Month: July 2025

Summer ’25: II – Resurrection.

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Kitted out with 20kg of luggage, first a tram then a train before midnight allowed Manchester International Airport to be reached. After an evening and afternoon sleep from 1600-2300, I felt refreshed and raring to go. I pottered around with my Greggs breakfasts and waited to fly.

Even as the alloted 0300hr check-in desk opening came, I still had energy to burn. My bags would rejoin me at Brussels Airport, having flew with Brussels Airlines. The world’s longest lines at passport control and the outbound gate were troublesome. The sign reading “last call” for boarding came and went. Without doubt, being second to last on the Hainan Airlines flight was nerve-wracking and not one to recommend Trip.com’s self transfer routes! I had to plead to move up the queue many times. I begged. I pleaded. I reached a wall of negative responses but managed to get there. I hate queue-jumping but I had to force the movement. Needs must!

Mickey 17, Gladiator II, and a few episodes of David Attenborough’s Asia wildlife documentary sandwiched attempts at sleep. The former of the two movies comes highly recommended for reasons of originality within the sci-fi genre. Also, fine acting from numerous characters and a fair dollop of wit gave the movie a largely good rating in my eyes. I rested as much as possible.

Landing at Shenzhen around 0500hrs on the Saturday after departing Manchester at 0600hrs on the Friday remained a good move. The timezone difference of 7 hours, a delayed departure from Manchester, and all the stress of Brussels lifted. I had made it: much thanks to family and friends for helping me to get there. Better late than never. One small step for reunification, one giant leap for family-kind.

Heroes.

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Liam Gallagher uttered a typed racial slur on Twitter/X. The late great wrestler Terry “Hulk Hogan” Bollea wasn’t shy of controversy. Meat Loaf was anti-vaccination. Never before has it been clearer that heroes are just like you and I: flawed.

“Yeah, and he’s not even a very good one… But he’s out there alone, and he’s probably scared” – lead character of Superman (2025) about the dog Krypto

Heroes are hard to find. That is, of course, the reality. For every Lance Armstrong cheating the system, there are an army of unsung volunteers, health professionals, RNLI boat crews and support staff, and countless other examples of putting others ahead of themselves. Those who deliver aid to Palestine, operate health clinics in Ukraine, or pluck refugees from the deadly English Channel go above and beyond their calling. And not all heroes wear capes: see also, Mam.

“Any sort of bullying is a terrible thing, but I think online bullying is so much worse because it’s psychological bullying” – Dean Cain, actor

And that leads me neatly to the recent fictional superhero, the one of my many childhood dreams, and many play sessions: Superman. The recent movie of the same name has earned plaudits and created a strange debate. Labelled as ‘woke’ by, the lycra-wearing superhero was the creation of children of immigrants that headed to U.S.A. Joe Shuster (artist) and Jerry Siegel (writer) would have been all too aware of the atrocities facing their fellow Jewish people. Their empathy shone through one of fiction’s greatest assets. The latest movie incarnation left me spellbound. I left the cinema with a smile, for the first time in many years. It was a joyous love letter of a movie, by James Gunn and his production team. Absolutely full of geeky details and hope.

“Knock the ‘t’ off the ‘can’t'” – George Reeves, actor

Being from elsewhere and existing in an unfamiliar landscape was my choice when I moved to China in 2014. Unlike many who seek better places to live and survive, I had the choice. That choice took me back to Britain, a new Britain, less Great, more lost. One that had departed the European Union and seemed to be having (and still is) more internal battles than a U.S. civil war. Religion, race, nationality, and gender fill newspaper covers daily. Social media, seemingly unchecked, spouts mistrust, counter-science, and conspiracy theory. The consequences lead to a broken Britain.

“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”- Christopher Reeve, actor and activist

If being woke is to champion the smaller person, to puff your chest out at bullies, and to want a better world, then count me in on Team Superman. #SupermanIsAnImmigrant (coined in 2013 by Define America and the Harry Potter Alliance) who now deny that ideal are an example of flip-flopping u-turns that former Prime Minister Liz “Lettuce” Truss would be proud of. Much alike the latest version of Lex Luthor, excellently portrayed by Nicholas Hoult, there lies a smudge of grey amongst the confused right wing views. Those contradictions make us human. Much like the David Corenswet version of Superman. Where Christopher Reeve made generations believe a man could fly, David Corenswet has restored belief in hope once again.

“Once you choose hope, anything’s possible.” –
Christopher Reeve

Sadly, every hero stands to fall on their sword, so choose your heroes wisely. I chose my Mam as my hero for good reason (and her supply of fig biscuits).

