Chris Keegan: February 2008 Archives
Well. Life is a mess of contradictions isn't it? Just when you thought you'd got used to something, wham! Life hits you smack in the face.
So it is with life and so it is with the isolationist.
Now you could be forgiven for thinking that a blog entitled "the isolationist" would contain the self-indulgent ramblings of a single self-obsessed individual who eschews human contact, striving only to express the perfect solipsistic thought. And I'm not here today to contradict you. I'm just saying that rather than one isolationist there are now five. Each individual free to follow their own whims and fancies. And lets face it, if they write more I can get away with writing less, which is better for everyone.
So without further delay the new writers are:
Caroline Child
Thomas Paullier
Clemency Evans
John Shave
I asked them to be guest contributors because they've all got really interesting viewpoints on life and come from very different backgrounds as well as a penchant for wordiness which goes a long way with me. Thomas and Caroline have already written excellent articles about dancing and scuba diving and John and Clemency will be posting their first articles in the next couple of weeks.
So it is with life and so it is with the isolationist.
Now you could be forgiven for thinking that a blog entitled "the isolationist" would contain the self-indulgent ramblings of a single self-obsessed individual who eschews human contact, striving only to express the perfect solipsistic thought. And I'm not here today to contradict you. I'm just saying that rather than one isolationist there are now five. Each individual free to follow their own whims and fancies. And lets face it, if they write more I can get away with writing less, which is better for everyone.
So without further delay the new writers are:
Caroline Child
Thomas Paullier
Clemency Evans
John Shave
I asked them to be guest contributors because they've all got really interesting viewpoints on life and come from very different backgrounds as well as a penchant for wordiness which goes a long way with me. Thomas and Caroline have already written excellent articles about dancing and scuba diving and John and Clemency will be posting their first articles in the next couple of weeks.
Just found this site, looks quite cool. Not a lot of entries for Bristol and thereabouts, though.
Since coming back to Bristol in June last year one of the things that has been most important to me is to start climbing again. It's taken a while - I really only managed to go a handful of times last year - but I think I'm finally starting to get back into the swing of it.
The last time I climbed properly was in 2002-2003 when I first got into it and I did a couple of courses teaching how to climb outdoors safely and was regularly leading 6c's indoors at Undercover Rock at St Werburgh's. 6c is nothing to a real climber but I was quite pleased to be able to do those at the time. Outdoors I only did it "properly" once on a Very Severe, 4c multi-pitch climb in the Avon Gorge. I've published a post from the original incarnation of The Isolationist, dated 29th August 2003, describing that climb; I was quite excited.
When I first picked up climbing again, probably in September or October last year, I went all the way back to top-roping 5a's and struggled a bit with that. That was quite hard but when I went last Friday night I was quite pleased that I felt relatively comfortable leading a tricky 6a climb. At least I'm back in the 6's! I was also doing ok in the bouldering room.
So now my attentions are turning to climbing outdoors again. Time to dust off my trad gear, and hope that the ropes haven't perished and the wallnuts haven't rusted. Only one way to find out!
The last time I climbed properly was in 2002-2003 when I first got into it and I did a couple of courses teaching how to climb outdoors safely and was regularly leading 6c's indoors at Undercover Rock at St Werburgh's. 6c is nothing to a real climber but I was quite pleased to be able to do those at the time. Outdoors I only did it "properly" once on a Very Severe, 4c multi-pitch climb in the Avon Gorge. I've published a post from the original incarnation of The Isolationist, dated 29th August 2003, describing that climb; I was quite excited.
When I first picked up climbing again, probably in September or October last year, I went all the way back to top-roping 5a's and struggled a bit with that. That was quite hard but when I went last Friday night I was quite pleased that I felt relatively comfortable leading a tricky 6a climb. At least I'm back in the 6's! I was also doing ok in the bouldering room.
So now my attentions are turning to climbing outdoors again. Time to dust off my trad gear, and hope that the ropes haven't perished and the wallnuts haven't rusted. Only one way to find out!
This was posted on the original Isolationist website way back in 2003 (August 29th) when I was first bitten by the climbing bug.
Another crazy climbing adventure today. We climbed Central Rib on the main walls at the Avon Gorge (VS, 4c).
