Open Letter to David Cameron

Dear David Cameron

The speech you gave at the 400 year anniversary celebration of the King James version of the Bible was mostly a fitting tribute to one of the greatest books in the English language. It gave a warm reminder of how this translation infused so many masterpieces from the works of Shakespeare and Tennyson to the words of Martin Luther King. What you said was also a timely focus of the value of that book, along with an appreciation of the long list of idioms and phrases composed within it that are still used today.

The speech was also a strong reminder of the values of Christianity that have shaped Britain and made it one of the safer places in Europe for people of other religions. I whole heartedly support that Britain is a Christian nation, as numbers attending regular organised service is no reflection on a person’s religiosity, which can only be self-defined and a private matter between themselves and their deity.

Surprisingly though, when you began to talk about these Christian values you opened by quoting Margret Thatcher and then listed a rather vague list of words staring with ‘Responsibility’. Odd, considering you’d spent the earlier part of your speech extolling the wisdom to be found in lines of the Bible. I was expecting a few quotes from the great book, hoping for a strong indictment of some of society’s deep, underlying problems; but the quotes were not forthcoming and the examples you used were oddly chosen and lacked truth.

Why did you focus on the ‘on-going terrorist threat from Islamist extremists’, when the number of these recorded attacks in Europe has dwindled to 1 in the last year? Why not focus on the far right and separatist groups that account for nearly 200 attacks over the same period? Or better yet, why not mention that if ALL terrorist attacks from all spectrums are accounted for over the last 15 years, it equates to some 10,000 lost lives, which is less than the amount of people killed in that time on Britain’s roads through drink driving alone, let alone the hundreds of thousands who perish from alcohol related illness. Why not challenge this and remind Christian Britain with one of Bible’s lesser known quotes: ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise’ (Proverbs 20:1) or a dozen other references on the same issue. Alcohol abuse is bigger terror to British society than international terrorism could ever be.

I was disappointed also to see you talk of lack ‘responsibility’ leading to flawed ‘moral code’ which ultimately ‘allowed some bankers... to behave with scant regard for the rest of society.’ Why not be more forthcoming and hold the long held Christian position of usury and interest being inherently anti-Christian: “If you lend money to any of my people with you who is poor, you shall not be like a moneylender to him, and you shall not exact interest from him. (Exodus 22:25) A few rogue bankers may have blindly toppled the tower, but it was built on nothing but anti-Christian interest in the first place.

The points you mention distracted from real issues and needlessly brought this idea of ‘Islamic’ ‘terrorism’ back on to the agenda after a year when communities, police and other agencies managed to bring that designated groups attack count down to 1 and death count down to zero. Why pour such cold scornful water on all their hard work and show the ‘passive tolerance’ towards the underlying issues that plague society, like excessive alcohol consumption and the entirely flawed banking system to name but two? This is akin to complaining of a drafty window when your roof is shattered.

If you really want society’s ‘moral code’ to change with or without faith as a ‘prod in the right direction’ (and I well know how tied your hands may be) may I suggest taking ‘responsibility’ as Prime Minister and clearly prioritising what the countries problems are and then telling that to British public who are deserving of the truth. It is not the big bad banker, or the ghost of Bin Laden under the bed, but the needed overhaul of a system that’s surely losing its post-war socialist heartbeat to a capitalist pacemaker that can flat line at will.

Put the people’s real needs first, then you can tuck them in and tell them some of those exaggerated ghost stories.

Sincerely

Loay Leon Hady 

First try at being funny

Ironically this attempt to be funny came out of a serious place – by my own estimation, when I was younger I was pretty funny, but then, as I took on a more religious persona, my sense of humour really got pushed way back into the deep dark beyond. Even when I tried to make jokes from within this religious persona some people would whisper ‘oh god, laugh, or he’ll blow us up... wait, no he’s religious... don’t laugh or he’ll blow us up...’ And basically, a lot of the attempted funny things I said just kind of frittered out there, with people not really knowing how to react and to be honest, maybe I didn't have any conviction in my words. Ce la vie.

So, when I got to Australia, I decided I was gonna do some stuff that scared the crap out of me and figured it’d be a good time to see how people would react to my sense of humour in a place that knows NOTHING about me. I know some of you might laugh at the very idea of me doing stand-up (and not the jokes), but I tried to shift out of being Islamaboy for a bit to do some stand-up and this is the result:

It's a little Ozzie based, 'cos that's where I was but I'm just frickin’ glad I went up and did it.... please excuse the swearing... guess I went back to the old me a little TOO much.

Next up on the scary thing to do list: swimming!

Do you have any idea who (I think) I am?

The amalgamation of a British Muslim's identity is something of word play opportunity: Is one a Muslim Brit, Brit-slim or even a Mus-tish?

Most come to their own conclusion and I’m no different; I feel my British passport will hopefully get me access to most of the world’s countries and my Muslim passport will hopefully get me into the better half of the after life.

