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IT LIVES
Didn't think you'd gotten rid of me that easily now, did you? Many thanks to all of you who have emailed me or left comments enquiring as to my whereabouts over the past few weeks. I'm touched that you'd even think to ask after me, so thank you. I'm pleased to report that I am in robust health, full of joie de vivre and my customary passion for everything life has thrown my way this past month. Where have I been? Nowhere unusual (although it hasn't been entirely dull either, although more of that later.) It appears that my coverage of a certain conflict and my reports from within did not meet with widespread approval and some, er, 'influential' people across the Pond discovered my blog and took issue with some of its content. Governments may try, indeed, they may believe it desirous for them to keep a handle on what 'news' emanates from within a combat zone, but the internet and contemporary techonology are proving more worthy adversaries in their attempts to do this than perhaps had been envisaged. Journalists and governments are always going to be diametrically opposed in these matters with incompatible objectives and compromise is a difficult thing to reach. I haven't exactly been 'gagged' but...hey, go figure. You do the math. The long and short of it is that my perception of a certain superpower is no longer what it was and I won't be expecting any Christmas cards this year with a 'Washington DC' postmark, natch. The whole episode left me somewhat introspective and consequently, I thought it only apposite to reconsider my relationship with blogging. Truth to be told, I missed it. I missed you all. I'm back. And damn, it feels good. |
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18.6.04 16:03 |
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FLY LIFE
This guy is Peter Besenyei, widely regarded as the world's greatest stunt pilot. Aviation is his life and he's been flying almost as long as I've been walking this earth. His widely acclaimed abilities in low level aerobatics mean he's in pretty much constant demand and he undertakes a punishing workload of around 60-70 airshows per year, perfroming in his Extra 330L stunt plane. This weekend he was at Kemble Airfield for Air Power '04, an air display which attracted record crowds of over 20,000. For the first time everin the UK, Red Bull were staging their Air Race as part of the show. Essentially, the challenge in the air race is to tackle a 2000 metre obstacle course in the sky, complete with specially designed 18-metre high air-filled ‘cones’ and perform complex manoeuvres including loops and rolls whilst flying very low at speeds of up to 250mph. Last week, I got a call asking me to go and cover the event with the sweetener that I could go flying with Peter on Thursday whilst he practised for the race. In essence then, fly the course, with its 8g turns, spins, loops and rolls flavoured with the odd Immelman, inverted loop and torque turn just for good measure. The dish is best served on a strong stomach as nausea is a common side effect for the inexperienced! So it was that last thursday, I walked out to Besenyei's Extra 330L with my mate, and photographer for the day, Matt. There were three of us hacks there that day - a guy from Sky News, Daily Mirror reporter and sometime Royal footman Ryan Parry. Sky went first, followed by Parry. Lastly, it was my turn and I have to admit to regarding the impending flight with some trepidation given my previous experience of extreme flying - aerial combat with Ultimate High , and a fast-jet sortie in an RAF Tornado F3. High 'G' featured in each and both occasions left me feeling utterly disoriented, punch drunk, and tired. On at least one of these occasions, I lost my breakfast mid-air, but it was in the privacy of the cockpit - not before an audience of the assembled media and film crews from national TV.
Matt did me no favours, saying to Peter as we walked to the aircraft, "You'll be okay with this fella, he''s flown fast jets with the RAF!" "Ah", says my nemesis, "So ve haf ein fighter pilot, eh? So for you, high 'g' is no problem. You vill be my best passenger of the day and for you, ve save the best for last!" I'm my own worst enemy on these occasions. The words are there, but I fail to utter them always, fear of failing myself paramount in my mind. I've never walked away yet from that of which I am afraid, but that doesn't mean that I'm not fighting a battle with myself under the thin veneer of bravado that I wear to the world. Part of me - the largest part if I'm honest - wants to run away, but the stronger, bolder twin of my fear roots me to the spot and the words desert me. Damn - hoist by my own petard. The concern was well founded, it must be said for the Extra 330L is in many respects, more agile, and more able than any fighter plane in existence. It weighs little more than a brace of motorcycles, yet its Lycoming 6-cylinder boxer engine produces 330hp. That's a phenomenal power to weight ratio, and results in a ludicrously fast, but short take of run with superlative figures for performance. it can climb through 4000ft per minute, aileron roll through 420 degrees per second, and turn through +/- 10g. Sobering stuff indeed. I got a taste of things to come immediately the wheels left the runway as Peter hauled the stick hard left and booted the rudder, turning us through 190 degrees whilst 30 feet from the deck.
