A group of us from Britain, all with an eye to what South Africa is doing to stage World Cup 2010 and what expertise we can offer (me my photos and exhibitions and audience enchantment) drive to see 3 of the sites to be used. One in Johannesburg is the Ellis Park ground, famed mostly for rugby…and for a disaster akin to Hillsborough, but just 4 years ago. Another is at Rustenburg, in the principality of a tin-rich tribe. The last is a mere site, in the scrub, at Nelspruit, where a lone man waits (every day for some weeks now) as he’s heard there could be the prospect of work.
On up towards Alston, away from the plush green valley of the River Allen, whereby I could have loved you THERE,
beside the muddied green, amidst the rusting brown, beneath the greying-blue, all ever more ORANGE in the autumnal sunken swollen sun surround,
as says Cumbria (whisper).
Along this very track poets would have allowed themselves no licence but accuracy, walkers would have walked. Farmers as shepherds plotting instinctively the course of the wayward flock, going by the sun, the QUICK of the river RUN!
for there the staggering lost sheep to be FOUND!
in Cumbria (whisper)
WHERE runners have slipped, where carriages have stopped, before the advent of sightseers almost cynically browsing : they of several times the horse-power, het-up in car heaters, barely stopping, barely catching breath
... in C-U-M-B-R-I-A (shout) where it all began.
Watch: Looking For Love, Channel 4, October 11th
In “The World According to Garp” the two young lovers court each other in the gymnasium, on the wrestling mat. In fact that is where their child is conceived. A good wrestle ! … reaches all the parts other contacts would overlook or pat obscenely. But thinking more about it – a back to back body hug might be wiser than the more conventional ‘confrontation’. In fact that is probably the way to go about things : backwards.
Read : Grasmere Sports wrestling blog, August 27th.
We’ve occupied every part of the World and hu-Man has become ‘king’ of all… he has destroyed or put into exile all opponents : any animal, or even plant which strikes one as a threat to security – one that competes for food, space and supremacy.
But in ‘less developed areas’ (though no less ‘civilised’), perhaps where the climate is against us, in Africa say, the lion and the elephant would be the first to GO (to the zoo, if lucky).
After all, even stronger creatures : dinosaurs once lived right HERE, in the civilised world. (Possibly humans had nothing to do with their disappearance, but I am trying to forge an argument here).
Surely, just as THE OCEANS are the greater area of the Earth, and as we trash the land – or merely out of our sense of supremacy – we are certain to populate the seas.
Floating around in our capsules, or whatever the design, we are sure to eliminate anything : ANYTHING that might possibly swallow us or merely disturb our sleep. Even small fry we find fascinating, mildly ugly, tasty, then boring… we shall feed to the pets.
We might take to this underwatery existence, reminiscent of the womb, gently rocking us in our sleep. AND THINK OF THE LOVEMAKING rocked as we are on our waterbed.
Afterall, are we not 90 per cent water, descended from the fish, or at least cousin to?
Making a mess of dry land, where are our roots now? Where shall we find our recreation, foster our curiosity?
…In the sea. In the oceans, with depths deeper than the highest mountain high. Let us go there again… give the land time to recover.
Looking for a hook on which to hang your romance? Come with me to Selsey Bill, West Sussex on the south coast, the hidden holiday-home of all my years and, as such, one huge wilde romance…
But you’ll have to ride with me for I am the only one who can soften its every guilt edge (cornfields smack up to the sea – just beyond the bramble, the wildwoods, ‘the hole’, the tree camp, the swan-clearing in the rushes, the worked fields, the strawberry steal, the old police house, the golf links (and the 19th hole) cycling through THIS the summerset cycle this side of heaven.
Selsey Bill harbours a Pontin’s holiday-camp (it did – this is memory now), great long crocodiles of “Hello, Morning” campers file out of Pontin’s along Seal Road, ever ready with their greetings “Good Morning” they say to me sat their on my doorstep; “Good Morning” to the man up to his neck in roadworks; “Good Morning” they say, even when it is NOT !
Selsey on the west side hides away the largest caravan site in the world (smaller now for the storm) and on such sites you and I are having the times of our lives…
‘We’ are the kiss-me-quick contingency on leave from Lewisham, East Ham, Fulham, The Isle of Dogs (before the yuppiedom) for one all too brief swimwear week in July or August. Not enough. With a deep intake of south-sea trade winds, Londoners have dared give-up their London jobs that they might stay on as citizens – cleansed a bit by the elements; with the prospect of endless fishing and fisherman’s blues.
