Fly Like a Bird of Prey.

Do you recall Kim? Before her Evangelia. Wasn’t there a Jayne too? Nikki wasn’t too quickly. Shirley not? Wendy house? Didn’t you once meet unrequited love? You said you wouldn’t carry on or try again. But, you did! And, who now? Who do you fancy? Is it that Nancy? Or Daisy who drives you crazy? Or Spring, Summer or Autumn? The seasons of choice? Dance with your dreams.

Do you remember that Karst mountain? It rise from the ground like a camel’s hump. You said to yourself it was the most beautiful mountain you’d ever seen. And then you set eyes on Everest. Then Ama Dablam. Then Annapurna one, two and three. Fishtail Mountain. Snowden again and again. Always Winter Hill, but forever dreams of new peaks unseen.

You said you wouldn’t read after Jon Ronson. Wasn’t Jurassic Park the book to end all books? Then Airframe, the Animals of Farthing Wood should. The Jack Reacher series could. Ian Fleming gave you the spy that ended all spies. Pages of love, lies and cries. Yet, you close your eyes and there’s no disguise. Your bookmark never hides.

Back in the day wasn’t Ghostbusters always your favourite? Gremlins and Goonies, two you’d never forget. Watching Jaws, again, without regret! 007 live and let. Leslie Neilson going on and on, I bet. Movies like Gemini Man and iRobot to watch once – no fret. The minds eye full of Skynet.

Things are said one day. Things come and go away. With each passing birthday I say, never betray your display of child’s play. Each day we find a way to convey the driveway of life. Hooray! The outlay does not outweigh what we repay on our stairway to our breakaway. Fly like a bird of prey.

Written in January 2020, in Nepal, on a notepad. Before COVID-19 became annoying.

Every acronym & their gunslinger.

How do! / 你好 (nĭ hăo) / Namaste / Welcome!

I’m in China. The net-based citizens here are laughing and joking about freedom being dead in America. From Sina Weibo to Wechat to QQ, it is out there: America’s freedom is falling. After all when the looting starts, the shooting starts. Act like a donkey and be treated like one. Act with compassion and understanding, and…

“Oh Johnny, did you back thewrong horse! Will you hose him please?!” – Bill Murray as Peter Venkman, Ghostbusters II

Conducting the leadership over social media channel President of the U.S.A. (well, the white part, at least), Trump of the White House is now using the military against his own people. Well, if he identifies with them, that’d be a positive start. But this is a man telling state governors that, “you have to dominate”. The top brass is needed, this is a job for the A-Team. Step forwards General Milley, chairman of the joint chiefs of staff. Trump and his massive cahunas were seen spotted at Lafayette Square (outside the White House) and heading into the slightly burnt St. John’s Church. Right Reverend Mariann Budde told the Washington Post, “I don’t want President Trump speaking for St John’s.”

Tear gas is a reasonable means to scatter peaceful protestors and rubber bullets don’t actually hurt that much. Is this Hong Kong or America we’re talking about? Could be either. Well as long as the free press keep their distance (like Sunrise & #7News from Australia didn’t and CNN failed to sort their acts out). President Trump has directed Attorney General Barr to effectively let all guns rolls. The entire weight of the F.B.I., A.T.F., D.E.A., B.O.P, and U.S. Marshalls are at his beck and call. The Department of Defence and the department of Homeland Security are also deployed to the District of Colombia. So, every acronym and their gunslinger are in town. Clint Eastwood just turned 90 years old and probably had an invitation to the party. Restoring order resembles the first or second invasion of Iraq.

“Hate just hides. It doesn’t go away, and when you have somebody in power who breathes oxygen into the hate under the rocks, it comes out from under the rocks.” – Joe Biden, Associated Press.

In the opposition wings, Democratic Presidential candidate, Joseph Biden has vowed to deal with institutional racism. Would Biden be comfortable removing peaceful protestors just so he can get his photo for the so-called-free-press? Biden is white or Caucasian. I’m white, or Caucasian. Many like him and I haven’t been subjected to servitude or feeling we’re of less, shall we say value, worth or merit than say someone without a title to their name, or land, or property, or a stable upbringing, or a private education – oh go on, let’s spell it clearer. Someone who is black – or Asian – or basically not white. I grew up in Levenshulme, Manchester and attended Chapel Street Primary School. Some of my earliest friends had Pakistani, Irish, Greek, Asian and Afro-Caribbean backgrounds. And? Well, there was no need for an ‘and’ because kids are kids, people are people and not one person should be seen as better than someone because of privilege, or position. Sorry Pope. Sorry leader of boyband al-Dawla al-Islamiya fil Iraq wa al-Sham. Sorry $2.1 billion Twitter user Trump.

“I am the least racist person there is anywhere in the world”- Donald Trump, MSNBC, 1/8/2019.

Racism is racism, pure and simple. It is fear or hate or dislike and it is totally unnecessary. I live and work in Dongguan. This last week I’ve played football or rugby with Tongans, Americans, Argentinians, Russians, Ukrainians, Scottish, Irish, South Africans, Chinese, Malaysians, and Brummies. Some of these great people even supported Man United. The world is a huge sphere with many people. These people bring stories, cultures, foods and difference. There is a great tapestry to my lifestyle here in China. I see and hear racism or judgment because I am a foreigner. Do I feel racially abused? No. I feel sad on their part. But, racism as hate – or ignorance, is racism. Xenophobia and fear of change may be deeply routed in nationalism which may or may not explain the global panic over China and Asia’s growth. The smoke of the fires in America is accompanied by a drumbeat by P.O.T.U.S.A. Trump and co.

