Question number 53 is courtesy of those funky business boys.  The Nobel Prize winning Mr. Henry Kissinger is reputed to have started a press conference with the question: ‘Does anyone have any questions for my answers?’  Which reminds me of the poster of a monkey scratching his head underneath a caption that said, “just when I thought I had all of life’s answers, they changed the questions.”

The barista in training told me there were several good places to eat in Stirling. I told him I would be here for several weeks which would give me plenty of time to try them all. I told him tonight though, I want a burger.

“Where can I go to get a good burger?” I implored.

“Ah that’ll be The Filling Station just down the way. They make an awesome burger.” I finished my coffee and dashed back to my hotel to pick up my copy of funky business forever. I thought Jonas Ridderstrale and Kjell Nordstrom might make good dinner companions.

The Flagship Golden Lion Hotel is my home for the next three days. From the moment I walked into the lobby, I didn’t like the place. My dislike grew when I walked into the closet they were calling my room and I absolutely went through the roof when I found out they didn’t have WiFi. According to the welcome pack, “Unfortunately we don’t have Internet access in our hotel but the central library in the city centre is the perfect place to go. They have free Internet access Monday to Saturday from 9.30 am until 6.00 pm.” That would be fine I suppose If I were here as a tourist, but not so good if you’re on business. Not to worries though, this would be my big chance to try out the Vodafone mobile WiFi unit I bought a few weeks ago. I knew it would come in handy sooner or later.

I wander into The Filling Station and ask the lone waitress for a table for one. The place is decked out in old filling station paraphernalia – old Shell and Esson petrol cans, rusty bumpers and old street signs. I immediately spot the spicy hot wings and the Bison burger with bacon and mozzarella cheese.

While I’m waiting for my bison burger, Ridderstrale and Nordstrom tell me that “markets are simply big conversations where sellers and buyers exchange information to determine the price of something.” Radical thinking? Or how about, “America’s success lies in its ability to mop up the greatest talent. The brightest minds from China, India, Russia and Brazil and elsewhere flock to the US. Why? Because the US is an idea not a country.”

The spicy hot wings were sweat on the brow, nose dripping, mouth burning hot! And I would have to say they are the best hot wings I have had in the UK. They are a close second to the world famous Jay’s Elbow Room hot wings. The Bison burger, on the other hand, is a disappointment. I had dreams of it being as good as the bison burger I ever had down on South St in Philadelphia. The bun let the bison burger down. The bun is just as important as the burger. They are a team. In this case, the bun failed to enhance the overall experience of the burger and I left wishing I had just order two or three servings of the hot wings.

I pretty much had a quiet day.  I read An Enchanted Life until mid-afternoon, cooked myself a late spaghetti lunch and then watched the two episodes of Heroes that have been waiting for me to watch them.  The rest of the eveing I spent on packing for my trip to Scotland tomorrow, plus a few odds and ends.

Here are some of the photos I took in Oxford yesterday.  Oh, the reason I was in Oxford was to meet a friend whom I’d not seen for a few months.  He lives in London.  We chose Oxford as a sort of midpoint between us.  I decided to take the train so I could spend some time reading Don Juan:  A Yaqui Way of Knowledge.  This is my second reading, but it’s appropriate for the project I’m working on at the moment.

I have an oh-dark-thirty morning tomorrow so I’ll post these photos and call it a night:

Overheard while riding the train from Reading to Leamington Spa:

(girl on mobile)

“I was stressed.”

(pause)

“I wasn’t angry.”

(pause)

“Let me finish.”

“You know you drive me insane.”

(pause)

“Oh…now I know why I’m not with you anymore.”

“You can be the nastiest person in the world.”

Earlier in the week I watched 28 Weeks Later, which is the sequel to 28 Days Later. The original story in 28 Days Later is about a genetic experiment gone wrong. A group of animal rights activists break into a research facility to liberate the monkeys who are being subjected to animal testing. The scientist on duty begs them not to release an infected monkey, but they do anyway. Shit happens. 28 Days later all of the UK is destroyed. The blood from the test monkey turns people into extremely violent man eating killers.

OK. So that sounds like some far-fetched sci-fi stuff. Perhaps it’s not as implausible as it sounds.

