London Diary (7)

Our eyes met across the vegetable aisle at the supermarket. It was well past midnight, and the shop was mostly deserted except for the night workers stacking the shelves.

She was talking on her mobile phone while pushing a trolley, I was holding a packet of pak choi.

The eyes are the window to the soul. In that instant, a multitude of opportunities opened up before us as our souls connected.

And that is what is so scary and yet thrilling when you look into the eyes of 'the one'. The fact that the life you had been leading up until that magical moment was been completely meaningless. What I had thought important, my priorities, my convictions, they all went flying out of the window, when my eyes and hers locked onto each other.

The moment was brief, almost instantaneous. If I had blinked, I would have missed her. She would have been another midnight shopper, roaming the aisles, looking for packets of chicken soup and bottles toasted sesame oil. But instead, she was something, nay, someone so much more. That one look revealed to me a soul that matched mine, if only we both reached out to each other.

But this is London. And in this city, two wonder struck individuals walked past each other as if nothing happened...

Pak Choi or plain old Cabbage?

Pak Choi, otherwise known as Chinese Cabbage. A recent inclusion in British cuisine, and something that is considered a bit above the normal veggie. It is not exactly exotic (as it is fairly easy to cook), but there is definitely an impressive quality about the vegetable whenever it is eaten by someone who is not of Chinese descent. It is a little bit like someone eating Mackerel for the first time. It impresses anyone who does not realise that us Seychellois use it as dog food.

Now, I felt really guilty about buying the Pak Choi. After all, with all the furore about greenhouse gases, I should have bought something that was grown a little closer to home. What I needed was a little less 'authenticity' in my noodles and a little more consideration for the amount of miles my food has had to travel. The vegetable would have been grown somewhere in Asia, chucked onto a tractor towards the warehouse, put on a (refrigerated) lorry, taken to an airport, put in (another refrigerated) warehouse, dumped on a plane, flown thousands of miles, ended up at Schiphol, put on another plane, ended up at Heathrow, trucked to a distribution centre off the M25, then trucked to a warehouse for the supermarket before finally being delivered to the supermarket where I purchased it and drove back home in my own car.

Damn, all that to obtain a texture to my vegetable not normally found in cabbage. I should have just bought the cabbage...



Considering that you can get a whole cabbage for a third of that price, something tells me that I have been swindled by the supermarket. Damn, if I am paying that much, I expect my vegetable to have been flown in on a business class seat!

Well, to look on the bright side, at least the UK is self sufficient in Pak Choi. Hey, it may even be the start of a whole new export industry! I see taxes for this new thriving enterprise...

Crossings of the River Rangeet (1) - The Mangitar Bridge

Last month, while I was reminiscing about my second trip to the North East of India, I related a rather jolly stroll that I took, from Darjeeling to the market town of Jorethang. On the way I crossed the River Rangeet, which marks the border between the two states of West Bengal and Sikkim. And so what better way to round up my journeys through India this year, then by ending my rambling words on a tiny little footbridge strung high above the valley of this raging torrent of the Himalaya...



This is one old bridge - 110 years old to be precise. And it is pretty good nick all things considered. This has had to put up with the freezing winters, monsoon rains and the 'cyclones' that come up the valley. In fact it was a cyclone that necessitated the construction of this footbridge as the old cane bridge was washed away in a nasty storm.



A little history is needed here. The whole area was once part of the Kingdom of Sikkim, but the British leased some land south of the Rangeet River for the hill station in Darjeeling. Sikkim remained a Princely State, which meant it was de jure independent, but the reality was that the British controlled the affairs of the area. On India's independence, it retained its autonomy as a Princely State until 1975 when it joined India after a referendum. And so, to cut this down to basics, this bridge was once an international border crossing!



But enough politics and onto the bridge. Now there is no wikipedia entry for me to paraphrase, so I will have to go on my own observations. It is basically a narrow suspension bridge, designed for pedestrians, but I am sure that the odd scooter will roar over this bridge. The flooring is of wooden planks and so you can quite easily see the torrential flow of water below (and I was in the dry season). Unlike other crossing points into Sikkim, there is no one from the Sikkim State Police entering your details into a book and checking for your Inner Line Permit (an easily available piece of paperwork needed by foreigners to enter the state). So it is a whizz for anyone who just wants to take a peek into a life a little less known. Just like I did...



(Getting there and away)

The Mangitar Bridge is a two minute stroll from Mangitar village or a long jeep ride from Darjeeling. Alternatively, you can do a day hike to and from Darjeeling, or if you have an ILP, you can approach the bridge from the Sikkimese side. And take a look below the bridge as well, there is a lot of life on the river banks of the Rangeet. This is a place I must return too...

A very British Haiku

Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day.
Sun, sun, come today.

Caution Wet Paint - A look back at 2009...

I rarely double post, but this was an imprtant comic strip that I decided to also publish on this blog too...

View all

Get your own

This is quite a personal comic strip. It has been a tough 2009 for CWP, but rather than blog about it, I decided to illustrate it. The big question I am asking myself is 'what do I do next?'

And to be honest, I do not know...

A look back at 2009

The new whipping boys...

Bankers are the new public enemy number one. Like politicians and journalists, bankers are the new kids on the block when it comes to pointing the finger. The public need a scapegoat and so, there they are, ready to bend over ad take the whipping like the public schoolboys they grew up as. Well, we are paying their wages, and as government employees/receivers of government subsidies/loans they are subject to our scrutiny.

But one wanker is standing up to this. He has had enough. He wants his precious throne back, and will do anything to get it. So he is after the teacher of his son who called all bankers sleazeballs.