“When you’re a star, they let you do it, you can do anything … grab ’em by the pussy.” – Trump, NBC, 2005.

Trump the populist-protectionist-nationalist uses his lack of prior military or government service as a badge of honour. A combination of bragging about business experience and success of making America great again has swollen many false or misleading statements often ridiculed by fact-checkers. His racially-charged comments and legal-challenging cowboy style have seen the U.S.A. stumble from Trans-Pacific Partnerships, the Paris Agreement, relations with China. Luckily he has fixed Syria, Russian problems and Kim Jong-un – as well as his own domestic investigations into electoral discrepancies. He seems stable. He can’t be defeated by anything, it seems. The environmental policies, freedom of trade… You could go on all day about Trump. Recent events just dig it all up again and again.

In the last day or so, likely victim of Police brutality, George Floyd’s death has been labelled as homicide. A post-mortem examination of the African-American died in handcuffs, lay face down on a city street. Video footage leapt around social media almost immediately. The Powderhorn community was devastated and Derek Chauvin, the white Minneapolis police officer could be seen kneeling onto George Floyd’s neck for almost nine minutes. Minnesota’s capital Saint Paul is the twin city that borders Minneapolis. Between them there are five Fortune 500 companies based there. As of 2010, 63.8% of the population were white. There is divide, as per any American state, and The Gopher State is ran by Democratic–Farmer–Labor). They’re U.S. Democrats. Trump has beef with that lot. So, trouble on their patch has been ideal for him. If you can’t run your house, here is a blundering hero with orange skin and a comb-over…

Police officers across the U.S. have been shot from places like Buffalo (New York) to St Louis (Missouri) and even Las Vagas (Nevada). Curfews are in place in many cities. Because when a protest gets out of hand, and people get rubber bullets lobbed at them or teargas at them, they don’t feel so great or valued, so a few may partake in looting. It isn’t backing them or promoting them, but if you treat people like dirt, they may act like dirt. A few unprotected watches, TV sets and middle fingers stuck up to the man can and has happened.

One thing about Trump and America, that is positive, well, at least we don’t have him in charge in the U.K. – and at least China’s top man is less trigger happy. Yes, we see privilege in action in the U.K. but rarely so at the end of stomping boots and a rubber bullet-firing gun. We have water cannons in Britain, but thankfully God shone down on us and delivered us near-drought conditions. Our gaffer, Boris Johnson, is state-sponsored as the rest of his cronies, but he doesn’t target people because of their skin or creed. No, he’s pretty clueless to all races and probably hasn’t tasted life in Aston, Birmingham. He’s more Aston Martin, Whitehall.

Instead, right now we should be focusing on the Royal Shakespeare Company cancelling the remainder of the 2020 shows. We should be reviewing why a Sunday congregation in Singapore during January 2020 had such harsh global complications and how to prevent these things from repeating themselves. We should be digging into why Randox Labratories suddenly get a £133 million contract uncontested. Maybe asking Brexiter Owen Paterson would be a good start.

Instead, like many nations, we have to watch America erupt into flames, panic and division as we await the court proceedings of the fired and disgraced police officer. But, remember this, this isn’t about just one policeman or one victim. This is about institutionalised racism – and that’s now evidently in the hands of the U.S. leader – a man who was the focus of The Apprentice, filmed by Trump Productions at Trump Tower, N.Y.C. Trump this, Trump that, Trump, Trumperty-fecking-Trump. The dirty selfish Trump.

I wish all of those who feel persecuted and to have no voice to stand together. Defeat hate and pessimism with optimism and one collective togetherness. The continued flow of racial injustice and brutality by the state or its organs cannot be allowed to go on. There’s a global pandemic and other matters that need our fuller attentions. But, beliefs are beliefs and persecution and racism had no place in the 20th century. We’ve moved on but a few people want to drag us down. Fate hate, with peace and love. Unification is a dream worth humanity fighting for. No more slinging of terror or words of hate. What change will come?

They’re Here To Save The World?

你好 (nĭ hăo) / Namaste / Welcome!

Let’s start with goats. Goats at the seaside to be precise. Smooth Kashmiri goats popped own from the Great Orme for a bite to eat in sleepy Llandudno. Not once, but twice. Twitter and Andrew Stuart have been following this closely.

Dana Barrett: “That’s the bedroom, but nothing ever happened in there.”
Peter Venkman: “What a crime.”
Lines from Ghostbusters (1984).

Bin linings are being reported as medical head covers. Clinical bin liners are also being used to cover feet. Aprons, basic kind, no special functions too. Welcome to the modern NHS that is reported battling COVID-19 with improvisation. Reports of doctors and nurses being told to go from wards with COVID-19 patients to wards with no reported cases. Staff breaking down in tears. Mental health of our heroes under so much pressure. At home and abroad. That leads me to the saddest news I’ve read today, and there is so much to choose from, so much pain and suffering now. The suicide of Daniela Trezzi. The National Federation of Nurses of Italy reported that the 34-year-old nurse was worried she’d transmit COVID-19 to others. 5.670 nurses and other medical or healthcare workers have been infected by COVID-19. They are the frontline. They are under immense stress and trauma. They need support, everywhere.