Add to that the fact that I can't remember what that last bit of gear was rated to withstand. Was it 2KN or 12? That makes a big difference when a sixty-five kilo man drops fifty feet, I can tell you. And remember I was getting on for two hundred feet up at this point. And I'm really quite scared of heights. Fortunately I found a little crack to jam something into. Which was nice. So that was that, 220 feet of pure adrenalin, but man, it was so satisfying reaching the top and then seeing Ginger get up safely too.
Another crazy climbing adventure today. We climbed Central Rib on the main walls at the Avon Gorge (VS, 4c).
"Central Rib * 220ft VS. First climbed by B. Page and Miss A. Clark in 1954. Pleasant and popular. "Very pleasant I imagine, with only a pair of hob-nailed boots for protection. This was first time that I've properly led outdoors, placing gear and relying on it. I'll tell you, it certainly makes you feel alive. The moves weren't technically difficult but I was so scared, particularly when protection got to be a little way beneath me. So scared in fact that I started playing with it a little bit. At one point, I was probably about 150 feet up, and my leg started shaking, really quite badly: I put my hand on a nice secure hold, leg stops shaking, take it off again, leg goes again, off: shaky, on: steady, off: shaky, on: steady. Puny Earthling! So that was fun. It was a multi-pitch climb so I had to figure out how to setup a belay station roughly half-way up the wall, basically on a narrow ledge, to get Ginger up safely, which took forever. But when I finally saw Ginger making the last few moves before joining me I felt this really warm satisfied glow. The kind you get when you've done something important (to you at least). I think we mis-read the guide book a bit for the second pitch because I got up about ten feet and thought there is no way I'm climbing up that and traversed left about ten feet. When I started going up after the traverse I found a section that the guide book had described, back on track, hurray. I'm glad I didn'thave to do that other bit, flashback to images of mountain rescue. I'd never been so glad to see a little crack in rock in all my life as I was today, climbing up towards the two hundred feet mark and suddenly there was nowhere to place protection, the climbing was pretty easy but the last bit of gear was about twenty five feet below me. And that does strange things to your mind: "I know this is safe, it's really unlikely that I'll fall. But if I do, I'm falling at least fifty feet onto a bit of gear that I placed and that may or may not hold."
Add to that the fact that I can't remember what that last bit of gear was rated to withstand. Was it 2KN or 12? That makes a big difference when a sixty-five kilo man drops fifty feet, I can tell you. And remember I was getting on for two hundred feet up at this point. And I'm really quite scared of heights. Fortunately I found a little crack to jam something into. Which was nice. So that was that, 220 feet of pure adrenalin, but man, it was so satisfying reaching the top and then seeing Ginger get up safely too.
I was a bit sceptical about this movie before I watched it; it's all too easy for these films to tip over into cloying mediocrity and leave you clutching at your windpipe desperately trying to yank it free from its corporeal prison and thereby loosing a tremendous life-ending spray on any hapless bystanders, assuming that is they haven't beaten you to the punch. So I was pleasantly surprised to retain some measure of a will to live at the end of Half-Nelson.
In a nutshell the film is about a free-basing, crack-addicted history teacher who is nevertheless able to inspire his pupils with his unique perspective on the subject and quirky didactic style. Which is, frankly, a pretty good starting point for a film like this. And crucially, for me at least, the director (Ryan Fleck) avoids cliché and moralising by leaving it to the viewer's imagination to decide what happens Dan Dunne (Ryan Gosling).
As is well understood from anyone having read anything about this film the central story revolves around the relationship between Dan and one of his pupils, Drey (Shareeka Epps), their respective problems and most interestingly how they each handle Drey's discovery of Mr Dunne, how shall I put it, whacked out of his mind on crack in the changing rooms after a basketball game. We're not talking about having had a a bit of a smoke and feeling a bit squiffy, he was in the throes of a fairly serious hit, on the floor trying to keep it together but not really succeeding.
As you might imagine that scene, being pivotal to the film, was very well executed and Ryan Gosling was careful to preserve the teacher/pupil relationship throughout, a feat not easy to carry out whilst maintaining any degree of believability. In fact I'd say that for most of the film this fine line was successfully trodden.
