Saami Powell

A new day. A new name. Actually, an old name revisited. I will be changing my name on Opera as soon as I can figure out how to do that. I am looking forward to changing my name back to what is written on my birth certificate. First though, there are the usual questions that have to be answered before I can move forward, and in an effort to explain all I will do so using that most favoured of all journalistic methods, answering the five important single word questions.

Primarily this has to do with the heritage I have been denied, and yes, to a large extent I had been denying myself this heritage. Time to reclaim that heritage, even if in the eyes of some it may seem too little too late, it is still me, my heritage, my pride and the fire inside my belly that keeps me going. So, long all these years I have been labouring under the name Alkamraikhi when I really needn't have, I could at any time on passing the age of eighteen have changed it back to the name on my birth certificate. That would have been a slap in the face to the memory of the man who changed my life with the stroke of a pen and an idea that somehow we were all connected in his crazed mind to an Arab ideal, albeit Arabia was not satisfactory for our education, neither was it a good nation to raise a family in, otherwise why leave? Why continue travelling when you have rid yourself of the bugbears of your past? I have no answer to this as now I am settled in this nation England and as I am shucking my bugbears and have no intention of relocating. Travel is different, travel is temporary at best, holidays and family visits are travel, weekends away from home are travel, travel is not permanent. Relocation, however, is permanent, and I am now relocated here in England, and this is where I intend my bones to rest. This is why, because I have relocated enough times in my life and have found a comfortable and pleasant place to stay. Travel is still an intent, and I may change addresses within England umpteen times, however I am now finally home, and I intend fully to stay.

Currently the works are in the post. I have handled the final document and shall post it on the Internet for all to see once I have it back in my hands permanently. Then the paper will make its rounds to passport officials, driving licence alterers, and all manner of public official and private corporations that require knowledge of my change of name. I am foreseeing the end of December 2010 as the time when all those necessary of being informed as being informed. The when then is now, today, and continuing in the present until all have been notified. If you are reading this, then consider yourself on the front line, and in receipt of an early warning.

The matter is being handled legally by the UK Deed Polls Service, payment of course is necessary, that however is for the original copy, legally certified copies, and a copy being archived should the future bring need of a copy when mine have been destroyed or stolen. An highly unlikely scenario, still, "'tis better to be safe than sorry", or as cousin Dave says "it's better to adopt a belt and braces attitude toward these things". This being a private matter and an individual decision it is comforting to know that I have the freedom to make such decisions regarding my own future. I am doing this, for me, and truly, for nobody else. I know that I have family in Canada, and I also know that they have opted for their mother's surname, and good luck to them, it is not any intention of mine to attempt to win them around with this name change, nor am I distancing myself further, as they, like you, will have the chance to read this missive.

All of my current legal and official documents will be altered, as will any future documents be written in the name of Powell, I am retaining Saami as that is the name on my birth certificate, although on the certificate there is an apostrophe between the two a's, making it look thus: Sa'ami. No need to overcomplicate the minds of others, so, no apostrophe.

How I came to the conclusion that I need a change of name was when I was travelling, it seemed nobody believed the things I said about my past and I have had a dreadful time proving not only who I am but that I have actually been to the places and done the things I have been and done. Personally, there is also a nagging doubt about an underlying racist attitude, now being compounded with an underlying ageist sentiment. I have rid myself of all of the racist and mindless hatred that was instilled into me as I was growing, and that took a good few years of introspection and self-assessment. I am feeling much better about the world in which I live, and that new-improved self has decided that family is more important than separation, and I am going back to my roots to finish out my time.

So, from now on, I am: Saami Powell.

Get used to it, it isn't going away anytime soon.

