Battle of the Gods

We witnessed a colossal battle in the heavens last night.

First Zeus threw down his lightning across the Mediterranean Sea, vaunting his supremacy over sky, sea and earth. Time and again the blinding streaks crackled across the sky, seeming to fracture the invisible ropes which hold our universe together.

 

Then, long minutes later, there came an answering rumble from the north. Thor the Thunder God had been awoken from his slumber and grumbling angrily took up his hammer, Mjölnir, and strode south to meet the challenge.

It was an epic confrontation. Zeus would leap out from his
hiding place beyond the clouds, searing the sky and eye with his jagged armaments. Then Thor would respond, the rolling beating of his thunder sounding like fifty thousand horses galloping across the sky. More lightning, more thunder claps, the air scintillating with power and fury.

Zeus seemed to be almost playing with his opponent, darting across the heavens, hurling his weapons and slipping away. Thor was indignant and bellicose, bragging of his potency yet wrong-footed by his more nimble opponent.

But still the battle went on, both deities refusing to cede mastery to the other. Both were intent on slogging it out for the edification of the mortals watching below; mouths agape and in awe.

It seemed to be like some commentary on my recent experience. My wife and I had spent a long weekend back in England, visiting relatives.

England felt as bitter cold as the Scandinavia of Thor. The winds blew into the bone,
the cold was so intense it seemed to clutch at our blood. Even when the sky was
blue there felt the promise of dismal weather.

A good half of the English people who served us in shops and cafes were either distant or disengaged. A few were friendly, a few happy and helpful, but most seemed taciturn and dour, as if their minds and hearts were elsewhere. They seemed to be looking at me from beyond a barricade. The shop workers from Eastern Europe were different, good-natured and willing to engage and joke, happy to show something of the life behind the shield.

Back in France, the air was warm and gentle, the light brighter and more revealing. The bus driver was friendly. We bought some food to take away from a young woman working in the café next door who suggested we take our bags up to our apartment while she got our meals ready for us. When I returned a few minutes later we talked about learning different languages while she wrapped up the food. As I went into our apartment block a neighbour stopped me and asked me to tell my wife that she would be returning to a club they both go to next year, or maybe next week. I still need to improve my French.

So the battle in the skies last night mirrors the battle within me.

I was born and brought up in England and much of my thought and mind was shaped by it. But I no longer feel at home with its grey clouds and the dark sardonic nature of its people. I love the light and vivacity of the south, the outdoor living, the readiness to engage and smile.

Thor or Zeus? Heimdall or Hermes?

A little of both north and south, a little of neither. A man of the twentieth century, living in the twenty first and writing about ancient times.

Aren’t I the luck one?

A Modest Proposal for a new calendar

In the last dozen years we have lived through two apocalyptic date.  The first was in the year 2000 when the world was rumoured to be at risk from something or other which I now forget.  The second was 2012 when some people asserted that the world would come to an end because a Mayan calendar had run out of dates or a rogue, invisible planet would crash into Pimlico, Des Moines or Nosy Varika.

Much of this nonsense is because one of the most common of the world’s timeline is based on the supposed date of Jesus Christ.  Every one agrees that the date is nonsense and, because it is so nonsensical there was massive confusion about when the second millennium would actually start.  If the first year of the Common Era, (it was called AD in my youth) was Year 1 then the new millennium did not actually start until 2001 which made the dire predictions of the end of the world in the year 2000 both hysterical and un-mathematical.

I also wonder if the latest scare date of 21st December 2012 had anything to do with its numerical equivalents 12.21.12 in the USA or 21.12.12 in my neck of the woods.  Such dreadful symmetry.

As someone keen on history I would like to propose a new calendar.  Not one based on a story in the bible but one which will pay tribute to all of humanity.  I propose a calendar which will start with the dawn of civilisation.  Even this is tricky as there is no firm agreement when civilisation started.

So, on a whim, I’ve plumped for 3,500 years BCE.  This is when several civilisations started across the globe, from China, the Indus Valley, through Mesopotamia, Egypt and the Americas.  I’ve also done it to keep the maths simple.

