Hallowe’en.

Upon this night, as Robert Burns put it, “when fairies light On Cassilis Downans dance”, I often find myself thinking back to the Hallowe’ens of my childhood — back before the time we adopted the imported American tradition of trick or treat — and marvel at the simplicity of it, the sense of dark promise, the sheer delight in allowing my imagination to do its worst… and enjoy it!

They were invariably uneventful evenings, at least by today’s standards. Some I spent indoors with my parents — the weather (like this evening, incidentally) was not always conducive to knocking on neighbourhood doors — others I might spend doing the rounds with my friends in my electric wheelchair, chanting “The sky is blue / the grass is green / have you got a penny for Hallowe’en?” but all had a quality about them that I still recall today, over 30 years later.

There was a very real atmosphere. A magical expectation not unlike Christmas and in some ways, I might say, better than Christmas. I always liked the darker, mystical, spookier side of life as a kid. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves — they all fascinated me. I could no doubt analyse this until the cows came home (could it, perhaps, have been my early proximity to death as a concept and reality that prompted me to contemplate these rule-breaking spooks?), but that isn’t really what this piece is about.

Those times lacked sophistication. We were kids with carved turnips (a pumpkin? Who the hell needs pumpkins?), the wind constantly blowing out the candles inside them, as we pointed at shadows and whispered, determined to scare each other — not really caring in the least if we made any money from our doorknocking efforts. One of us may have had a shop-bought mask, but that was as far as we went in the name of “costume”. The familiar angles of the world around us fell away from true, and in those vague imaginings that become so solid for children we lost ourselves in the uncomplicated world of death, life and everything in between.

Briefly, we invented a world in which we could be the ever vigilant heroes. A stake, a cross — the supernatural tools of childhood that many of us would eventually leave behind — these were our imagined talismans against the unseen enemy we, however scary it might be, nevertheless loved.

To return home alive (which would always be the case — since, I learned much later, our parents followed at a discreet distance) was to beat the odds, was to be the hero.

Was to cheat death.

Times of laughter, times of delighted fear. There were not, on the whole, the expensive Hallowe’en parties we see today — but we survived, and I still remember those times, friends and places.

And the memories are strong enough to bring back at least some of that childhood excitement.

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Christopher Hitchens on (Not Literally) Sarah Palin.

Contrary to many a rumour out there, I don’t always agree with Old Hitch. But in this recent article for Slate, he takes the Republican Party’s vice presidential candidate and very ably shows her for what we all already knew her to be:

“With Palin, however, the contempt for science may be something a little more sinister than the bluff, empty-headed plain-man’s philistinism of McCain. We never get a chance to ask her in detail about these things, but she is known to favor the teaching of creationism in schools (smuggling this crazy idea through customs in the innocent disguise of “teaching the argument,” as if there was an argument), and so it is at least probable that she believes all creatures from humans to fruit flies were created just as they are now. This would make DNA or any other kind of research pointless, whether conducted in Paris or not. Projects such as sequencing the DNA of the flu virus, the better to inoculate against it, would not need to be funded. We could all expire happily in the name of God. Gov. Palin also says that she doesn’t think humans are responsible for global warming; again, one would like to ask her whether, like some of her co-religionists, she is a “premillenial dispensationalist”—in other words, someone who believes that there is no point in protecting and preserving the natural world, since the end of days will soon be upon us.”

As a Brit, there is very little I can do directly to prevent her and McCain from gaining office. And yet the choices that you, my American friends and readers, will soon make will have consequences on a global scale. This impacts on us all. As imperfect a political specimen as Obama might be, he’s far superior to McCain and Little Miss Full of Shit. So please, use your vote wisely.

Don’t give these inbred arseholes the opportunity to, amongst other things, possibly make the End of Days prophecy a reality.

© 2008 Gary William Murning

David Tennant Quits As the Doctor.

Did I miss something? Surely he wasn’t on the Russell Brand show, too, was he?

Looks like there’s yet another job available.

Now, tell me, what do you think? The first wheelchair-using timelord anyone?

© 2008 Gary William Murning

An Open Letter to the Director General of the BBC.

Dear Mr Thompson,

It has come to my attention that you may very shortly be on the lookout for one or two new television/radio presenters.

Without wishing to be mercenary, I would just like to inform you that I am available.

Yours sincerely,

Gary — who is very talented and far better looking than Brand or Wossy. (I know because me mam said so.)

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Another BBC Scandal?

It came to light today that the granddaughter of an unnamed actress has called for Sir Terry Wogan — radio and television presenter extraordinaire — to be sacked after he allegedly whispered to her at a party that he had once very lovingly brushed against her grandmother on the London Underground.