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Toy Story 3

Thursday, August 5, 2010 8:45:22 PM

"Toy Story 3"

Toy Story 3

And so it begins with the young lad now grown up and preparing to go to college, the beginning may be confusing for the littlies because the older lad is having one last game with is toys and it gets sort of confusing when reality starts to enter into his game plot. All of the toys are sorted and the lad keeps Woody to take with himself to college while putting the others into storage in the attic, and here the true story commences. College bound lad puts the attic bound toys into a black garbage bag and leaves them temporarily while helping his sister, who is cleaning her house and decides that her Barbie doll should be donated to the local playcentre along with other items from college bound lad. Of course, Mom trips over the bag and thinks the lad is being too lazy and takes the toys out and puts them next to the rest of the garbage for pick-up. Woody, being the only toy outside the bag is forced to rescue them and they amke it back into the house after a harrowing ride in a garbage truck. Thinking college bound lad is going to dispose of them the toys hide inside the box that is being donated to the playcentre, thinking at least the toys would be loved there and the kiddies would enjoy the new company. All being well, and the playcentre toys having accepted the newcomers, Woody makes his escape and returns to the house to accompany the lad to college as originally planned. With Woody safely on his way home we return to the playcentre to find that the littlies are hellions and death on new toys. Return to Woody who has been taken in a car right back to the wrong address, and is given to a cute little girl who sits him down and has an inaugural tea party, introducing him to all of her toys. One of the toys in this set-up is a clown and after Woody tells him where he left his friends, this clown reveals an awful secret about the playcentre, and in particular about a pink bear that smells of strawberries.
You'll have to watch to find out what happens.
A good watch with thrilling and funny moments, asa with all Pixar entertainment, it is aimed at all age groups so there's bound to be something in there you'll find relevant or whatever it is you look for in a cartoon. I found a rollicking good story with some funny moments and some poignant moments. All in all, for a Part 3, it is very satisfying entertainment and recommendable.

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Those Lovely Bones, The Informant and The Bad Lieutenant - Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad.

Saturday, February 13, 2010 9:29:24 AM

"The Bad Lieutenant", "Those Lovely Bones", "The Informant", Mark Wahlberg ...

One of the hardest positions to take is a critical place when someone has put a lot of effort into creating a work of art that turns out to be next to rubbish. Watching Those Lovely Bones, a new psychological thriller you will understand my dilemma. The plot is rather straightforward, probably a workshop for some future serial killer, man kills girl and parents have to live with consequences, with a few twists like sister of the dead girl illegally obtaining evidence, a neighbour girl with spooky abilities and the unrequited love of the murdered girl, all joined together with a father's (played by Mark Wahlberg) love and the killer coexisting peacefully as neighbours. Then there is the murdered girl coming to grips with being somewhere in what can be probably referred to as limbo, a CGI-fest of changing landscapes and re-appearing souls, all of whom were murdered by the killer (portrayed unconvincingly by Stanley Tucci) and are now awaiting justice so that they can move on to heaven. The one brief moment of tension is when the girl's bones, which are being kept in a safe (?) by the killer are being disposed of by the safe being thrown down a local sink-hole (there's always something handy like that in these kind of movies). [Look away now if you don't want to hear this bit, it is a spoiler] Our heroine/victim is briefly able to manifest herself in the body of the spooky neighbour girl and all she can think to do is kiss the handsome kid that was left behind waiting for her to show on the night she was murdered, go figure, as the safe containing the bones disappears down the sink-hole so does any sense of reality the movie might have gathered, it's a dull watch from there. I felt somewhat cheated, although in one sense I realise it is art and art doesn't have to follow pre-ordained paths, this just felt like someone was taking my money for no good purpose.
The Informant should win Matt (Mr. Eyelashes) Damon a plethora of awards if he is nominated for any in this brilliantly written and well-acted screenplay about an effusive and bumbling informant that goes to the FBI when he believes he has found evidence of price fixing in his industry. The mistakes and simple confusions go a long way to frustrating his FBI handlers and they find him a difficult operative. Damon's character creates a series of contrivances and leads the FBI on a merry chase and it is not until past the mid-way mark that the viewer realises all is not well in the mind of this man. As the plot progresses, smoothly and systematically unlocking a brilliant tale of cross and double-cross the audience slowly comes to realise that everything is not as it first seems. Subtle clues are strung throughout the movie as to the type of person "The Informant" is, for instance, the cars the man drives. I felt astounded at the end of this movie, shocked! It's brilliant from the first to last minute, an hearty well done to all those involved, and a special pat on the back for Scott Bakula who plays one of the FBI handlers for showing frustration so well. Well worth the price of admission.
Now we come to the least-likable personality in Hollywood today, Mr. Nicholas Cage! Whatever part he plays, it is said, he is always Nicholas Cage. I beg to differ, and as an exhibit I hold up "The Bad Lieutenant". Perhaps the voice, the face, the delivery is Nicholas Cage, the character is however so well enacted that those are overlooked in favour of one of the most deeply interesting and complicated performances from any actor to date. Entertaining, hard-hitting and without veneer, this looks at the New Orleans police force and conjures up some interesting and engrossing characters. Val Kilmer, barely recognisable as a fellow policeman and partner to Nicholas Cage's character, and all the other stars acting out their parts so well make a totally watchable and awe-inspiring movie. While this movie may stand as an indictment of an individual character is does not stand in judgement of anything else, it does however raise one question: Do the means justify the ends or do the ends justify the means? And any movie treatise of police work that can raise that kind of question is well worth the price of admission. An hearty well done to all those whom worked on this film for creating and maintaining this version of New Orleans reality, "The Bad Lieutenant" may be a bad person, even he considers redemption though. Go see it, you will be very well entertained, and Nicholas Cage(?), isn't he brilliant!

