Lego Pacman

Siham Palmer

I’ll try to make this brief. I’m not very good at doing brief. But I’ll try.

I’m cleaning my room out, sorting stuff into recycling piles, and parting ways with tons of magazines that I had previously been reluctant to throw away. So many memories… …

Meanwhile I logged on to Second Life and took a seat in the corner of my favourite place in the whole wide metaverse. Jade’s Jazz Bar. As I was sitting there a live performance by the French singer Siham Palmer began. I’m not sure how she was doing it. Likely from her own home or studio – she clearly had the dance floor on screen in front of her because she took requests and interacted with the packed club. It really was packed. My super fast computer at home struggled with the frame rate of having so many people on screen at once and I had to fly up to the top balcany just to find room.

Anyway, she is a truly amazing singer and I promptly added her to myspace (she is found at www.myspace.com/sisicool93). But to top off a perfect Sunday afternoon she actually said my name in her lush French accent. I gave her a L$300 tip, as many others were doing, and she said “Merci Benjeyman Na-siko”.

Magic.

Sir Tom Hunter

The sexy chap you see pictured on the right has today announced that he is to give £1 billion to charity. It will be he single biggest philanthropic act in British history.

Sir Tom Hunter is estimated to be worth £1.05 billion and is the first self-made billionaire in Scotland. Whether his announcement was designed to coincide with the Rowntree Foundation’s report on Britain’s growing inequality is not clear, but he has said that he intends for the money to be spent mostly on tackling this problem.

But did you notice the significance of the figures?

He has committed himself to handing away practically his entire fortune. Sure £0.05 billion is usually enough for most people to live on, but I wonder how many other billionaires have ever taken it upon themselves to give away so much, as a percentage, of their actual wealth?

Innovative Ipswich II: a long ramble about how Christians in my hometown deserve some credit

As you can tell from the title, I’m not going to enjoy this blog entry. It goes against all I hold to be dear and true. Yet I know it’s right. So begrudgingly, and with all manner of grammatical errors, here it is.

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I disappear to Edinburgh for a year – just twelve months - and what do I see when I return!? Christians! Bloody Christians! Openly walking the streets. Openly! Without shame or fear. In Britain! In my home town of all places! Calling themselves ‘Town Pastors’ they weaved through the streets of Ipswich, preying on the weak and vulnerable left in the wake of a damn decent night out in town.

I was aghast. What next? Would we soon be banning women from talking? Would we soon see extremists firebombing abortion centres? Would we soon see civil rights destroyed? Would we soon all be getting married at 19? Would we stop teaching science? And worse of all, would we develop a southern drawl?

Just what was going on? I had to find out – and with a vengeance. I dare not say anything to Americans – after all – they don’t know any better. But British people! They deserved everything they got! My full fury. Everything. The bastards.

And get it they did. And disagree with everything they stand for I still do. And respond with typical Christian bullshit they did “but if you open your heart to the LORD…” – “Answer the bloody question you fool!”. I threw the book at them. Their own damn book. I’ve read the best bits of the bible. I’ve read guides in theology. I’ve spent months in Gods own Kingdom. I’ve argued and fought the issues over in my mind my whole life. I’ve read Dan Brown. I knew my stuff.

Convert me - they did not.

But I came away unsure as to who had actually won the debate. Loath the very concept of their existence, I did no longer. Impressed that they actually had the balls to stand up, dress up and risk utter humiliation on a Friday night? I most certainly was.

Cont...

Secondary Functions

I'm not going anywhere this Summer. I'm too busy you see. Job hunting, house hunting and working on my dissertation ask too much of me. Regretably I can't fit in a carbon chugging flight to far away lands - not even up to Glasgow to walk the West Highland Way as planned.

Yet I don't think I have done too badly so far this summer.

Firstly, I made a couple of new friends. Met them in the lobby of the Swedish embassy, they have invited me to a film showing in a few weeks time - I hope there will be subtitles. They then introduced me to Jade's Jazz Bar. Great little place with a fantastic view of the sea - and some of the best music I have known. Great place to just kick back and chill. And to think it was right under my nose all that time and I never saw it.

Cont...

Richmond, Kew and the National Archives.

It’s Monday and I am alone in Richmond, South London in a pretty expensive ‘budget’ bed and breakfast. I am here for four nights, starting yesterday. So far it’s been - nice.

Before leaving I heard on the news that Richmond has the highest rate of council tax in the UK. And I can see why. On arriving Sunday evening I set out in search of a kebab shop. A simple task in 21st century Britain, or so you would have thought.

No. I couldn’t find a single fast food outlet anywhere, not even ones that had closed early. They just simply didn’t exist. However, if at 8pm on a Sunday I had wanted to dine in a fish market/restaurant, or buy Belgian chocolates, or fine pastries, or relax in a specialty wine bar, then I would have been spoilt for choice! Richmond is a very classy place.

Yet it is not pretentious. This is the original article, when a town becomes pretentious it is because they pretend to be like Richmond, and fail. Richmond doesn’t try. It just is. The architecture here just oozes style (and money). Residential roads are lined with large, yet compact houses, and are complemented by a pleasantly surprising array of modest cars (Mercedes, BM’s and Audis etc). While the town centre is a series of small twisty pedestrianised roads with clean tarmac and tasteful storefronts. Internet cafés selling fair trade coffee exist in an unusually high number, as do lots of fashionably trendy people reading the FT. My long held conviction that intelligence and looking good were two mutually exclusive things may have to be revised. The girls here are pretty amazing too. I don’t know why, but there seems to be something in the male psyche that makes every town, except his own, appear to bristle with extremely tasteful young people. Yet on this occasion I don’t think it is just my psyche talking. Class, true class, brings a certain attractive elegance – and I dare any socialist to disprove it. This brief experience has made me add yet another bullet point to my ‘to do before I die list’. So now when I am a rich and successful postman I shall, among other things, be buying a property in Richmond.

Cont….