What makes this film interesting for me was the fact that what develops in the story is the relationship between the two main characters, not the characters themselves. This might seem obvious but in most films the story arc of the main protagonist is clear cut and by and large it involves some highs and some lows before tying any loose ends up in a neat little bundle. But we leave this film not knowing how either of the main characters will fair; Dan's drug addiction is still a big problem and as I suspect Drey's nascent career in crime will become.
I like film to reflect life; it's not simple, everyone isn't nice and things rarely end up well. This film is filled with moral ambiguity, what do we think about a teacher being high on coke whilst teaching our kids? What do we think about a teacher forming a strong bond with one of his pupils? (another good thing about this film is that the relationship never comes across as inappropriate). And Dan does some things that few of us would be proud of. But as he says to Drey, "Just because you know this one thing ... one thing doesn't make a man". And that sums it up, we're all good and bad and when we find good friends we should keep them.
In a nutshell the film is about a free-basing, crack-addicted history teacher who is nevertheless able to inspire his pupils with his unique perspective on the subject and quirky didactic style. Which is, frankly, a pretty good starting point for a film like this. And crucially, for me at least, the director (Ryan Fleck) avoids cliché and moralising by leaving it to the viewer's imagination to decide what happens Dan Dunne (Ryan Gosling).
As is well understood from anyone having read anything about this film the central story revolves around the relationship between Dan and one of his pupils, Drey (Shareeka Epps), their respective problems and most interestingly how they each handle Drey's discovery of Mr Dunne, how shall I put it, whacked out of his mind on crack in the changing rooms after a basketball game. We're not talking about having had a a bit of a smoke and feeling a bit squiffy, he was in the throes of a fairly serious hit, on the floor trying to keep it together but not really succeeding.
As you might imagine that scene, being pivotal to the film, was very well executed and Ryan Gosling was careful to preserve the teacher/pupil relationship throughout, a feat not easy to carry out whilst maintaining any degree of believability. In fact I'd say that for most of the film this fine line was successfully trodden.
What makes this film interesting for me was the fact that what develops in the story is the relationship between the two main characters, not the characters themselves. This might seem obvious but in most films the story arc of the main protagonist is clear cut and by and large it involves some highs and some lows before tying any loose ends up in a neat little bundle. But we leave this film not knowing how either of the main characters will fair; Dan's drug addiction is still a big problem and as I suspect Drey's nascent career in crime will become.
I like film to reflect life; it's not simple, everyone isn't nice and things rarely end up well. This film is filled with moral ambiguity, what do we think about a teacher being high on coke whilst teaching our kids? What do we think about a teacher forming a strong bond with one of his pupils? (another good thing about this film is that the relationship never comes across as inappropriate). And Dan does some things that few of us would be proud of. But as he says to Drey, "Just because you know this one thing ... one thing doesn't make a man". And that sums it up, we're all good and bad and when we find good friends we should keep them.
Clearly I didn't have much to say about the ferry crossing from Barcelona but Mallorca is without a doubt a beautiful place to find yourself.
Day 3 - 5th May
The sun rose into a clear sky over the beautiful mallorcean skyline of rugged mountains and my mood continued to brighten. The people of Palma were friendly and helpful, indulging my faltering spanish (even though mallorceans speak catalan most assuredly). Since I was last here it's clear that a lot of work has been done to improve the infrastructure of the island. From the taxi driver who drove me from the port to town to the ticket clerk they were all proud of their new subterranean train station, and rightly so. It's an austere minimalist place but relaxing to be in and easy to navigate. Also, I was able to buy a ticket to Sa Pablo, on the other side of the island near Puerto de Pollenca, for less than half the price of reserving my ticket on the train from Perpignan to Barcelona. Mum, who was planning to pick me up from Sa Pablo, was held up finishing off some work so I ended up getting the bus instead - getting the hang this malarky. Everything is easier when the sun is shining.
I met Mum at a cafe where she was having a coffee with one of her ex-pat friends and she proceeded to embarrass and fuss over me. Some things will never change but seeing mum always awakens uncomfortable feelings and memories. So much has gone wrong with our family over the years.
There was a massive thunder storm in the afternoon that put the keibosch on any grand plans I had for sitting on the beach. It was a cracking storm though, with the sound vying with the visuals for top marks in texture and quality; deep and long rumbling booms contesting with sharp crackling forks of lightning goring the ground.