The gamble of delaying lockdowns and social distancing, in favour of herd immunity is now in full swing. The UK leadership reacted too slowly, and their herd are now suffering. Some will be lambs to the slaughter. Others will be asymptomatic. Some will get a tough flu. Some will remain with damaged lungs. All will know somebody who has or had COVID-19. Now, the tricky part. How many are ready to bury their loved ones? There won’t be many, if any. Few will need to inter because this virus will require cremations for the dead. Lay to rest your worries because if you are six feet under, your government will carry on regardless. They won’t put in the ground changes for one person. Your loved ones will carry on. They will have no choice. This government will secrete and conceal its failings, opting to cover over cracks and protect the economy at all costs. As Oasis sang, in Half The World Away, “I would like to leave this city; This old town don’t smell too pretty and; I can feel the warning signs running around my mind…”

Christina helped me Skype Dad. So happy to talk to my Dad. Miss him. Miss all my family and not knowing when I can return home to see them all is tough. BUT, we’re at war now. Time to soldier on. Some might say we will find a brighter day – cheers Oasis. This one brief video call does raise my spirits dramatically. I’m not yet skipping and skinging, but I’m certainly less slouching tiger, hidden madman. I’m now flitting between previously downloaded TV series and making video classes for class 3F’s online education. Series 1 and series 5 of Inside No. 9 have been watched. The first episode of the fifth season is titled, ‘The Referees a…’ so that’s why I skipped series 2 through 4. Maria delivering my laptop from my apartment was a great relief. Although wi-fi here is mostly off and the phone signal is up and down like a yoyo. Thankfully before the summer, I’d downloaded many videos in advance.

Brothers and sisters in shit, I present to you another double banana! This double banana is a sign that you should never give up, and that good things await for you. the beautiful thing about never giving up, is that you have to try it just once, and then its forever, because you never give up.” – Shittyflute,YouTube.

Today, I ate a twin banana. A double banana. I have never seen one before. On unsheathing the mammoth yellow fruit, I pealed back the skin to reveal two perfect bananas, side by side, with the tiniest gap and no bonding between the two. What witchcraft was this? I quickly consulted the WTF hotline and spoke with Dr Google. The good doctor threw up a pregnancy myth as the first of 33,000,000 results in 0.48 seconds. I fail to believe that many webpages contain even a waft of twin bananas. Women’s Health and Wellness stuck to the top of the hits. I clicked it. I was visitor 201119. I’m not a woman but I read on regardless. It seems in the Philippines that to eat such a double banana is believed to produce Siamese twins. A myth according to Desiree F. Manlapaz-Gonzales, MD. The only valuable information I gathered was that a twin banana has about 20% of your necessary daily value in potassium. Now I just need a further four twin bananas. I didn’t click the link on the left of the page marked as CANE VINEGAR for the treatment of VAGINAL PROBLEMS…

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Regarding the foods within quarantine, if the toilet pipes block here, that’s me tipping corn congee, on a daily basis; flicking corn from my lunch and generally burying the uneaten corn as far away from my single-use plastics as possible. Food has been a mixture of just good enough, and adequate. There isn’t anything to rave about, but I wouldn’t moan too much about it either. The hotel’s range in sustenance and fodder are more varied than some other people will be experiencing these days. I’m lucky. Three meals a day, plus the option to have food delivered where needed. I can’t complain.

It isn’t easy to overlook what world leaders are doing and saying, or who is blaming who, but if we all react to this then they win. They’ve distracted us. From the moment I boarded a flight back to China, I’ve seen nothing but professionalism and dedication to ending the spread of this disease and virus here. I’m a guest in China. I’m British. I love my hometown and I’m a slightly proud Mancunian (the people of Manchester) and it pains me to see what is happening back home, and, that I can do little to help my family and friends now. So, here I am, luckily. A lucky one. A fortunate one. I am in quarantine because I cannot risk the lives of my second home. Dongguan is looking after me, and I respect that. I just wish I had better Wi-Fi, but I can’t be in a bad place with three square meals and a roof over my head. Remember, the control of this outbreak is still going on, and we can’t take chances.

“Gozer the Gozerian? Good evening. As a duly-designated representative of the City, County and State of New York, I order you to cease any and all supernatural activity and return forthwith to your place of origin, or to the next convenient parallel dimension.” – Ray Stantz, character in Ghostbusters (a movie from 1984)

We can’t distrust the use of Traditional Chinese Medicines (TCMs), or modern medicines, or possible new cures, or experimental treatments. What works for one, may not work for others, but let’s not label everything as bobbins (a Mancunian term meaning not good). Anyway, it is good to be back in Dongguan, despite the circumstances. I hope everybody here has come from this stronger – and as I said back when it all started in Wuhan, stay strong, really, stay strong.

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Unfortunately, the first four days in isolation were very long. I’d read plenty of Jack Reacher pages by the author Lee Child. I’m certainly ploughing my way through that series. I’d occupied myself with some lifting (the desk, a chair, a sofa and a smaller coffee table), some hops (over hurdles made by two beds paced evenly), some star jumps, and generally making a pratt or myself. My dim-witted hours seemed to last for hours. I know deep down people are in far worse places, but all I could experience and understand in those moments was myself being useless and clueless. I spent more time on my phone than ever before. I began to become worried that I’d leave here with eagle-like claw hands. After two weeks in quarantine, I might become a Lego man.

Fortunately, Maria delivered my laptop computer on day five. So, at least I could type some crap. Some snacks were also in a bag alongside bananas and blueberries.

