'"My own garden is my own garden," said the giant; "any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself." So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice board. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. He was a very selfish giant.' (Oscar Wilde)
Saturday 29 January 2011
Friday 28 January 2011
I’m Sorry for Any Inconvenience Caused
As I was saying my goodbyes to my good friend at the coach station, I said to him, upon joining the hoard, ‘now it’s time to go to the dog-eat-dog city.’ It didn’t exactly get off to a good start. On a strangely warm September day National Express had hired a coach from another company. There were no windows, the air conditioning didn’t work, but strangely enough, the heating was on full blast. The full coach heard the usual British non-genuine, robotic repetition: ‘I’m sorry for any inconvenience caused,’ before continuing in the same blasé manner, ‘I know the coach is overheated, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll get you to London as soon as I can.’ So, if the traffic allows, passengers may not reach severe dehydration or people passing out as it could, in essence, take only three hours. Three hours of closed in, high level heating on a sunny day. Luckily, people did a non-British thing – they kicked up a fuss. We parked at the side of a motorway and waited for another coach when, miraculously, after a short phone call and the flick of a switch, the air conditioning started working. ‘I’m sorry for any inconvenience caused, but we will now be behind schedule.’
Perhaps if the coach had only air conditioning in the bleak depths of grey winter, passengers new to London would have been better acclimatised to the reception that would await them. We won’t look too closely at transport services at this point, but rather the experiences of new beginnings; those gruelling first few weeks, months, or sometimes years of life in London.
What makes London particularly tough for the newcomer? Aside from the great vastness and sensory bludgeoning of any large city, London’s prices are particularly high with average ‘working’ salaries failing to compare. Two immediate challenges facing the poundless beginner are finding affordable accommodation and securing a job. With increasing cuts, fewer jobs, and minimum wage at just £5.93 per hour (albeit with a few meagre pennies extra in London Weighting Allowance), alongside rising prices and crippling transport expenses, London reveals itself as a greedy, stressful, survival dystopia.
Still, with a good honours degree and international work experience, I arrived at Victoria coach station with optimistic hope. I was about to embark on what I saw as an exciting Masters degree, I had managed to find a room and had a couple of interviews on the horizon. I had saved up for two years to pay my fees, a deposit on a room, and one month’s worth of rent, basic food and travel costs. I now had several weeks to concentrate on job hunting.
My first interview was with a language school. Only hours after my National Express experience, I was taken to what can only be described as a wardrobe. The Director of Studies then asked me a few quick questions before enquiring whether she had emailed me the interview test paper. No! To my surprise, I was asked to immediately plan a lesson delivering definitive and non-definitive relative clauses to an upper intermediate class, then phonetically transcribe a list of words, then define another list of words – noun, adjective, adverb etc...All followed by a list of cultural questions regarding literature and geography. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour,’ she said, before leaving me in the wardrobe with a few pencils and the acidic taste of stress.
The bitter blood of London’s burden tempted my veins several days later. I had an interview for an after-school tutoring position with a family. The ‘mother’, Melissa, had asked me to meet her at Liverpool Street station. At the appointed hour, I was greeted with perfectly manicured eyes that openly surveyed me from head to toe with a look of disdain. ‘Shall we go to a coffee shop?’ she asked in a monotone and no facial expression. She ordered two teas for us, and, as we waited by the till, it occurred to me I felt powerless, edgy, inferiorly nervous. I did not like this woman. Was it too late to simply walk away? Civility got the better of me so I silently ordered myself to conjure up some self-respect. Still civility should not always be obeyed.
At the table, Melissa, a Texan, gave me an epic on the barbarity of leaving a teabag in a cup and the inadequacy of life outside Texas. She then told me of her life story – all in monotone – how she met her husband, a successful artist and the Jerwood Prize winner in 2002, how she had been writing a book but had to take a break because of health reasons (aha...), how she got married at 28 because that’s about the right age, and how getting into university in the UK is just not as rigorous as in the US. ‘Where is your daughter?’ I asked. That was definitely NOT the right question. ‘With my husband,’ murmured the murderous monotone, marching heavily beside the eyes of disdain.