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Moses and The Lime Juice Tub

Monday, January 25, 2010 11:37:11 AM

churches, Ethiopia, Pharaoh, Mondeo ...

Hmmmm, Moses, Moses, Moses..........
From what I remember, having not recently read of the Bible, Moses, after a raining a few plagues on Pharaoic Egypt with the help of God, escaped the evil ruler of the day, crossed the Red Sea by parting the waters, scrambled up Mount Sinai, talked to a burning bush, brought the Ten Commandments, got lost in the desert, and went mad and died before ever seeing the promised land. In microcosm and not necessarily in that order, there was also a lot of stuff about the chosen tribe and not returning to pagan worship and mind controlling verse and turn of phrase, that was the story. Well, after watching a couple of documentaries on the BBC last night I have figured out in a moment of epiphany that Moses had the map upside-down. There is one worrying factor that I will get to momentarily, it has to do with the Ark of the Covenant, but as I said, momentarily.
The two shows I watched were on Africa, the first, chronologically, was expounding the beauty and vastness and relative low human occupation of the Rift Valley, that place in Africa where the anthropologists Leakey found remains of what today is still recognised as the earliest human. The valley itself is beautiful and bountiful, almost continuously supplied of new fertility by local volcanic eruptions and has an unique and varied wildlife of both flora and fauna, truly for someone making the move from Egypt with a tribe to feed a 'promised land', a garden of Edenic qualities and proportions. Well worth the journey, and to arrive at this destination the tribe would have to pass through the second BBC show.
The second BBC show, right after the Rift Valley documentary, showed the remains of the Kingdoms of Ethiopia, in an effort to trace and find evidence of a connection between the existence of the Ethiopian kings and that of the reign of King Solomon, proof of a direct descendant would have been good, failing that something concrete to suggest such a lineage. So off the host went, touring Ethiopia, visiting castles, churches and ruins, and an interesting and enlightening tour eventuated, churches hewn from great rocks that had stone features resembling wood built edifices, and monasteries that can only be visited by men (not even female animals are allowed onto the same ground as the monastery), and ruins that pre-date anything built in Egypt or Europe. Here's the worrying factor I mentioned earlier, The Ark of the Covenant was brought to Ethiopia, it is believed, by the son of Solomon. Why is this worrying? Well, it means that when Moses made his covenant with God, it all being commandments carved in stone and all that (sorry Mr. Spielberg, the Raiders would have had to go to Ethiopia not Egypt and all they had to do was ask someone and they would have been freely directed to the building where it is housed, perhaps it didn't make for a good story to have hero "Indy" Jones defending a plain square concrete brick building with a bit of fancy coloured lace woodwork adorning it), why was it on some forsaken mountain in the middle of a desert when it could have been in a land of milk and honey, not too far to the South of the evil land of the Pharaoh, and run by allies and protectors of his faith. According to the patriarch of the Christian church in Ethiopia the region adopted Judaism one thousand years before Christ while King Solomon ruled. (Interesting then that Israel was located in, effectively splitting in half, the then fledgling nation of Palestine.) Why didn't God correct Moses' course, or did Moses know better than God? And how come there was a temple of Solomon so far away from Ethiopia? Did someone build the temple and dedicate it to Solomon after thinking "We've got these rocks with the words of God inscribed on them we'd better put them somewhere safe." or was it already there waiting? One thing I would have done, and Moses didn't do, would have been to ask god for directions to the promised land during the inscribing of the Ten Commandments, or at least ask for a map during the conversation with the burning bush. Something, but no, Moses didn't he was brighter than that, he knew, even though Mrs Moses kept telling him to ask for directions, where he was going, and to his credit he never got there. Amazing. Were I to choose a prophet to follow and to found a religion upon I doubt very strongly that it would be someone lost in wilderness for forty years, just my own opinion.