Unfortunately, the Wi-Fi here is mostly down to zero and my phone internet isn’t 4G or even 3G at the minute. Things upload and download slower than a sloth breakdancing on a dance machine in an arcade.

Fortunately, a neighbouring room has allowed me to use their hotspot from time to time.

Unfortunately, I ache from lack of activity and cannot find ways to stay sprightly.

Fortunately, when I am free of quarantine, I’m going to be far more active than ever before.

Unfortunately, Newcastle Utd FC became the first Premier League club to put staff in furlough as coronavirus causes financial squeeze. Mike Ashley has never been known for generosity.

Fortunately, Vincent Kompany is supporting the staff and players as they take cuts at Anderlecht whilst revenues are off the cards.

Unfortunately, masks are only now be advised at UK hospitals. Staff absences care at record levels. Even Trump is laying into Boris Johnson. The Express ran a bizarre April Fool’s piece about Brexit not being delayed. Yawn. Much bigger things to do, right now…

Fortunately, Joe Wicks is making PE lessons and donations are reaching the NHS.

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Here in quarantine spirits are good, despite a fire alarm and some late night movie watching which echoed down the corridor ruining my sleep. Also, no sharp things are allowed and there is a no alcohol rule. As long as there are no Grêmio or Internacional rivalries brewing, one nail file should be okay, but sadly no booze. None. Not a drop. A dry hotel with no opportunity to step beyond the bedroom door. Only 450RMB a night, remember. The swimming pool is closed outside, which is just as well, considering it has fish, algae and snakes on the pool’s edge. And cats that probably pooh on the mouldy deckchairs.

My sleep is odd. I can’t sleep so easily. I find my body suddenly decides 01:00hrs is a time for a jog around the 5m x 7m room. Even setting the alarm for the breakfast delivery at 07:40 isn’t hard. I wake up before the hazmat-suited guard drops the food and dashes away from my door. The temperature checks are between 9am and 10am, and then 8pm to 9pm. I have little to look forwards to or get excited about. It is all rather dull, but as I said, and as I will maintain, I’m not risking my life on any frontline like brave medics around the world and I’m not homeless sleeping in a social distancing-marked car park in Las Vegas.

There are supplies and things in the room: bottles of water, shampoo, shower gel, washing up liquid for laundry, toilet rolls (I have 13 spare), a kettle, a fan, a television with CGTN (a Chinese perspective of the global news), a two-seater sofa (I’m alone and no company is allowed), two single beds (see previous entry), an air conditioner (disabled, because they can cause viruses to spread), two vented and permanently opened windows, two cups (no spoon), a serving tray, a chair with a desk and two new towels of various sizes. There is a small coffee table, a wardrobe, a bucket and a sink bowl. They all have uses. Mostly mundane uses. Rather like this writing. That’s all folks. No massive ending or crescendo of purpose. Just this.

The end.

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Dear Boris.

Dear Boris Johnson,

Although I did not vote for you or your party, and I have a very dim view of you and your cohorts, I trust you’re not an entirely total buffoon. What others say about you and your actions, will define how you go down in history. Right now, there won’t be a state funeral like your idol Sir Winston Churchill. There won’t be any picture of you on any banknotes and schools won’t recall you well in history classes. You’ll not be remembered by foreign prisoners in Iran as a wonderful person, either.

“It is going to spread further and I must level with you, I must level with the British public: many more families are going to lose loved ones before their time.” – Boris Johnson, Prime Minister (March 2020)

Look across the world and you’ll see China saddling up to Italy in an effort to increase trade reduce the virus. There may or may not be help for China’s potential BRICS partner Iran. If there us, the bias in the western media has certainly silenced that. In fact it seems like the USA is doing its own thing, the UK is going rogue and solo – and all are avoiding a kind of Manhattan Project collaboration of the 21st century. What’s your next move, Boris?

I guess as climate change is on the horizon and pollution is rife, we’ve ignored the needs of smaller and less powerful nations for long enough. Boris, could we be doing better? Could we be a big voice from our small islands and get the job done? Could we lead, equally, alongside others a charge on a white horse into this battle? Or should we sit back, and look after number one? This me, me, me attitude may be alright for panic buying toilet paper and pasta, but that won’t stem the tide. If the first wave comes, and we’re less than ready, how will a second wave or further waves be handled? You must step aside, just like Theresa May, and others before you, you’re not the shiny knife of leadership this once great nation needs. Think on your sins. There are too many of them. We need a wartime leader, and that’s why I believe in digging up the remains of Sir Winston Churchill and doing some work with fictional character Victor Frankenstein, because I have more faith in the dead and imaginary than you dear Boris.

Nations are human abstraction and now is the time for border reduction, sharing, and survival. The elderly and infirm are being placed at great risk – and the population beyond may reap the seeds that you seek to sew. Our common resource is the very earth, water and air we inhabit. As a species we have ploughed and devastated it. Through some togetherness, we could beat the virus and we could understand our fair Earth greater. We could use the momentum of togetherness to protect cultures, nature and water. Or, we could build walls, strip shelves and blame each other. How do you want to be remembered? We all make mistakes and we may all make decisions that aren’t ideal – but those who occupy the top tables, they’re the ones, specifically, you Boris, you’re the chosen elite. You can make the difference.