I’ve never really struggled with my religion and citizenship in my personality as the only difference that occurs between then in the hum-drum of my day to day life is that if a typical British person gives me directions somewhere, they normally offer a few pubs along the way as markers, whereas if a Muslim were to outline the same route, they would use takeaways instead.

I’m sure, being of Egyptian heritage and bearded, I’d stereotypically look more Muslim, and in London at least, I feel I have a clear idea of myself and how other people will see / stereotype me.

Imagine then my shock with all that suddenly being thrown out of the window, like a rather lame henchman in a rather lame kung-fu movie; as after moving to Australia and speaking to Melbourne's lovely locals, they seem to have no idea of who I think I am.

Alhmdulilah, I have a one-year-old daughter and am keen for her to learn Arabic, so speak to her in that language. In Australian cafes and restaurants that foreign tongue is sometimes met with glazy stares and a little caution; I presume there is a little stereotyping going on, which I regard as their problem and not mine, but if any chance of conversation arises – and I get to open my mouth in English – the change in treatment, even in those tiny gestures, is lock stock and whole sale. Suddenly, to my audience, I’m British through and through to the extent where, they quickly smile and open conversation with me (something I’m still pleasantly surprised by) and in such chats I’ve been ‘insulted’ with: ‘your lot can’t even play cricket!’ referring to England’s cricket team. ‘You don’t want to be another whiny pom’ as in ‘don’t be a moaning Englishman’ and most bizarrely in a conversation with a guy in the street, whose dog my daughter stopped to stroke: ‘you’ve made the right choice in moving here. All the Brits I know here love it, it so peaceful. Of course there’s tensions with the Muslims, you know, but that’s them everywhere, so regardless, you’ll love it here.’

I mention these instances but could add 5 similar ones where it seems my colour and beard are completely washed away by accent. I dress no differently, act no differently (please don’t think I wore a ‘soldier of Allah’ t-shirt back home and exchanged it for Union Jack Bermuda shorts when I got here) but am completely regarded as British for all intents and purposes.

I’m far too new to understand why this is – Could it be the Australians have a natural preference for labeling the ‘other’ ,‘British’ as it’s the most popular immigrant group to these shores. Is it that anti-Muslim hysterical media isn’t played and re-run enough to make tanned, beardy people scary. Could it be that that since beards seem quite prevalent among the Aussies, another one in their midst isn’t that big a deal, or is it that my accent is so regal and defined, my Englishness and aristocratic links are at once fully recognizable and respected.

The answer of course is possibly all and none of the above, but to be taken out of one’s understanding of how others see you is a shock to the system, but then again so is any negative connotation of how one would see Muslims.

What we should be through the Prophet’s (PBUH) guidance and what we are will always have an imbalance; what we are and how we’re portrayed to the world has an even greater disparity, but here, in one of the furthest places you could get from Britain, the imbalance and disparity quickly disappeared and I felt I had a chance to make an impression on a stranger, away from any common Muslim stereotypes. I rarely if ever felt that in London – stereotypes there may be too strong, too overplayed or too discarded by those who know Muslims for any quick reappraisal to kick in.

For now though, while here, I seem to be re-cast, or should that be re-typecast and the weight of responsibility to be an example of Islam bubbles within me. My own ideas of identity slowly fade as I think of all the steps taken by Muslims to let ‘Britishness’ spring from their Islam and also wondering how I’ll get my Islam to spring from the ‘Britishness’ people here see in me.

In essence: how will I get them to see me as another ‘other’ from the one I’m used to - and for some reason, it feels like the best opportunity in ages and reminds me of the verse:

4:97 "The angels ask those they take while they are wronging themselves, 'What were your circumstances?' They reply, 'We were oppressed on earth.' They say, 'Was Allah's earth not wide enough for you to have made hijra elsewhere in it?'"

Subhan Allah - the mind boggles.

Crazy Car Purchase

As you probably know, cars and I are not the most intimate of bedfellows – http://bit.ly/qIrkEr - like a stalker after a celebrity, I try to send them love letters; buy them fancy gifts like satin bumper polish and Chanel scented air fresheners but they choose to play up, give up and blow up, depending on their mood; little diva-esque contraptions that they are.

Now, to some extent I have always rooted this back to my own faults (any good relationship councillor will tell you that the spurned lover always seeks to blame themselves for a failed relationship) and I thought the real area where I was going wrong, was the fact that I always bought used cards and rarely ever from the dealer, unless it had huge ‘Sold As Seen’ stickers on it, and so, to some extent, believed maybe I was getting what I was paying for… cheap crap.

So in moving to Australia and knowing that the primary car user would be Wifey, I reckoned I best I go to a dealer and buy something with a warranty on it, because I wasn’t in the hoods of Hayes and Hendon any longer. They were places where I knew folk who, no matter what the damage on the car, wouldn’t charge me over £300 to rectify the issue (please note the word ‘rectify’ not ‘fix’.)