and

The Lime Juice Tub
My mighty beast of burden, my mighty transport, is wounded and grounded for the time being, and I realise I haven't told the full story of what happened to disable my Ford Mondeo Ghia 2.0i, 16v, 5 speed, 5 door hatchback.
Back in December we got the car, our friend in whose driveway the car was sitting drove it over to our area under cover of darkness of night due to the fact that the machine had no road tax, was uninsured and carried no MOT(that's a mechanical warranty issued by government [Ministry Of Transport] approved locations that the machine is roadworthy). Both arrived safe and well and the vehicle was parked in the lane behind our apartment, off road, so that it would not be contested by any parking authority and there would be no fines. I then drove the vehicle, once again, furtively undercover of darkness to a parking spot behind an apartment building where we left a note on the vehicle (effectively appropriating a parking spot quasi-legally [Freya has a relative living in the apartment block]) to the effect that it would be moved once legal. I drove it a couple of times, furtively, while it was illegal, after all, you can't let a car just sit, batteries tend to run down and spiders can infest the exhaust pipe (I made that bit up to justify taking the car out for a spin) and we needed it for shopping anyway. So, the Lime Juice Tub sat and we moved it to the local Kwik-Fit garage to be made legal by obtaining an MOT and other repairs which included new brakes and and springs for the suspension, costing us £400.00, and a note to effect that our exhaust pipe will need replacing soon. We got the MOT and with the MOT combined with Insurance (£900.00 for a year because I have no "No claims Bonus") we were able to pay Road Tax, about £150.00 for 6 months and the car is finally street legal. Yahoo, let's go for a drive, so we did, and you can see the pictures taken while out on these drives, weekends usually, on my facebook page: (www.facebook.com/salkamraikhi).
Anyway, we drove somewhere in the car almost every day, kids, new toys, you know that story. It was about two weeks or so ago that I noticed a change, after filling 20 litres of petrol into the car there was a strange halting, almost, if you will pardon the comparison, the feeling as one might get being the dog dragging its buttocks across the shag pile. My first thought was either there was water in the petrol tank or perhaps I had put the wrong fuel in the tank, that being diesel instead of petrol, I dismissed the second as the memory of which bowser I had picked up was clear in my mind. Still the motor hiccoughed when in low revolutions, particularly after shifting gears upward, there seemed to be a problem regaining the amount of revolutions required to run in the higher gear. I drove the car home and there seemed to be less trouble the further I drove, and being the forever optimist I thought the problem, with crossed fingers, toes and eyes, might just have rectified itself. Mechanical know-how and wishful thinking are usually at odds with one another, as they were in this case, and usually are.
We drove to Ikea, and from our flat it is quite a distance, we being on the East side of London and Ikea being on the North side of London. Yeah, I know what you're thinking, "for crying out loud, how far can it be?", England is only a large postage stamp, well, it's a worthy distance, and driving a wounded Lime Juice Tub proved to be something of an error.
