Lesley Truffle's Blog, page 8
November 24, 2021
Bond. James Bond.
Bond. James Bond.
The first 007 movie was released nearly sixty years ago. There have been six James Bond British secret agents: Sean Connery, George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan & Daniel Craig.
Much has been made of Daniel Craig’s fifth and final Bond movie, No Time To Die. I won’t discuss the plot as it would be a spoiler for those who haven’t yet seen the film.
Craig is a terrific actor and No Time To Die has all the patented Bond features: exciting car, aeroplane and motorbike chases, explosives, terrifying weapons, ingenious inventions, cruel assassins, bumbling crooks, evil villains, fabulous locations, stylish women, underwater scenarios and a 1987 Aston Martin V8 Vantage sportscar.
Movie critics have praised Daniel Craig’s ‘humanizing’ of Bond over the course of five movies. Phoebe Waller-Bridge (writer/actor of ‘Fleabag’) was bought in to supply humour for ‘No Time To Die’. However, there is very little irony or wit in the film and Craig appears to be somewhat mirthless.
Ever since Sean Connery left the role and other actors took over, the relentless question has been – Who was the best James Bond?
Let’s briefly digress by examining the mystique of Venus de Milo. Venus is a 6 foot 8inches tall, semi-nude marble sculpture with missing arms and a rather sulky face. The French have been blamed for the loss of her lovely arms – but the matter remains unresolved.
Many artists, philosophers and art historians have declared Venus de Milo to be a perfect specimen of flawless female beauty. But can ‘beauty’ be quantified or commodified? For beauty ideals vary greatly across the world. There are no absolutes when it comes to defining who is beautiful and who isn’t.
The story goes that when Venus de Milo was accidentally dug up by a Greek farmer in 1820, she greatly appealed to those who viewed her. Her nose and pursed bow lips were found to be adorable and her shapely waist and small breasts were venerated. Accordingly, women blessed with similar ‘classical’ features became the acknowledged beauties of their day.
Getting back to James Bond. Is it possible to judge the efficacy/authenticity of the James Bond actors when they come from different eras? After all, each actor represents the spirit of their time. Can there ever be any absolutes in defining the ‘best’ James Bond?
Ian Fleming – author of the fourteen 007 novels – made James Bond highly intelligent, stylish, sharp, bold, sexy and skilled at sarcasm and wit. But Bond doesn’t reveal an inner life, he’s never soulful and doesn’t crack under pressure. Laconic and witty is his patented style.
Fleming’s Bond is unashamedly a 60’s macho man prototype. For no matter how diabolical the situation, 007 coldly destroys the villain. He has no regrets about each kill. Bond usually escapes with yet another beautiful woman – ripe and ready for his delectation.
Subsequently, Connery’s Bond is not universally known for his vulnerability. He and the earlier Bonds were skilled at seduction and idolized for their emotional distance and layback attitude.
In one famous Connery scene, Auric Goldfinger threatens to destroy Bond – by eviscerating his genitals with an industrial laser beam. But even when the laser is just an inch or two away from his crotch, 007 keeps his cool, outsmarts Goldfinger and cheats death.
All Bond films have a stylish ‘look’ that anchors them firmly in the era in which they were created. Clothes and fashion have always been of prime importance in 007 films.
One of my favourite scenes is Connery emerging stealthily from dark waters in his wetsuit. And when he unzips it, 007 reveals he’s already dressed in a black tie and perfectly tailored tuxedo. Strangely enough his evening wear doesn’t appear to be wet. Bond then effortlessly gate crashes the villain’s glamourous penthouse party and goes to work.
And who can forget the character’s exotic names back in the early James Bond films? Auric Goldfinger, Dr No, Jaws, Pussy Galore, Honey Ryder and Xenia Onatopp. I miss them.
I also miss the cutting wit and humour of the earlier films. I loved the fantastical plot devices and the cool precision of an assassin/spy who was charming and sexy but not anxious to please.
Above all I loved the implausibility of all the villains, deviants, psychopaths and crooks getting their just desserts. In a parallel universe James Bond dispensed vengeance and justice that was swift and violent – but always for the greater good of humanity.
photo: detail from David Hurn’s 007 portrait of Sean Connery. Connery was the first James Bond in the movie Dr No (1962).
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November 17, 2021
Enticed by Black Leather
Enticed by Black Leather
‘You watch the white line and try to lean with it . . . howling through a turn to the right, then to the left and down the long hill to Pacifica . . . letting off now watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge …’
Hunter S. Thompson. ‘Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs’.