So I set myself a budget and donned a cork hat, put on some sandals, cracked open a beer (that I didn’t drink) and sat by the laptop to research. After hours of surfing (unfortunately the electronic kind) I nearly did turn to the alcohol because prices of cars here are ridiculous! Take the car I sold just before I left – got just under 3k for it but the equivalent car here, same year, same model, same brand, came in at the English equivalent of 17k – and so many other cars were similarly, ridiculously priced. Basically to work out how much your car is worth in Australia; multiply your English value by 3, give or take. Ultimately, after hours of being told that a 5 year old corsa would cost me 8k (a case of ‘strewth’ if ever there was one) – I figured I’d just run round car lots and see what was going on.

Now car places are BORING – even at their most exciting and as good as it gets; you’ve got a slightly overweight balding man reading a brochure to you; trying to impress you with the stuff you already know about the car ‘cos that’s why you’re there to buy it - and the first show room we were at was no exception. 

He gave us all the old ‘we’ve got just the car for you’ nonsense and ‘oh, there’s one which is real steal, just come in’… blah blah… and we decided to get a big Mitsubishi Outlander – a monster of a car, X5 size, it was 10 grand, I was happy with that and then for some reason the guy asked – ‘so why don’t you get it on finance?’. I replied that I’d rather just pay the money and then all of sudden he said ‘well that’s the guy we gotta see about the warranty anyway.’ So we strolled on down and sat through this guy, who was a vulture in a suit if ever I saw one, giving us a 15 minute chat about the finance. ‘Still not interested, thank you. May I just buy the car please,’ I said and then he looked at the computer and winced – ‘ooh just gone 5, can’t get it today. Missed it by one minute.’ He proceeded to explain that the registration place was now closed and I replied by pointing out that the last 15 minutes of finance nonsense could have been better spent. 

He didn’t really like that – I didn’t really like him and in what seemed something of a threat he said ‘ you know these things take time, you might wanna just calm down a little’.  I left, and the Outlander deal was now dead in the water.

So onto the next day and cruising for an automobile I saw a Land Rover hugging the side of a garage for 10k, which was a car Wifey had always wanted, so I dashed to the window – saw a ‘We take American Express sign’ and then to make sure, greeted the balding, silver haired, overweight salesman with ‘Hi, first off – I don’t want to take out any finance - Do you take American Express?’ and he replied yes and all was well.

Wifey test drove the car, really liked it, I haggled the price a bit and we were all set to go; signed the contract, gave him my card and he started run it through the machine. Wifey and I looked back at the rugged Land Rover which seemed to whisper back at us, stoically ‘I’ll look after you’ and I was relieved ‘cos that beasty thing wasn’t gonna come off worse than most other cars in a crash.

Meanwhile the salesman was looking a little flummoxed at the machine time and time again - and then with an air of a retard’s ‘Eureka’ said: ‘actually I forgot, we don’t take American express’. I didn’t know what to say for a moment and then flabbergastedly appealed ‘but you said you did and it’s on the door’ and cool as you like he simply replied: ‘yeah, I shouldn’t have said that and I better take that sticker off the door’ and then a silence began to make its way into the room as I was incredulous, but he chirpily warded it off by saying as excited as a teenager getting the lead in the school play: ‘how about some finance?’.  I, my serious self, when morons waste my time, reminded him I didn’t want that and asked him to rip up the contract – he was reluctant at first, but I… how shall I say… insisted, and then he suddenly got a little defensive, and again, almost threateningly turned to say to Wifey, of all people, as if I wasn’t there, and said: ‘you might want to tell him to take it easy otherwise people will start calling him a whiny pom’ and then he laughed an empty, gargantuan laugh that should be followed by a punch in the face, but I wasn’t up for a bit of ‘blue’ – which is slang for fighting here (yeah go figure – especially if you’re still trying to work out what the hell ‘strewth’ meant).

I left and by now was annoyed at the inefficiency and also annoyed I was taking the piss with my friends who’d leant me their car to go car hunting with (shout out to JD an’ SH, who 1 day be SD, innit-  runnin’ big man tings in Windsor ‘blad – ya get me – skeeeeeeeene) so I went to another place, a Toyota franchise, and saw a Mazda family car and thought it was awesome value – please note I am a uptight as it comes, when buying cars, even while the salesman is talking; I whip out my phone and check a dozen other prices to make sure I’m not getting ripped off – and the salesman – you already know what he looked like – said it was 18k so I haggled him down to 15, and then coming to the crunch, I knew that was my limit so it meant the next month would be tight – then he offered my some interest free finance and said we could get it on the day – which was music to my ears. He asked about my visa I told him I was on a business one which would be sent soon, was 95% complete and had entered the country on a 3 month tourist visa. He said ‘we do those all the time – no dramas’ so I signed up for it and he made the calls.