Finally, her attention turned to my CV. She asked a few questions, got irritated with my responses, and then interrupted my smiles and fond recounting of my experiences teaching English to the Italian military. ‘Yes, is there anything you want to add it that? What I’m trying to get you to do is open up and tell me something interesting. Your CV is fantastic but I don’t see any of that in front of me.’ She looked agitated. ‘You are too calm, and, quite frankly, confused. Also, you are so unwashed.’ Unwashed? ‘Yes, you haven’t washed your face, you haven’t shampooed, you don’t take care of your clothes. I don’t want my daughter exposed to it.’ My heart was pounding hard. It wasn’t the kind of heat that makes it to the surface of your skin. I was shocked, not shamed. My facade became calmer. ‘Well, this is me and I’m clearly not the person you are looking for’, was all I could utter as I began to gather my things. Though it was a busy coffee shop in the middle of Liverpool Street station, I wasn’t aware of another soul. Melissa became increasingly fidgety. ‘Is there nothing you want to say to convince me you are as good as this CV?’ ‘No, I’m not the person you are looking for.’ Her face twisted, her breathing become irregular. ‘Oh...well....I guess I’ll have to keep looking...’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ready to leave the table, ‘good luck with that’ (with intonation). ‘Oh, I’m ALWAYS alright’ she added, disgusted.
I travelled home, shaken but composed, and ran a hot bath. As Sylvia Plath once told us, ‘there must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.’ This soul saving ritual was accompanied with shampoo and wine. It is times like this I miss living with my family or house sharing with people I can talk openly with. This is London, and London is not always kind to the newcomer.
Saturday 22 January 2011
London Night Walks - A Man of the Crowd
'By far the greater number of those who went by had a satisfied, business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making their way through the press. Their brows were knit, and their eyes rolled quickly; when pushed against by fellow-wayfarers they evinced no symptom of impatience, but adjusted their clothes and hurried on. Others, still a numerous class, were restless in their movements, had flushed faces, and talked and gesticulated to themselves, as if feeling in solitude on account of the very denseness of the company around. When impeded in their progress, these people suddenly ceased muttering; but redoubled their gesticulations, and awaited, with an absent and overdone smile upon their lips, the course of the persons impeding them. If jostled, they bowed profusely to the jostlers, and appeared overwhelmed with confusion. There was nothing very distinctive about these two large classes beyond what I have noted. Their habiliments belonged to that order which is pointedly termed the decent. They were undoubtedly noblemen, merchants, attorneys, tradesmen, stock-jobbers-the Eupatrids and the common-places of society-men of leisure and men actively engaged in affairs of their own-conducting business upon their own responsibility. They did not greatly excite my attention [...]
'There were many individuals of dashing appearance, whom I easily understood as belonging to the race of swell pick-pockets, with which all great cities are infested. I watched these gentry with much inquisitiveness, and found it difficult to imagine how they should ever be mistaken for gentlemen by gentlemen themselves. Their voluminousness of wristband, with an air of excessive frankness, should betray them at once [...]
'As the night deepened, so deepened to me the interest of the scene; for not only did the general character of the crowd materially alter (its gentler features retiring in the gradual withdrawal of the more orderly portion of the people, and its harsher ones coming out into bolder relief, as the late hour brought forth every species of infamy from its den), but the rays of the gas-lamps, feeble at first in their struggle with the dying day, had now at length gained ascendancy, and threw over every thing a fitful and garish lustre. All was dark yet splendid-as that ebony to which has been likened the style of Tertullian.'
'As the night deepened, so deepened to me the interest of the scene; for not only did the general character of the crowd materially alter (its gentler features retiring in the gradual withdrawal of the more orderly portion of the people, and its harsher ones coming out into bolder relief, as the late hour brought forth every species of infamy from its den), but the rays of the gas-lamps, feeble at first in their struggle with the dying day, had now at length gained ascendancy, and threw over every thing a fitful and garish lustre. All was dark yet splendid-as that ebony to which has been likened the style of Tertullian.'
Monday 17 January 2011
London 2011 - A New Bakhtinian Era?
Why is Britain great? This is a question I posed online to a group of friends. I had only a couple of responses, including a reminder of the wonderful democratic stance Britain took in that period when Europe had four dictators in Germany, Italy, Spain and Russia. Most people would agree, a Nazi or Stalin future wouldn't have been a Utopia, and Britain, as far as I'm aware, were admirable in this era.