Hunter S. Thompson rode with the Hell’s Angels for a year and his book title gives a fairly clear indication of what went down. When he voiced his disgust over an Angel’s member beating up a woman, he was set upon by several Angels and given a vicious ‘stomping’.
I used to ride a motorbike until I was wiped out in a road accident when a doped-up driver failed to give way to me. I knew I’d used up all my cat’s nine lives in one go, so I didn’t replace my motorbike which had been pulverized. I was lucky because the force of the impact sent me over the car bonnet.
Motorbikes have always exercised a strange fascination. Part of their charisma is that folk such as: Marlon Brando, James Dean, Peter Fonda (Easy Rider movie) and the eternally cool Steve McQueen (above) had a thing for motorbikes.
Living bayside – in the midnight hours – we often hear a pack of bikies having their own private Grand Prix around the lake. Only the black swans know for sure who they are, but locals whisper that they come from a bikies clubhouse nearby.
Of course there are many motorbike groups who are composed of sober citizens who simply like to ride. In my neighbourhood, the most visible group are the mature gentlemen who ride their motorbikes on Saturday mornings and then crowd out the French patisserie.
With their pots of tea and warm croissants they’re in stark contrast to Hunter’s Hell’s Angels. They have no truck with vintage bikes such as ear shattering Harleys or throbbing, heavy-duty Kawasakis. Instead their pleasure machines of choice are recent model, luxurious BMW motorbikes.
A Ducati owner of my acquaintance got quite heated. ‘Those fancy BMW motorbikes with their tinted shields, heated padded seats, navigation systems, warmed up grips and piped music … that’s not riding a motorbike, that’s cruising in a fucking armchair!’
Prior to owning a motorbike I used to ride pillion with a bunch of university chums. They rode Kawasakis, Nortons, Triumphs and Harleys of the loud variety. Riding pillion was a tad uncomfortable because I sat with my knees raised above the hot metal of the naked exhaust. So I learnt to stretch my legs at red lights. I’d plant my legs on the road and stand, while hovering above the pillion seat.
I got caught out one night when we were in the hip end of town, for what my bikie buddies called a ‘food fix’. So there I was doing my leg stretch when the red lights changed to green and the motorbike screeched off – leaving me behind, on the road in my bow-legged cowboy stance.
I was laughing so hard that I nearly got run over by the cars behind. I knew my bikie pack were mortified. They had to cruise the entire street in order to execute a U-turn and retrieve me – mocked by sneering hipsters in their cool cars.
The guys I rode with were kitted up in vintage metal headgear or sinister full-face helmets, black leather bikie jackets and black bovver boots. It was the boot of choice for skinheads, university Marxists, Chardonnay Socialists and those who were partial to a little argy-bargy. Often their skinhead bovver boots were fitted with steel capped toes.
It was comedic when I got invited to posh pool parties and discovered that many of these ‘born to be wild’ bikies were being bankrolled by their uber rich, conservative parents.
As Chuck Berry put it, ‘C’est la vie”, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell.’
Photo: Actor Steve McQueen rode and raced motorbikes. Vintage Indians, the Husqvarna 405 and Triumph TR6’s were among his favourites. Before his acting career took off, he worked as a mechanic in a NY motorbike repair shop.
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October 26, 2021
All Hallows Eve
All Hallows Eve
Halloween wasn’t always orange pumpkins, plastic skeletons and job lots of candy. At this time of year Christmas trimmings and Halloween decorations are fighting for shelf space in megastores. And while nobody was paying attention, Halloween surreptitiously crept over most of October and Christmas decided to manifest early.
In my city life-size effigies of witches and ghouls started appearing on suburban balconies and verandas early October. Followed closely by reams of synthetic spider webs and plastic tombstones casually propped up on nature strips. One local house currently sports ghoulish rubber hands and feet sticking out from freshly dug graves. And so it goes.
As Halloween surreptitiously creeps up on its due date of Sunday October 31, I’m thinking small children might not be able to spot the difference between Halloween and Christmas. But given that hot cross buns are readily available after New Year, perhaps our celebrations are simply blending together?
Halloween as we know it derived from the ancient Celt tradition of Samhain. It was one of the quarterly fire festivals and marked the time when harvests were gathered.
Samhain marked the beginning of the ‘dark half of the year.’ It took place October 31 to November 1. Folk believed the barriers between the spirit world and the physical world would dissolve during Samhain. Ancestors might cross over during Samhain and visit their kin.
