Bo Selecta

Boa Sr. Andaman Islander and the world's last speaker of Bo. RIP

So that’s that then. You’ll not be hearing anymore Bo. In fact, you won’t have heard it spoken for a while, because Boa Sr (pictured left) was the only one left who could speak the language.

However, you can hear her sing in Bo.

According to Survival International, Boa Sr was  last member of the Bo tribe on the Andaman Islands, which lie between India and Burma. There weren’t a huge number of them to start with, and their numbers have been in decline through violence or disease since British colonization in 1858.

According to linguist Professor Anvita Abbi, who knew Boa Sr:

‘Since she was the only speaker of Bo she was very lonely as she had no one to converse with. Boa Sr. had a very good sense of humour and her smile and full throated laughter were infectious. You cannot imagine the pain and anguish that I spend each day in being a mute witness to the loss of a remarkable culture and unique language.’

Boa Sr told Abbi she felt the neighbouring Jarawa tribe, were lucky to live in their forest away from the settlers who now occupy much of the Islands.

Survival International’s director Stephen Corry said:

‘With the death of Boa Sr and the extinction of the Bo language, a unique part of human society is now just a memory. Boa’s loss is a bleak reminder that we must not allow this to happen to the other tribes of the Andaman Islands.’

Variations on the theme of endings, loss and departure have begun to crop up in this Blackwatertown blog more frequently. That’s where my mind must be at the moment.

Sad to think of Boa Sr’s loneliness. And sad also to learn about the extermination of individuals through disease, imprisonment or gunfire. Progress – as it’s also known.

But does it really matter that a language becomes extinct? Species, languages, places, communities rise and fall. New developments are able to fill the space. Would it be desirable to interrupt this process?

Is it conceivable that English could one day survive only in artefact? What about Manx or Cornish or Irish or Welsh? Efforts are underway to resuscitate Manx and Cornish. Irish is hanging on. Welsh seems more secure.

To everything there is a season.

(As long as it’s some faraway language dying out that doesn’t inconvenience my own life. You can only take the philosphical approach so far.)

Pucker Up

Lipstick in School – A friend sent me this story. Apropos nothing. But I think it’s clever.

According to a (possibly apocryphal and not even new) news report, a certain private school in Newcastle upon Tyne was faced with a unique problem. A number of 12-year-old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom.

That was fine. But after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints.

Every night the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back.

Finally the headteacher decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night. (You can just imagine the yawns from the little Princesses.)

To demonstrate how tiresome it was having to scrub the mirrors every evening, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it.

Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.

There are teachers… And then there are educators.

(I don’t like that last line myself. Seems as though a meaningless distinction is being made, and that the terms could be swapped. An alternative could be: There are thinkers… And then there are lateral thinkers.)

But more importantly. Bring back any happy memories of your own school days?

Exit Music

Rebus. (As played by Ken Stott.) Looks pissed off. Perhaps he's contemplating his imminent departure from the job?

Synchronicity? Serendipity? Or an unfortunate coincidence?

I’ve been working for a large organisation for many years, doing all sorts of stuff in different areas. But now, I’m a few weeks away from finally leaving. It feels like a big deal. A big change for me.

It so happens I’m reading Exit Music by Ian Rankin at the moment. The main character is an Edinburgh-based Detective Inspector called Rebus. (Sure, many/most of you will already know that, but there might be someone who doesn’t.) It’s one of a series of novels with Rebus as the central character. They’re very good.

But the point is this: In Exit Music, the story takes place over Rebus ’s final week in the police force. His impending retirement hangs over everything like a dirty cloud threatening to burst – over his attitude to colleagues and his job, his thoughts of legacy and other players’ attitudes to him.

So I’m worried that it’s exactly the wrong thing for me to be reading right now. It has passages like this:

That was that, then. End of the line, end of the job. These past weeks, he’d been trying so hard not to think about it – throwing himself into other work, any other work… For three decades now this job of his had sustained him, and all it had cost him was his marriage and a slew of friendships and shattered relationships.

Bit depressing. And then there’s this:

‘Just one last thing.’ His next three words were spaced evenly. ‘You … are … history.’

‘What I want you to do, Rebus, is crawl away from here and tick off the days on the calendar.’

Obviously none of those invitations to be maudlin have the slightest effect on me at all. I’m marginally less crumpled than the picture above. And the outlook here is resolutely sunny. Oh yes.