“ If we’re wrong, then nothing happens. We’ll go to jail. Peacefully. Quietly. We’ll enjoy it. But if we’re right, and we can stop this thing… Lenny… you will have saved the lives of millions of registered voters.” – Dr Peter Venkman, played by Bill Murray, Ghostbusters

So, do you pick up the phone, with COBR (Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms) and call other leaders, trying to get them all together to make a proper international crisis management centre? Or do, you tell everyone to carry on washing their hands and stating the bleeding obvious? Or, do you prove Andy Hayman (author of the non-fiction piece The Terrorist Hunters) right and slow all down? The United Nations System and other intergovernmental organisations need you to really think. Together we can be stronger. Without others, we will be an isolated nation, seen as rogue and inconsiderate to the WHO (World Heath Organisation). Forget arms control, energy and nuclear matters, and even financial trade. We’re no longer talking customs or law enforcement. Now we’re on about a threat so big to humanity. As a leader, this is your hour. As a species this is humanity’s hour to shine. This could be the cultural, educational and religious moment of moments, a once in a billion lifetimes opportunity to be revered globally, smashing political groupings and ideologies – but bringing all humanity together. Or, it could be another League of Nations, weakly fading away. Life will go on. But, will you and I be part of it? Well, as things stand you’re putting voters lives at serious risk, and on what advice? Well, at least we can’t gather too freely now.

Be strong, Boris. Pull your finger out. Pass on the job, if you’re not fit for purpose. Don’t be the donkey that leads the lambs into Dante’s Inferno.

Yours with absolutely zero respect – or as much respect as The Sun gave to Hillsborough stadium disaster victims,

 

Mr More Than Annoyed.


 

images stolen from B3TA.com – hopefully watermarked by their creators to save me a job…

Favourite Flicks

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae,

In 2019, Velvet Buzzsaw, starring Jake Gyllenhaal arrives on general release in February. The arty feel of the trailer made me think of some of my favourite movies. I also gandered a dozen other trailers, include Men In Black International, which in its first edition was refreshing and great fun. Pet Sematary as a remake excites me too. Hellboy as yet another remodelling seems okay too. It does make me think that new ideas for Hollywood are limited but you’ll still see me watching Godzilla: King Of The Monsters in May. Triple Frontier, The Mustang and Bird Box follow tested formulas and throw in solid casts, but they carry much anticipation. I do like a good movie though. In 2020, maybe Ghostbusters 3 will be marvelous – with the teaser adding familiar noises and music. Who knows?

In 1993, Jurassic Park was my first truly antipcated movie. I’d been glued to the novel years before and now I wanted to see the words on the big screen. Mum and I went to the Davenport Cinema near Stockport. The cinema has since been demolished. I remember that the screen was massive, and the old theatre style was beautiful. It had become too expensive to maintain. I grew up having watched few movies, unless you count Dot and The Kangaroo. Movies rarely interested me. Watership Down had probably freaked me out too much – and then The Plague Dogs – too much you know, erm, grimness. At least the former had a great song!

Movies that I like that are probably on almost everyone’s list include: Braveheart, Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, The Silence of the Lambs, Titanic, Toy Story, Schindler’s List, The Lion King, The Shawshank Redemption, Fight Club, Groundhog Day, Heat, Fargo, 10 Things I Hate About You, Trainspotting, Brassed Off, The Fugitive, Goldeneye, Mrs Doubtfire, Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, Goodfellas, Forrest Gump, The Green Mile, Bad Boys, The Iron Giant, and Con Air. I’m sure you can pick this entire collection up on DVD for less than £10 now. I watched Saving Private Ryan with my Granddad. It was the only time I seen him cry. The realism was all too much for someone who had seen it up close and personal.

Do you believe in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, telekinetic movement, full-trance mediums, the Loch Ness Monster and the theory of Atlantis?

In 1984, the world had new heroes. The Ghostbusters. Just like 1984’s Gremlins, 1990‘s Gremlins 2: The New Batch, 1985‘s Goonies and 1989‘s Ghostbusters 2, I had a winter’s day movie. Great entertainment and fun, that you can watch time and time again, are hard to come by in a movie. Flash Gordon sits in there too, alongside the Back to The Future trilogy. From my year of birth, 1982‘s E.T. – the Extra Terrestrial is on that list but give me a tissue. A tissue to watch 1942‘s Bambi too. From 1988 onwards, The Naked Gun triology just requires a light-hearted laugh. 1980‘s Blues Brothers wins on that count too.

‘Little Sir Echo, how yo you do?’ – Bing Crosby, 1939

Night Train to Murder starred Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise and came out in 1985. It was written by the comedy duo too, alongside the original James Bond Casino Royale director Joseph McGrath. Well one of them. There were about six! His credits included the Beatles’ music videos, The Goon Show and Rising Damp. Night Train to Murder would be his final movie. 16 TV appearances would follow and two writing jobs. The Glaswegian went near silent. Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise’s TV movie. One half of the duo was ill during filming of this movie and soon after in May of 1984. Roger Brierley, Richard Vernon and Pamela Salem co-star. The film would be the fourth and final expected big screen outing for Morecambe and Wise. Due to Eric’s death, it became a TV release in 1985. The closing moment of the TV movie sees Morecambe and Wise walking away together. There never was another televised gig.

 

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon [卧虎藏龙] gave international audiences something unseen before. Hovering, fluttering and graciousness seemed to be hand in hand with violence, menace and misery. Warriors, destiny and mythology gave Michelle Yeoh [杨紫琼] good reason to shake off the Bond Girl moniker. That same year, of 2000, saw Snatch hit the screens. As me and my best mate Dan watched, the movie entertained us. Momento came out too. Gladiator may have ruled the screens but Requiem For A Dream would carry as great a memory in time. Cast Away was epic.