The benefits of this are manifold.  My new calendar is not linked to western civilisation nor to a religion.  It gets rid of the complications of counting backwards from the present year 1 for years BCE.  Best of all it puts modern times into the long sweep of history.

Here are some familiar dates in the new calendar.

 

 

1 200 400 500 800 875 1000 1200 1500 1700 1900 1950 2000 2320 2620 2724 2747 2755 2950 2991 3010 3068 3169 3300 3327 3279 3298 3400 3456 3514 3726 3976 4000 4052 4070 4122 4250 4300 4371 4411 4476 4501 4566 4599 4611 4687 4727 4799 4810 4825 4847 4953 4992 5001 5026 5080 5088 5116 5120 5142 5151 5196 5220 5276 5289 5305 5351 5361 5370 5389 5414 5445 5463 5469 5513

Possible start of Egyptian calendar Hakra phase of Indus Valley civilisation First Dynasty in Egypt Sumerian cuneiform writing Knossos in Crete is a city of 80,000 inhabitents Khufu completes the Great Pyramid Mammoth becomes extinct Stonehenge complete The horse is domesticated First alphabets created Shang Dynasty in China Hittite Empire dominant force in area Rig Veda written End of the Hittite Empire Iliad and Odyssey written First Olympic Games held Rome said to be founded Tiglath-Pileser III begins rise of Assyrian Empire Foundation of Persian Empire by Cyrus the Great Rome becomes a Republic Greek city states defeat Persia at Marathon Construction of the Parthenon in Athens Alexander the Great defeats King of Persia Start of construction of Great Pyramid of Cholula Ashoka the Great becomes Emperor Great Wall of China begun Hannibal defeated by Scipio Africanus Chola Dynasty rises to prominence in South India Julius Caesar murdered Death of Emperor Augustus Rise of the Sassanian Empire in Persia End of the Western Roman Empire Franks under Clovis defeat the Visigoths Eastern Roman Empire (Byzantium) reconquers Italy Birth of Mohammad Mohammad moves from Mecca to Medina. Start of Islamic Calendar Beginning of Abbasid Caliphate Charlemagne crowned Holy Roman Emperor Alfred the Great becomes King of Wessex Rollo founds Normandy Basil II becomes Emperor of Byzantium Leif Ericson lands in Canada The Battle of Hastings First Crusade. Jerusalem is captured from the Muslims University of Oxford founded Saladin recaptures Jerusalem Genghis Khan dies Ottoman Empire founded Dante publishes The Divine Comedy Aztecs found city of Tenochtitlan Black Death in Europe Fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks Christopher Columbus reached the New World Michelangelo begins sculpting David Foundation of Mughal Empire Sir Francis Drake first man to lead expedition round the globe The Spanish Armada defeated Shakespeare dies Mayflower arrives in America Tasman sights New Zealand End of English Civil War Peter the Great sole Tsar in Russia The South Sea Bubble American Declaration of Independence The French Revolution starts Napoleon becomes Emperor of the French Great Exhibition in London Start of American Civil War Death of Charles Dickens Edison tests his first light bulb Start of World War 1 End of World War 2 The Beatles have their first hit record Man lands on the Moon This year.  Happy New 5513

 

I can’t guarantee the accuracy of the dates or, sadly, my arithmetic.  But I had fun doing it and it did make me think differently about history and time.

Happy Birthday Dad. A roller coaster ride.

A few days ago I was talking with my father about the research he is doing for me.  I am writing a novel about the First World War and his father and father- in-law were both involved in this.  He has already found out lots of useful information and was very excited to be discussing this on the phone with me.  He lives in the south west of England.  My wife and I live on the French Riviera.  A thousand miles separate us but we keep in touch twice a week by phone.

My father is an old man yet his mental faculties are remarkable.  When we don’t have access to the internet and need to find a fact I will ring Dad and invariably he will know the answer.  I have come to think of him as WikiDaddy.

In this phone call, however, I began to get concerned.  My dad’s speech was slurred and he was losing the thread of his conversation.  I asked him if he was ok and he said he had blacked out and fallen down that morning, hitting his head in the process.