Anyway, while we’re on the subject of rebuses. Here’s one that was prepared earlier.

Not only does it predate Ken Stott, but also that unfortunate interlude involving the otherwise fine John Hannah.  Scroll down below it for a surprising (if true) fact about Ken Stott.

This hieroglyphic puzzle, or rebus, is dated 1811. Go to the Puzzle Museum website to solve it. Click on the picture.

Apparently Ken Stott used to be in a band called Keyhole, members of which later went on to form the Bay City Rollers. Narrow escape there, Ken. On the one hand massive stardom and record sales. On the other, they were awful and legal dodginess followed. They were awful, weren’t they?

A beautiful Hazara boy, some lateral thinking and Anita Tijoux

15-year-old Hazara boy Ali Aqa, Bamiyan, Afghanistan. (From Steve McCurry's blog.)

Hazara candy factory, Kabul, Afghanistan. (From Steve McCurry's blog.)

The Taliban’s favourite victims – the Hazara. You may remember them. They had some huge statues at Bamiyan. Steve McCurry has taken some striking photographs in Afghanistan. The two pics here are from his post Blood and Smoke of the Hazarajat.

He has other alarming photographs of war and death  – including an arresting image of a dead Afghan solider floating in water – which is at the bottom of this post.

It’s gruesome, so don’t scroll below the item about Anita Tijoux if you’re feeling squeamish. In fact, let me know if you think it’s too much, and I’ll remove it. Meanwhile more thought-provoking stuff on Afghanistan here.

And… This is clever.

Absurdist pranksters subvert anti-Gay demonstrators with a bit of lateral thinking. (From the Laughing Squid.)

Rather than try to out-shout, out-bluster or out-threaten the opposition, these guys just let themselves get a bit carried away with their placards.

(They’d have been welcome at our own demonstration recently.)

Other placards they introduced to the San Francisco protest by Westboro Baptist Church had messages such as:

• God Hates Flags
• Build Prisons on the Moon
• Silly Hats Only
• I Was Promised Donuts
• God Hates Signs

It’s all good. More details at the Laughing Squid site. If only more demonstrations were more like this. (Apart from the homophobia, naturally.) It makes our save-the-village-bus efforts seem boringly predictable.

Anita Tijoux

Anita Tijoux

She’s a Chilean-French hip hop MC. I noticed her on the always interesting Exodus blog, where you can listen to “Partir de cero” (“From Scratch”) from her album 1977. Go on, give it a go. Mexican singer  Julieta Venegas is there too.

And now… The gruesome photo is below.

Same as the top two, it’s from photographer Steve McCurry. His details are here. Again, let me know if you thinks it’s too strong to have on without having to click on a link.

Dead Afghan Soldier, Jalalabad, Afghanistan, 1992. (From Steve McCurry's blog.)

Attention seeking

Please don't invade us! It's manky here. (Bigger version below.)

Writing is attention seeking. You want readers. But there’s no guarantee they’ll like what they read. And then there may be those who never actually read a word you’ve written, but form opinions through hearsay.

Those were the fellas on my mind even before I started. My book, Blackwatertown, is fiction. But it’s set in a real time, the 1950s IRA border campaign. And it’s based on real events which involved real people.

Some people whose views I respect urged caution on me when they learned I what planned to write. Not because they feared it would be rubbish. (Or if they did, they were too polite to say.) But because they feared what people might think.

Those dread words. The book might trouble people, offend them or annoy them. Even worse – it might attract attention.

You’d imagine attention would be a prerequisite to getting published and selling a few copies. But when the normal modus operandi is “Whatever you say, say nothing” – drawing attention is discouraged.

Of course loads of people write prose or poetry, sing or create images related to violent times in Ireland. And good for them. Perhaps, like I have, they decided to put other people’s sincere concerns to one side and plough on regardless.

Now I’m close to completing my Blackwatertown story, brows around me are furrowing again. While I’m worrying if anyone will publish/read/enjoy the book, others are dreading adverse reactions. Will publication dredge up old resentments? How far might critics, especially the hearsay merchants, go to express their disdain? What might be the practical consequences? Who might be vulnerable?

When people pass on warnings to me, I do take them seriously. But living life head down, shoulder hunched is a waste. So, publishers permitting, the book carries on.