For their children, poxy and white, their hair as yet bleached only by the bottle, they seek solace around the “Hot Stuff” chip shop on Saturday nights.
All aches, wounds and resettlement scars shall heal in the salt air. Reopening in the winter when without disco and the feeling ‘all is here’. The tide has taken the summer trade. It’s all gone!
No it hasn’t.
Selsey has a lot of old and retired people who name their house Four Seasons or the town from where they came. Still, something about a sea wind that cuts you to the quick, blows you the present – the feeling THIS MOMENT is real.
The generation gap is disguised by rust and sprayed, the old aside the young on squeaky paint peeled bikes that SHALL keep going, kingdom come.
There are cars of course, antiquated, cranky as if found during a garage turnout. The young are mostly on mopeds, there being no railway connection now between this Seal Island and titchy Chichester, Roman sea city of the south. The carriages, if not actually from this rail, were dragged down to the beach to be made into houses.
Without any transport (not true : there’s buses now) one must walk or hitch the one wonky road that offers a lifeline. And along comes old folk in their late teens “Hop in” they say. They like to do favours like secretly leaving gifts of fruit and veg inside another’s window ledge. They like to do favours – keep an eye on another’s husband or wife. Then they retire back to the comfort of their fire, made of broken breakwater wood that snaps and crackles and inspires hallucinations…
FIREWORKS IN THE NIGHT you might think “firework night” or am I dreaming. NO, it is a fright – two rockets herald someone at sea in distress, or just careless.
In any case, before the flares have faded from the night sky, the lifeboatmen are ALREADY on their way, throwing caution to the wind whilst their bikes in a heap against the station steps. Seconds late and they’ve missed the boat, the position filled by another QUICKer volunteer.
And off they go! In a blue red and white Blue Peter bought boat presumed unsinkable (and I won’t spoil the tail just now)... IN SEARCH OF… all in the dark amidst the giant swirling sea. HERE , give me that map!
In the morning, FIRST THING, former sea captains man the bridge with binoculars – we are on land here – joined by the wives and the men who didn’t make it. The trip out to sea that is. They wait on that speck on the horizon, speculate on heroic rescues (quite unheroic in most cases), all accounted for, chalked up like a cricket score inside the lifeboat station. Talk is on their return (thoughts on who gets what and who, if they don’t return).
Once, several years running and jumping in fact – from this very station ramp, men and women would flap their flimsy wings (some well designed) in mostly pathetic attempts to be a bird beyond 30 metres and win £3,000 in the process. It was “The Birdman Rally”.
But Selsey has surrendered its claim to fame – moved up the coast to Bognor Regis – more complete with candy-floss.
In reply Selsey has its mind on development. Although everyone denies it, says its A SCHEME. But someone, insiders and offcomers are up to it. Selsey is doubling and doubling in size. Not just because the people are overweight. Its fast becoming “Little London by the sea”; a population not hundreds but THOUSANDS. And with such the URGE to concrete unmade roads, lower its High Street and line it with profitable (looking) shops, BUSINESSES and one pound penny arcades. All bequests proper planning and thus overtly proper prices for those train carriage shacks I imagined were traded in terms of shillings and sixpences.
Serious stuff! And how can you get serious at the sea? You’ll be getting violence next, all the year round.
If course, as Selsey somewhere gains it somewhere else loses. This is in keeping with tidal action – fashions of constructive and destructive wave forces… only now the ebb and flow is under the influence of the land prospectors and lollipop sharks-who-roam-the-beach looking for customers and of course “I will buy” “Just this once” “Spoil myself” “Seeing as we are on holiday”.
But hold on. News of a new bargain. Never mind that its a disaster, think of all the trade, the village one big construction site, the fast food rush around lunchtime when come grubby men from BUILDING A NEW HUGE sea defence. You won’t be able to see the sea over the top of it, nor the sea’s advance. Yes folks, Tomorrow’s World programme has targeted Selsey as under water by 2040 by reward of THE GREENHOUSE EFFECT – the rise in sealevel. All could be washed away. In the meantime, commonal garden storms keep us busy (bit like domestic disputes).
Go to : http://www.homesoffootball.co.uk/gallery/people-versus-place/selsey-bill-v-manhood-peninsula/
Selsey Bill is having its November 5th fireworks extravaganza, this weekend, October 14th. Probably, with the peninsula ever under threat from sea change, there is worry about getting the fireworks (made locally) soggy. Lighting the fireworks will be Chelsie Padley from the Tracy Beaker Show and the Bognor Regis Alexandra Theatre’s Beauty & The Beast cast.