Let me take you through that day, it was a Wednesday. Freya now has Wednesdays off from her work, so we decided to spend the afternoon with a relaxing hike around probably one of the biggest showrooms on the planet (although there was that showroom in Frankenmuth, Michigan, that was massive and yes, bigger than the Ikea showroom, although the aisles there were straight and in Ikea it is a very flexible and winding path one follows, still, no competition, Frankenmuth wins) having lunch along the way. During this hike, Freya is fielding telephone calls from her friend Ayse who lives in Uckfield, near to Brighton, the English holiday resort. These phone calls suddenly change as the caller becomes Freya's elder son, informing her of the illness of her younger son, and what with there being a rift between them there are all kinds of problems contacting number 2 son. these conversations play out right until we arrive at the payment counter, fuses are short, tempers are fuming, purchases are rejected because Ikea does not honour American Express, the afternoon has been wasted and we now have to go to her son whom thankfully does not live too far away from us, we being in Redbridge and him in Gants Hill. On the journey there, the Lime Juice Tub hiccoughed a couple of times and I raised the issue of possible repairs with Freya who seemed to approve. On the journey home, because the engine was now blowing amounts of smoke and the hiccoughing was worsening, in my limited engineering capacity I thought there may be a problem with the clutch, knowing that some unscrupulous repairmen have an habit of placing sawdust in the gearbox (one day someone will tell me the worth of this strategy) and it probably wouldn't be above the English to do so. Perhaps the time of day had something to do with the hastening decline of the motor, instead of turning left when exiting the parking lot at Ikea, I turned right, taking an unfamiliar route instead of retracing my steps, this could have been male bravado, or at least in my mind an effort to get home quicker, after all when travelling North one turns to the right to head East, correct? Maybe so, London streets on the other hand have a different opinion, and the engineers that designed the city designed it with the notion that people are born, grow up and die in the same suburb, so there is no need for direction to other areas. The journey was long, time wasting and arduous on the motor, by the time I was able to move above second gear, that would be about 50 minutes into the journey, bless rush hour traffic, the hiccoughing effect had worsened. Slowing and stopping for corners made the revolutions fluctuate and as I passed through first and second gears the motor seemed to want to cough out more smoke than I had seen previously, white stuff, thick, looking much like the exhaust on an old steam engine. Then, when we arrived home, slowing for traffic lights caused the engine to stall. Dropping Freya off at a friends house, where she might glean the address of number 2 son, I drove home in a pall of smoke, stalling at each turn and light, the engine giving me nothing and then shooting me forward making me brake with might to prevent causing an accident. I parked the Lime Juice Tub for the evening, truly relieved to have made it home alive and without attracting the attention of the constabulary. The following Thursday morning I drove the Lime Juice Tub to Leyton and left it in the caring hands of the mechanics at Supreme Auto Repair, and after two days of waiting was told that either I needed a new engine or there was a serious damage to the head gasket in the vehicle.
One week ago today I brought the Lime Juice Tub home, weak, limping, blowing smoke, unable to maintain steady revolutions, and contacted my cousin Dave, motor mechanic. Last Saturday Dave looked over the engine, made some cursory tests and now my Lime Juice Tub sits awaiting Dave's return when I am to apprentice to him and we will conduct a more detailed search for the actual problem and hopefully resolve the problem and I will be able to once again take Freya on our brief yet so satisfying outings on the weekend. As for Freya's number 2 son, he is well and back to doing whatever he does.

TaTaForNow

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What Happened : Up In The Air

Saturday, January 16, 2010 1:42:39 PM

politics, books, Up In The Air, Scott McLellan ...

