start to feel a bit too fatigued.
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Vampires, werewolves and a bucket load of teenage angst? It must be the next long awaited instalment of the Twilight Saga.
Eclipse, or “Twilight 3” as it’s informally (and unimaginatively) being touted in the US, is the latest slice of pubescent Emo candyfloss straight from the pen of author Stephenie Meyer, screenplay writer Melissa Rosenburg and the re-imagination of director David Slade.
A previous film of Slade’s, “Hard Candy” - about a 14 year-old girl who catches potential paedophiles so she can exact vigilante-style justice on them – is a wonderfully original, disturbing but morally intricate piece of work. Not so with Eclipse I’m afraid. But don’t let that put you off. I have to admit that personally I found it very enjoyable.
The film continues where the last film left off and follows the love affair of high school student Bella Swan and vampire Edward Cullen. During the previous film “New Moon”, Edward leaves Bella, believing that she will be safer if he is not part of her life. Distraught, Bella turns to her best friend Jacob Black for support, not realising that he is a werewolf. He (of course) falls in love with Bella, just in time for her to go running back into the arms of the erstwhile Edward. And there we have it: the perfect cocktail for teenage anguish.
In Eclipse, Jacob and Edward are both trying to protect Bella from the vengeful Victoria (someone Bella managed to tick off in the first film for reasons which I won’t bother to explain here.) Not only that, but there’s also an army of newborn vampires causing untold havoc in Seattle. This has the potential to bring the vampire police a-calling. Not a good idea when you previously promised them you’d turn your human girlfriend into a vamp ASAP and have so far neglected to do so.
And, to make matters even worse (if you can imagine such a thing), there are some seriously pressing teenage issues to be considered: Edward wants to marry Bella, Jacob wants to steal Bella from Edward and as if that wasn’t enough, Bella wants to sleep with Edward, but Edward won’t sleep with Bella! Oh, the incalculable drama of a teenager’s life.
On the upside, there’s certainly a lot of eye candy for the ladies. If you don’t like the effeminate charms and tortured “what’s that smell” acting of Robert Pattinson as the overly Byronic Edward Cullen, you can enjoy the “is-he-on-steroids” appeal of the frighteningly buff Taylor Lautner, as the spurned and furious Jacob Black. Watch it though ladies - despite the body, Lautner was only seventeen during the making of this film (as the fluffy top lip in his close ups will attest to.)
And for the boys, there's Hollywood’s new girl next door, Kristen Stewart, apparently perfect for the role of clumsy ol’ “normal” Bella Swan. My heart goes out to all the poor Twilight fans who’ve been dreaming of their own Edwards, based on the fantasy that Bella is supposed to be “ordinary” looking. Okay, I admit that she's no Angelina Jolie, but seriously, the girl's the size of a pencil. Actually, she'd probably give the pencil a weight complex. It would be less fantastic to imagine the existence of vampires and werewolves than to believe that a Hollywood exec would ever cast a “normal” girl in such a role.
My advice to anyone planning to see this film is this: don’t take it seriously. It’s just a bit of fun and should be taken with a huge pinch of salt. I have to admit, I don’t think it’s one for the boys, but girls, I thought it was worth a watch, even if it’s only so you know what everyone’s been going on about.
And did I mention there was lots of eye candy? It’s worth watching for that if nothing else. It’s about time we had a film full of sexy guys for a change instead of the Hollywood staple of geeks hooking up with gorgeous women. It’s not exactly girl power, but I’ll take it.
A previous film of Slade’s, “Hard Candy” - about a 14 year-old girl who catches potential paedophiles so she can exact vigilante-style justice on them – is a wonderfully original, disturbing but morally intricate piece of work. Not so with Eclipse I’m afraid. But don’t let that put you off. I have to admit that personally I found it very enjoyable.
The film continues where the last film left off and follows the love affair of high school student Bella Swan and vampire Edward Cullen. During the previous film “New Moon”, Edward leaves Bella, believing that she will be safer if he is not part of her life. Distraught, Bella turns to her best friend Jacob Black for support, not realising that he is a werewolf. He (of course) falls in love with Bella, just in time for her to go running back into the arms of the erstwhile Edward. And there we have it: the perfect cocktail for teenage anguish.
In Eclipse, Jacob and Edward are both trying to protect Bella from the vengeful Victoria (someone Bella managed to tick off in the first film for reasons which I won’t bother to explain here.) Not only that, but there’s also an army of newborn vampires causing untold havoc in Seattle. This has the potential to bring the vampire police a-calling. Not a good idea when you previously promised them you’d turn your human girlfriend into a vamp ASAP and have so far neglected to do so.
And, to make matters even worse (if you can imagine such a thing), there are some seriously pressing teenage issues to be considered: Edward wants to marry Bella, Jacob wants to steal Bella from Edward and as if that wasn’t enough, Bella wants to sleep with Edward, but Edward won’t sleep with Bella! Oh, the incalculable drama of a teenager’s life.
On the upside, there’s certainly a lot of eye candy for the ladies. If you don’t like the effeminate charms and tortured “what’s that smell” acting of Robert Pattinson as the overly Byronic Edward Cullen, you can enjoy the “is-he-on-steroids” appeal of the frighteningly buff Taylor Lautner, as the spurned and furious Jacob Black. Watch it though ladies - despite the body, Lautner was only seventeen during the making of this film (as the fluffy top lip in his close ups will attest to.)
And for the boys, there's Hollywood’s new girl next door, Kristen Stewart, apparently perfect for the role of clumsy ol’ “normal” Bella Swan. My heart goes out to all the poor Twilight fans who’ve been dreaming of their own Edwards, based on the fantasy that Bella is supposed to be “ordinary” looking. Okay, I admit that she's no Angelina Jolie, but seriously, the girl's the size of a pencil. Actually, she'd probably give the pencil a weight complex. It would be less fantastic to imagine the existence of vampires and werewolves than to believe that a Hollywood exec would ever cast a “normal” girl in such a role.
My advice to anyone planning to see this film is this: don’t take it seriously. It’s just a bit of fun and should be taken with a huge pinch of salt. I have to admit, I don’t think it’s one for the boys, but girls, I thought it was worth a watch, even if it’s only so you know what everyone’s been going on about.
And did I mention there was lots of eye candy? It’s worth watching for that if nothing else. It’s about time we had a film full of sexy guys for a change instead of the Hollywood staple of geeks hooking up with gorgeous women. It’s not exactly girl power, but I’ll take it.
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