Summer ’25: I – A Quest for Hope

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Manchester rain made a welcome return on Saturday morning. The sky cried for my departure. The greyness of overhead lines, concrete, and new high rise towers did not clash with the constant matt grey of the leaking vast sky. Blue skies and sunshine had greeted Manchester for months on end. The summer school holidays had now arrived.

Getting to Manchester International Airport’s Terminal 2 early required a 05:25am wake up, an early bus, and the 07:18 train. Kitted with a 20kg rucksack and a lighter 8kg daysack, I ran through my head the things that I may or may have not forgotten. Despite attentive planning and packing, a snag of doubt sat firmly on my shoulder.

Juneyao Airlines, complete with cluttered and near unworkable website for check-in, would be my carrier. Other airlines are available. However, on arrival, my world fell apart. Blood emptied my face my legs became jelly, and the shock of being told my visa had expired hit me like a freight train. It was not a good day.

On the train back to Manchester, I shook in rage qnd worry. I trembled. I vomited. I went to the toilet in other ways. I was empty. Panic battled with sensibility. I struggled home in a zombie-like trance. I entered the house, dropped my rucksack and backpack, and crumpled up into a bawling sack of self-hate, anger, and shame.

On telling the family, I set about rebooting myself and explored resurrection for summer plans. I immediately logged onto Chinese Visa Application Service Centre Manchester’s website and lodged my visa application. A trip to the library was necessary to gain scanned electronic copies of every passport page. And everything seemed to upload.

Sunday:

A day in the garden digging up vineweed and Himalayan-barbed-wire-bramble, with plenty of worrying and questioning of myself. A few video calls and some Bosch Legacy on the telebox. A day of limbo sandwiched by buying some Lego Duplo at a charity shop in Failsworth and an evening of cheese, sauerkraut, and bacon Polish dumplings. That all followed noticing my visa application as not being present. However, it would not allow me to apply due to a previous application. I wondered if it would go well.

Monday:

08:00 – Visa application appear online at Manchester Chinese Visa Centre website.

10:00 –  query visa at Manchester Chinese Visa Centre. Visa application received.

11:46 – email request for further information.

12:00 – further information sent.

Pottering around town. Waiting. Limbo.

15:08 – application approved. Email to print with code and hand passport in.
I legged it from the book and coffee shop.

15:24 – printed documents at Manchester Central library.

15:27 – arrive to Manchester China Visa Centre. Attempt to hand off passport and documents. Man at desk, “I’m sorry we don’t accept applications after 15:00.”
I said, “It says 10:00 – 16:00.” He replies, “That’s wrong. We open again for application drop offs at 09:00 tomorrow.” Thanked man at desk.

I’ll be back. The quest goes on. 🐝

Wednesday:

Using the mandatory bonus free day, I headed to Warrington and met Little Big Sis’ Astrid for noodles and a movie. A good switch off from recent tension.

Tuesday:

08:35 – arrival at Chinese Visa Application Service Centre, Manchester. 5th in the queue.

09:00 – Service commences.

Thursday:

08:40 collection queue, position 2.

09:05 visa in hand, all grand.

Go to bed early (16:00/17:00), wake around 22:00/23:00.

Friday’s plan:

Depart for Manchester International Airport around midnight.

03:00 – Check in.

06:00 board flight to Brussels, Belgium. Sing a Vincent Kompany song and wobble my backside like Jeremy Doku skipping past defenders. Look out for former City player Émile Mpenza.

11:40 – board flight to China, in Brussels.

Let’s be fair, I’m not so sure U.K. leisure or family visit visas are as fast.

IBE

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Sometimes you have to leave to thrive;

Your pathway takes a new direction.

Don’t worry, we’ll survive!

Take the steps away and feel satisfaction.

You leave behind smiles, confidence, and joy;

Little faces and heads crammed with more.

Systems you have fixed that once did annoy;

You did something many did adore.

You made a difference and thanks for that;

Many things changed, this much I know.

No farewell gift, leaving card, but one caveat:

Here you’re living in your Mum’s shadow.

All the best for the future!

Battle.

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Read my eyes. Read them carefully.
I heard you. I really got your gist.
I’m not talking. My words are silent.
I am trying to think. And block out your sounds.

I heard every little thing. I am not deaf.
Why are you so unkind? Don’t you see me?
Look at my face. Read the expression.
A plethora of scribbled emotions. Keep out of my path.

Think I’m deaf, do you? Look at me.
Look closer. See my body raging.
See that deep upset. I won’t speak.
I don’t want to erupt. I am close.

I have plenty to say. I hold back.
You push me and push me. And some more.
Keep on pushing and pushing. Pushing the hate.
Nothing positive to say? Thought not.