He invited us to go chill for a bit and said he would call us to come back and pick up the car in the afternoon and I thought ‘Finally – things are gonna work out’. So I paid a grand deposit and left, glancing back at the Mazda and feeling quite good, cos in my snobbish classification system it was one or two steps up from a Honda or a Toyota and just a step to the side of a Lexus; so alls well that ends well.

Turns out though, there were ‘dramas’.

First off the finance guys called and said it can’t be done without an address in Oz – I asked him why the sales guy would tell me that wasn’t a problem to which he replied ‘I don’t know’ – so I called the sales guy who again said it wasn’t a problem and I made it clear this didn’t see to make sense and if it wasn’t sorted by the afternoon I’d come in to get my deposit back and look elsewhere – and again the mildest threat surfaced ‘I understand: you want the car and we want to sell you the car...’ and then he took a deep breath ‘...so just calm down – I’ll call you back’.

The call came and the finance person seemed really pleased with himself saying ‘I’ve sorted the address problem – don’t ask me how I did it – but your wife’s a doctor right? Well – you should call me doctor from now on too hahahaha’ which of course didn’t put me at ease at all and all I could muster in response was ‘hmmmm, quite’ and he quickly regained his composure and said he would get someone in the finance office to look at the application of our business visa, cos he knew folk who could get that info, but it’d mean waiting ‘til Saturday morning for an answer. Now at this I was impressed, he must have had a connection or two in the visa office to get that done – so I said tomorrow was fine, returned my friends’ car (JD Brrrap , braaap) and waited.

Saturday morning a call from the finance guy came through saying it all looked good, his people had spoken to the Head of Finance who’d spoken to the visa folk, but the only problem was that it couldn’t be finished on Saturday ‘cos it wasn’t a working day. Now, I’m a reasonable man and that made sense; so I said ‘fine we’ll complete on Monday, no dramas’ (even thought it sounded stupid coming out of my mouth) and I waited.

Monday morning I woke quite excited at getting the car only to receive a call from the finance guy to pooh-pooh my morning – ‘Right Mr. Hady – I spoke to the guys, who spoke to the visa guys and then back to our guys and turns out….’ I waited for something like: your passport's fake / you’re on a terrorist list / you’re actually registered as 70 year old transsexual with the credit company – but he said ‘… turns out… you’re on a tourist visa.’

My rage rose like a tsunami.

Through gritted teeth I managed: ‘I told YOU that on FRIDAY – you’ve spent two days running around to tell me what I told YOU!’ and he fumbled excuses and excused himself.

By now Wifey was fed up and I was dejected. The incompetence beggared belief and I drove back to the car room to get my money back.

On the forecourt, as friendly as you like I told the sales guy, who had been informed, that the finance wasn’t possible and that I was gonna look elsewhere and that I’d told him to write on the contract that the deposit was subject to finance – I didn’t want to break my budget and that was that – he suddenly looked like a mourning member of a funeral procession, but agreed that had been the terms.

From the showroom, all of a sudden the manager popped out and said ‘everything all right?’, and fearing he would try to pop in with some technicality, before the salesman could say a word, I put a hand on his shoulder, pulled him into me a little and explained what had happened; waiting for him to look away. It took a good 2 minutes of straight mono-tone detailed explanation ‘bout what the finance guy said and what I’d agreed with the salesman and finally at a few points he started looking away and I knew then I would get my money back. and at that point... they both looked like they’d been to funeral.

The sales assistant glanced at the manager, who seemed to be resigned. And then I added off the cuff ‘I said, when I first walked in, my budget's 10k’. Unexpectedly, the manager said ‘ and you’ve got that?’ which I confirmed and reiterated that’s why I’d come in looking for a 10k car and it took a lot for me to avoid saying 'DUH!"

He nodded and then seemed sure of himself and popped out with– ‘alright, pay the ten and give me the rest when you’ve got it’.

???? I wasn’t sure I’d heard right, so broke it back down for him - ‘so you’re gonna give me the car and credit me 5 k, no interest, for a few months, without a credit check or anything’.

Again he nodded – ‘yep, you like good people.’ And at that point he left leaving me and the salesman kind of in awe and headed to his office – I handed the sales guy my card and we walked back into the PDQ machine in near silence, which was only broken by the shocked sales assistant’s mutter off ‘it’s bloody Christmas – bloody...  CHRISTMAS’ and I couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed that this wasn’t offered earlier or because he was in shock, so I asked ‘is that something he does often?’ to which he replied ‘never…’ and he looked genuine enough, and then added, for some God-damn, unknown reason, ‘and put it this way… he wouldn’t have done it if you’d come in with a turban.’ (??????) And I spluttered in disbelief at the casual racism and stared around wondering if I had heard what I’d heard and sensing my confusion he tried to make it better by saying… ‘it’s true, just saying it cos it’s true’ and then he shook his head and got back to his paperwork.

A minute later, I kid you not, I was asked to sign an I O U – which read, and I quote: ‘we Deena Shirbiny, we pay to Toyota Motors 3000 (three thousands) dollars in 3 to 6 weeks.’