What followed left me breathless. We climbed vertically, turned through 4 consecutive rolls at the top of the climb before inverting and letting gravity pull us back. Sideways through the gates, a 6g turn which left my blood pooling in my legs and my vision fading before climbing through a series of 270 degree rolls.
We simulated an airfield attack, diving straight down onto Kemble from 2,000 ft and leveling out at 50ft for a run through the two sets of gates. It was intoxicating stuff and despite Peter's best efforts, my lunch stayed resolutely in my stomach.
I can't say I was sorry to land as although I'd managed to retain my dignity, I was feeling distinctly queasy. I knew Peter had pulled out all the stops, but I had no idea who it looked from the ground until the Red Bull PR came running up to me, concern etched into her face... "My God, are you okay? He never did that with any of the others today, what on earth happened up there?" I couldn't answer her for fear of throwing up, but I smiled wanly anyway. Just then Matt ran over to us... "Rooney's scored, one-nil to England!" I was pretty mute on the drive back along the M4 as we listened to the game too, but that was as much to do with our performance against Switzerland as it was to my still struggling constitution. I felt like I'd spent twenty minutes in the washing machine on the spin cycle, but as the miles between us and the airfield increased, my sense of well being gradually returned. Sometimes, my job doesn't feel like work at all. Sometimes, it just makes me smile. I'm grinning now. |
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21.6.04 16:52 |
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THE PAST CATCHES UP
Every celebritiy has their self-created nemesis stalking them. 'A' list parties, front covers, premieres, shoots at exotic locations and a liggers' paradise may define their lives now, but how many sleep fitfully, worrying about the emergence of those 'embarrassing' images shot my some low-rent photogrpaher when there was no agent, no advisor, no income stream? The grainy film stock which lent itself to the pornographer's art stalks the glamour model turned mainstream star just as the children's presenter lives in fear of the discovery of his starring role in "Being a Better Lover". The past is there, waiting to pounce, waiting to strike. It knows, it waits. It's a predator, skilled in tracking its prey. It always succeeds. I'm no celebrity, but I've struggled on my way to success as a journalist and photographer, and I've, er.. done my share of scribbling I'd rather forget. The 'dodgy' magazines, the snaps, the 'modelling' contracts. I thought I'd buried them all. I thought I'd bought them all back, secured my future. It appears not. I was driving along last week and pulled up at some lights. Looked up. Looked down. Looked up again in double quick time...It couldn't be. Please God, no. Not now. Not here. Surely some mistake. It wasn't a mistake.
Look, I didn't know what I was doing, okay. It was a favour for a mate who needed a model. I needed the money. I thought nobody would notice. "Maybe", I thought, "it's just the one". Some chance! Billboards across London, the whole of the British Isles...magazine and newspaper ads, junk mail, magazine inserts. I've be cloned. I'm everywhere. The phone's ringing off the hook from freinds, family, associates..."That's not you in the..." Ah, fuck it. Cut me some slack. And if you see me looking at you from the back of a bus, try not to be scared - I'm kind to children and small domestic mammals, and I stop for hedgehogs. |
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23.6.04 12:29 |
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Tired
Don't be afraid - that's Pepsi, one of our two Russian Blue cats. She's the sleepy, docile one, unlike her sister Katya who tends to regard herself as the guardian of the family and engages in scaring off any visiting felines with aplomb. I bought a couple of new lenses for my trusty Nikon D1 - a Nikon 80-200mm ED f2.8 telephoto and a Nikon 18-35mm ultra wide angle - from eBay recently and was sat in the garden with the telephoto trained on Pepsi who was making friends with our somewhat weathered stone garden gnome.