There were many myths and stories attached to Samhain and mythological heroes featured prominently. The Celts liked their heroes ingenious, courageous, muscle-bound and reckless.
After the harvest had been gathered, a community wheel of fire was ignited and presided over by Druid priests. Cattle were sacrificed, mead or beer drunk in excessive quantities and there was abundant feasting.
Then when the crapulous revellers finally returned home, they took with them a flame from the community fire to relight their hearth fires.
During Samhain offerings were left for the Sidhs (the fairies) and the Celts would dress up as monsters and animals so the Sidhs wouldn’t carry them off. Other threats were the Faery Host – a posse of hunters who might choose to kidnap the unwary. There were also the wicked Sluagh who were keen to enter folk’s homes and steal their souls.
The Celt tradition of Samhain was of great interest to Pope Gregory III and his successors. In the eighth century All Saints Day on November I – when Saints were honoured –fused with aspects of Samhain.
The evening before All Saints Day was known as All Hallows Eve and in about the sixteenth century it was renamed Halloween.
My favourite Samhain monster is Lady Gwyn. She was a wandering headless woman dressed in white and always accompanied by her stout black pig. Lady Gwyn liked nothing better than to chase crapulous citizens in the midnight hours and reduce them to quivering wrecks.
But Lady Gwyn was a funster compared to the headless horsemen who carried their own heads. Their horses had flaming red eyes and if you had the misfortune to encounter them, it was considered to be a death omen.
When you think about the mayhem, terror fear and jollification of Samhain, it makes our twenty-first century Halloween tradition appear bland and commodified. And burning wheels of fire, Lady Gwyn, headless horsemen, fabulous feasts and tankards of Mead (honey wine) seem scary and thrilling.
Photo: detail of a Victorian era house brilliantly decorated for Halloween. Skulls, witchy elements, skeletons and ironic details all contained behind a white picket fence.
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October 17, 2021
Venus was her name
Venus was her name
Goddess on the mountain top
Burning like a silver flame
The summit of beauty and love
And Venus was her name She’s got it
Yeah, baby, she’s got it … Venus by Bananarama
For centuries artists have been enamoured by the mythological goddess Venus.
Sandro Botticelli’s Venus is considered to be a Renaissance masterpiece and is currently held by The Uffizi Gallery in Florence (image detail above). However, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus (1485) wasn’t always famous. But after largely being ignored for centuries, Botticelli and his magnificent paintings were ‘rediscovered’ in the 19th century.
In 2020, American artist Jeff Koons produced a massive and somewhat matronly Venus in mirrored steel. Koons Venus now lives at the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne. Unsurprisingly, Jeff Koons Venus has nothing in common with Botticelli’s celestial Venus.
It’s basically a mirror-polished, stainless steel, 2.5 metre sculpture copied from an eighteenth. century figurine. The original porcelain piece would probably have been the type of small figurine purchased to decorate a family parlour.
Venus in her many forms has been divisive. In 1914, a seventeenth century painting by Diego Velazquez, Venus at her Mirror, was viciously attacked in The National Gallery (London). The painting of a reclining nude Venus was slashed over five times with a meat cleaver.
The burning question is – Why?
It turns out that Velazquez’s painting – also known as The Rokeby Venus or Toilet of Venus – was vandalized by Mary Richardson. She was a suffragette protesting against the arrest of British activist Emmeline Pankhurst.
Pankhurst lead the suffragettes in their fight for women’s right to vote. She was mocked, physically brutalized by the police and later jailed for three years, before being released.
Richardson made several statements explaining why she’d taken a meat cleaver to Venus.
‘I have tried to destroy the picture of the most beautiful woman in mythological history as a protest against the Government for destroying Mrs Pankhurst, who is the most beautiful character in modern history.’
Later Richardson admitted that it wasn’t just the painting’s value (£45,000 in 1906) that made it her target. She resented ‘the way men visitors gaped at it all day long’.
Known to the press as ‘Slasher Mary’ – Mary Richardson later became a devoted follower of the leader of the British Union of Fascists, Sir Oswald Mosley. Mosley’s ugly anti-Semitism was inspired by Adolf Hitler. The Fuhrer was a guest of honour at Mosley’s Berlin wedding, held at Joseph Goebbels home.
Back to Venus. Although she’s the goddess of love and beauty, Venus’s mythological beginnings were not celestial – for she was created from conflict. There are many subtle variations on the Venus myth. But generally in Greco-Roman mythology, Venus/Aphrodite is known as a motherless goddess.