And to any critics tempted to vent their criticism in an extreme fashion. Please at least buy a copy of Blackwatertown when it comes out, before you do something unpleasant. It’s only fair.

Ireland - Not Worth Invading, Honest... This map comes from the incomparable Strange Maps website. The map title is "Cautious Cartography". Apparently it appeared in the August 1940 issue of the Irish satirical magazine Dublin Opinion. According to Strange Maps: The map purports to portray Ireland in as unappealing a perspective as possible. The text accompanying the map explains how cartography may be at least partly to blame for Europe’s misfortune: " Feeling that the present unrest in Europe may have been largely caused by the well-intended, but highly mistaken policy pursued by countries of boasting about their natural advantages and attractions, a policy which has had the not unnatural result of exciting the cupidity of other countries, our Grangegorman Cartographer has designed the above map of Ireland, which is calculated to discourage the inhabitants, much less strangers. The trouble is, he feels, that, even as depicted, the country still looks more attractive than the rest of Europe." Well, yes, that'll be World War Two, Southern Ireland remained neutral during the conflict, managing to avoid invasion by either Britain or Germany, (though many volunteered to serve in the Allied forces). NB: Obviously it's all lovely in Ireland these days. Come and invest, why don't you?

When does welcome really mean goodbye?

Feline loving fool - What not to name your cat.

When does welcome mean goodbye? When it’s the title of the seminar designed to ease you out of your job. Nineteen of us were in attendance at the Welcome Seminar, each clutching our “welcome pack”. We felt like extras out of Up In The Air. Which is where our futures are at present.

To be fair, the session was useful, and the women running it friendly and professional. And one was from Carlingford. What more could you ask for? Perhaps I should check out the film to see how George Clooney would have handled us.

So – a few more weeks and welcomes to the world outside, and that’ll be that. I’d better get a move on finishing writing this book, Blackwatertown. (Opening lines here.) The good news is, it’s nearly complete. I was hoping to be done by the end of this month, but realistically it’ll be February now.

Which means that, book written, current employment behind me, I’ll be available for weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs, freelancing, wild book launch parties and promotional tours. Happy days.

But enough about me. In other news: Is it significant that the fool in the newspaper cutting above is a cat owner? Would a dog owner be as stupid? Or worse?

Kolmanskop, Namibia. An abandoned city.

And this post caught my eye – a set of eerie Abandoned Cities from Daily Cognition. No. 3 on the list is Kolmanskop, a small town a few miles inland from the port of Lüderitz in Namibia. According to Daily Cog’: “Windswept sand has made its way into nearly every building in the town, which was once a diamond mining town and abandoned in 1956 as diamond demand declined and richer sources of diamonds were discovered in other areas. Its only residents are now birds, hyenas and other animals.”

Next time: The book is not even published, but already I’m receiving warnings that it could annoy people. The type of readers who express their annoyance in a more physically direct way than writing a bad review. Ain’t life rosy.

Oi! No smirking at the back there.

RUC Hastings Street garrison, Brickfields district, Belfast. 1923/24.

What a difference 30 years makes. In this police photograph from the 1920s almost no-one is smiling. I have another of new recruits to the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) taken in the 1950s where nearly everyone is beaming. Two photos, two different sets of people, two different times, two different generations.

This one includes the father – my grandfather. Charles (Charlie) Waters – or C.E.W. as he was known. He’s easy to spot. The handsome one with the patrician air. (God no, not yon dopey-looking one. Third from the right, front row.) Sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve. The fella beside him looks a bit squashed, doesn’t he?

You’ll notice they’re a serious bunch. I suppose given that they’re in a tough area – the Belfast’s Brickfields police district – and that some of them will have survived World War one, the Irish War of Independence, civil war, pogroms and general rioting – it’s understandable. Or perhaps it was the rule back then. No smiling while on duty. Perhaps Smiler in the back row, left hand side, is actually squinting, not grinning.

I was struck by the contrast between this photo, and another from the mid 1950s. In the later one they’re all smiling. Including the son of the handsome one above. (I hope to put it on display shortly.) Maybe it’s because peace has broken out and war in Ireland is a sufficiently distant memory. They weren’t to know that the next round of hostilities was heading their way in a couple of years time – the IRA’s 1950s border campaign (which is the setting of my book, Blackwatertown).

So the men in this photo are the fathers or uncles of the police officers who fought in the ’50s campaign. They were a formidable bunch.