I phoned for help and within minutes the para-medics were at his house and he was whisked off to hospital.  I was so glad that my memory had failed the day previously and I had forgotten to call him.   If I had have done I wouldn’t have phoned on the day of his fall and would not have realised he had something wrong with him.

Something we found out was life-threatening.  His heart was working at a rate of only 30 beats a minute.

The next day, Friday, we discussed the possibility of him being fitted with a pacemaker.  The hospital said it was the only option for him.

On Monday night I was phoned by a distraught doctor to say that Dad had just had a cardiac arrest and the doctors were working on him.  They succeeded in restarting his heart but it had been very difficult.

We booked two seats on Easyjet at 2.00 in the morning and went to bed.  We didn’t sleep much that night.

Tuesday was Dad’s 89th birthday.  I rang the hospital early in the morning and was told that he had just had a second cardiac arrest.  The doctor said he was very poorly indeed.  When a man’s 89 and has had two heart attacks in quick succession that’s not too surprising.

My wife and I began to resign ourselves to the worst.  The question in my mind was whether we would be able to get to him in time.

So imagine our surprise when we were told later in the day that he’d been taken 50 miles in an ambulance to be fitted with a pace-maker.  The operation seems to have been a success.  What a fantastic birthday present for him.

Today I’ve been told he is sitting up in bed and enjoying a meal.  As my cousin says, he must be as tough as a horse.

I want to pay tribute to the ambulance service who have done so much to save his life, now and in the past.  And to the caring and professional medical staff at Weston Hospital and Bristol Heart Clinic who have worked all out to keep a frail old man alive.

It’s early days yet and we won’t be able to see him until tomorrow.  I just hope that the hospital staff don’t take it into their heads to give him the birthday bumps.

Happy birthday, Dad.

My Dad.

Dawn. Menton

It’s 7.15 in the morning and the moon and Venus are dangling in a brightening sky.  I was awake and ready for work three quarters of an hour ago but then my computer decided to update itself and took an age.

A watched laptop never configures so I decided to go onto the terrace and watch the world wake up.

Monsieur Martin the baker is busy in his shop, baking baguettes and serving early breakfasters.  A man is sipping coffee in one of the seats ouside and watching people hurry to work.  By the look of him he has no where to hurry to or maybe he does and is just very relaxed.  Or enjoying his first coffee of the day.

An insect chirps busily in the tree in front of me.  A blackbird wakes and begins to sing.  In the distance, closer to the beach, seagulls squawk at each other, their irritable sounding ‘yike, yike, yike’, cutting through the air.

The traffic is light and with no shrill motor-bike engines revving to prove the manhood of their riders.  An ambulance weaves slowly through the traffic, lights flashing but no siren blaring.  I assume it’s someone who had just had a heart attack, who needs speed but no noise.

The sky is a moving feast of clouds.  They barely seem to move while I watch them but when I look up after only a few moments the pattern has changed remarkably.  Like a huge kaleidoscope shaken by a child god.

The sky is brightening now.  It’s 7.25.  The moon and Venus are growing faint, I thought for a moment they had been snuffed out by the light.  They seem like dying lovers, all life ebbing from them, clinging on while sight remains so they can see each other until the end.  A red mist takes them and they fade away.

But then the reddening cloud thins and I can just see the bent bow of the moon.  The crescent is so thin it looks like it may break.  Yet somehow, despite its fragility, it remains in place, defying the brightness for a little longer.

The clouds over the sea remain dark but higher in the sky they’re turning pastel pink.  They look like a stepping stone path across the sky.

A train rattles out of the station, heading for Italy.  There was only one passenger on the earlier train.

One of our friendly doves has come to see me, staring across from its perch on the terrace edge.  It shakes itself and a white feather falls.

The trees have re-gained their colour now.  In this light I can see the line of trees in the gardens are turning brown, hanging on like the moon, but soon to fall and disappear.

This will be our first autumn in Menton.  The last of the seasons for us to experience; we’ve loved the winter, spring and summer.

What a pleasure awaits us.

