By the time you read this, I’ll be on my summer holiday, to which I’ve been steadily looking forward, with increasing anticipation, even though, this time, I’m not leaving the country. I don’t really mind that, but I confess to feeling pangs of envy earlier in the week, when I met up for a farewell drink with a mate who’s about to head off on a two month vacation. He’s an Australian (you could probably have guessed!), who’s been working over here for a couple of years, and is now heading back home…very slowly, largely via Turkey and Sri Lanka, the latter being his ancestral home.

The concepts involved here are staggering: two months holiday! That alone is enough to boggle the mind of wage-slaves like myself, who have to cope with 24 days a year. I yearn for the student life, with three months off in the summer, when you could head off for a month round Europe without a second thought. Now, I’m reduced to bean-counting my time off, desperately trying to make it stretch the entire year. And there are large chunks of the world which *require* more time to see them than I have. If I was to “do” Australia properly, I’d be left with Christmas Day off. Maybe. And there are entire continents like that: while I’ve largely done Western Europe (being accessible in a Bank Holiday weekend), Asia, Africa and South America remain entirely closed books.

There’s a long-term plan to deal with this. Unsurprisingly, this does not involve working in my current job, for my current employers, in my current habitation. It involves turning freelance and raking in huge sums of money on short-term contracts for six months of the year, then swanning the globe in style for the other six.

I appreciate one or two minor details need to be worked out before this scheme is put into effect…

Now, it would be possible to do it from here in Tulse Hill, and that remains one option. However, with a girlfriend living in America, and probably several years away from being able to move far, there are other important factors to consider. And then there’s the fact that I’ve had enough of London. Supposedly, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. But I’m not so much tired, as bored of it. Eleven years working there in the same company, ten years living in London, seven in the same house; it’s a very comfortable rut, but a rut none the less. I feel the weight of “responsibility” pressing down on me, and know that the windows of opportunity to change become smaller and less frequent the further I get down the line. For example, that’s now seven years worth of junk I’d have to pack were I to move house…

The next window opens in about a year’s time, when a bunch of ludicrously cheap share options the company gave me kick in. That would provide a good foundation, and so also a good time to grasp my courage and ship out to Chris in America — after all, in addition to being closer to her, I can’t think of anywhere else that’s English-speaking and fond of British accents! 🙂 This is despite my suspicions that living in America would be very different from visiting it: braving serial-killers, tornadoes and rattlers on an almost daily basis. However, as my Australian friend pointed out, it’s always the same: when he was coming to Britain, people told him to be careful of the IRA, and that’s coming from a land where every living thing seems to be venomous. It’s just a perfectly rational fear of the unknown.

Of course, it’s quite possible that nothing at will come of this, and that my dreams will remain just that. But on the other hand, every avalanche starts with a single snowflake…

Hope your week is as excellent as mine is going to be. I’ll be back in a fortnight or so.

As I write these words, London is in flames. What started as a peaceful demonstration quickly turned into a rioting mob, who have swept through the city like a tornado, looting and destroying. Martial law has been declared, and heavily-armed helicopter gunships are circling overhead. I can hear the crackle of automatic gunfire in the distance, and when the breeze blows from the west, there’s a smell disturbingly like singed flesh…

I am, of course, not being serious. Well, not yet, anyway — but it is only 10 o’clock, so plenty of time yet. So far, the International Day of Action has been a bit of a disappointment: I missed the last really good riot (the Poll Tax one), ‘cos I was in the Scala watching ‘Mars Needs Women’, and was thus looking forward to this one. I’d even bought a new film for my camera.

It seems the London kerfuffle – in contrast to the relaxed and unbothered approach elsewhere – can be traced back to a letter. This was sent out to 116 City businesses last month by Norman Russell, chief inspector in charge of community safety, warning of the imminent fall of civilization, leading some people to start visibly bricking it. My company’s paranoia continued to grow over the past week, and at least one good thing came out of it: they announced a dress-down day. They were far from the only company to take this route, despite the risk that it’d make it easier for the protestors to blend in (after all, anarchists don’t have suits, do they?), and the train this morning was crammed with casually dressed people…all carrying briefcases. Oops, bit of a giveaway that. Meanwhile, I was in combat jacket, boots, mirror shades and grim, revolutionary expression, which seemed to freak a few people out.

