Newcastle - 'boisterous self-confidence of a chosen people'

Our recent visit to the UK entailed a trip to Newcastle upon Tyne to gain an unusual perspective on that city, a place close to my birth, a place that is familiar yet has transformed remarkably over the last couple of decades.

First, we drove a short way past the city centre down to the riverside, and viewed the mud-flats – redolent of Dickens and Victorian fiction rather than the twenty-first century, despite the renovated paved walk.

 

Low tide, mud...

 

Next, we went beneath a trio of bridges where we found the city’s farm. Again, some unusual views. Ouseburn farm is in the Lower Ouseburn Valley, about a mile from the city centre, and has been established here as a charity since 1976. Originally called Byker City Farm, it was created by local people to encourage youngsters to work with farm animals. It was closed in 2002 and reopened and renamed in 2009. The farm is a charity and its website is http://www.bykerbridge.org.uk/farm/aboutus.html

Ouseburn farm, Newcastle

This time last year, Newcastle was voted by the readers of the Guardian ‘the UK’s favourite city’, an accolade handed out at that newspaper’s annual Travel Awards. Which city will take the award this year? Maybe it will be Edinburgh yet again; particularly since it has won more than 12 UK best city awards in the last eight years. Though there’s no reason why Newcastle can’t do it this year too.

Newcastle has excellent shopping facilities, a wide choice of restaurants, bars and hotels and then there’s their attractive quayside and cityscape. Not forgetting the legendary warmth and personality of the people.

Pulitzer prize-winning author Jane Smiley visited Durham and Northumberland and in a travel item in the New York Times, she was effusive about Newcastle’s Grey Street, commending its graceful elegance and blend of old and new.

A quotation from the Guardian of last November sums up the place, perhaps: “Newcastle’s atmosphere of almost pathological friendliness and good humour stems from one simple thing: all Geordies believe themselves blessed to have been born here. Theirs is the boisterous self-confidence of a chosen people.”

And since almost twenty million people now visit Newcastle and Gateshead annually, quite a few would seem to concur.

Writing - thirty years of word-processing!

There’s an interesting article about the 30-year anniversary of the Amstrad word-processor in the Guardian here.

Like many a writer of long tooth, I used the first Amstrad word-processor with Locoscript and its dot-matrix printer, to write short stories and novels and ultimately a short story magazine, Auguries here.

 

Before that, I used a Remington portable typewriter, which travelled with me in my naval career. Having self-taught myself to touch-type, I improved my speed in the Royal Navy, which proved useful ever after.

There are plenty of authors who prefer writing in long-hand, and there’s nothing wrong with that, though it is quite laborious. There’s supposed to be this physical-mental symbiosis between mind and hand when wielding the pen. I imagine there can be; but it is no more immediate than fingers dancing across a keyboard almost as fast as thought.

I don’t think it’s apocryphal: I read somewhere that Frederick Forsyth buys himself an old-fashioned typewriter before he embarks on a new book. Of the old school. I remember those sit-up-and-beg mighty machines; you could train for the Olympics, simply by working the carriage return. And the rough Atlantic Ocean played havoc with typing, as the ratchet slipped during a prodigious swell.

I may be nostalgic about those times, but no, I don’t miss retyping entire books, carbon copies, ink rubbers, correcting fluid and Tipp-ex.

I eventually migrated on to a PC and purchased a PC-compatible Locoscript application, because there were many features I liked, and I wasn’t so keen on WordPerfect. That meant that eventually I could migrate all my written work to future PCs, which saved a lot of retyping. [Sad sign of the times, my spell-checker doesn’t recognise ‘Locoscript’…!]

Thirty years? Blimey. They went fast.