Y Tu Mamá También, came out in 2001. This Mexican road movie is essential viewing. Donnie Darko was a very indie film with a great indie score. A beautifully dark movie. Black Hawk Down was a fine example of a bleak war movie. A Beautiful Mind, was as the title said.

City of God (Cicade de Deus), has great street chases, raw energy, a lack of Hollywood gloss and shows realism that modern gangland movies can only dream of. This 2002 movie is a snapshot of a Latin America that the tourism boards will hate. Another movie that I can’t reverse watching was Irréversible. It made me feel physically sick. Powerfully forlorn cinema. The camera shots and soundtrack are dizzying. Perhaps look up Daft Punks’ Thomas Bangalter and his solo work. Many a film critic said it was, “a movie so violent and cruel that most people will find it unwatchable” – and some labelled in homophobic. I just found it dizzying and extreme. The Bourne Identity was simple to follow, with a great sequence of pursuits throughout. In some ways it was James Bond without the boobs. 28 Days Later and Signs added to the cinematic splendour.

In 2003, Oldboy leapt off screens from Korea. It was remade many years later. Avoid that. The best in this case is the original. Prepare to be shocked. Kill Bill: Volume 1 was released too, with one of the best soundtracks for some time. Bad Boys 2 probably marked my last VHS owned.

In 2004, Downfall, was made and suddenly Hitler’s angry map scene would occupy an endless flow of memes. Kill Bill: Volume 1 wasn’t just released – it was practically flung at you like a dagger. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and The Terminal completed a good year. Ttosi landed in 2005. It is hugely emotive, dynamic and lives up to its meaning of thug. Redemption may or may not be earned. Lord Of War added wit and seriousness to the world of arms dealing.

The Lives of Others released in 2006 is worth a look. Of course, you are being watched – just like the antagonists on screen. That same year Pan’s Labyrinth became quite mainstream for a foreign movie. The movie is up there on the good ground with David Bowie in Jim Henson’s Labyrinth. Batman Begins kept my love of mainstream movies that year. It also gave us Little Miss Sunshine, and Letters from Iwo Jima.

In 2007, The Bourne Ultimatum made great contrast to the movie adaptation of Into The Wild, perhaps my favourite tragic book of all time. Sunshine was great viewing too. The Western movie 3:10 to Yuma ranked highly on my watchlist. 2008’s guilty pleasure for me was Iron Man. If only we knew what was to come!? Slumdog Millionnaire was an instant hit and the soundtrack made my MP3 player soonafter. Lion’s Den was the most gripping movie of the year. Like Stars on Earth is the sweetest teacher-themed movie of all time. The Baader Meinhof Complex is brutal and wonderful in equal proportions. If you needed a taste of mental health awareness – though extreme, Belgain film Ben X had it.

Three Idiots was a surprise. It was neither Bollywood, nor Hollywood. I’ve tried watching many Indian and Pakistani movies. None have succeeded in keeping my attention, until Three Idiots arrived in 2009. There is a buddy movie feel that Trains, Planes & Automobiles successfully caught – as did the Canadian production Due South. Tragedy and warmth drips from the screen. District 9 added a valid and tangible story to the usual CGI-gone-mad state of movies of this period. The Secret in Their Eyes was a particularly good thriller. The White Ribbon, set before World War One is a mystery that both grips whilst it presents oddity and intrigue.

127 Hours was not as long as the title suggested and with a soundtrack to suit the true story, the movie whistled by in no time at all. In 2010, the book was promptly picked up afterwards. Incendies followed twins returning to their former middle-eastern homes. Biutiful was a great and disturbing movie that awoke the imagination. Can you imagine knowing how you will die? Javier Bardem was hypnotically mesmerising.

The following year of 2011 gave many awards to Drive, and rightfully so. Moneyball added some baseball to my viewing but the story was wonderful, so I let the U.S. version of rounders slip without a worry. Super 8 surprised me with how good a feel it could generate. The Intouchables was heart-warming and witty – and in 2017 the formula of a caregiver with an aristocratic quadriplegic was remade with Breaking Bad’s Bryan Cranston.

In 2012, The Dark Knight Rises, wasn’t quite as the previous two Christopher Nolan incarnations of Batman. Still it is a favourite. Skyfall made up for that. At last a Bond movie with a real bite to it. The Hunt gave us a look at how creepy Mads Mikkelsen can appear.

Captain Phillips told audiences, in 2013, a story of Somalian pirates. Tom Hanks stars. When he performs well, the audience always feels it. Accolades and awards followed. The Man of Steel reinvented Superman before DC Comiscs trashed that in almosy every instalment since. All Is Lost, scored by Alex Ebert, lasted 105 minutes – and starred just Robert Redford. It was not last time watching that masterpiece. Pacific Rim followed a Transformer, Power Rangers, Godzilla feel but kept me inside a Colchester cinema out of a heatwave. I enjoyed the movie greatly. It was one of my guilty pleasures that year.

In 2014, Boyhood gave probably the most original piece of cinema for a long, long time. The coming-of-age drama had been shot over an epic period spanning more than a decade. Nightcrawler added thrills and gave the pulse a work-out. Gone Girl was another great thriller. Godzilla was okay, just okay. Birdman was a wonderful comedy and The Theory of Everything was positively riveting. American Sniper told a sorry story well.