Scott McLellan's book "What Happened" is an interesting if somewhat less that hard-hitting novel about how the Bush presidency became derailed. Largely putting the blame squarely on the concept of the 'Permanent campaign' wherein the president while in the White House becomes embroiled not so much in affairs of state as in an effort to continue riding high in popularity with the electorate and fund raising, thus the president sells his policies instead of rising to them with discourse and debate from the wide range of available intellectual and democratic sources. Also under fire is the 'culture of deception' in which the president falls foul of the Washington bubble and becomes embroiled in partisan politics. Although, I firmly believe that president Bush is made to appear a hands-off president, leaving all the actual work to others and suffering the consequences when things get botched. For instance, in the Valerie Plame affair, president Bush personally declassifies information in a top-secret National Intelligence Estimate report, handing the dissemination of the information to his vice-president, Dick Cheney who then hands it off to his aide Scooter Libby who then leaks the information to the press in an effort to take the heat away from statements made by Bush in his effort to sell the upcoming war with Iraq which were being vigorously disputed by Valerie Plame's husband, former ambassador Joseph Wilson. Unfortunately, Mr McLellan defended the guilty Scooter Libby publicly at the command of the vice-president, as Mr Libby was an adviser to the vice-president. An interesting side point here, president Bush, in what must have been a rush of blood to his brain, pardoned Mr Libby and thus let the culprit that he stated earlier in several comments should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law go free. This act of exoneration from the man that as Governor of Texas never once signed a reprieve for anyone on death row, believing that justice had taken its rightful course. One can only guess where the pressures to perform such an action came from.
Rightfully, the name Karl Rove is constantly appearing, as this man was the apparent "power behind the throne". The way in which Rove is portrayed tells much about how McLellan either revered or feared the man and his level of power. If Cheney pulled the strings behind the Bush presidency then Rove pulled the strings behind Bush. Karl Rove did get president Bush the two things he wanted most 1: Saddam Hussein deposed and ridiculed within his own nation and 2: A second term as president. Why were these important to president Bush? Because they were the two things his daddy didn't do, and that in his own little mind makes him superior.
Bush did not want anyone interposing themselves between him and his aims, that message comes through clearly with the way he treated former ambassador Joseph Wilson for his criticisms. Bush did not argue for the war, he sold it to the American public, and they bought it, want it or not, need it or not. I think, after reading this book, that George Bush was less than adept at keeping rein on his ideas and ideals, he was taken off course by some very clever and Machiavellian characters that he surrounded himself with, namely Dick Cheney and Karl Rove. Bush may have been a consummate politician, unfortunately he wound up being a puppet to the needs of others, he was neither clever nor inventive, just a sad shadow that remains forever lost in a world of shadows. A brief quote from the book will show why I now think this way.
"And lurking behind it all remained the magic man. Vice President Cheney. No one knew better how to orchestrate what was happening from behind the curtain while the grand production was playing out on stage. Quietly slipping in and out of internal deliberations, his influence and wand waving barely discernible to the outside world, Cheney rarely showed all his cards and never disclosed how he made things happen. Yet somehow, in every policy area he cared about, from the invasion of Iraq to the expansion of presidential power to the treatment of detainees and the use of surveillance against terror suspects, Cheney always seemed to get his way. He viewed the world as an ominous place where evil has to be fought by any means necessary - including some that are decidedly unpleasant." - Pge 247, What Happened. Scott McLellan. PublicAffairs. New York. 2008.