Venus/Aphrodite was created after Uranus – Father Heaven and first King of the gods – fought with his wife Gaia, the primordial Earth Mother. Uranus was filled with spite for the many children she bore him and Gaia sought revenge.
Using a large flint sickle created by his mother, Cronus ( leader of the Titans) castrated Uranus and flung his father’s testicles into the sea. The sea churned and foamed, and from the white foam arose Aphrodite/Venus, the goddess of love, beauty, desire, sex, fertility, prosperity, and victory.
In some retellings of the Venus myth the naked beauty was guided safely to shore on a giant scallop shell. Botticelli captured her arrival onshore in Birth of Venus.
The wind god, Zephyr, blows Venus, while carrying a young woman, who is also blowing. Both have impressive wings and Zephyr also blows the richly coloured cloak being held out by the goddess/Hora of Spring. Venus herself is calm and poised, her long red hair shielding her nudity.
Botticelli’s ‘Birth of Venus’ – ignored for centuries – is now acknowledged to be one of the most loved and famous paintings in the world.
Image above: detail from Sandro Botticelli’s Birth of Venus (1485).
If you’d like to view a photo of Jeff Koon’s Venus – click here to see Reflection: Venus in Steel.
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September 23, 2021
A Dog’s Life
A Dog’s Life
During our city’s pandemic Shutdown Four restrictions, I’ve been getting to know my neighbours. By that I mean the local dogs and their owners. Subsequently, I’ve come to the conclusion that only the dogs are living their best lives.
Cats are a different matter. My neighbour’s cat has taken to the roof of the family home and can be seen regularly sunning herself. Blissfully alone. Apparently there’s too many children in the house all day being home schooled, and the cat resents not having a quiet house all to herself. Cats can be deviously antisocial and they are skilled at letting their feelings be known.
With a 9.00pm curfew and very little open – apart from a few cafes, supermarkets, medical clinics and hospital Emergency and Trauma clinics – we’ve fallen back on entertaining ourselves. A friend of mine is developing an intense relationship with her new air fryer.
Those of us who are lucky enough to still have a job are mostly working from home. And even though we can now travel further than five kilometres – it’s now ten – things have become decidedly local.
Nostalgia for the simple things in life has become staple of street talk. Such as meeting friends at a pub for drinks, going to restaurants and cinemas or inviting folk around for a lazy Sunday brunch.
I didn’t realize how much I depended on art galleries, cinemas and museums for regular brain cleans. Now I meditate like a fiend, sometimes morning and night.
When I’m not writing, exercising outdoors or working online, I’m usually busily rereading Giacomo Casanova’s twelve-volume History of My Life. Many evenings I climb between the covers of Casanova’s books. Sometimes with a glass of champagne in hand, as I travel with Casanova in his luxurious carriage. We traverse the whole of eighteenth century Europe, stopping off in fabulous places such St Petersburg, Paris and Venice.
I kid you not, if we are moving quickly – or on the run from one of Casanova’s many enemies – it can be quite a hectic evening. Especially if Casanova has been arrested for various misdemeanors. These include: fighting duels, insulting royalty, card sharping, conning gullible aristocrats, bad mouthing organized religion or ‘pinking’ his rivals’ arses with his sword.
Our man likes to spend, while eating, drinking, gambling and scheming. He also generously bestows his ill-gotten gains on his mistresses. It must have been hard work being Casanova.
Getting back to the dogs. My envy of the local hounds is that despite Melbourne’s lengthy Shutdown, they’ve remained so damned cheerful. With their humans at home all day and daily walks on the beach and dog parks, there’s always something to do, sniff or eat.
Dog parties break out all the time. Especially if the owners are hanging around in a long street queue waiting for takeout coffees. There’s no lonely evenings for the dogs, anxiously waiting for their humans to return home. Life has slowed down most agreeably.
Lining up outside cafes and bread shops is a daily event. Mongrels live in hope that chunks of baguettes and warm pastries might come their way. Anecdotally it seems that many dogs have chubbed up after weeks of tasty snacks being prepared at all hours.
Humans have become more enthusiastic about comforting carbs and preferably anything that can be eaten with one hand. Burgers, pastries, hot chips, biscuits and overstuffed sandwiches are in high demand.
There’s a particularly gorgeous pup I’ve met on the street a few times and he’s definitely living his best life. His name is Hank and he’s been blessed with a charming owner who is exceptionally kind and considerate of his wellbeing.