Can’t you shut up? Think of better words.
Don’t I have feelings? You hurt me.
You really have made me sad. Unbelieveably angry.
I count. Don’t I?

H.P. one

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Didn’t drive there; took the train. Cleaner.
Fare was fair; a voyage to fresh air. Dreamer.
Book in hand; sat in the land. Concealer.
Hull Pot is known; Hunt’s Pot unshown. Revealer.

From within the cracked crevice; a crag distant. Dramatic.
Layers of limestone; collapsed downward. Fantastic.
Roots draped low; light reflecting glow. Unsystematic.
Flowers tumble outwards; water plummets loudly. Automatic.

Spikes protruding seats; stream into ground eats. Entice.
Stacked clumsy ledges; tufted lonely shrubs. Imprecise.
Solid without flow; frozen is the mass. Shelf ice.
Emerald filled cauldron; grasses swaying lightly. Paradise.

Bugged by a musical war.

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There are cries of “keep politics out of music” by the same crowd who backed Live Aid in 1985 and its sequel in 2005. As those treated by nurses and doctors who have fled conflicts demand an NHS service at top performance. And Liam Gallagher, tweeting the untweetable on hate platform, X. What a weird time to exist.

“You can’t trust politicians. It doesn’t matter who makes a political speech. It’s all lies – and it applies to any rock star who wants to make a political speech as well.” – Bob Geldof

Bob Vylan by name, by character one who gets flack for drawing attention to a military force that kills kids and women indiscriminately. The cowardly IDF should go toe to toe with Hamas and stop the murder of the innocence. As for Hamas, they’re all nasty and need to give their head a wobble. Should we be getting worked up over Bob Vylan, Kneecap, et al? No. The sooner this war ends, the better, bur let’s be fair, this was a conflict of Britain’s creation, one that is bitter and historical, and no end appears in sight. The more bombing, the more it will drag through the next century. Hate breeds hate. Not a musician.

“Populism is dangerous.” – enjamin Netanyahu

Yet the media focuses on Ipswich duo Bob Vylan and Bobbie Vylan. The Bobs may have said their message in the wrong way and I’m sure they wouldn’t wish death on the I.D.F.’s individual members but as for an entire organisation, perhaps the downfall and end of the I.D.F. was their message. Backed by Massive Attack, Fontaines D.C., Irish soft-pop group Kneecap, Inhaler, and CMAT, it could be said that Bob Vylan were just doing what Jarvis Cocker has been doing for years: getting people talking. Anyone who thinks a musician was preaching to glamorous camping fans to uproot and take aim at the attack-minded Israel Defense Force is stupid. Surely?

“…slain by the putrefactive and disease bacteria against which their systems were unprepared.” H.G. Wells. War of the Worlds.

And war, what exactly is it good for? Edwin Starr said, “absolutely nothing”, and I agree wholeheartedly. It divides, it displaces, it distresses, it decimates cultures and people and humanity. It leaves gaping gaps, chasms of pain, and heartbreaking weaknesses. It is exploited and manipulated to the needs of the powers, dictatorship-like leaderships, and turns neighbours on each other. So, should we all stay silent about the United Nations-labelled genocide of Gaza and Palestine? Should we cheer as U.S. and Israel jets pass into Iranian skies and decorate the ground with a blanket of fireballs?

“Any story hits you harder if the person delivering it doesn’t sound like some news robot but in fact sounds like a real person having the reactions a real person would.” – journalist, Ira Glass

Every war and conflict displaces people. And where do they go? To the first people that welcome them. Be that Norway, Sweden, or the U.K., desperate people seek safety and sanctuary, even if their religion or ideals conflict with their place of refuge. And then, most people adapt, they blend in, and they thrive under conditions of opportunity. Or not. I recently was lucky enough to meet a Kurdish nurse who works for the N.H.S. in Greater Manchester. I felt privileged to be treated by her, a doctor, and a multinational team of workers there to improve the lives and health of many. My infected bites, like racism and xenophobia, an irritation that life does not need.

“I do not discriminate.” – Liam Gallagher, via X.

As I sit on the train, I am once again reminded of the lyrics, “in this world where we lice, there should be more happiness”. Spot on. Silence the bullets and bombs, let voices of love speak clearer and with more weight than a tweet or misguided message on stage. The time for talking is always. The time for action over inaction is always. So, what now? Are we as a species of humanity to be slain by the small-minded delivery methods of stage and social media?

“The first step to achieve something is to believe.” – Diogo Jota 4/12/1996-3/7/2025 [footballer (Liverpool, Portugal, Paços de Ferreira, Gondomar)]