What makes "Up In The Air", a film directed by Jason Reitman worth watching is the way he takes the time to tell a story about juxtaposed lifestyles. The whole movie is one way or another related to lives being 'up in the air'. Take the lead character (George Clooney), a man who lives his life flying between cities where when he lands he has to do his job of firing people for executives too afraid or busy or otherwise concerned to do it themselves. His life is 'up in the air' in more than just that way though, there is the new recruit, the young woman with academic genius who followed her boyfriend to be with him and winds up putting the lead character's job 'up in the air' by convincing the company executive to fire people over the Internet. the change leaves the main character's future up in the air, the firings will be taking place over the air, it all begins to tie in, There are also sub-plots, where the lead character's romantic liaison with a fellow traveller leaves him up in the air, and his sister's wedding is up in the air when her husband-to-be gets 'cold feet'. The whole story is interspersed with the immediate effects of the firings, the terminations leaving most of those terminated up in the air as to the rest of their lives. There are some very funny lines, although a light hearted look at the seriousness of job termination and the inconclusivity of life, all ends well as it should in a comedy. As for Oscar rearing his head in this movie, well, the direction is excellent, the editing faultless (save a loss of contact between image and soundtrack in the version I viewed), and everyone, even those people terminated (who were evidently real people and their reactions to being fired were acted out according to their initial reaction) give the feeling of authenticity to this movie. It could happen, there could be someone out there living life on aeroplanes and their only objective becoming a member of the exclusive 10 million airmile club. This lifestyle may seem sad to reflect upon, however, director Jason Reitman makes it an upbeat and funny existence and I'm giving it five airports out of five, and saying if doesn't win an Oscar then there should be more of them awarded.

TTFN

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Trippy Driving

Friday, January 8, 2010 5:49:42 PM

England, roads, road, coast ...

Driving in England, well, that's a whole new kettle for this little fish to boil over about. Okay, so only got the new car around Christmastime, new to me that is, well used, and once an abandoned vehicle, now a well-loved motor car by me and Freya. We go do things and that usually ends up in a drive to somewhere, like last Sunday when we motored out to the Essex coast and had coffee in a seaside town called Burnham On Crouch, and today, after taking Freya to the hospital we came home via Epping Forest and Maldon in Essex. Lovely journeys with beautiful vistas, taking us through some of the prettiest countryside around London, just delightful. What's trippy about that?

The car is a 1996 Ford Mondeo Ghia 2.0 manual, her colour is Juice (it's a variation on British Racing Green in a metallic sort of way) and I call her the 'Lime Juice Tub'. It's a pet name that can be reduced to 'The Tub' whenever I feel too lazy to type her whole name, and here's what she looks like:

Beauty, eh? By the way, that's Freya in there, smiling.

Anyway, this is about the driving pleasures of the English roads. Now you may have heard much or little on this topic, whichever, I am about to continue. Okay, English roads, unles built after about 1965 aren't really meant for automobiles. Truly, they are one cart lanes that joined up the small towns and villages and were mostly used on market day, then when it was necessary, because of the advent of the automobile tarred over (thank you Mr MacAdam) and that's what we have. It's a thrill-a-minute ride along some of the streets and roads because people park any old how and facing whichever direction they choose. Parking is a whole subject in itself, really, it does however impact on the driving skillset and pleasures of the average motorist, never mind the neophytes like myself. Avoiding the parked sometimes sends the vehicle well onto the opposite side of the road, then there's delay as oncoming vehicles exercise their right-of-way. And when arrived at the destination there's always the pleasure of following those blue P signs on a merry chase to find a parking spot. Of course if you have bottomless pockets and interminable patience there's always main street parking, that involves all the fun of driving around the block for hours on end and slipping in to a spot made vacant by a vehicle that moves from its parking space, only to find out the everyone is moving their vehicles because it is illegal to park on that particular block for the next hour..........fun, eh? Here's a parking place we found in Broadstairs, I was impressed by the gall of the gull.....

Anyhow, getting on with the driving aspect, i have always been a great fan of moving about the countryside, even though my luck with photographic expectations has been mostly pretty poor, like whenever we go to Leigh-On-Sea, you will note the image below;

Looks more like Leigh-On-Mud, right?

Actually I have a wonderful capacity for catching ebb tide as the photos below will attest to;

Broadstairs......Quick! The French are stealing our water!

Blakeney......Nah, the water keeps running away!