Hank always has company, he eats exceedingly well – without having to cook – and doesn’t have to earn his living or clean the bathroom. Wherever he goes he’s adored. He also sports a chic winter dog jacket which fits him like a glove and keeps him snug on frosty mornings.
In these treacherous times, many folk wish they were Hank.
Hell, what’s not to like about this dog’s life?
If you would like to read more about Casanova see: REFLECTION ‘Travelling with Casanova‘.
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September 19, 2021
On being Cary Grant
On being Cary Grant
‘Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant.’
quote from Cary Grant who began life as Archie Leach.
I’ve been watching To Catch a Thief again. It’s my favourite Cary Grant film, directed by Alfred Hitchcock. The European locations are to die for and Grant’s onscreen love interest is the exquisite Grace Kelly, one of Hitchcock’s favourite cool, blonde actresses.
Set on the Mediterranean coast, there’s fabulous scenes filmed in the glamour beach resorts of Cannes, Nice, Villefranche-sur-Mer and Saint-Jeannet.
When the 1956 film was released, Kelly was 26 and Grant 51. Hitchcock chose to ignore the fact that Grant’s character was 34 in the novel of the same title. But Grant was so damned handsome, devilish and debonair that nobody gave a damn. Besides, the older man and younger woman was – and still is – a traditional plot device of Hollywood movies.
My favourite scene is when the flirtatious heiress, Frances Stevens (Kelly) drives John Robie, an ex-jewel thief (Grant) recklessly around the cliffs in a sleek, steel-blue Alpine Sports Roadster.
During a car chase – clad in neat white gloves and decorous frock – Frances whips around dangerous cliff corners while Robie grips his knees and grimaces. Then when they stop, she cheerfully opens a picnic hamper and offers cold chicken cuts.
Frances raises an elegant eyebrow and murmurs seductively, ‘Do you want a leg or breast?’ I won’t reveal more – as it would be a spoiler if you haven’t seen the film.
Cary Grant had inglorious beginnings. For he was born Archibald Alexander Leach in Bristol, England. Archie Leach had a brutal, impoverished childhood with a violent alcoholic father and remote, unstable mother.
Elias Leach committed his wife to an asylum, before running off with another woman and their child. Archie was eleven at the time but it wasn’t until he was in his thirties that he discovered the truth. His mother hadn’t disappeared while on holiday – Elsie wasn’t dead, she was still living in the asylum.
Expelled from school at fourteen Archie Leach joined a travelling stage troupe. It was there that he was trained as an acrobat while honing his acting skills and comic timing. Later, when unable to find work in New York he became a stilt walker on Coney Island.
Things changed dramatically after Archie landed a starring role in the Broadway play Nikki, with screen star Fay Wray. He caught the attention of the Hollywood moguls and was offered a contract at Paramount. He was persuaded to take the name Cary Grant, as Archie Leach didn’t quite cut it in Hollywood.
The popularity of the movie She Done Him Wrong with Mae West propelled Grant into the ranks of leading men. The film was a monumental financial success and helped Paramount avoid bankruptcy.
Grant was more than a cleft-chinned, tall, dark, handsome leading man. He was the first actor to successfully leave Hollywood’s ironclad contract system. On resigning from Paramount he contracted himself out on a film-by-film basis.
He married five times – three of them were elopements – but as wife number five put it,
‘Somewhere in the depths of his mind was the fact that women weren’t going to be there for him.’
In the 2017 documentary, Becoming Cary Grant, it was revealed that at one point in his life the actor was so overwhelmed by ugly memories of his childhood that he willingly took LSD.
In medically supervised sessions in California Grant underwent weekly, five hour acid trips for two years. The sessions were hard and emotionally draining but he persisted. And when he died at 82, Grant left a bequest to the doctor who’d helped him conquer his inner demons with hallucinogens.
Grant’s legacy – including the four brilliant films he made with Hitchcock – have made him an enduring icon of what is known as The Golden Age of Hollywood.
He and Hitchcock had one of the most successful director/actor collaborations in movie history. While other movie actors of his generation have slipped out of favour, several of Grant’s films are considered to be timeless classics.
Hitchcock who was famously scathing about actors – likening them to cattle – once admitted that Cary Grant was the only actor he’d ever loved.
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August 21, 2021
The Perils of Netflix
‘If we humans disappeared overnight, the world would probably be better off.’
Sir David Attenborough.