Matters were helped by the appearance of the ‘Evading Standards’ a spoof of the ‘Evening Standard’ newspaper, proclaiming ‘Global Market Meltdown’. This was actually a very nice piece of work, parodying the front and back covers, right down to the crossword, wrapped around 24 pages of polemic. This was funded by the Metropolitan Police — or, at least, the 20 grand in damages awarded after they mis-arrested protestors at a previous demo, which is a further nice piece of subversion…

6pm Well, that got a little bit interesting, didn’t it? The sole thing I saw in the morning was some minor disruption to transport: around 300 cyclists riding very slowly through the streets. But this only affected drivers, so it was another case of two groups for whom I have little respect beating up on each other, and the other rumoured, more extreme activities (hurling of offal in McDonald’s, taking a dump on ATMs), proven unfounded. However, by mid-afternoon, stations were being closed off, and it was apparent that things were kicking off. Because of the disruption, we got out early, and I opted to check out what was happening.

I have to say, the police barricades were the least effective I have ever seen. They’d block off one street, and totally ignore the next one along. It was thus easy to get into the heart of the action, around the LIFFE building, which had been the target of protestor’s anger. Though what the news stories didn’t say was that some of the traders there had been inciting things by spraying champagne from the building’s balcony onto the protestors, and lobbing photocopied money on them — lynching such twats from lamp posts would not be excessive, IMHO.

The mood was weird: 50% party, 50% ugly, with some people gathering bottles to hurl at the police, while others (including me!) just stood around. And that’s the thing about protests: IT’S VERY DULL, though I can tell you, being baton-charged by the police does cause a definite surge of adrenalin. Traffic was totally dead, and it was kinda eerie, but not unpleasant, to walk down the middle of normally busy streets. After half-an-hour or so, I simply got bored – it was apparent that revolution would not be happening that nights – and drifted away, opting to head home and go down the pub instead.

So, more than expected, but not as much as hoped. I’ve no doubt the protestors will argue that they’ve succeeded in raising consciousness, but perhaps they should really thank Norman Russell for that. It certainly made a change from the normal Friday, and between getting to dress how I want, and leaving work early, I’m well up for the same again next Friday — whether or not they destroy any transnational corporations…

Normally, I don’t tend to leap out of bed in the morning, enthusiastically keen to go to work. Fridays, while perhaps a little better because of the impending weekend, are not really any different. But next Friday, I may be slightly keener. The reason for this is best summed up thus :

J18 – International Day of Protest
Against transnational corporations and capital flows
June 18th 1999

IMAGINE Financial Districts across the world filled not with profit and plunder but with the sounds and rhythms of party and pleasure IMAGINE a world where people have control of their own lives and communities IMAGINE a society based on mutual aid, sharing and respect for nature IMAGINE taking your desires for reality IMAGINE demonstrations, actions, protests, pickets, stunts, shut-downs, leafletting, blockades, games, carnivals, sit-downs, free food, occupations, teach-ins, parties & more simultaneously transforming financial centres across the world

Now, as someone who works in one said financial centre, the City of London, this has the potential to be a bit interesting: Crusties vs. Yuppies, grubby, dreadlocked hippies taking on designer-clad, mobile-phone bearing executives in a battle of incompatible stereotypes. At least, this is what I’d like to see — since I have little time or respect for either group, I’m hoping for something which wipes out both groups and leaves the world to us cynical technocrats.

I’d noticed a few stickers around promoting the event, but wasn’t paying much attention. After all, what could a few unemployed anarchists do? But then we got sent a memo, whose tone is best described as “worried”:

An International Day of Action, organised by various groups including Reclaim the Streets, is expected to take place in the City of London on Friday 18th June.

‘If the demonstrators repeat the kind of activities seen in the 1980’s, or carry out some of the suggestions included … in their website pages, we could expect the following:

• Roadways & footways blocked
• Major disruption to traffic including public transport
• Targeting of City premises including attempts to gain entry and climbing
• Damage to premises
• Misuse of telecommunications e.g. nuisance/bogus callers and messages’

(Source: City of London Police) Blimey. Clearly someone high up is taking this VERY seriously — it looks highly like the threats on the June 18 Web Page [a site which shows a total lack of the principles of web design, by the way, and takes an absolute age to load] are not the end of it, and that someone has convinced my employers that they are likely to be specific targets.