Go to : http://www.homesoffootball.co.uk/gallery/people-versus-place/selsey-bill-v-manhood-peninsula/
We are still looking for a Front of House person at Ambleside.
Someone to turn the visitor experience from “ok” into “memorable”.
And as a job to be not just ok but amazing for whoever we get.
The job description is in full on the web. Read http://www.homesoffootball.co.uk/news/
I am photographing ALL the countries of the World.
Through a football lens.
FIFA recognises 205 in its tournaments, although there are officially only 194.
It will take between 4 and 8 years to do this, and I am taking on young budding photographers around the World, to help me.
What began as “The Homes of Football” in 1990 is now becoming “Football Photography & The World” indefinitely.
If time on my travels I will also take onboard environmental issues, music festivals and other human interest stories.
Pictures shall appear on this website.
My base as always is at Ambleside in The English Lake District.
The pictures can be touched here… it’s a walk-in studio and gallery open Wednesday to Sunday.
People have been asking ‘can you buy the pictures’? Yes you can.
I have the really expensive pictures in frames limited to 1 or 3 or so of any one title priced £250 upwards.
And I have a new format all at £125 including p&p which are prints hand-made and hand-signed limted to 50 of any one title.
As concerns my next book – the one to feature “World Cup German Summer”, this has been put back for release to June 2007.
It will feature a lot of the German World Cup – and what happened to Germany AFTER its mighty stage.
On the subject of ‘legacy’, the book also looks forward to the African continent staging World Cup 2010.
For the British football fans, who liked the parochial detail of Homes of Football, there is a fair amount of new material plucked from England & Scotland, the cradle of the football game.
Don’t forget when you are playing Playstation EA Sports FIFA‘07, I did all the photos in the game!
It occurs to me, with all the delays to affect flying, and frustrations likely – as happened to me on my trip to South Africa (3 hours stuck on the runway then “everyone off”) we should all buy cuddly toys and entertain the people around you. Eventually the airlines might get sick of it I suppose and make an additional “can’t bring into the cabin”.
This Saturday I am “reviewing the papers” on BBC Radio Cumbria. This is looking at the local and above all the national newspapers, to see which things catch the eye. Then telling the listenership about it.
I read in the paper that Mali’s Timbuktu is looking for a twin city in England.
C-A-R-L-I-S-L-E i cry. After all, we are both remote and wonderful outposts.
Nat Keller, my eyes and ears from America, writes : “Woke up this morning to find you in Billy Bragg’s top 10 list. A great list by a great singer song writer and a great book by a great photographer. List is copied below from the Guardian… http://books.guardian.co.uk/top10s/top10/0,,1925237,00.html
Will have to spend the evening re-examining the book while listening to Billy’s – Mermaid Avenue album as well as watching Chelsea v Barcelona.”
Philip French of Supporters Direct rings me up pretending to be Billy Bragg, having a go that I haven’t yet read BB’s book. I fall for it.
Make my way to the National Football Museum’s Hall of Fame induction, held in Liverpool. A black tie affair swamped by Liverpool and Everton footballers past. A memorable do. The sole woman inductee makes a stand alone speech, which is quite touching. Jackie Milburn’s grandson is as a shy as the great man. Ray Stubbs is the imperious host.
Football is surely the greatest profession. I wonder if other professions less glamorous could have their own Hall of Fame, with induction evenings. What do you think? (Drinking around town is not a profession by the way) (Stag nights are not professional either!)
An extensive survey of ageing people (in the UK) asks them what if any regrets they had in life. The top two are
1 : Didn’t make enough love/have sex as a young person
2 : Didn’t travel the World enough.
I’m approaching middle-age. What should I be doing?
The film of my making “Football Photography & The World” has begun…
Scene One is my sat on a small balcony above my porch, before an endless sky. Behind me, the French window doors from the bathroom are open and the net curtains are trailing outwards in the breeze. Inside (the bathroom) is a warm light. Behind the house is Blaze Fell. Camera cuts to the railway line and a steam train chugging across one of the huge arches that hop over both the road and, seemingly, the River.
The filming is imagined and hasn’t actually started yet.
But I will continue to give you more scenes as I build up a picture of what the film would be like. There is a very real chance there will eventually be such a film.
What would a film of your life (or what you are about to do) be like? How would it begin, on screen?