I looked at the assistant manger and got all whiney, pommy, English Teachery – ‘umm, just to cover your back…’ I picked up a pen, ‘…and to make this make sense...’ I started to edit the grammar ‘…this I how it should be written.’ And he initialled all my changes and within 10 minutes I was waking out with the car and a copy of a partially hand written I O U for the 5k.

Moral of the story – Australia makes little sense, in the best way possible!

G’day

Travels in Tokyo

Ok guys, I know it’s been a while but basically I haven’t travelled anywhere new since New York – Been back to a few places but didn’t want to bore you- I have got my skates on and got out and about though, this time Japan, and of all the places one could go to get a culture shock – Tokyo has to be up there with the most shocking.

First off there’s the jet lag, which hit me like a overweight boxer trying to make a comeback – basically I laughed at the fact that there was even this thing called ‘jet lag’ until I found myself in a daily cycle of not sleeping until 7.30am and waking at 2pm – I was grateful for the sleep but Tokyo is not the most 24 hour of cities, so to stop it eating into my daytime - I tried intoxicating myself into staying awake. Thankfully Tokyo is splendid for this because there are vending machines for energy drinks and coffee on every corner waiting to perk you up.

These generally had the desired effect, but as I’m normally as caffeine free as a ponce’s drink in a vegan store they did start to make me feel like I was living something of a twilight world; not that some pale moron was trying to bit my neck, but more like every day I had to work out whether stuff was actually happening or not. Seems the jet lag was causing some kind of time delay between my thoughts and reactions to things in real time. For instance I’d suddenly be aware and think: ‘that is a car coming at you’ ‘move out the road’ ‘am in the road?’, ‘will the car stop anyway?’, ‘other people are in the road’, ‘then will we all get hit?’, ‘what’s that beeping noise?’ ‘whose that small green man?’ and suddenly all that would process and I’d find myself crossing the road at traffic lights, like I normally do every day in my life.

Wifey didn’t help in these instances at all – in fact she added to the confusion, see the Japanese are an extremely polite and respectful folk, I never heard a voice raised in a week in Tokyo, never saw any one jump a queue, never saw people cross before the green man flashed ‘em – They even demark where the doors to the trains will stop on the platform so people can queue up. On top of that are the little interaction things like walking into a newsagent;, no one just stares at you gormlessly waiting for you to speak, they all say ‘Konichewa’ and do a little bow – take your money respectful with one hand under the other – it’s unreal – but as much as lack of sleep was effecting me, this super politeness was effecting wifey.

Suddenly everything I did was chastised with ‘you can’t do that here’, ‘stop that’, or my favourite: ‘that’s culturally insensitive’ and this applied to everything: my attempts at jaywalking, haggling and once even an innocent sneeze drew looks of disapproval from wifey because I didn’t put a mask over my nose, or have packets of tissue ready. Needless to say, she didn’t approve of the old ‘sneeze-into-the-hand-then-wipe-on-jeans’ tactic that’s served me well for nigh on 30 years and she let me know it, but the irony is that any Japanese person would have been too polite to comment.

For want of a better phrase wifey was ‘on dat bruv!’ – in fact one night I asked ‘baby, do you mind if I go get a gun and shoot some people in the face for absolutely no reason other than they whistle’ – ‘Sure’ she said ‘no worries’. So I followed that with ‘darling, mind if I got to a whore house and get some ludicrously flexible and imaginative hookers to tie me down and flail my body with sushi ‘til it’s red raw and then get them to bathe me in green tea.  ‘Of course you can’ came the reply – so sensing I was on a roll I asked ‘Cool, so dya mind if I eat a chocolate, in the street as we walk together to...’. ‘WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!! THIS IS FUCKING JAPAN – YOU CHAVVY FUCK – NO ONE EATS IN THE FUCKING STREET!!’ Needless to say I was surprised by her reaction as you probably are reading it.

I’d never in my life seen wifey bothered by what anyone thought of her, indeed if you’re married to me, the word ‘nuance’ and ‘subtle’ have to come right out of your vocabulary anyway– and though normally D’s outlook was that the Joneses could screw themselves for all she cared, in Tokyo, it was certainly a case of keeping up with the Japs. (Looks around to see if anyone got that, and then counts the tumbleweeds as they roll past)

None of their manners feel fake either. You know how when you go into a shop in England and you barely get an ‘alright’ or ‘welcome to the GAP’, ‘cos you know they have to do it – well in Japan you get the feeling everyone knows that there is a way you greet people, no matter who you are or what you do. I saw a Japanese person stop another Japanese person and ask for directions and it was like: exchange of bows, exchange of smiles, pleasantries exchanged, question asked, answer given, exchange of smiles, exchange of bows and off you go. Wonderfully quick, polite and classy and I couldn’t help but contrast that with Egypt where 95% of the shops you go into you actually you interrupt sales assistants conversation to get them to do what they’re supposed to be doing. Or better still, to a taxi driver who’ll roll up on someone, beep them, and then shout ‘where’s the bank?’ wait for an equally abrupt two-word response and then drive off with any chance of a ‘please’ or ‘thank-you’ evaporating like his exhaust fumes.