The British Naturalist, after observing beasts of every species for nearly a century.
I no longer own a television. It was an elegant piece of equipment with superb clarity and great sound but I never watched it. I’d much rather read books in hard copy or see movies at the cinema.
One of the things I miss the most during our current pandemic shutdown is the closure of cinemas. I particularly love the few remaining grand old cinemas left in Melbourne. Personally, I think the big screen is the best way to see movies. There’s also the fun of being part of a large audience.
Anyway, eventually I decided my television had to go, as it was hogging premium space in my modest apartment. It was an ominous, black cube gathering dust. So one fine day, a fishmonger from a seaside resort responded to my ad, fell hard for my stylish television and carried it off.
I became aware the fishmonger was stricken with grief. He mournfully confessed that not only had his heartless wife left him, but she’d made off with his pride and joy – a premium, futuristic television with superb surround sound and flawless pedigree. I got the impression he was more upset about the loss of his viewing pleasure than he was about his absconding wife.
That’s the strange thing about television. I know many whose lives revolve around Netflix shows. Estimates vary but during the pandemic there’s been a significant increase in time spent on media worldwide. When shutdown means nowhere to go, TV and carb-laden snacks help fill the gap.
Netflix, Stan, Disney +, BINGE and Apple TV+ are just a few of the streaming services on offer. Psychiatrists have expressed concerns about addictive television viewing and mental health problems.
Apparently dopamine – a seductive chemical promoting feelings of pleasure, excitement and happiness – can be activated by binge viewing. The human brain craves more of the same which produces a sensation similar to the effect of addictive substances.
As Psychiatrist Danesh Alam put it, ‘Our behaviours and thoughts, when repeated over time, can become actual neural patterns and habits that are hard to break or change ’.
Norman Doige (Canadian psychiatrist, scientist, researcher & author) has written about addiction and the plasticity of the human brain. I found The Brain That Changes Itself a fascinating read. Doige has done extensive research on the problems created by binging on pornography and how it can sometimes induce impotence by changing the neural pathways in male brains.
Those who love their Netflix like to share. Often on public transport you can’t help but hear phone conversations about various TV shows. The plots are breathlessly recounted at full volume and usually concern who did what to whom and why.
It’s usually involves deception, deceit, flash lifestyles, deadly sins, narcissism, backstabbing, greed, mean women, cruel men and truck loads of rampant sex. Honestly, you don’t need to watch Netflix to know who is going down on whom.
While finding it comedic, I’m also under the impression many suburban lounge-rooms are awash with the worst of human nature. And fictional characters or ‘reality stars’, are treated with the sort of respect traditionally accorded to our nearest and dearest.
In his novel Fahrenheit 451 – first published way back in 1953 – Ray Bradbury presented a dystopian future where books are banned and specialist firemen are employed to burn any contraband books that are found. The novel’s title refers to the degree at which paper burns – 451 degrees Fahrenheit. Bradbury also predicted the rise of television screens covering entire walls in homes.
A firemen called Montag, tries to reconcile with his wife after Mildred survives an overdose. Suicide is such a common event in Montag’s city that specialized teams swoop in to deal with it and clean up any mess. The service men are emotionally detached and just get on with the job.
Montag soon discovers that not only is Mildred addicted to speed driving, sleeping pills and interactive entertainment but they no longer have anything in common. Their marriage is finished. For Mildred lives her life vicariously through what is known as The Family, constantly screening on her parlour wall.
It seems in 2021, with the increase of huge, flat screens hogging domestic walls, that Bradbury’s Sci-Fi predictions are already well entrenched.
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August 12, 2021
The Zen of Happiness
The Zen of Happiness
Money can’t buy you happiness, but it can buy you a yacht big enough to pull up right alongside it.
David Lee Roth, American rock musician.
To be sure there are people who are largely unscathed by our global pandemic and their happiness seems unblemished. They’re usually celebrities who are hiding out, cushioned from reality in their luxurious compounds.
There are also those who are in the privileged position to transcend reality, due to their eye-watering wealth. A few months ago, American billionaire David Geffen posted pictures of his 454-foot yacht, with the caption, ‘Isolated in the Grenadines avoiding the virus. Hope everyone is staying safe.’
It didn’t go down well with those fighting for their lives, their families or their livelihoods. Times are changing and the obsession with celebrities as a benchmark of success has taken something of a bollocking.