It seems that getting state handouts to ensure his luxury lifestyle is not enough. He is now after the people who pay his wages - the honest taxpayer (rather than the tax 'avoider'/offshore wealth merchant). You see ego is a fragile thing. Obviously, the man must have a really small dick to go after someone on a fraction of the wage that he leeches off the voting public. And unlike 'Skip Mcgee', the teacher in question works for a private school, and so he is not on the receiving end of government handouts or soft loans. So while our investment banker labels our private sector teacher as a leftist, he is quite happy to manipulate his government's policy to ensure that his industry gets as much state aid as possible. Whether it is favourable tax policies, government bail outs or the distortion of our own (rapidly depreciating) cash in order to maintain the status quo...

Comrade, don't you just love capitalism?

Car Tyre

I came home this morning. Via the bicycle. In fact, I have not driven the car for the past week. So lo and behold my annoyance at seeing the front near side tyre, punctured. I have not touched the bloody car! Ugh, tea finished and now off to change the bloody thing!

London Diary (6)

'Fucker!'

The cab nearly knocked her over as she attempted top make her way across the Euston Road towards St Pancras. The station always looked imposing and now free from the scaffolding that pieced it back together before the Euro trains whistled in. And that is why she was here, she needed two tickets for the first train tomorrow morning. No questions asked, cash paid in full and a sweet smile was all she wanted from the ticket clerk as she entered the station.

St Pancras is a vast station, but she ignored the surrounding splendour on entering the main concourse. Instead she headed straight for the ticket office and waited in line. There was not much of a queue but she still did not take time to admire the surrounding beauty of restored Victorian Architecture. Instead, she kept her eyes down to the ground. She fiddled with her wedding ring, smiling at the irony of wearing that band of gold. It was with her lover that she was escaping the country tomorrow morning. Escaping to a new country, looking for a better life and a new beginning. Buying the ticket was the easy part of the plan she thought. What would come later that night would be the difficult task ahead. How to extract herself and her cash from her marriage...

'Next Please!'

She looked up and approached the counter.

'Two tickets to Paris please, leaving on the first train tomorrow morning.'

As the clerk typed on the computer, she looked around and checked behind her shoulder. Of course no one was following her, but-

'That will be £290 please.'

She paid the money and received the tickets. Heading out of the station, she took one more glance around. No one was following her. She hoped. There were a lot of things she was going to miss about London. After all it had been her home for twenty years and no matter what, she had built a life for herself in this city. But she was starting anew, and needed to get out fast. She lit her cigarette and attempted to cross the road. A cab driver nearly ran her over.

'Fucker!'

And so it's good bye from the 'Noughties' (2)

Unlike yesterday, this is a much more personal recollection of the decade. Well, what a decade it has been! The one that is clearest in my memory, and definitely the decade that will shape my years to come. And so how was it for me? Well, that is a very good question, that could only properly be answered in a few years time as I look back and contemplate the happenings of the past ten years. But it has definitely been a decade of two halves. At the beginning of the decade, I started it in revelry on the streets of London. And by the end of the decade I also will be on the streets of London, but not as boisterous as I will be working the night shift. In between it has been an eventful ten years.

The first half of the 2000's was spent studying and travelling. I studied far too frivolously and travelled far too hard, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I visited a war zone to reconnect with my family, I climbed temples in the jungle, taught English to kids and adults, nearly died in a desert and hiked across the lands of the Moors. And then in 2004, I made an about turn and decided to pursue filming with a vigour. I surprised everyone that knew, me, alienated quite a few of them and got stuck into the business of making films. Now, six years later, and with very little to show for that decision, the big question to ask myself of this decade is 'has it been a waste of my life?' After all, these are supposedly the 'best years', and if I fail in my quest to make a (decent) living out of writing and directing my own feature films, than I would have wasted those years on nothing more than a pipe dream.

Looking back can be almost as dangerous as looking forward. Fear grips our paths towards the future, regret litters our paths behind us. All that we really have is the present day, and the hum-drum safety net of work, eat, and sleep. And yet, as I look back, I think to myself that it has been an all right decade, but something has to give soon to make it a really spectacular one...

And so it's good bye from the 'Noughties' (1)

We have under a month left until the end of the decade, and so how was it for you? Was it hell? Certainly if you look at world events we had major terrorist attacks in NY, Madrid, London, Mumbai and Bali littered amongst the multitude of events worldwide. We had massive natural disasters. The Tsunami and the 2005 hurricane season were the big natural disasters of the decade but let us also recall Cyclone Nargis, the Kashmir Earthquake. Bam in Iran and Sichaun in China also suffered from massive earthquakes. As a tail end note, Mozambique suffered from massive flooding at the beginning of the 2000's .

Oh, and if you are in the west than look no further than the economic meltdown of the past two years. Plus we in the west elected some of the worst tyrants in recent history, who instigated more wars and suffering amongst the most destitute people on the globe. At least we are not in North Korea.

In the UK we seem to be quite happy to give over our hard won freedoms to governments and law advisors more interested in controlling the population instead of listening to it. So now we have CCTV up your backside (the cameras in my job can see me pick my nose), a new expensive compulsory ID Card system and a populace too scared to live because of the no-win no-fee parasites that bombard your cable television channels with cheap adverts, promising you the world (the money had to come from somewhere).

On a personal level we have also given up much of our individual freedom. Shackled by debt, the average UK resident is no better than the bonded labourers of the 19th century. Now striking has become a byword for treason despite the fact that is was here in the UK that led the industrial strike movement and the establishment of basic workers rights (we need more men like him).

And so, that's it. The Noughties, the 2000's, the beginning of the new Millennium and the 21st Century. Tomorrow, a more personal view...