If I now imagine a film starring Manchester City , which would be billed as a blockbuster, then it would start with the disaster that was today. They didn’t show up at Wigan. The energetic Joey Barton and the young debutant Thomson were left to wander across to their depleted bank of fans (most had left at 3–0) to wave and whisper their apology. Stuart Pearce has some of the weekend to think up excuses on the teams behalf.
It’s strange in any field (but football can teach you about this aspect as it can so many things), when people seem NOT to try at a job one feels they should be revelling in … and are paid to do.
I was a guest of the Premier League and enjoyed wonderful hospitality in the Lounge upstairs where people scoff themselves and talk endlessly about the game (just as they do down in the rest of the ground). The compeer for the raffle, with his wit and warmth and humour was probably my man of the match.
Wigan film by contrast is off to a flier. Not looking like a disaster movie at all. I remember the ‘pilot’ to this film, just a few years ago… they were again playing City and the occasion was the last match ever at Springfield Road (where I took my most famous picture “The Sunset Over…”). They were a budding actor then. Now they are a leading player.
In the Spanish match of the day, I watched from abroad, indeed from Ullswater, as Real Madrid outgunned Barcelona. Again. Though it’s been some time. Raul was a man possessed, running all over the pitch and tackling and passing and earning every Euro he is paid. Their signing of the Italian World Cup winning captain was also inspired. Barcelona for their part look to be depending too much on ‘love-handles’ Ronaldhino (who is afterall human); they also dropped Marquez from defence, whom I admire. He, or his absence, more than anyone playing, influenced the outcome.
Tonight in Grasmere, as with all Tuesdays from April to October, we had ‘poetry night’ at the Dove Cottage Museum dedicated to the lifetime’s work of William Wordsworth. The poetry is varied, eclectic, challenging, enriching. The audience shiny and young, irrespective of wrinkles and irrespective of their passport age. This is an area where all people can be equal and ‘compete’ in the journey to the spirit.
The first Olympic Games embraced, in equal measures – Sport, Culture and Education, and, as recently as the 1948 London Olympics, medals were awarded for such as poetry, painting and sculpture. Over the years the International Olympic Committee (IOC) has drifted away from those original principals, preferring to concentrate on sporting/ athletic activities. However, the IOC requires culture and education to be promoted as part of the Olympic programme but delegates that responsibility to the country hosting the games.
The British government believes that culture and education have key roles to play in the 2012 Games. Certain cultural traditions are observed at every Olympics, such as carrying the Olympic flame (torch) around the World prior to the opening of the Games; the opening and closing ceremonies are mandatory; all other cultural and educational activities are optional.
Between the Beijing (2008) and London Games, the British Olympic Committee (BOC) will promote a Cultural Olympiad in the United Kingdom, providing a programme over and above that which is required by the IOC. The UK government has asked the BOC to prepare guidelines, detailing what will happen, as quickly as possible. It hopes that a strong framework will be established that can be built upon by those countries staging future Olympiads. UK government is adamant that culture and Education must sit proudly alongside sport.
The United Kingdom is a country of many cultures and it is for those people that we host the Olympics. We must stage a ‘one planet’ sustainable Olympic Games that embraces much more than just sport. We are looking for ‘landmark’ events that will give ordinary people a chance to showcase their talents. At the moment the process is ill defined. We should promote citizenship and it is important that the regions are made to feel that they are an essential part of the process.
Q: Will Olympic medals be awarded for Cultural Olympiad events?
A: Sadly, no.
As the World goes slowly wrong – waters rise, and fall, icebergs melt, cool climes warm… suddenly many new ways to enjoy yourself base on weird weather and its knock on effects. At Ambleside a trail of people carrying kayaks and surf boards are streaming past our door, on the way to the swollen River Brathay. But hard rains are really not that unusual here.
Britain’s emissions, aviation use, road pollution, lack of renewable energy, not very green homes, energy inefficiency, lack of public transport are all coming under criticism. We are all to blame. But we are not as blameworthy as the Americans. They are far worst than us. Here are some suggestions to help the Americans help themselves help us all. 1. Invite an American to come and live in Britain with us in our home if only for a limted educative period. 2. Tell them not to come by car. Nor plane. 3. Hug them – they comfort eat and leave the tv on for company. 4. Make them feel good about themselves – their couldn’t care less about attitude is from a lack of confidence and love. 5. Get them each to adopt a wind turbine instead of spending their money on plastic surgery and psycho therapy. 6. Get them to consult with us first on most matters.
I went to Burnley (v Preston) last night to remind myself of that great little town where my great Homes of Football tour began 16 Octobers ago.
And also to see the mini-war that is a football derby match in England.