Scientists at the Case Western Reserve University at Cleveland in Ohio have released their study of the super mouse they created 4 years ago. The super mouse has extraordinary physical abilities. It can run up 3.7 miles at a speed of 20 meters per minute for five hours or more without stopping, which according to the scientists is equivalent to a man cycling at speed up an alpine mountain without a break.

The super mouse eats up to 60 percent more food than an ordinary mouse, but does not put on weight. It also live longer and enjoys an active sex life (I think they threw this last bit in so men won’t be afraid they’ll become impotent if and when they start injecting this stuff into people). There are now 500 of these super mice.

What’s the connection with 28 Days Later?

Well here’s the kicker: Professor Richard Hanson said that these mice “are metabolically similar to Lance Armstrong biking up the Pyrenees. They utilize mainly fatty acids and produce very little lactic acid. They are not eating or drinking and yet they can run for four or five hours. They are 10 times more active than ordinary mice, and they live longer. in short, they are remarkable animals.”

And the downside?

According to Professor Hanson, “They are very aggressive. Why this is the case, we are not really sure.” Professor Hanson swears they have no intention to try this experiment on humans. That would be unethical he says. However, he does intent to release the findings over to pharmaceutical companies who might want to develop drugs (like we need another drug) that enhances muscle performance. And yes, he admits, it is possible for athletes to misuse any future drug developed in this way.

NaBloPoMo hugh??!!?  Crazy name but great idea.  Tomorrow is the official start of National Blog Posting Month.  The bloggers who have signed up have made a pact to blog every day during November. It’s a great way for bloggers to exercise their blogging muscles and get into the habit of posting on a regular basis.  Unless you are a professional blogger or a massive procrastinator, blogging everyday can be a challenge to fit in amongst the gazillion other things going in our busy lives.  Now is the chance to bend the rest of our lives around blogging.
You can find me here on NaBloPoMo.  I’m also a member of the read. write. poem. forum.

Sean had a nice radio spot this after on BBC CWR to promote our short film Wildfire (which I hope you have had a chance to view and vote for). You can listen to Sean’s interview here:

P.S. I haven’t quite mastered embedding podcast with wordpress, hence the hastily created podbean site to host the podcast of the show.

Enjoy (and vote)

3 weeks ago we made a short film, called Wildfire, for the Daily Telegraph/Ford Mondeo Short Film Challenge. There is £10,000 at stake, so we really, really need your votes. You must act quickly because the voting is only open for 2 weeks starting yesterday. Of course there is something in it for you too. When you register to vote you are automatically eligible to win a £2,000 home cinema system.

You can see the film by visiting http://fordfilmchallenge.telegraph.co.uk/site/ select the “View Entries� tab and select “Wildfire�, which is directed by our good friend Maxim Jago.

Please vote as soon as you can (and tell all your friends too).

Every now and then I browse the magazine racks to see if something catches my eye.  Today they fell upon the latest issue of the Avengers United.  Flicking through the pages sent me back in time.  I was twelve years old again sitting in my room wishing I could have a superpower. I never could decide whether I wanted to be super strong, super fast, or just plain cool like Spiderman.

Today has flown in a flurry of tasks as I attempt to straddle two worlds. My normal disorganized chaotic self versus my attempt at being a techno-hip organized member of society. The fact that I have been drowning in a sea of papers, half-read books, magazines and unopened mail has spurred this new found religious drive to be one of the task focused brigade. It’s 9 p.m. Normally I would be just starting to think to get ready for the course I’m delivering tomorrow down in London. Instead, my course notes are printed; my train tickets are bought. My shirt is ironed and my shoes are shined. I have even checked the tube lines to see if there are any closures. I still have a long way to go to get really organized, but I think I’ve made a fair start.

Imagine what it will feel like to be part of…

‘Gambia 2008 – The Ultimate Personal Development and Contribution Experience’ (Proudly organised by UK registered Charity WYCE)

Learning and growing massively as an individual whilst making a huge difference to the lives of people within the

Gambian community where you will be staying for the duration of the programme.

An experience so powerful that it will positively impact your outlook for the rest of your life……….

Begin to appreciate the enormous sense of achievement you will experience from being part of a programme that challenges you physically, mentally and emotionally.