Maybe I’m hung up on this because I love manners and propriety and I guess as a teacher I’m totally aware of how lacking in basic manners a lot of kids I teach in England are. From my little interaction with them, the youth of Japan don’t strike me as the kind of students who you’d have to say ‘you’re supposed to hold the door open for your elders, not the other way around’ or ‘don’t leave your half-eaten chicken wings in the corridor’. In fact, schools in Japan actually have an end of day session where they tidy their school. No joke. In afternoon registration they ‘reset’ (sweep and tidy) the rooms with the notion of ‘as we take from the school, so we give back to it’ – and that’s not some special academy for the gifted led by Captain intriguing hippy, or the X-Men’s professor Xavier, that’s a country wide practice.

One thing I didn’t get about their school children though was when exactly their weekends were. Every single day I saw scores of children in school uniform running around - and they were the ones I was sure WERE students. See, there were, at times, other ladies walking around in school(ish) uniform but they weren’t students – unless they went to some school led by Captain sexy time, because their skirts were hip high, tailored with lace and their school socks looked a lot like French suspenders to me. Granted I only saw this on late night walks, on my own, in certain red districts of the town, but still every time I saw them, my first thought was ‘shouldn’t you be in school?’, but realised that the sentence for that scenario, that was phonetically closer to being accurate was ‘shouldn’t you be being screwed?’

That cohort aside, the majority of Japanese women did offer another insight into wifey’s state of mind - she thought they were so beautiful and I’m inclined to agree (notice, if you will, how I had to word that sentence) and there is a lot to be said for dignity in attraction. As a race they were a lot a taller than I expected, I would be surprised if the average height for Tokyonians was less that 5’9”. Granted, I was the tallest person that I came across, but it wasn’t the mismatch of Godzilla-esque proportions that I was expecting.

I went to some temples rode the amazingly efficient subway ate more sushi and noodles than you could shake a big (chop)stick at.  Watched a few sumo matches which were insanely boring to be fair – each bout took about 15 minutes to prepare and lasted for 15 seconds, but maybe there is an unspoken correlation between Sumo and nation’s foreplay and sex timings which is why everyone likes the sport as I cannot for the life of me see any other reason or link to the culture – I mean excuse me if I deal in stereotypes for a minute but take England and football – typical English lad, likes a drink, shaves his head, football is his hobby – Voila: Wayne Rooney – Typical Ozzie lad, likes the sea, dons some shorts, runs off surfing – Voila: some famous surfer dude. But nothing culturally in Japan says: typical lad, overeats, likes to make a big deal when putting each leg on the floor, throwing some powder on his hands and then running into another fat bloke – I just don’t see it – but I guess I’d need more time here to really get it.

What else – umm, met a friend from uni who was ultra kind in showing us round, went to Disney which Amira loved – she took in her first 4D show, which I’m hoping is a great precursor to buying a 3D TV. In my head the plan is to walk into the Ozzie equivalent of Dixons, stand her in-front of a 3D TV with the glasses on, then go hide, ‘til wifey comes along and tries to pull her away from it at which point Amira will scream her head off and I’ll come back onto the scene, in full Samaritan mode, offering to buy the 3D TV just to keep Meemee happy – should work.

Also tried a trillion mental snack combinations – see, the Japanese don’t do things like ‘plain chocolate’ or things you’re used to like ‘chocolate and hazelnut’- far from it. It’s all ‘jelly coffee’ and ‘chocolate and salt puree with added tree bark’ and loads of other things which you just couldn’t imagine, but taste wicked. Never found out the Japanese word for halal and had to hide in doorways to look at my map sometimes because the people are just so helpful they constantly come up to offer directions when my man pride was kicking in and I just wanted to work it out for myself.

Had an instance where we walked past a completely wrecked guy who was being escorted home by 4 friends, all propping him up, holding his arms, like some kind of medical team – he we was as close as we came to someone being abusive to us – as we walked passed, talking English, he slurred out ‘Hawow’, his version of ‘hello’ and he cracked up, and his friends cracked up and we cracked up – even Amira seemed to get it and started to wave her arms like a pill-head in an Ibizian club with imaginary glow sticks, which is what she’s into at the moment.

In fact the more I type this, the more I realise that Tokyo was probably the best place, in terms of a society, I’ve ever seen. I mean the place was so clean I actually had to go looking for rubbish (didn’t find any, so I started to drop mine around just so I could feel at home) But seriously what’s swimming in my head at the moment - and it’s only come on as I’ve typed the last few paragraphs - is that I didn’t see anything pertaining to religion, apart from the temples. No crosses, no mosques, no kosher signs, no pictures of gurus –nothing, and the society was, for the week I was there, far in a way the most structured and efficient I’d ever seen.