Only kidding 😉

Further to my last post, this is now getting very disproportionate. Given the state of the global economy etc at the moment, was this story deserving of the prominence it received? I think not.

© 2008 Gary William Murning

“Meet My Granddaughter, Voluptua.”

I’m sure most of us are already familiar with the recent BBC “Manuel offence” incident during which the (and I use the term loosely) comedian Russell Brand and TV/radio presenter Jonathan Ross made a number of quite obscene telephone calls (on air) to the voicemail of actor Andrew Sachs (78). I don’t want to go into the full details here — largely because they are widely available already — but the gist of the story hinged on the two telling Mr Sachs that Brand had had sexual relations with his, Mr Sachs’s, granddaughter, Georgina Baillie.

I’m always cautious when it comes to condemning people who cause offence. I have many grave concerns about the road down which we are travelling with regard this — a road that sees the right to say something controversial being quite possibly slowly eroded. I wrote about it in more detail in this piece, where I said

“Personally, I’ve never really been someone to deliberately go out of my way to offend. Except in exceptional circumstances. But increasingly I find myself appalled by the cultural mass-mindset I see around me. Everyone is perpetually afraid, it seems, to offend. Words that were once acceptable now no longer are, everyone is a minority in need of protecting, of cosseting, of being kept happy and free from unnecessary stress. You can’t say that, but you can say this — unless such and such a person is present, then it might be construed to mean something quite different, in which case, say this instead, making sure that you smile at the same time so that it can’t be misinterpreted as unnecessarily sarcastic or ironic. Whether you’re gay, black, Asian, disabled — or just a plain old vanilla Caucasian with everything in working order — you can guarantee that at some time someone will perform a nifty little verbal Riverdance routine in order to avoid causing offence. And, without wishing to offend (!), it is a complete load of fucking bollocks.”

I then went on to say, however, that with this assertion and freedom naturally comes responsibility — and I truly believe that whilst the boundaries should be pushed there are very clear lines that it’s quite foolish to cross.

So did Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross overstep the mark? Did they show a lack of responsibility? In the name of comedy, on a radio show, is it acceptable to telephone a man in his 70s and effectively taunt him regarding the sexual pursuits (or not) of his granddaughter?

Questions that we don’t really need to ask. Involving Mr Sachs in this conversation in this way was wholly unwarranted, juvenile, unfunny — and quite possibly illegal. The BBC’s broadcasting code makes it quite clear that broadcasters “must ensure that material which may cause offence is justified by the context”. In this case it seems to me that all concerned failed to do this; the context didn’t justify it. It was cruel.

To qualify this ever so slightly, however,  I will say that I find the prospect of the public/professional life of Georgina Baillie being used as comedy material perfectly acceptable (as long as it is within the law, naturally.) And it is public knowledge that she is a swinger. Had similar comments been made without Mr Sachs’s involvement, I might not have found it quite so unacceptable — though this in no way justifies the above behaviour of Ross and Brand and I very much doubt it would have been something that I would have found especially amusing.

A model/actress, Georgina‘s stage name is “Voluptua” and she performs with a theatrical group called Satanic Sluts. A “cheerleader massacre, voodoo sacrifice, vampire brutality and much much more”.

[WARNING: sexually suggestive content.]

And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Good luck to her. But just be careful what you say, Georgina. Claiming that your European tour was cut short because of the “public humiliation” arising from this incident might not ring true to some people — not when you say on your MySpace page “I like to party, I don’t care if you call me a ‘waster’ or even a ‘groupie’ because I am having more fun than you and living this way makes me happy.”

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Rutting Deer and Red Squirrels.

Ah, yes, it’s that time again — my favourite fortnight of the year (okay, I’m exaggerating a bit, but it is nonetheless a televisual event that I look forward to, almost as much as, ahem, Strictly Come Dancing.) The leaves start to turn, the evenings draw in, woolly jumpers become the staple and, sure enough, weekday evenings will find my attention focused on the windswept hair of Kate Humble and the comfortingly familiar beard and belly of former Goodie Bill Oddie as they and the Autumnwatch team guide us through the seasonal changes in the natural world around us.

From rutting deer to grey seals, from Heligan WebCams to oystercatchers and black-tailed godwits (don’t you just love that name?!), these are but a few of the delights in store. The central base for this year’s show is Brownsea Island, but additional reports will come from the surrounding area — including Poole Harbour, the Dorset coastline and the New Forest — as well as the Farne Islands and… Birmingham (believe it or not, there are apparently muntjac deer and otters to be found there.)

All in all, it looks set to be a thoroughly enthralling fortnight. And with a bit of luck, Bill just might manage to offend a few ridiculously prudish people again!

© 2008 Gary William Murning