Day 3 - 5th May
The sun rose into a clear sky over the beautiful mallorcean skyline of rugged mountains and my mood continued to brighten. The people of Palma were friendly and helpful, indulging my faltering spanish (even though mallorceans speak catalan most assuredly). Since I was last here it's clear that a lot of work has been done to improve the infrastructure of the island. From the taxi driver who drove me from the port to town to the ticket clerk they were all proud of their new subterranean train station, and rightly so. It's an austere minimalist place but relaxing to be in and easy to navigate. Also, I was able to buy a ticket to Sa Pablo, on the other side of the island near Puerto de Pollenca, for less than half the price of reserving my ticket on the train from Perpignan to Barcelona. Mum, who was planning to pick me up from Sa Pablo, was held up finishing off some work so I ended up getting the bus instead - getting the hang this malarky. Everything is easier when the sun is shining.
I met Mum at a cafe where she was having a coffee with one of her ex-pat friends and she proceeded to embarrass and fuss over me. Some things will never change but seeing mum always awakens uncomfortable feelings and memories. So much has gone wrong with our family over the years.
There was a massive thunder storm in the afternoon that put the keibosch on any grand plans I had for sitting on the beach. It was a cracking storm though, with the sound vying with the visuals for top marks in texture and quality; deep and long rumbling booms contesting with sharp crackling forks of lightning goring the ground.
Ever jointed a chicken? It's incredibly satisfying. On so many levels (not the least of which is using a cleaver to chop the carcass up for the stock pot) but knowing that every last scrap of the bird is going to get used makes me feel good. Two nice free range chickens (alas, not organic), which cost about £16 from Taste (purveyors of fine foods, with a particularly good butcher), give up, four massive breasts, four thighs, four drummers and a litre of tasty stock. And in addition to all that you get the livers for making paté. For a house of three people (like what I live in), that £16 goes a long long way, we'll easily get five or six meals out of it not counting soups and risottos with the stock.
So anyway, why am I writing about all that, eh? Well Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall made a television (you remember that old thing?) program called Chicken Out broadcast earlier in January where he compared free range chicken production with battery chicken production because apparently Hugh was (rightly) outraged by the rise of the £2.99 supermarket chicken. Anyway on said show, again apparently because I don't sully myself with television, there were members of the unclean masses interviewed bemoaning the fact that they couldn't afford chicken if it was more expensive than £2.99. These people were the sorts that buy the chicken, microwave the fucker, eat the breasts and toss the rest away. Quite why Hugh bothers wasting his time with these indolent fuckwits I don't know but I suppose there are rather a lot of them. But there's probably not enough time between Eastenders and Coronation Street for anything other than bouts of uncontrolled flatulence, so again I don't know why he bothers.
So in conclusion then, I don't know about you (not being an indolent fuckwit) but quite apart from the moral and economic issues, (such as they are given that for less than 90p per person, per meal you can eat tasty free range chicken) the taste of an anaemic tescos (or sainsbury's, or asda or waitrose or morrisons) chicken is enough to turn you into a vegetarian. And fuck me that's saying something.
So anyway, why am I writing about all that, eh? Well Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall made a television (you remember that old thing?) program called Chicken Out broadcast earlier in January where he compared free range chicken production with battery chicken production because apparently Hugh was (rightly) outraged by the rise of the £2.99 supermarket chicken. Anyway on said show, again apparently because I don't sully myself with television, there were members of the unclean masses interviewed bemoaning the fact that they couldn't afford chicken if it was more expensive than £2.99. These people were the sorts that buy the chicken, microwave the fucker, eat the breasts and toss the rest away. Quite why Hugh bothers wasting his time with these indolent fuckwits I don't know but I suppose there are rather a lot of them. But there's probably not enough time between Eastenders and Coronation Street for anything other than bouts of uncontrolled flatulence, so again I don't know why he bothers.
So in conclusion then, I don't know about you (not being an indolent fuckwit) but quite apart from the moral and economic issues, (such as they are given that for less than 90p per person, per meal you can eat tasty free range chicken) the taste of an anaemic tescos (or sainsbury's, or asda or waitrose or morrisons) chicken is enough to turn you into a vegetarian. And fuck me that's saying something.