But back to 1923/24. Does anyone else remember those snake-clasp belt buckles? I remember coveting one when I was small. (Which was only the other day. Or perhaps the day before.)

Perhaps some faces in the picture are familiar. Drop me a line if you recognise anyone. (I’ve posted pictures of some other branches of the family policing tree: Dan Waters & Michael Murphy.)

Originality is concealing your source

Giving you the finger. More like these at J@V@JuNKiE.

Originality is concealing your source. Something I learned today at  Sendlabs. But who can get away with that these days? (By the way, the link is to serious online marketing discussions, so you might just want to skip ahead to the next GENIUS idea…)

Which is why I will now reveal the source of all three part ideas, stories and TV and radio shows. Introducing… The Brainstormer. Try it out next time you’re stuck.

For instance: madness, industrial, ballroom. Still not convinced? Genius, demolished, pier. All winners.

Climate change, crispy silkworms & outside toilets in Beijing

Our man in Beijing.

Our Beijing correspondent MATT STUTTARD reports on UFOs, outside toilets, climate change and why China is not the global warming villain it’s made out to be:

“Beijing is a strange old place. There are some immensely rich people here, alongside the mostly closeted expats. There are many smells and sights on the streets, and several Unidentified Frying Objects.

I’ve recently come back from Jilin, meeting fiance’s family (yes fiance now, got that sorted pretty quick). Jilin is in the far north, and was bloody freezing, minus 20. Dinner was served the day we left, and it included a massive plate of crispy silkworm, which I just had to pass on. They were big fat things and had been sliced in half.
I saw some some really basic living conditions up there too, mostly pig farmers or shopkeepers plus their families living in tiny one room houses with smoky fires that burn all day long under concrete beds. No fridges, no hot water, no showers, toilet out the back… so to speak (a hole in the ground at minus 20 IS an experience, let me tell you).
Healthcare is not what it should be, and some of the children are a sad sight.

I could fill a programme talking to them all about the changes they are undergoing. A couple of brand new blocks have gone up in this small town, with all mod cons, and they are buying them up fast at less than £10,000 a piece. The western lifestyle is coming, and you can see exactly how much more energy the new places use than the old simple existence, with their showers and central heating and water down the plug hole.

I am not a brainwashed citizen (yet), but the West’s criticism of China after the Copenhagen summit was unfair. Nearly everybody here, bar the city dwellers, lives in conditions that most of us can’t even imagine spending one night in. They are happy, but when it’s offered, they all want what we take for granted. They are incredibly thrifty and energy concious on a personal level. It’s the horrible gigantic coal power stations that they’ve got to find a solution to.

China as a country is now the largest emitter. But per head of population, they emit a fraction of what a person in the USA emits. It’s the West that needs to reduce its energy use, or at least change its habits.

Anyhow, enough of the polemics, I am having a great time.

Snow here too. Volunteer neighbourhood street clearing gangs roam the estates. Our door has been knocking at 8am the last two mornings, and we’ve politely ignored it and stayed under the covers….

What about me, eh? I got settled pretty quickly. We are in a nice suburb, and it’s mega cheap for everything if you avoid all the western bars, clubs and restaurants in the centre. Something I’ve mostly managed to do, barring the odd messy night. Been to a few music gigs, found my bearings, done a few touristy things. Mostly living the quiet life and unsuccessfully trying to learn Chinese.

Though I’m trying to live a more normal ‘Chinese’ existence than most foreigners do, I have to say BBC Redux and the iPlayer are godsends. I listen to (BBC Radio) 5live, 6 music, download Match of the Day, Attenborough’s Life programme, movies, and all sorts of other stuff. Keeps me sane!”

Welcome to your new job?

I started a new job this week. This video seems appropriate. (Seen at ComaGirlX.)

And there’s still no respite in the white shite (as snow should now be described) round our way. (Sigh. Brr.)

But on happier notes:
Q: Who’s the nicest man in a hospital?
A: The ultra-sound man.

Q: Who covers his shifts while he’s away?
A: The hip-replacement guy.      (Both courtesy of Popbitch.)

Also (fanfare) SHE’S BACK! – The Little Pinch of Salt. Everyone can do with a bit.

And just time for a quick glance over to Portugal where you may some day see these images plastered on a crumbling wall.

Lisboa / Lisbon wall paintings (from "The Cardinal de la Ville presents"). Click on the picture for his site.