A Labyrinth

I’ve been talking about mazes with a twitter friend recently.

I was reminded of a time a few years agowhen  I went on a training course given by Margaret Underwood, an expert in learning styles and educational Kinesiology from New Zealand.

She had brought along a huge piece of silk which on which she had traced a copy of the maze from Chartres Cathedral in Northern France.

One lunch-time she invited anyone who was interested to walk along the maze in silence.  I’m not at a religious person and not even a spiritual one but I decided to give this opportunity a go.

My friend Ross Cooper and I started off side by side.  We walked together a little space and then turned a corner.  From that point on we each trod our own individual path.

I walked on in silence, musing on how my feet were being led by a path whose end I could not see.

I turned and was astonished to see Ross at the far end of the maze, out of reach, unreachable.  I felt alone, almost bereft as he silently paced away from me.

I bent my footsteps once again and continued.  A few minutes later I looked up and saw Ross only a few steps from me, walking towards me.  I felt relieved, only to see him take a sharp turn and disappear from view.

This is like life, I thought.

I had got it.  The idea of the labyrinth.

A few minutes later I turned a corner and found myself walking side by side with Ross once again.  We reached the end together, as we had started.

I have heard that the maze was designed as a symbol of a person’s life.

I was moved by the experience, intrigued and thoughtful.

I’d like to walk it again one day.

Friends

Our very good friends Chris and Gina have arrived here for a week’s visit.

The last time we saw them was on the day we left England.  They came round to take us to the airport hotel and found us floundering and panic-stricken in the middle of an impossible number of jobs which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

‘Don’t worry,’ they said. ‘We’ll take whatever you can’t pack to the charity shop or the dump.’

They disappeared while we drew breath and managed to get the last of our life in something nearly resembling order.  They returned an hour later, took us to the hotel, had a drink with us and left as quietly and as encouragingly as they had appeared a few hours earlier.

And now, after almost a year, we are back together again.  It’s lovely.

I am reminded, not that I needed to be, of the value and joy of true friendship.  It’s like a literature of life.

Simple ingredients, superb lunch

We’ve just had lunch.  Since moving to the south of France we’ve adopted the French habit of eating our main meals at lunch-time.  There are several reasons for this.

Restaurant lunches are cheaper and better value for money than evening dinners so if we eat out it’s usually the plat de jour option.

It’s also really hot here and long lunches followed by a laze around, a siesta or writing a novel seems more pleasant than having a heavy meal late at night.  It gives us almost a double day.

We feel much healthier for eating this way and for buying local food in small quantities.

Today I want to celebrate the way that the simple yet intensely flavoursome and fresh foods we get here made a superb meal.  Or, to be more exact, were made into a superb meal by my wife.

The ingredients were:

The last of the roast chicken from Sunday lunch, salad onion, garlic, a small chilli, fresh tomatoes.  All from the market in front of our apartment.  A yellow pepper from the supermarket at the bottom of our apartment.  Basil from our terrace.  Arborio rice, roasted almonds, salt and pepper, paprika and a little stock.

These are simple foods yet my wife conjured up the most wonderful risotto with them.  It looked like a painting by Matisse or Derain, with all the colours of the Mediterranean world.

The Dessert: Harmony in Red, 1908, Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

It tasted like a flamboyant mixture of Italian and, Spanish cuisine.  In fact it could almost have been a homage to the two finalists of Euro 2012.  Except that there were definite flavours of France and North Africa mixed in.  And a lot of English talent.

A wonderful lunch.  Thanks to everybody who produced it, the farmers, the traders and especially my wife.  And a big thanks to my taste-buds for enjoying it so much.

And now to work.

Send Three and Fourpence I’m Going to A Dance.

This morning I tweeted a quote I thought I’d remembered from Goethe.  

I said: ‘Goethe was right. When you start something it has magic in it.’

This comment was alluding to the fact that I have dithered for months about which book to write next.  I have four possible choices and now, finally, have made up my mind to write the third book in my ‘The Lost King’ series.

I was happy and ploughing ahead with the book so I idly tweeted the reference to Goethe.