Writing - a serious laugh

Recently, a Guardian columnist who shall remain nameless displayed his literary snob credentials on his sleeve, criticising the massive affectionate outpouring for the late Sir Terry Pratchett, claiming there were many more worthy authors that should be read instead. In short, he felt that too much emphasis was placed on popular fiction instead of that serious stuff. Oh, and to make matters worse, he hadn’t actually read any of Pratchett’s books! The online comments in response seemed almost universal in their condemnation of his article and stance.

Maybe he feels that literature should address the human condition and not popular demand. Clearly, he hasn’t read anywhere enough popular fiction, as virtually every day popular authors are writing about the travails we face on this mortal coil, though invariably wrapped up in genre fiction.

I recall one reviewer of John D. MacDonald stated, ‘I shall not forgive John D. if he embarks on the Great American Novel. He is writing a chapter of it with every McGee thriller.’ MacDonald used humour in his genre fiction too.

 

The columnist must lack a sense of humour. I don’t mean the wonderful humour in Pratchett’s books – though he would doubtless be a more engaging columnist if he absorbed some of that writer’s slant on the world.

I write crime novels (and westerns and fantasy) which tend to look at the human predicament within the specific genre. Human frailty has been with us throughout history and will continue as such until the social engineers strip all individuality from us. Yet in contrast to the seriousness of conflict and drama, life also has humour. Life would be so drab without a laugh.

So I was particularly pleased that a recent Amazon review (of Catalyst) used the word ‘amusing’ to describe what is essentially a crime thriller.

‘This was an amusing read from start to finish. Vengeance takes many forms but it doesn’t necessarily leave a good taste in the mouth for Catherine Vibrissae - there are some recurring regrets. Catherine has a grand plan and not much is going to deflect her from fully carrying it through, yet reading of such important deeds doesn’t have to be a serious business as we find out in Catalyst! Her skills are numerous, but I loved that the author, Nik Morton, manages to inject her competence with a degree of quiet dignity. Preconceived notions about the past aren’t always entirely accurate and Cat has much to learn as the adventure unfolds…

‘Rick Barnes is a character who is easy to like and I particularly found his physiological talents quite funny. To say more might spoil things for the potential reader but if you’re looking for a quick and satisfying read, I can thoroughly recommend Catalyst. I’m definitely looking forward to Book 2 in the series.’

The point is, despite the suspense and danger, humour is in there, sometimes lovers fencing with words, sometimes as a response to a tricky situation – just like life. You need to use humour to get through the day, sometimes.

 
And laugh at columnists who think their reading experience is superior to your own.

Significant Burgess

A report in the Daily Mail says that English Heritage won’t be putting up a blue plaque for Anthony Burgess on a property in Glebe Street, to commemorate that he lived there the author between 1963 and 1968. They suggested consideration may be made in five years’ time instead of the usual ten for reapplication.

I can’t find this item elsewhere, but if it is valid then it does seem rather crass, considering their statement for refusal is that ‘it is too soon after his death to evaluate the merits of shortlisting.’

Burgess died in 1993 – twenty-two years ago. I know he was prolific - he wrote 33 novels, 25 non-fiction pieces, three symphonies, over 150 other musical works and other works – but surely by now, not to mention over his lifetime, the merits of his output should be plain.

There is a UK plaque in honour of Burgess at the University of Manchester, which was unveiled in 2012. There is also a plaque outside his flat in Monaco, where he lived for seventeen years.

 

 

Born on February 25, 1917, in Manchester, England, Anthony Burgess was a novelist, poet, playwright, screenwriter and composer. He was fluent in nine languages. Well known novels included The Wanting Seed, Inside Mr. Enderby, Earthly Powers and A Clockwork Orange; the latter was adapted into a popular though controversial 1971 Stanley Kubrik film. He died on November 22, 1993 in London.

http://www.anthonyburgess.org/about-anthony-burgess/

I have many favourite authors, and he is one of them. Leslie Thomas called him ‘a writer’s author’. There is an affectionate and enlightening lengthy article by Blake Morrison in the Guardian, (February 2015) concerning Burgess:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/feb/21/anthony-burgess-book-critic

