Fall In, Fall Out, Fall Down

O Tesla of absolute beautifulness, how I love thee. I saw the new Model X Tesla as I was on my way from Chiswick, and thank God I was not at the wheel and crashing into the Hogarth roundabout. What a beaut! And yes, I want one. Stat. The photograph does not do it justice, believe me. That car is fierce. The next day, I was on Chiswick High Road and I overheard a conversation between a guy in his 30s and his son who looked to be about 5/6 years old. There was a Ferrari 458 Spider stuck in the traffic jam and the little boy was goggle-eyed with excitement. I heard the guy explaining to his son that the car was just for show-offs and that the owner was only seeking attention. I was very tempted to call out this po-faced ignoramus. That is not as dangerous as it sounds, it was Chiswick; the most that would have happened is that he would have given me a lecture about global warming and offered me some kale and/or quinoa salad 🙂 OK, the owner of the car did not cover himself with glory, what with his H1 5EXY numberplate but come on, what a car! Just because it was being driven by some juvenile delinquent does not negate the fact that it is a superlative example of automotive engineering. My inner (OK, outer) petrolhead wanted to hug the car and whisper endearments to it (yes, I am aware that I have some ongoing issues), and take that boy from him and show him round Bugatti and McLaren showrooms. I hope he is not condemned to a life of knitted hemp sandals and Kia Picantos. No offence to Kia but it sure ain’t an Aston Martin DB5…….

It actually got me thinking about nature vs nurture again. I was recently listening to Fela Anikulapo-Kuti’s music and falling about in giggles at the song ‘Zombie’. This is the one single piece of artistry that ensured I was never going to join any military or para-military organisation. I would have spent my military career on permanent latrine duty because of insubordination. Order! Halt!! 🙂 Early exposure to Fela and Bob Marley pretty much unleashed my inner anarchist and I never did find my inner conformist after all that. Walking past Whitehall and Downing Street and seeing the army on the streets of London feels really surreal. Anarchist or not though, maximum respect to the Armed Forces and Emergency Services guys and gals. I’ve lived through a serious fire and I cannot get over the bravery of anyone who runs into a fire, or that of someone who runs towards the sound of gunfire and explosions. Irrespective of what I may personally regard as casus belli or not, there is no doubting the courage of soldiers in the same way there is no doubting the appeal of Ferraris even if you would never buy one for environmental/prudence/sanity reasons.

By the way there are 93 secondhand 458 Spiders on AutoTrader. The cheapest is £169,000. Yes, I checked. 🙂 Now, who would pay £169,000 for a secondhand car? Or indeed, a firsthand car? There’s crazy, and there’s KERRAZY. I also saw a turquoise Lambo Aventador in Beauchamp Place on the same day. It did not look as wrong as it sounds. I think I need therapy. Have a terrific week.

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Grass? It’d Better Be Smokable

A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! More like a garden is a lovesome thing – not! I’ve spent far too much of today cutting grass – with a pair of secateurs. I can’t begin to tell you how much I have loathed the whole experience, and I would like to take this opportunity to tell Poldark what he can do with his scythe…. I always suspected that gardening is not for me, and now I have proof. A more singularly pointless exercise, I cannot imagine. Having previously lived in flats, I have not had to deal with all this palaver before. Parks, woods, huge landscaped Capability-Brown-fests, I love them – as long as some other poor fool is doing the grunt work. Faffing around with garden plans, flower pots, herb gardens, all excellent. Weeding and cutting grass, not so much. The whole enterprise is that most awful worst of both worlds: time-consuming and boring. I would have gladly kept on ignoring the wretched plot but it was beginning to look a little ‘Day of the Triffids’. It was only a matter of time before my neighbours started a petition. If I’d had a tree in the blasted garden, I would have contemplated hanging myself from it. But no, all there is is blasted grass as far as the eye can see. To paraphrase Sir Thomas Beecham, “You should try everything once except incest, morris dancing, and gardening.”