The Revenant in 2015 was powerful and moody. The Martian was atmospheric and moving. Spectre started great but fizzeld out. Idris Elba’s Beasts Of No Nations, opened discussions and eyes to an otherwise ignored world within the 21st century. Everest, tried to bundle together many accounts of a disaster offering a respectful disaster and made a wonderful IMAX feature. 2016 reinvigorated the Jurassic Park machine by bringing is Jurassic World, a rollercoaster of a movie. In 2016, Deadpool refreshed the graphic novel/superhero genre with a splash of bad taste and violence. The Jungle Book, in live-action was almost a frame by frame copy of the cartoon by Disney but it added sweetness to the silver screen. Suicide Squad added wit to the overly-full genre of superhero outings. Star Wars: Rogue One was a good war movie, albeit with a scifi backdrop. Tom Hanks once again wowed audiences with his performance in Sully.

Dunkirk was visually stunning and well shot in 2017. Wonder Woman challenged gender roles for superhero main stars and also added some good drama between the CGI sheets. Logan added a geriatric take the hero genre. Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing Missouri swept away many awards and rightly so. War for the Planet of the Apes concluded a great trilogy remaking. The Darkest Hour gave the excellent Gary Oldman a vehicle to display his varied talents. Disney added a live action beauty in Beauty & The Beast.

In 2018, Bohemian Rhapsody added a loveable rock star to our screens. Freddie Mercury was extragavant, complex, talented and had a voice like so few. This movie captured the magic and gave voice to a story that many didn’t know. I didn’t know that Farrokh Bulsara was born in Zanzibar and went on to become the lead singer of Queen.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr

Chapter John.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

On the 28th of October 1982 I was born.  I cannot remember it, nor wish to remember it.  My birth certificate was to arrive several days after my birth.  Either the registrar was busy, or my parents were contemplating such names as “Eric”, “Steven”, “Bert”, or “Joe”.  The prospect of being called Peter Eric Acton over my real name is not something I’d have desired – after all my initials would spell out a green garden seed.  Thankfully this was avoided when Mum decided on naming me after a line of Grandparents – John Robert was named.  I have a Mr Tom Danson (Registrar of Births & Deaths) for approving my given name, and also confirming I was born.  I’m sure Mr Danson was a terribly nice bloke, his signature on my birth certificate was stylish!

I was born a male, and thankfully still remain one [I checked earlier, and have been doing so since I was a teenager].  Crumpsall Hospital, now North Manchester General Hospital, gave rise to me.  I imagine I was a terrible burden on my parents, probably burping, farting, and vomiting to a strict schedule.  Something I may have carried on with throughout life, but cannot confirm.

After my birth and entrance to life, my parents returned to Margate Avenue in Newton of the Heath [a greyer place there was not].  There was no peaceful return, screams and wails ruled now.  Newton Heath, the origin of a certain controversial Trafford based football team, and was also made up of many railway workers.  The area was not an ideal Conservative Party recruitment point.  The house was also home to Beaut, a German Shepard dog, who sadly passed away with old age in early 1983.  Mum had Basil, a black and white cat whose hobbies included Samurai sword fighting and bingo.  We all uprooted to Warbeck Road in Moston.  We were joined by a new family addition, he was young, black with golden patches, and available for free donkey rides.  Pup Acton, our wee dog had arrived, and he grew at an alarming rate over the years, keeping his big floppy ears.  He would lick many people, and always be by made side for many years.  Basil and Pup loved each other, in a cat chases the dog, dog chases cat kind of way.  On the 13th of August 1985, my Grannydfather John Roberts died aged sixty.  The family was devastated.

As I grew older, my parents grew apart.  Divorce soon followed.  My Dad moved back to  Ludgate Road, in Newton Heath, with Nana and Granddad.  A crappy settlement was agreed upon whereby Dad could only pick me up on Saturdays.  A primary school child would always feel worry, when Dad would not ring, nor arrive on Saturdays.  A waiting child would regularly sit watching through the front lounge window, without even a hint by phone that my Dad would not be turning up.  After twenty minutes of waiting past the time of his expected arrival Mum would tell me he was probably working.  Still I’d wait until long after the sun would set.  I’d expect every diesel engine car that turned onto our road to be his car.  I’d often cry myself to sleep, crying for wanting to see my Dad, hoping for him to arrive.  There was one night I remember when I was young when Dad visited late one night, full of excuses.  I did not care for his excuses.  I just wanted to see him.  He brought with him a Goblin head, which when you pulled its eye out, it made a gurgling sound.  It was a really heavy toy, with bright and thick orange hair set on a green head littered with scars. I wish I had that toy but am most satisfied that I have the memory. I hope the good moments never leave my skull.

I would not care whether we went to watch football [be it Man City or Oldham Atheltic, Maine Road F.C. or whoever], go to the allotment (Pup could tag along too), or visit Nana and Granddad.  Time with Dad was always enjoyable.  We would spend many days on the allotment.  The allotment on Brookdale Park may not have seemed a magical place, but my imagination and the company of Pup made it wonderful.  Dad would provide fizzy pop, cooled in a barrel of rainwater, as a treat.  I and Pup would trek into Brookdale Park and its wilderness, whilst Dad would build a greenhouse or dig up his plot.  We’d plod over imaginary mountains, I’d climb trees whilst Pup bounded around below, we’d play hide and seek, and walk up the park stream.  And when I became tired we would ascend the highest point of the stream embankment looking down onto the allotment.  We would sit on the peak and look down at Dad working hard.