Over the past few days, the paranoia in the company has become steadily more apparent, with things like “Do not schedule any onsite meetings with external parties on this day as entry will be refused to all visitors.” We’ve been given instructions to walk past the building if there are any protestors, checking “at regular intervals” to see if the coast is clear (regular eight-hour intervals should be fine, I guess). A clear desk policy has been instituted for the day, presumably in case any protestors feel a desire to read my copy of FHM.They’re even going to sell sandwiches inside the building at lunchtime, to minimise the need for employees to leave the premises: note, that’s “sell”; we’re trapped inside the building by a howling mob, and they’re flogging us junk food. This is why we made five billion quid last year, and upset the protestors. As someone pointed out, the best defence would probably be to yell out “Yer Giro’s arrived” — that’d cause the demonstrators to move pronto.

Now, in all likelihood, this is nothing more than severe overkill, and next Friday will pass off without major incident — we’re not even in the main offices, just a quiet little building. But it’s all much more exciting than usual: not had this much fun since I discovered the company was founded on drug money [Opium Wars are good for that sort of thing]. And if any would-be protestors are reading this, please feel free to visit us, at 6 Bevis Marks, London EC3. We’re in the phone book…

I’m a pretty open kinda guy; my fondness for trash culture is well documented in these pages and most people, save the odd brain-dead PC-Nazi (a big hello to Darryl Unger – aka “Darryl Pestilence” – in this category) seem to appreciate where I’m coming from. I even happily discuss my trips to strip clubs without embarrassment. However, there is a side to my personality which has, so far, been kept quiet here until now, but I can keep quiet no longer. It’s time to come out of the closet, and proudly say:

I like cricket.

There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it? Well, perhaps it was, as I think I’ve just seen my street cred fleeing down Perran Road in flames. Because, at the moment, it ain’t cool to admit that, this very afternoon, had it not been for the weather, I’d have been standing around a park in white flannels, idly speculating on clouds floating by. The World Cup, the premier tournament in cricket, held only every few years, is currently on, but you wouldn’t really know it. The youth of Britain have not swapped their Manchester Utd shirts for England cricket tops. And the World Cup song has sunk without a trace — though waiting until the first round had finished was a bit of a mistake, since there was a good chance all home interest would have ended. And, lo, England are out, which makes Scotland’s dismal performance much easier to bear. Besides, the Scottish shirts were far spiffier.

This is not a new interest; I played back at school, in the North of Scotland league, which as far as I know is the most Northerly in the world. It has to said, the climate there is not exactly conducive to the game, but it’s one of the big advantages of cricket that you only play it when it’s…well, SUNNY is perhaps going too far (I’ve played on afternoons when any self-respecting polar bear would be tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa), but DRY at least.

Yet you can compare and contrast cricket with baseball, which is a similar sport in temperament — brief periods of frantic activity, interspersed with plenty of not-much-happening moments, ideal for commercial breaks. After a strike nearly killed it off from popular regard a couple of years back, it has undergone an amazing resurgence and is, I’d say, back jostling with gridiron for the #1 position in public appreciation. [Basketball has slumped thanks to its strike, and the retirement of Michael Jordan] Meanwhile, cricket is…er… not even in the first division, by the time you look at football, rugby, golf and tennis. This is despite its current attempt to become hip and fashionable by giving teams cool names (Kent have become the “Kent Spitfires”) and flogging merchandise, doomed to failure since football already has that kind of thing all sewn up.

What any successful sport needs is personalities: cricket USED to be popular, back in the days when Ian Botham was single-handedly trouncing the Aussies, and baseball benefited hugely last year from an enormously exciting chase for the home run record, whicb had stood since the 60’s, between two contrasting but complementary characters. Nowadays, we don’t HAVE characters — well, not in ENGLISH cricket… Which is the other part of the problem. At the moment, we’re crap. Tennis was equally in the doldrums a few years ago, until by some genetic fluke, Tim Henman turned up, and some genealogical researcher discovered Greg Rusedski had once watched an episode of ‘Absolutely Fabulous’. Hey, presto: we’re world class, even if, outside these two, there is an aching, screaming void down to about world-ranked #175.

Perhaps cricket needs to play to its strengths. Unfortunately, as far as I can see, the main one has already been mentioned: when it rains, you push off down the pub. While this seems an eminently sensible pursuit to me, as sales pitches go, it’s a bit limited. Maybe we should just chalk up another to the list of “pastimes we gave the world, but at which we’re no longer any good”, and take up baseball instead. Or perhaps take a leaf from the American book, and hold a “World Series”, and let hardly anyone else compete in it. Anyone know if Canada are good at cricket?