This afternoon I thought I’d better look up the quote and use it more accurately.

I found: “Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

There you go, this is what I remembered.  It has a truth to it and is worth remembering.

But, and it’s a big but, I found the quote in an article which questions whether the words were written by Goethe at all.  

I won’t go into the detail because the article is fascinating and I put a link to it at the end of the post.

The author believes that: ‘…the quotation often attributed to Goethe is in fact by William Hutchinson Murray (1913-1996), from his 1951 book entitled The Scottish Himalayan Expedition.’

It makes me wonder what on earth you can believe.  I choose to believe this article because it appears scholarly and well-researched.  Maybe I’m wrong to do this, of course. But in the world of instant information and the internet I feel increasingly at sea and need some bearings and references and well-argued discussion provides this.

Even in everyday life I wonder; what on earth is the truth?  Who has caused the economic woes of the last few years?  Are the Greek people being persecuted or, as someone said, getting their just comeback for years of drinking ouzo on the beach.  Are there still reds under the beds or have they been replaced by Moslems in the closet or Anglo-American crusaders?

Maybe I should become a Post-Modernist and stop worrying.

I’ve surprised myself that lately, when seeking information, I turn first to Wikipedia.  It is not the farrago of nonsense that some people would have you believe.  (Although I always triple-check things for my writing research, whatever the source.)  A few years ago I would never have looked at Wikipedia to start my research ball rolling.  In fact the link to Wikipedia that I’ve highlighted says much the same as the research that I read.  Which came first, I wonder.

It’s a changing world all right.

It all reminds me of the old story:

A General sent a message saying, ‘Send reinforcements, I’m going to advance.’  By the time the message had been relayed by a string of messengers it said, ‘Send Three and Fourpence, I’m going to a dance.’

Now, at least I know this was a falsehood, purely for the purpose of entertainment.  Or was it?

In the end I’m comforted by the fact that the more information there is available, the more likely I am to find a truth acceptable enough or utilitarian enough for the purpose.

Help, stop, let me off.

Here’s the link to the article.

http://german.about.com/library/blgermyth12.htm

Tomorrow, I have an interview with author SJA Turney.  Honest.

 

 

 

Young musicians at the Fête de la Musique

I like music but can barely whistle a dirge let alone a tune.  I think I’m fortunate that I like many types of music from classical to pop and rock and most shades in between.

Not everything though. Much of Jazz leaves me bemused.  And as for electronic music.  It just makes me grimace and turn right off.  Memories of Rolf Harris and his Stylophone must have been the reason for this.  Which is sad because I was a great fan of Rolf when I was younger.

Anyway, I digress.

Yesterday was 21 June and this meant the Fête de la Musique in many cities around the world including Menton.

We spent the evening going from one show to another, many of them given by young people who had tons of talent and, more importantly, the commitment to music which meant they slogged hard to give their audience entertainment.

It was a great night and a great way to start the summer.

********

Just a note that tomorrow, I’ve got the second of my interviews, this time with Ty Johnston, the fantasy, horror and literary fiction author.  Next weekend I’m interviewing SJA Turney about his historical fiction.

For those of you who missed David Gaughran talking about his book ‘A Storm Hits Valparaiso’ and his earlier one about his book ‘Let’s Get Digital’ you can find them here.

David Gaughran on ‘A Storm Hits Valparaiso.’

Interview with David Gaughran about his new book on indie self-publishing: ‘Let’s Get Digital.’

Let’s Get Digital. Part 2 of my interview with David Gaughran.

A Slow Subconscious

I am a frequent and vivid dreamer.  I am fortunate that I can remember many of my dreams. While I have rarely used any of them whole in my writing I find that some of the ideas and images sometimes float into my work and even inspire it.

We moved to the South of France almost six months ago, on December 1st.  Now, at last, my laggard unconscious has caught up with events and I have had my first dream about living here.

Nothing exciting.  I went to the market which is directly opposite, bought some potatoes and ruined the mash I was making by putting too much milk in it.  ’Never mind’, my dream self told my wife, ‘I’ll get a baguette.’

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