After a day out or at the allotment, Dad would take me to Nana and Granddad’s house for our evening meal.  Nana would cook something homemade and always wonderful to the taste buds.  Nana would spoil me with sweets, usually Chewitts, Vanilla slices or Boost chocolate bars.  Granddad would treat me to some yellow tomatoes which were his specially grown variety.  I miss the stew, dumplings and delights. The return home would not fill me with joy, because I never knew how long it would be before I could see my Dad again.  How long would it be before I would see Nana and Granddad again?  Nana was an amazing lady, always treating the younger family members, and spoiling the dogs she kept over the years:  Snowy (a West Highland terrier, for which breed Nana loved), Nomaz (a Yorkshire terrier short hair, of which breed Nana also adored), Suzie (also a West Highland Terrier and perhaps the oldest of Nana’s dogs during my lifetime), Pup (when he visited), and even the neighbours dog Nobby (who was clearly the offspring of Pup, as were the majority of Newton Heath’s mongrel dogs – sorry, RSPCA!).

A bowl of Nana’s homemade stew alongside some potato croquettes or chips and you would soon feel full.  There would always be room for desert, and desert always came with custard, warm or cold.  There was no need for posh restaurants as far as I was concerned; a meal at Nana’s was luxury.

One year, Dad drove me and Mum to Knowsley Safari Park.  On arrival we sat in the car, watching the Peacocks outside.  Dad suggested we had some food in the car, and handed out Spam sandwiches.  We watched the Peacocks for hours.  The zoological park had closed eventually.  I think Dad was a little short of cash and could not afford to go in.  I loved the day trip never-the-less.

My New Moston Primary School days hold little memory for me.  I just remember playing catch the girl, kiss the girl and catching my classmate Claire at the time; a friend called Anthony; and me having a pooh in a classroom because the teacher would not allow me to go to the toilet.  I whipped my trousers down, squatted in a playroom kitchen pen and laid one down.  Sadly, a fellow pupil and classroom whinge-bag Kelly spotted me and promptly enlightened the teacher to my doings.  I never got away with it.

A couple of weeks prior to my seventh birthday I learned to swim.  The school enforced visits to Broadway swimming baths enabled schoolchildren back then to combat the risk of drowning.  They simply subject you to water deeper than your body height, throw you in, and watch you learn that no kicking of the legs or motion in the arms will ultimately result in swallowing excessive amounts of water towards the lungs and belly.  My first width certificate was in the bag on the 13th of October 1989.  It was also noted that you could leave a yellow slipstream behind you if the teacher would not allow you to the toilet.  Had she not learned from my earlier primary school actions!?

Not that my teacher was the only victim of my terror, the dentist who had not warned of his intentions to probe my mouth, soon found his hand littered with a John-size bite mark.  Having someone else’s hand in your mouth will always seem wrong to me.  Even Mum became a victim of me pouring cornflakes down the toilet, blocking it with old toilet roll tubes, and also seeing exactly how much washing up liquid would empty from the bottle in one squeeze (naturally onto a clean surface, for example the carpet).

My craze for Thomas the Tank Engine was quickly topped by Ghostbusters, and before long Dangermouse, Count Duckula, and eventually the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Lego remained faithfully by my side throughout the years. Secret showings of The Gremlins on video at my Nana’s house when Nana was away, under Dad’s supervision had me praying for a Mogwai for my birthday.  Instead Dad allowed me to choose a present at Morrison’s superstore in Fallowfield.  Naturally, I went for a small Lego pirate set along with a large truck space carrier.  The next day Mum invited my friend Neil and another friend who like Turtles too around for a birthday meal.  I was allowed the choice of food, so we had Bangers and Mash with beans.  This was my favourite at the time.  Mum had brought me a Lego castle set, as she was always trying to bring out my imaginative side.  Neil came from several doors down.  His mum Miriam knew my mum.  To get to Neil you could walk along the front road, or run to the back of the garden and cut through the back of several gardens past the man who always recited “Peter Piper picked a pepper…” to us and made us giggle.  One day on the route down to Neil’s house I discovered a dead gull.  It looked lifeless as expected, and when prodded with a stick, it was rock hard and crawling with small beetles.  There was a lesson to be leant, but it passed me by whatever it was.

In 1988, Astrid was born.  I now had a little sister to fight with, and to love and cherish.  It was around this time that Basil the cat had left home, and moved a few doors away to be fed.

Mum, met Paul Mathers in early 1990, and we moved to 2 Range Street, Openshaw.  Dad moved from Nana and Granddad’s house into 76 Warbeck Road, and I often visited to share bowls of Frosties for an evening meal!  Plus, the new neighbours to my Dad were of Chinese origin and loved to share Lego with me.  My new primary school was to be Clayton Brook Primary.  They made me retake my width certificate on the 8th of October 1990, the idiots were holding my progress back with P.E.  However, I could zoom far further ahead with mathematics and science in classes.

We added Ben the cat to the family; and Mum and Paul also added a new child to the family.  Paul Anthony Mathers junior was born on the 15th day of November 1990.  After escaping to my room to play with Lego and eventually exhausting my supply of bricks, I decided to play out in the new area.  Originally I was only allowed to the park around the corner, and to the top of my street.  I did make one friend, but he was banned from playing with me by his parents one day, as a result of me hitting his head off the opposite side to a see-saw I was on.  Accidents do happen.  I did not like Openshaw, I knew very few people there, and the area was riddled with good for nothing kids and derelict factory buildings.

TO BE CONTINUED?