Had the lens trained on her waiting for her to look up when she raises her head, simultaneously letting out a full-width yawn. You really don't want to see the extreme close up! |
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23.6.04 15:25 |
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DARREN GETS HIS FILL
Towards the end of last month, mid way through my blog hiatus, friend Nick and his Spanish wife Eva played host to a group of Eva's friends and family from back home. We know most of them, given that they were all at the wedding in Spain when we flew out for it four years ago, and they've been over several times since. Surprisingly, despite them being able to speak almost no English, and my Spanish extending only to ordering beer, wine and food in quantity, it's proved no barrier to us becoming friends, and Eva's brother Salvadore and I have had several memorable nights in Spain where the beer somehow made us able to understand one another. This trip, we thought we'd do something a little different, so on the Friday evening, a minibus arrived to collect first P and I, followed by Nick and Eva, the Spans, and a few other friends. And verily, so it was that we were delivered by carriage to Hatfield House for a hearty Elizabethan Banquet in the Old Palace. Hatfield House was built by Robert Cecil, the 1st Earl of Salisbury and Chief Minister to King James I in 1611 and stands within its own Great Park. It is currently home to the 7th Marquess of Salisbury, but the Old Palace, where the banquets are held, was built between 1480 and 1497. King Henry VIII acquired it in 1538 and for many years, it became a virtual prison to the young Princess Elizabeth, kept there at the behest of Mary Queen of Scots. Twenty years later, when Elizabeth was proclaimed Queen of England, she held her first Council of State there and it's fair to say that one can feel the weight of history bearing down from within its walls. Hatfield House has long been associated with its Elizabethan Banquets, in which actors play the role of King Henry and his court, and the diners play, well, diners. Seated at long tables overlooked by a dais on which sits Henry and his queen, buxom serving wenches flirt with the men whilst delivering each course and much merriment ensues. I wonder what they specify on the job asvertisement for potential wenches - decolletage a requisite?
That's Darren (above), one of our party being served his soup course from a rather large jug. Er, that's jug, as in what's out of shot in the lady's right hand as opposed to what's cushioning Darren's head. I think the French say it best (don't they always?) when describing a lady as well-endowed as this one with a wonderful colloquialism which, if I recall correctly, goes Il y a du monde au balcon. Roughly translated, it means "she has the whole world on her balcony". Exquisite. At various points throughout the evening, various diners are serenaded, brought to the dais or randomly accused of trachery against the crown. It's all good fun, but the seven courses and endless flow of wine and mead (all included) render most normal speech indecipherable by the end of the evening. It was a little like a United Nations conference in there the night we went. The table opposite ours contained two groups - one party of Japanese, along for the evening with some English relatives, and another of Argentians, doing the same. Further up our table was a party of Americans and finaly, there was our own. At one point, Salvadore was on the dais, alongside one of the Argentinians and one of the Japanese and there wasn't a word of English spoken between them (although Saladore and the Argentine gentleman managed to converse quite happily!). It was a hugely enjoyable evening, if not a little expensive (at £110 for us both when I added in our share of the minibus and pre-dinner drinks, we could've enjoyed dinner at one of Ramsey's establishments), but I would happily reccommend it to anyone who fancies something that little bit different for a change. Anyone else in 20six land been there, or done something similar? |
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25.6.04 13:04 |
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EPICUREAN ENDEAVOURS