Anyway, what's at the end of all of these drives? Home and comfort and coffee, that's why we go away, so that we can appreciate home so much more when we get back. Driving, well, that's just part of it, streets too narrow, roads too hilly or winding, it's all part of the game, the joy. After all there aren't the wide open spaces that North America or Australia offer (not that those winding sheep tracks in rural Australia are any better) and there are lots of curves and bends where a man can get in touch with his testosterone again as he flashes along country roads just like those in the television advertisements. I like 'The Tub', it's like taking an armchair for a drive, and it is fast becoming a favourite. Yes, definitely, I'm going to enjoy driving in England, ah-ha, and I have the whole of the continent of Europe to traverse, in a right-hand drive, manual, full-sized, English licence-plated car, oh-ho is that going to be fun!

TataForNow

Nothing to do with driving, still, looks nice, doesn't it?

Bye

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First Day Out ; Basically, the test drive.

Saturday, January 2, 2010 5:57:06 PM

Hi,

Well, what's on my mind today? So many things, too many to list, so I'll just go to one that has been in the forefront for a couple of days now. Movies, moving pictures with sound, coloured images that tell a story accompanied with voices and music, narratives, what to see and what not to see and why is it so important? Personal choice is the primary reason for watching movies, relaxation, or exhilaration or whatever other reason only help make the choice of which movie to see. Recently, through no choice of my own, I had occasion to watch a movie not of my own choosing. Freya had brought it home some weeks ago, it seems Freya has a "Chinese man" that brings her movies, most are of excellent quality and some are even pre-release, here I invoke the "Don't ask - Don't tell" and move on. It was actually Freya that decided we should watch this movie, since it had been in the 'Unwatched' pile for quite some time.

Firstly, let me tell you about movies at our house, there is no DVD player hooked up to the television (for reasons I may disclose later we officially don't have a television set)so it is down to my laptop (a whopping 17 inch screen) and an external sound system. It works, don't knock it! So I slid the DVD into the "coffe cup holder", closed it and kind of hoped that the DVD was of poor quality or perhaps one that was recorded in a foreign language without the option of subtitles (that happens sometiimes). The picture clarity was excellent, the sound, flawless, the movie commenced!

Usually it is at this point that the telephone rings, not tonight though, even the traffic on the usually busy street outside seemed to subdue itself and it seemed the policemen were taking a night off from roaring by with their sirens blasting. No interruptions, we had coffee to drink (you don't get that at the theatre, now do you?) and spicy corn as a snack with a backup of Christmas chocolates, and the world was serene as the movie began.

I have watched many movies and from time to time see one that stands out from the thicket, one that is worth the price of admission, worth going out on a cold night and renting, this movie is among that short list. It is outstandingly acted, it is cleverly filmed, well edited, well written and the direction is brilliant. Starring Jamie Foxx as a down-and-out and Robert Downey Jr. as a reporter, The Soloist grabs the viwer by the eyes, ears, heart and soul and relentlessly hangs on to them until the final minute. Jamie Foxx's portrayal of the homeless yet not hopeless Juillard School of Music dropout is astounding. The movie goes deep, exploring his life and his choices. There is causal factor in his situation and it understates a big part of the human condition, and we can sympathise, fear and adore this character, as we can Robert Downey Jr's portrayal of the big-city reporter who takes the homeless Foxx under his wing so-to-speak. Mr Downey Jr's., character learns much about himself and a part of the underbelly of society that is overlooked and underexposed, that of the homeless. This movie is as much about the homeless as it is the brilliance and individuality of the main characters.

I took a deep breath at the end of this movie because it touched me in places I haven't been touched before. I too was once homeless, I too have seen this societal underbelly and I knnow from personal experience how hard it is to rise above that situation. I am plucky more than lucky, I am determined not to let that happen again.

That's enough for now, the test drive can't be too long. And I need further opinion to learn how I am doing, what should I do next time. Suggestions on topics would be welcome.

Have a great theatre experience the next you watch a movie.

Tatafornow.

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