But not all countries are devoted to shameless consumerism and prioritizing individual wealth. The Kingdom of Bhutan is nestled in the magnificent Himalayas. Its 800,000 citizens recently achieved a vaccination rollout of 90% of its eligible adult population.
UNICEF declared Bhutan’s achievement to be, ‘the fastest vaccination to be executed in a pandemic.’
Obtaining enough vaccines quickly was a monumental problem given Bhutan doesn’t have the capabilities to manufacture pandemic vaccines. Fortunately donations of vaccines were sent from other countries and the United Nations and World Health Organization initiatives provided assistance.
There were problems reaching remote villages high up in the mountains. Dedicated Bhutanese health workers trekked for days through rain, treacherous winding roads and landslides to reach isolated villagers who couldn’t make it to a vaccination centre.
So why were the Bhutanese so damned keen on vaccination? There are several factors. For starters, the Bhutan government is dedicated to healthcare initiatives. The Prime Minister, Foreign Minister and Health minister are all medical professionals. Also, the King of Bhutan personally toured the country meeting with his people and raising awareness of the seriousness of the global pandemic.
The other thing that sets Bhutan apart is that it’s the last standing Buddhist Kingdom. Accordingly, reincarnation is deeply ingrained in the country’s culture. As Philosophers have noted, if you’re damned sure you’ll get another shot at life, you’ll be less fearful and unhappy in your present life.
Bhutan’s government also subscribes to the Gross National Happiness. It’s primarily a philosophy that includes an index to measure the well-being and happiness of a population.
Material well-being is just one of Nine Domains of Measurement. Luxurious yachts don’t even rate a mention.
Global tourists are peachy keen to experience the wonders of Bhutan. Fortunately the government legislated a US$200-$250 fee (per person a day) to help protect the kingdom’s culture and environment. Subsequently Bhutan gets less tourists than countries such as Nepal and has been able to preserve the kingdom’s natural habitat.
I once spent four weeks in The Himalayas and was awed by the stunning beauty of the region. Unfortunately I didn’t get to Bhutan but I’d love to go trekking there when travelling overseas becomes an option.
Bhutan is the sort of place you dream of during a global pandemic.
Photo: Penguin Sunrise by Les Truffle
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July 29, 2021
The very rich are different
The Very Rich are Different
‘Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful …’
F. Scott Fitzgerald
A few days ago, Jeff Bezos (Amazon founder, reputed to be the world’s richest man) made a space launch to rival the launches of billionaires Elon Musk (Tesla CEO & SpaceX) and Richard Branson (Virgin Galactic founder).
Bezos boarded his rocket The New Shepard for a ten minute sub-orbital journey into space. He and his space companions went above the Karmen Line, a boundary 100 kilometres above the ground which supposedly demarcates the earth from space.
It was reported his mission cost over $2.5 million a minute. Democratic congresswoman, Pramila Jayapal, tweeted ‘Yes, it’s time to tax the rich’.
Without any irony Bezos thanked Amazon customers and workers for paying for his jaunt. Bezos’ critics firmly believe his wealth was built on the back of unfair/brutal working conditions for Amazon warehouse staff. He’s also been accused of dodgy monopolistic business practices.
Senator Elizabeth Warren commented, ‘Jeff Bezos forgot to thank all hardworking Americans who actually paid taxes to keep this country running while he and Amazon paid nothing.’
Richard Branson’s short Virgin Galactic flight happened nine days before Bezos’ launch. And Elon Musk is due to launch in September. Musk will attempt to outdo his rivals, by sending four people into orbit and back in three days.
Musk apparently wants to reduce space transportation costs and enable the colonization of Mars. Clearly the landscape has changed. Once upon a time, when the rich were lowly millionaires, they aspired to luxurious yachts, buying islands and flying their very own private jets.
Bezos claimed, ‘We can move all heavy industry and polluting industry off Earth and operate it from space’.
But cynical observers have hypothesized that once planet Earth is destroyed by human negligence, The Money will flee to metagalactic space. Perhaps the uber rich will set themselves up in luxurious colonies, similar to the off-world colonies in the sci-fi movie Bladerunner (1982).
Recently there’s been conjecture about what could be achieved on earth if just 1% of Bezos’ wealth was used to fight the current global pandemic.
It’s debatable as to whether the three billionaires voyages into space have any scientific value. Soviet astronaut Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin more than equalled the billionaire’s sub orbital flights sixty years ago.
At the time of Gagarin’s mission in 1961, aeronautics and space research was still in the early stages of development. Unlike the sophisticated aerospace engineering and technology now available to Bezos, Musk and Branson.