Be curious about what will excite you most about sharing time within a culture that provides you with new deep insights about the nature of what it is to be human.

Imagine how you will experience the privileged opportunity of supporting a Gambian village that needs our help.

Anticipate the benefits that you will gain from immersing yourself in working closely with four of the UK’s leading experts in the field of personal and professional development. Look forward to experiencing inspired training, mentoring and coaching from masters who have dedicated their lives to helping people like you to experience and achieve more of what you want and deserve. (Find out more)

We had another fabulous night of poetry at the Pure and Good and Right open mic session.  The guest poet was Simon Lee with a cameo appearance by Birmingham’s Young Poet Laureate, Matt Windle.  I attempted to broadcast the event live on the Internet of which some of you may have seen.  The video quality was suspect (do to bandwidth and all) but the audio came across OK.  If you missed the open mic and want to get a taste of the event, you can find clips on my ustreamTV broadcast station.  Check it out.

The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions. – Ellen Glasgow

(click the image for a larger view)

It’s strange to be one day in one country, wake up and be in another the next day. When I open my eyes in the dark, I could be anywhere.

Ruth and I have come back to Lloret De Mar where we celebrated our honeymoon 14 years ago. When we came then, it was summer and full of sun worshippers; now it is a virtual ghost town peopled by folks looking for a cheap escape or to chase the last rays of warm sun.

At breakfast we gobbled down the usual fair in these cheap hotels – rolls, something that passes for sandwich meat, off-branded cereal that tastes like something you might feed to your pet gerbil, cheap pastries, soggy bacon, water-logged scrambled eggs and coffee that tastes like tar no matter how much sugar you add to it.

Later, we wander around the town looking for our honeymoon hotel (we would have stayed there, but even during the off-season the cost was more than we wanted to pay – money killed romance and left her broken body for the worms). The town is more alive than I thought; there are plenty of shoppers, holidaymakers and general folk wandering around the many inviting side streets – a shoppers and food lovers’ paradise. A t-shirt catches my eye that claims to sum up the Spanish sporting life:

A Spanish triathlon: drinking, eating, and fucking (little stick figures out each scenario).

Another t-shirt, one I end up buying, says:

You laugh because I’m different; I laugh because you are all the same.

We find our honeymoon hotel and touch a little history. It hasn’t changed much in 14 years; or maybe it has and only looks the same because of the fixed mental image in our minds.

We pass a church. A crowd gathers to watch a bum beat his bitch on a bench in the churchyard. The people stand and stare, watching this scene unfold before God, with bemused looks on their faces unable to act, unable to turn away. Ruth and I walk by this surreal scene; spectators of the human drama not wanting to intervene least we become participants in the drama.

Another airport. At least this time it’s for leisure. We are finally taking our belated anniversary trip, which we were both too busy to take in April.

We are flying into Barcelona. The plan is to rent a car and then drive about two hours north to Lloret De Mar, where we had our honeymoon 14 years ago. Looking out the aircraft window, I marvel at the ethereal landscape the clouds make; it’s almost as if you can step off the plane and walk for miles into the cloud mountains painted red from the sinking sun.

I read Kerouac to pass the time.

About an hour into the flight, the ride gets rocky; it feels like any moment the captain will come on the intercom and say ‘bend over and kiss your assess goodbye because this is it boys and girls.’ Thankfully he just says fasten your seatbelts, the ride is going to be rough until we get over Paris.

We arrived at our hotel after midnight. The plane was and hour late landing. The drive north took us an hour and half and the first challenge we faced was finding a place to park our little Ford in a densely packed concrete beach town because the Hotel Cleopatra apparently doesn’t have parking for its patrons. Nevermind. We drive around the endless one-way narrow streets until we find a place to park.

The night porter looks like Commander Adama from Battlestar Galactica. He is a pleasant chap – helpful – he tells us in Spanish and hand gestures how to find our room. We toss our bags on the bed and hit the hotel bar. The barmaid is Kat from Eastenders, but nowhere near as good looking as Kat, but twice as foul. We down a couple of Sangrias to wash the road from our tired bones before retiring for the night. The hotel is bare basic, but for 20 quid a night, it’ll do just fine.