I now have a new theory that it was cutting the grass that tipped Adam and Eve over the edge, although selling the whole of humankind down the river just for a bit of novelty is a bit much. What I like is cities, pavements, bars, restaurants, manicured gardens maintained by people who are not me. You get the idea, I’m sure. Maximum kudos to all farmers everywhere. I know they have machines etc to help, but it’s still my idea of a living hell, with extra dust. I am definitely a town mouse, no doubt about it.

It reminds me of one of my favourite Talking Heads songs, Nothing (But Flowers):

There was a factory
Now there are mountains and rivers
You got it, you got it
We caught a rattlesnake
Now we got something for dinner
We got it, we got it
There was a shopping mall
Now it's all covered with flowers
You've got it, you've got it
If this is paradise
I wish I had a lawnmower
You've got it, you've got it
Years ago I was an angry young man
I'd pretend that I was a billboard
Standing tall by the side of the road
I fell in love with a beautiful highway
This used to be real estate
Now it's only fields and trees
Where, where is the town
Now, it's nothing but flowers

   The highways and cars
   Were sacrificed for agriculture
   I thought that we'd start over
   But I guess I was wrong

That song always makes me laugh. It’s the ultimate anti-eco song. I used to love planting stuff as a child but I now realise that it’s the biology I like – the magic of germination, creating a plant from seed. I planted a thriving orange tree and a thriving mango tree when I was a kid. I also grew some maize but my father made me cut it all down as growing maize was not comme il faut. No, me neither; all parents are crazy. Still, now the wretched grass has been cut, I am looking forward to the bit I like – flowers, planters, herbs. I’m considering a mini apothecary garden. It’ll be awesome. In the meantime, here are some of my favourite builldings, with nary a blade of grass in sight. As for smokable grass, just say no. That stuff will make you psychotic. Only if you are unlucky, you say? Tell me this, have you won the lottery even once? How lucky do you think you are, really? Exactly. In the meantime, I will be looking for plants that smell of diesel fumes and nitrogen oxides; all the lovely stuff that makes London so great to live in. Just kidding 🙂 As penance, I leave you with Thomas Edward Brown:

A Garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!

Rose plot,

Fringed pool,

Ferned grot,

The veriest school of Peace; and yet the fool contends that God is not—

Not God! in Gardens! when the eve is cool?

Nay, but I have a sign:

‘Tis very sure God walks in mine.

Wishing you all a cool, scented arbour when the going gets tough. Pip pip.

(Photos: Wolof Building, Senegal; Church of St George, Lalibela;  Chrysler Building, NY; Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao; Guggenheim Museum, NY)

 

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First World Crisis

So, my boiler packed up on Sunday. Woke up to a cold house which is OK, but no hot water. Quelle horreur. It was totally pathetic – I stood there for ages trying to figure out how to overcome this crisis. I mean, I wanted to wash my hair for starters…. Yup, I finally came to my senses, giving myself a serious talking to. I remembered that I was after all born and bred in Lagos many moons ago. Out came the bucket and the bowl. A gazillion kettlefuls of boiling water later, and we were in business. It just made me consider how easily I have gotten used to my creature comforts, and how much I take them for granted. After receiving hysterical emails at work about not opening my NHS email address, this weekend really brought home to me that we are way too reliant on tech.

So, one Youtube video later, I managed to re-pressurise the boiler this afternoon. Then I ran the hottest, most luxurious bath, ever. Mountains of foam, my own special blend of bath oil… I was in heaven. That made me consider how many of my pleasures are really simple — a hot bath, Conde Nast Traveller and Country Living magazine, and I am in hog-heaven. I wallowed in the bath for 90 minutes! I confess, I am a true water baby – oceans, streams, ponds, rills, seas, brooks, you name ’em, I love ’em. I draw the line at waterboarding though. There are limits 🙂 Some of my fondest memories are of dancing in the warm rain in Nigeria. Warm rain is awesome; British drizzle makes me want to end it all. I was totally devastated when I read in the Book of Revelations that there will be no Sea in the new heavens and earth. Now, I have nothing against the crystal River of Life, but no Sea???? I’m traumatised. I suppose seeing as there is no moon, there are no tides etc, but still….