And so a perfect weekend passes, dedicated to the pursuit of epicurean pleasures, friendships and decadence. Spent most of Saturday preparing for a dinner party which we were hosting that evening. I'm not sure which I enjoy more - the company of friends at the event itself, wine flowing as freely as the conversation, or the preparation; the cooking, the laying of the table, everything to perfection. Saturday's theme was Indian and whilst it was our turn to host, everyone had a role to play. So the plan was for Nick and Eva to cook a minced lamb curry and a kidney bean dahl (both ethnic Indian recipes from one of Madhur Jaffrey's books) whilst I would cook one of Madhur's Goan potato curries and a pilaf rice. Finally, Steve and Elaine were tasked with bringing desert in the form of a fresh fruit salad. P took great pains over the dining room - freshly laundered heavy linen for the dining table, accessorised with Bordeau wine glasses, glasses for water, plentiful candles, glitter and splashes of colour. In a final attempt at authenticity, I spent an hour or two making a CD of Indian Raga by Ravi Shankar which added just the right ambience to the candlelit dining room. The best part for me though is in making the nibbles and asides - cucumber raitha and poppadoms - mini papads which I then deep fry in a wok for 1-2 seconds each whilst listening to the radio. Serve with chili and lime pickles, and Gin and Tonic or beer whislt awaiting the mains, they're pefect for nibbling at whilst cooking too! I'd prepared everything before our guests arrived, so with G and T's in hand, all that was left to do was the pilaf rice from a recipe which I have honed over time. Green and brown cardomom pods, cloves, black cumin, cumin seeds, cassia bark and saffron all play a part, and the rice must be the finest Basmati. The spices are fried in ghee before I add 2.5 lbs of rice and 2.5 pints of boiling water which I then cover and simmer on low heat for about 15 minutes. Finally, turn off the heat and leave to steam until everyone's glasses are empty. The evening was as pleasant and fun as expected. Old friends with whom we've partied, holidayed and shared the highs and lows of our lives. Lots of vino, coversation that went hither and thither, a cheeese board and fruit salad followed by After Eights and lots of music. Perfect. I awoke yesterday with a mild hangover - nothing too drastic, just a tender fragility which hung over me like a muslin veil for most of the day. I surfacted at around 08:30 - shocking really for so late a night and couldn't face anything at all other than a cup of fresh black coffee, followed a little later by a glass of delicious Big Tom, a seriously spicy Bloody Mary mixer which I'm addicted to and the perfect antitdote to a night of excess. I was finally up to making breakfast at around mid day and I really went to town with it. I invested in a top quality cast iron skillet last week which is just the thing for cooking bacon in. Nothing added, just the oil I wipe it with before storing it, it ensures the bacon is crisped to perfection. Only the finest oak-smoked back will do, drycure, packed with flavour and thick cut. Wonderful. Next, a couple of slices of fresh Hovis, lightly toasted to which I added poached eggs. There are a thousand conflicting pieces of advice floating around on how best to poach eggs, but I stick to what I know - a frying pan, filled with about 1.5 inches of water which I bring to a gentle simmer - bubbles just forming on the base and esacping occasionaly to the surface. Nothing added - no vinegar, no salt - just the freshest Grade A (no more than a day or so old) organic eggs cracked into the pan and cooked for 3 minutes. Served with the bacon, toast and some grilled tomatoes, I thought I was in heaven and my fragility was brushed aside. A busy week ahead of writing, catching up on some overdue deadlines. Delivered a couple of features last week and once I've broken the back of this lot, I need to give some thought to a couple of up and coming overseas assingments. More time planning and less fire fighting, I think. |
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28.6.04 14:45 |
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HANNIBAL
I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed this book by Thomas Harris upon first reading when it was published in 2000. It's an exquisitely well-written book, full of depth which lends the character of Hannibal Lecter a certain sympathy. I had a minor panic last week having found myself in the invidious position of being between books. It was late at night, too late to go and out to rectify this unforgivable oversight, so I had to make do with one from the shelves of one of the three bookcases in my office. My hand alighted upon this one, and by the third page I was hooked again. The film adaptation, whilst immensely watchable in its own right, lacks the finesse and depth of the book and the ending is a poor substitute for Harris' surprise finale with Lecter and Clarice Starling. It is however, lifted by a brilliantly written and haunting score by Hans Zimmer. "Vide Cor Meum", with the Libretto taken from Dante's "La Vita Nuova adds a richness and colour which really brings the film alive, drawing heavily from the plentiful cultural references offered by the classical setting of contemporary Florence. I read the book within 48 hours, but it's made me revisit the soundtrack album which I have been playing since and can heartily reccommend. |
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28.6.04 15:15 |
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