 

Fiddling with figures, while winter fuel burns

I’m getting a bit fed up with the EU-bashing, sneering-at-expat attitude of the Daily Mail. Doubtless the response of the readers of other UK newspapers will say, “What else do you expect?” Well, all UK papers have their good points, and their bad; several run laudable crusades, and several overstep the line, hence the pillorying they’ve endured from certain celebrities and MPs. I still side with the argument to maintain a free press, even if they do get it wrong from time to time. And the old adage about you can’t believe everything you read in a newspaper holds true – whether that’s the Mail or the Guardian or all those in between these two extremes. Particularly when they quote figures to back up their agenda.

In my blog of 5 October I suggested that certain UK sections, notably government ministers, would deliberately mess with ‘temperature tests’ in their bid to curtail expat British tax payers’ winter fuel payments. It hasn’t taken long: the Mail did it this Thursday, 14 November (second column).

 

 

And on Friday, 15 November the Mail published an amusing cartoon, based on one of the previous day’s news items.

 

This is my letter of complaint to the Mail, which wasn’t printed, of course.:

As a retired expat living in Spain, I take exception to Mac’s cartoon. I admire Mac’s skill, and yes, I can see the joke. But it panders to a mistaken image of retirees that borders on the offensive, as well as being misguided in fact. I doubt if any retirees would take a dip in a swimming pool during the winter months. And not all buy vino by the van-load. And we certainly wouldn’t be spending the winter fuel payment on wine, but on bottled gas to keep warm (see below).

Your sensational page 2 item (Thursday, November 14, ‘Cost of winter fuel perk for expats in sun soars by 70%’) perpetuates the myth.

Concerning the UK Winter fuel payments, ‘Work and Pensions Secretary Iain Duncan Smith yesterday said… huge increase in UK winter fuel payments equates to a near doubling in costs to the British taxpayer and that is wholly unacceptable… we are not prepared to sit back and allow hard-working taxpayers’ money to be used in this way.’

Clearly, Mr Smith has forgotten that many British expats still pay UK taxes, and I’m one of them. And we’ve been hard-working throughout our adult life, paying our taxes, before retiring. If the fuel payment is a ‘perk’ for all British taxpayers, then where they live shouldn’t matter.

Indeed, I take issue when dubious science in the form of ‘temperature tests’ is applied. Your article is a prime example of supplying favourable data to bolster the anti-expat argument. You state ‘… Spain, where temperatures in December and January can reach 63F (17C)…’ You’re being selective. A reality check online would show that for the Costa Blanca, where I and many expats live, the temperatures for December and January are very different: December (High=17, low=7), January (High= 16, low= 5) – that’s ten or more degrees lower than you cite. 

Anyone with a grain of geographical knowledge knows that while days in Spain may be pleasantly warm in winter, evenings are cold. It’s a little disingenuous to apply a ‘temperature test’ at midday, which is what you have quoted.

In winter, the houses in Spain still require heating. This heating is in the main supplied by bottled gas, whose prices have increased considerably over the last six years, thanks to green taxes. My bottled gas bill for the winter 2011-12 amounted to 1,160 euros (about £981).

 
Through their UK taxes, most British pensioners living in Spain and claiming the fuel payments, actually pay towards Mr Iain Duncan Smith’s and all civil servants’ wages. It seems that expats are considered a soft target. Yet these same pensioners paid into the system. Since the rules entitle them to a monetary benefit, why should Mr Smith see fit to penalise these same taxpayers? A cynic might consider that it’s political expediency with small risk at the next election.

In conclusion, I always have the option of no longer buying the expensive Daily Mail – that should go a long way to paying for my gas bottles.

Footnote to this blog: All of Europe is currently experiencing arctic blasts of cold weather. Ours in the Costa Blanca today was as low as 3 degrees. It's naïve of me to think so, but if figures are going to be used in an argument, then I'd expect them to be right!