Thank goodness how this mini-war is preferable to the real thing. I personally thank God (because I can’t think of everyone else particularly to thank) for football and I continue on my merry way with my pilgrimages to its passionate altars.
Where I really need to go to is the USA. See who is there. Remind me of all the good people there. All we see is Bush. George bleeding Bush. I must remind myself that Bruce Springsteen is still there. REM singer-bloke is there. Madonna is there. Actually no she is over here. James Stewart was there. As was Bill Clinton. Steven Spielberg is surely there. This is the nation that launched film careers and great music.
And sent three men to the moon. It’s interesting to note, as USA prepares to be surpassed by China economically and in whatever other ways, that Armstrong (first man on the moon) says that you can NOT see the Great Wall of China from the moon. Experts who have never been there now agree it is impossible. All this reminds me of how America thinks that it owns space – perhaps because they got there first – and that no other country shall be allowed munitions and ‘defence systems’ in space alongside theirs. And space is a big place. USA, as much as I love it, thinks it owns the place. I want to go over there and see if they even own their own minds. Any country that does not embrace football as the world game is somewhat suspect and out of order.
Looking at the nature of the British, or particularly the English, as I did in my last book, and feel the need to do so again, I am convinced that the biggest thing in our psyche is 1 : being an island (off Europe).
And 1 equal : beating the Germans in the Battle of Britain when with odds stacked against us 5 or 10 to 1. When I sit watching the DVD footage of the aerial combat over Kent and Sussex of 1940 and how England turned back Hitler’s aerial (and every other form of) assault, I find myself so proud. As if I had something to do with it perhaps. Or just because any underdog who succeeds deserves respect.
It is as an island race, set apart slightly from the rest of our cousins, that we draw the idea of being ‘special’, ‘different’, ‘independent’. I would imagine that we would think that we alone could repel space invaders, if they come. But of course when one starts talking in World terms, we are all swimming in the same sea.
In the region where Maria started her walk home from the convent, as in my story where she walks nude through Western Europe, all sort of black stuff has been washed down into the sea from rivers inland. This is all testimony to the creeping environmental disaster engulfing Western Europe.
Western Europe is being transformed into an extension of the Sahara Desert. Each spring, summer and even autumn, huge fires arising from weeks of drought are devastating the land. Then, when finally it rains and pours in a storm, the ravaged soil gives up what is left of its scolded greenery and great blackened trees slip away into the torrent (and so on to the sea).
I will rewrite my story : Maria will emerge from her swim in the sea not merely nude for having having had her clothes washed away, but blackened by the grunge around her.
We have had a nice end of October at Ambleside. It has been half-term for the schools. As tradition dictates, it has poured. But the people have been so nice. A girl of 1 (well almost) called AVA sent me a Thomas Tank styled lapel badge with my name on it, which she had made. One boy wrote in my comments book : “I’ve come from Milton Keynes, I support Liverpool and I’m 10 years old. I love your amazing pictures, how do you do it? I’m a subbuteo fan and love your pitch”. He even spellt Subbuteo right.
We have 80,000 visitors a year, maybe less in recent years what with the loss of some foreign tourists after 11–9 and the Brits finding it cheaper to spend a weekend in Morocco or Portugal or Corfu in the sun.
Oddly, no one as far as I know has ever come into the gallery wearing a veil. Not even on Halloween. Many people wear sunglasses and don’t take them off when they speak but as far as I know not a single person in a veil. What a shame. Muslims, or rather Muslim women, perhaps don’t like football or think such a gallery like mine is not meant to be for them. However, they and their families do come to the Lakes in numbers and love going on the Windermere & Ullswater steamboats as well as sitting by the lake having a barbecue.
The local papers carry the story how Cumbria The Lake District has been judged to be the second most tranquil area in England.
Tranquillity is apparently:
Seeing a natural landscape
Hearing birdsong
Hearing peace and quiet
Seeing natural looking woodland
Seeing the stars at night
Seeing streams
Seeing the sea
Hearing natural sounds
Tranquillity is NOT :
Hearing constant noise from cars and vehicles
Seeing lots of people
Seeing urban development
Seeing overhead light pollution
Hearing lots of people
Seeing low flying aircraft
Hearing low flying aircraft
Seeing power lines
Cumbria misses out on top place to its neighbour Northumbria. This is because of low flying aircraft which are practising for War. They come over daily, causing Laurel and Hardy to fall off ladders and down the stairs and paint erratic lines. Why can’t they go and practise over a deserted mountainous wasteland such as The Grand Canyon.