But what about now? What about in the 21st century, in the 'globalised' world? If we think of war, what is admirable about Britain now? What has happened to the UK since the 1980's? What about Afghanistan and Iraq? What about Israel? It seems Britain has a selective approach to tyranny, terrorism, and violence.
Why is it that it is acceptable to spend millions (or is it billions?) on terrorising, extinguishing innocent civilians for goodness knows what political and economic gain, then to increasingly privatise education and health, for the sake of 'economy'. More locally, why is is morally just for a policeman on the streets of London to hit a student over the head causing bleeding on the brain and near death, dragging a disabled man out of a wheelchair, and kettling people in in freezing conditions while a so-called "democratic" government sits comfortably in their offices wiping out the non-monetary value of one thing this country still (just about) has - education. But don't dare tell Charles to sort his government out as he glides along in his (tax payer's) expensive car to watch a royal concert as the country's values fall apart. Don't dare show your anger.
Industry has already died here. Let's now take away jobs, access to benefits, freeze salaries, cut salaries, make prices higher, make food impossibly expensive for some, devalue humanities, because aren't business and money the most important things? In fact, those who wish to learn in an institution at all should pay £9000 per year to do so. But the government will give huge loans, so not to worry. Money is there for that.
British citizens are lucky in many ways, I know, especially if you consider easy travel opportunities, the EU passport, and the fact that we are, after all, a 'developed country'. But if you look at other EU countries, the standard and cost of their education, the access to good health and dental care, the enjoyment for eating, walking, simple pleasures, the affordable cost of transport, and efficient transport at that, it makes you wonder why Britain is so incompetent at organising (expensive) service, so warped...
Britain seems to be in the process of a significant shift. It is important not to lose sight of human relations in all this mess. This blog will hopefully offer various stories of humanity: funny, soul-warming and poetic, as well as anger and rebellion.
For now, I'd like to offer an illuminating article in the Guardian today. The headline reads:
But what about now? What about in the 21st century, in the 'globalised' world? If we think of war, what is admirable about Britain now? What has happened to the UK since the 1980's? What about Afghanistan and Iraq? What about Israel? It seems Britain has a selective approach to tyranny, terrorism, and violence.
Why is it that it is acceptable to spend millions (or is it billions?) on terrorising, extinguishing innocent civilians for goodness knows what political and economic gain, then to increasingly privatise education and health, for the sake of 'economy'. More locally, why is is morally just for a policeman on the streets of London to hit a student over the head causing bleeding on the brain and near death, dragging a disabled man out of a wheelchair, and kettling people in in freezing conditions while a so-called "democratic" government sits comfortably in their offices wiping out the non-monetary value of one thing this country still (just about) has - education. But don't dare tell Charles to sort his government out as he glides along in his (tax payer's) expensive car to watch a royal concert as the country's values fall apart. Don't dare show your anger.
Industry has already died here. Let's now take away jobs, access to benefits, freeze salaries, cut salaries, make prices higher, make food impossibly expensive for some, devalue humanities, because aren't business and money the most important things? In fact, those who wish to learn in an institution at all should pay £9000 per year to do so. But the government will give huge loans, so not to worry. Money is there for that.
British citizens are lucky in many ways, I know, especially if you consider easy travel opportunities, the EU passport, and the fact that we are, after all, a 'developed country'. But if you look at other EU countries, the standard and cost of their education, the access to good health and dental care, the enjoyment for eating, walking, simple pleasures, the affordable cost of transport, and efficient transport at that, it makes you wonder why Britain is so incompetent at organising (expensive) service, so warped...
Britain seems to be in the process of a significant shift. It is important not to lose sight of human relations in all this mess. This blog will hopefully offer various stories of humanity: funny, soul-warming and poetic, as well as anger and rebellion.
For now, I'd like to offer an illuminating article in the Guardian today. The headline reads:
Student protests: Police ask colleges for demonstration details
In Doublespeak translation: 'We'll cut your funding, your jobs, your departments, but do us a favour, inform us of anyone who might stand up against that.' They could make a pantomime out of this. Bakhtin, lend us your words...
Friday 14 January 2011
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