And this is confusing me as for the last 15 years where I’ve been aware of religion’s influence and for the last 6 where I’ve actively engaged in a religion and researched and partaken in others - I’ve always been sold the idea that religion is what’ll save and shape society – Tokyo seems to have totally killed that notion. Unless there is a super secret religion they don’t let foreigners in on as I see no orthodox signs of it and capitalism can’t be the problem because these people shop like the idea shopping itself was on sale. Proper confused.

I’ve never been to a country that has left me so desperate to see more of it and learn more about it and left me so utterly, utterly awestruck – from the toilets to the temples and the Sushi to the scenery. God willing, I’ll definitely go back - and that’s only the second time in all my life I’ve really wanted to do that for a place I’ve visited.

Anyway, don’t tell wifey I ended the email with such a change of tone and so abruptly – It’ll just give her more ‘that’s not culturally sensitive’ ammunition. And D, if you are reading this then know I wasn’t in Japan when I wrote it – so stick that up your arigato and smoke it!

Sayanora suckas!

Schizophrenic justice?

2 years ago I drove back from a wedding at 2 in the morning on the unassuming M42. Sunday had just become Monday and the streets were as empty as Muslim’s stomach 5 minutes before breaking their fast. Law abider that I am, I stuck to around the 70 mark and was home soon enough. I thought nothing of that drive until a few months later when I got a court summons for driving at 70 through a 30. I indeed remembered a short road-works section where 3 lanes had become 2, but alas didn’t see/ take heed of the reduced speed limit. My fault. I sent off my license, and expected the £60 fine and the 3 points. However, some time later my license came back with 6 points added and a £425 fine to be paid. I was shocked and asked some police chums what the deal was and they all, in various ways said, ‘these days, they’re looking to make examples of people.’

Now, insurance premium rise aside the punishment wasn’t going to effect the rest of my life greatly, but the words of those policing friends come to mind now that the punishments are being meted out to those involved in the UK ‘riots’ (which are probably better referred to as ‘steal-a-thons’). Through sentencing, examples are indeed being made, but more caution should be paid to what they’re making of our idea of ‘justice’ too.

If I return to my example and take out the context, it equates to doing 70 in a 30, very dangerous, high punishment deserved. If you take away the context of some of the crimes in the riots; like stealing a 6 pack of water, for example, such a crime wouldn’t even make it anywhere near a court, let alone a 5-month prison sentence which that person received. If we add certain context it becomes even more strange: no previous convictions, university student, but of course the overriding factor here is that it happened in the midst of the riots and he was adjudged, by his prosecutor, to have ‘contributed through his action to criminal activities and to the atmosphere of chaos and sheer lawlessness’. Even if stealing water can be referred to as that, remember, a court conviction will last with a person for the rest of their life – does stealing water deserve to leave such a mark? Especially in the age of online application forms where computers weed out job seekers based on such information.

As for the crime, was he stupid, yes, criminal, of course, but worthy of 5 months in prison, which is akin to a sentence for GBH? The courts currently think so, but it’s the courts where we need consistency most.  Many would argue he deserves to be made an example of, to show zero- tolerance and if that’s the current mood of the country, so be it, but why then were the police given a hard time for showing restraint?

Look at how they dealt with the riots; the first day they were overwhelmed and then flooded the streets -within 2 days the streets were back in order. No water cannons, no rubber bullets, they stood firm to their practice and it won out (with a little help from the rain) No excessive force was used even though there were calls for it; the thinking being that if such tactics were used, it would somehow damage Britain’s reputation on the world stage.

As soon as the situation on the streets calmed, quick justice was needed: courts opened 24 hours and procedures streamlined to get as many in as possible. These steps showed justice to be efficient and beautifully nimble in dealing with cases, but it soon showed more of its beastial side when it came to punishments. The oddity: where the police were frowned on because of their restraint, the courts are now raising eyebrows for being too harsh. Again context is king; the police are making on the spot decisions and are in the face of force, the judges have the measured space and time to deliberate and should be the ones providing consistency.

With this is mind, those who carried out the murders and broke into shops will no doubt be getting the same punishments they would had this happened in normal circumstances, but should punishments for lesser crimes really be ‘upgraded’ in such a way, where the menial can have such lingering over a person’s life.

Worse still what if this new barometer of ‘justice’ remains or becomes more widespread? Will the youngster given 10 weeks in prison, for using ‘threatening, abusive language or behavior’, be the benchmark for all such cases towards police? If so, many kids who routinely swear at their school liaison officer will be surprised that it no longer only earns them a detention. Or perhaps we’ll extend this to those who abuse any public servants, meaning 1/5th of all students in school will find themselves with prison sentences for abusing their teachers.