Yuri Gagarin was the first human to journey into outer space on April 12 1961, in a pioneering, single-orbit flight. A few weeks later, NASA astronaut Alan Shepard flew 116 miles high aboard his Mercury capsule the Freedom 7 and returned safely.
At the German Aerospace Centre in Berlin, Yuri’s heartfelt, prophetic words are inscribed in the foyer,
‘As I flew around the Earth, I saw how sublime our planet is. Let us nurture and grow this beauty, rather than destroying her.’
Yuri also stated, ‘I looked and looked but I didn’t see God.’
Image: detail from The Future of Air Travel by Albert Robida 1882.
The post The very rich are different appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.
July 9, 2021
Wine Snobbery
Wine Snobbery
‘A man cannot make him laugh – but that’s no marvel: he drinks no wine.’
William Shakespeare
Some time ago I was at a dinner party for eight and it was getting late. The hostess had got herself ossified on neat Scotch as she prepared a delectable dinner for us. Nobody gave a damn and we helped her by ferrying food and wine to the table.
All went swimmingly well until our hostess asked me to fetch another two bottles of chilled white wine from the fridge. But her dinner guests had been drinking like fiends and the only wine left was a chubby cask of wine.
It came in a silver bladder and was clad in a lurid cardboard box. It was the type of wine the French graciously refer to as Vin de table – drinkable, ordinary wine which is not fortified, sparkling or expensive.
Glancing around the kitchen I realized there were no wine carafes on hand. I didn’t want to plonk boxed wine on our hostess’s elegant dining table, so I filled two matching empty bottles with the cask wine.
By this stage just about everyone was half cut. Our hostess glanced approvingly at the wine labels, poured herself a big glass, took a sip and raved about the fine quality of the wine. Florid wine terms were flung around without restraint. She could have been describing nectar of the gods.
Several guests topped up their glasses and merrily agreed. They vied to outdo each other in superlatives. Everyone was happy as clams. But I was racked with guilt.
I worried that our amateur wine buff might spoil the plot by denouncing the wine. He was not known for his discretion. So I owned up. I whispered in the hostess’s ear that I couldn’t find her wine carafes and we were drinking cask wine.
I was hoping she might find it amusing but she gave me a withering look. I was in big trouble. But by the next day she’d sobered up all was forgiven. Fortunately the wine buff had remained as silent as a tomb.
Wine snobbery has been around since food and wine connoisseurs first began describing wines that bought them joy.
Back in the first century, the Roman writer Pliny the Elder wrote about wine but he wasn’t a wine snob. He was more interested in Italian wine regions and the technical aspects of wine fermentation.
Things changed when Grande Tours of Europe became all the rage in the 17th and 18th centuries. Many travellers sent back letters describing the splendid foreign wines they were guzzling.
Wealthy young men who wanted to be seen as cultured and educated went even further. They described foreign wines in poetic terms. French and Italian wines were glowingly endorsed by comparing them to Mother Nature’s colours and elements of classical oil paintings.
The smell of certain flowers or the exotic Eastern spices were also referenced. Wine descriptions were usually romantic and frequently pretentious.
But how could anyone resist a particularly fine champagne if it was presented to you as being as ‘harmonious’, ‘gladdening’ and ‘healthful’ as soft summer rain bejewelling Ireland’s lush green fields?
Contemporary wine critics tend to throw around words that are recognized by the wine industry. These are descriptors such as aroma, bouquet, body, oaky and fruity.
In closing, here is an excerpt from the tasting notes for Riesling Steinriesler 2004 by David Schildknecht:
‘A nose mingling gentian, elderflower, seaweed, mussels, salt spray and chicken stock is about as intriguing as and far from fruity as the nose of any Riesling can be. Sage, fennel, peach kernel, lemon, alkali and wet stone all chime in on the silken, buoyant (11.5 percent alcohol) palate, rendering a carpet of richness and intricate complexity that unrolls in a mouthwateringly saline finish of polished and prodigious length.’
https://tastingbook.com/wine/nikolaih....
Image: cover of the late A.A. Gill’s biography ‘Pour Me: A Life’.
Writer, satirist & food/wine columnist Adrian Gill was known for his unique cutting wit, naked honesty and beautiful prose. I loved his book. Gill’s memoir is a wild ride over the perils of addiction, the follies of journalists/writers and his personal philosophies on life. Gill gave up alcohol at the age of thirty.
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