I have composed a poem in honour of the Sea and water in general. Apologies to Joyce Kilmer:

 

The Sea

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a Sea
A Sea  whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sands and hugs the coast;
A Sea that looks at God all day,
And runs and roars and deeply sighs;
A Sea that moves and never sleeps ,
With phosphorescence all aglow;
Upon whose face the great ships float;
Until they meet the perfect storm.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a Sea.
I leave you with some perfectly frivolous and lovely handbags. Yes, I know we can’t afford them but look at that workmanship. Not as lovely as the Sea, but still….
(Photos: Gucci ‘ S/S handbag; Gucci ‘ S/S handbag; Dolce & Gabbana Drum Bag,(with Pom Poms, my fave), Dolce & Gabbana Book bag))

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Up, Up, and Away!

In a week remarkable for its examples of human perfidy and treachery, I have been cheered up immensely by my scientific friends. Yep, eggheads to the rescue once again. Step forward,  Federica Bertocchini of the Institute of Biomedicine and Biotechnology of Cantabria who discovered that the Greater Wax Moth loves nothing better than to chomp on polyethylene. This opens up the possibility that scientists can isolate the chemical/enzyme that the moth employs, thereby helping us to consume the Everest of plastic rubbish that we so carelessly dump all over our planet. The ridiculous idea perpetrated in the media that it takes 100 years (or is a 1000?) for one plastic carrier bag to be degraded is of course laughable as anyone with eyes can see. Walking around London, I have often seen carrier bags doing their American Beauty thing in the parks, and they are reduced to debris in much less than 100 years. Furthermore, a little experiment of your own will prove me right. Put one of these bags in a very dry and warm environment (say a kitchen drawer!) and the little suckers are reduced to friable dust in no time.

Next is Richard Browning who is a scientist in the old sense of the word — an inventor who dabbles privately in the mould of Faraday, Newton, Curie  and the other guys and gals in the band. He has finally invented the jet boots I’ve been waiting for all my life. We’ve been promised boots that will help us to fly for aeons, and the scientists have badly let us down, concentrating on trifles like curing disease and providing heating, water and avocado on toast. Pah! What we want is the jet boots promised in renowned scientific journals such as DC and Marvel Comics. Mr Browning comes from the long line of nutters who will blow themselves up just to see if their crazy gadget works, and I salute him for it. From Pasteur testing penicillin on himself and his unsuspecting nearest and dearest, to Jenner and his dodgy smallpox trials, not leaving out Marie Curie who sadly died of radiation poisoning, these are the people who advance the human race in leaps and bounds, often taking their lives in their hands. The Guardian is needless to say very unhappy about this kind of thing, preferring their Malthusian doom and gloom version, informing us that these moths will take over the world and kill every bee and insect. Woe, woe, and thrice woe! Er, no not really. I’m pretty sure that if the tests work, the plan isn’t to release millions of them into the wild, devouring all plastic as they move across the earth. Perhaps we may try using them in recycling plants instead assuming the enzymes/chemicals can’t be isolated – just a thought, geniuses.

So, science to the rescue. That’s my boys, and gals. Pure science doesn’t lie or cheat, although scientists may do so, finessing those figures a little bit…..That is the whole point of science, to rescue us from as much chaos as it can, and leave the stuff it can’t sort to God. Of course at least half the problems threatening the earth are caused by misapplied knowledge, and doubtless the greatest threat to the planet will probably be due to some maniac who decides to build a doomsday machine, just to see what will happen 🙂 Still I think we can all agree that Armageddon is a small price to pay for jet-propulsion boots. No? Well, please yourselves 🙂 Have a terrific, supersonic weekend.

 

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