No doubt the country needs to ask itself this and many other serious questions as the debate moves on to emergency policing powers, mobile communication surveillance and curfews, but while agendas and mandates from the politicians and media will to and fro depending on votes and sales, the courts should remain immune to such reflex responses. They should be the rock on which people can always rely, servants to nothing other than the laws of the land, as the ramifications of a ‘mood’ based judiciary could prove costly in many ways and that's where Britain's democracy could be truly threatened.

No More 'Amy VS Oslo' Please

Tragedy – forget the ABBA cheese for a moment and reflect instead on the deaths over the last few days: Nearly a hundred in Oslo, the majority of which were teenagers lured to their deaths by a man dressed in police uniform; calling them to him for an announcement before unleashing indiscriminate, murderous rounds and then picking off those who tried to run; and, less than 24 hours later, the death of a young musician, heralded as one of the finest of her generation, who was known to have a tumultuous, on-going battle with various addictive substances, but whose death is as yet ‘unexplained’.

One is ‘senselessly tragic’ and the other ‘terribly sad’. Or one is ‘inhumane’ and ‘unbelievable’, while the other is a ‘shame’ but ‘expected’.

The above quotations are picked off of the Twitter/Facebook-sphere, but regardless of such opinions, what loomed large over them was the sometimes vitriolic outrage shown when a post or updates, were deemed, to hoist the latter over the prior.

The world didn’t go ‘mad’, as some noted – it just lost perspective.

How can we judge someone for posting a comment on one tragedy or the other when the limited updates and tweet space sometimes allow the mention of only one at a time? Why did so many presume that the one mentioned somehow excluded or took precedent over the other? Indeed a quick twitter-stalk on some people’s last few tweets demonstrated that those who commented on Amy’s death (Saturday evening) had, the day before, commented on the killings in Norway.

Then comes the issue of personal connection; to some, Amy was well known, well loved, touched people’s lives and to some they have lost that – in the most callous terms, why could a person not express their sadness at that loss, over a terrible heartless atrocity that is far less personal?

Where is the rule that one, in the immediate aftermath of hearing it, has to hit home harder than the other and supersede it? It’s a time of emotional upheaval in many ways - and the crux of this may be… we don’t know how to be emotional over the internet, yet. 

Imagine if you were hearing both sets of news on a weekend away with friends, you’d never consider comparing them in such a way – you’d both be shocked at one piece of news then continue the discussion on sadness over the second. In such a scenario, if I were to reflect the majority of opinions I read, such a conversation would be one of unprecedented horror and then of another sad loss that echoes so many others who end in such away. Both can exist at the same time. Just maybe not in 140 characters.

To put this another way – would you ever compare Heath Ledger’s death to the Tsunami to ‘Maddie’s’ disappearance to the Rwandan genocide? - Of course not. They are all bad news to various degrees to various people – yesterday a lot of people seemed to forget that perspective and we don’t communicate that way in the non-virtual world.

Moreover, once something is said, it can be said and done – but once typed, it can live on.

We forget that too.

What you thought on something yesterday doesn’t have to be your main concern today – but a post un-replaced or status not updated can look that way. The most interesting thing in this point though is that we’re the first generation that gets to leave ourselves around for others to see in such a way- we’re the ones who’ll shape the etiquette of such discussion in the future and that’s worth remembering ‘cos it will happen again.

For me, the strangest development was the way people brought in other items that they felt should be getting attention – deaths of others, humanitarian situations and the financial talks in America that fell apart. All massively serious, and some did involve the common thread of death – but they were presented most times as: ‘this is what YOU SHOULD be tweeting about!’

Do we walk around telling each other what to think? Do we not ask people for their opinions on a range of topics before offering our opinion on them? In the trillions of conversations we have with people, are we that quick to judge? No, of course not – we just aren’t use to discussing such things in cyberspace yet.

Take for instance tweets and posts on the famine: ‘can’t believe (this) is getting more coverage than the famine’. I’ve added the word ‘this’ in place of what was in some instances derogatory -  Surely though, if you want to bring something to people’s attention you mention it, not in light of something else, but of its own sake. Thankfully many did with daily posts such as ‘remember the famine’ and again in terms of perspective – the famine has been present a lot longer, gotten coverage, and work is being done short and long term to try and alleviate / help by many - I know several families who have asked me outright if I have donated yet, that’s a snapshot of how much it is on some people’s minds - why can a reaction to one thing that is sudden and shocking (the nature of both deaths) not be aired while another longer issue is being championed in other ways.

Again, we don’t do that normally and I know some could argue that online discourse is different and thus it’d be the 'new' normal, but surely development of online morals and etiquette has to have some mirrors to that of the offline ones – or do those parts of us go offline when we go online?

I guess if I had to tweet my thoughts, rather than this ramble - I would have simply put ‘remember – out of sight don’t mean out of mind.’

Many still pray for Kurt Cobain, for Elvis, for Chernobyl victims, Swine flu victims etc and not one of us has the right to tell the other who to grieve for and WE KNOW THIS – we just forgot on-line…. This time.