The Corner - David Simon and Ed Burns

I finally finished The Corner. Much like Simon and Burns' most famous work, The Wire, finishing is a double edged sword. Of course, you want to reach the end, you want to know what happened to the characters but you also want to keep reading.

For those that don't know, The Corner is a study of the innercity american drug problem. Simon and Burns initially spent a year following the lives of the addicts, dealers and children of just one drug corner on a West Baltimore street. We follow the highs, lows, scams, arrests, deaths and new lives of the people we meet.

This is a triumph of journalism. They take a marginalised and misunderstood society and rehumanise it. Don't misunderstand, they certainly don't seek to excuse the deficiencies of this society. In great journalistic spirit they merely seek to show us what is there, warts and all. It is up to us what we make of that. Of course, when you truly appreciate the humanity of an individual, no matter how flawed, it becomes increasingly difficult to consign that person to the bin marked 'worthless'. This to me is truly great part about this book. Forgive me if you think this hyperbolic but The Corner is an absolute good, it is in itself an act of love, for the society it portrays and for the rest of us out in the world.

What I believe The Corner seeks to, and succeeds in, communicating is that 'They' are not the problem. 'They' (the people trapped in this underclass) are us. They are a part of our society, a society that will remain broken until we accept that we are all in this together. So, 'we' are the problem.

There is much musing in the book about what the solution is to 'the war on drugs'. Frankly, this book is part of the solution. We are all part of the solution. If this book helps one soul to see the light, that soul will touch others and those, others. It's hokey but it's also true.

Of course, the other function of this book is to give us all hope. That there are journalists out there that aren't just interested in Jordan's tits and a byline. That people exist out there that believe in community and that still have faith in humanity.

If you've not read it, I would highly recommend it.

Sketch idea and other stuff

So, I've been mulling over a sketch i want to put together taking the mickey out of Inspector Morse (yes, finger on the pulse, current, cutting edge..)

Quite simply it involves a caricature of Lewis reviewing the case for Morse.

ie, Wai eye man, divvent ya knar Morse man, spuggy man (etc) Lady St John-Barrington-Smythe had motive because she wanted the old man's money but her alibi is watertight. Lord Fontelroy-Shalalabingbong was jealous of the old man's success with women but we know he was on other side of Oxford carrying on the Professor (etc)

At which point Morse declares the famous words..."My God Lewis, I've been so stupid!"

We cut to the famous red antique jaguar gunning down the narrow streets of Oxford. It squeals to a halt. We then cut to a shot of the backseat. On it is a very bewildered, roughed up, black man. (ie they're fitting him up). The sketch ends as we hear morse ask Lewis to pull over so he can buy a bag of oranges, or a bar of soap and a pair of socks, or a pair of pliers and a disposable lighter.

Obviously funnier in my head. But what do you know.

From there i was thinking about another John Thaw production which was the adaptation of Michelle Magorian's book, Goodnight Mister Tom. I always get mixed up when saying that title and call it 'Goodbye Uncle Tom' which led me to think of another sketch, a wartime evacuee is taken in by an apologetic subservient black guy in a quaint 1930's gloucestershire village. Not funny when i think about it but seemed nicely absurd at the time. Anyway, this led me to research Uncle Tom's Cabin a little. I've never read it but obviously I know its place in the lead up to the American Civil war and abolition of slavery. I found it interesting and a little sad that the book led to the expression 'Uncle Tom' to describe a black person who kowtows to white people too much. The truth is that stereotype came about more from dramatic interpretations of the book. In the book itself Tom comes across as to me as an extremely strong and principled character, but someone with a great faith in God; someone who forgives his tormentors. As said, I need to read the book and decide for myself but that's my impression.

Dunno, out.

CEG 1995

We arrived at the rock,
A sandstone lip overlooking the town.
Passing round the dying first smoke
We tethered the dog and sat us down.
Torchbulb eyes awe embraced,
The pious view was all our own

Roaches burned out fingers.
Summer's day died and dark
Closed in on my friend
With keystroke in soft sandstone,
He rinted his name to forever,
Etching out his mark.

Three times the leaves have fell since that day,
Twice since CEG himself.
Those words printed for his future
Already invisible.
I searched and searched in funeral grey.
Ended sat alone on stone and stoned alone.

[Old poem originally written in 1997. RIP Colin]

Childhood memories

Gonna try and scribble this down for a laugh merely because i was talking to someone the other day and it triggered a memory of adolescence and that the idea has been bopping around the old noggin ever since.

If you're under 18 maybe you should stop reading now, although having said that, maybe you need to know this more than anyone.

You're 13-14 and you're getting onto the bus home from school after another hard day. The bus is quite full and the only seat available is a double edged sword. Oh my, it's the seat over the wheel. On the one hand this is a good thing, the extra vibration provides a cheap thrill and you start to review the day; how Mrs C was wearing quite a low cut top and she's not bad for an older bird; how pretty Lucy was looking in double english. Let's not beat about the bush here ("no, let's" it says), you've got a stonker on the bus home and frankly it's helping to pass the time pleasantly except here comes that other edge to the double edged sword; you've got to get off the bus in two minutes.

So, ok, think fast. Think about Grandma naked, eugh. But nothing's happening. Count backwards, that won't work. School dinners, dead pets, nothing is working. You're gonna have to stand up on a crowded bus in a second and you've got a trouser tent going on. So, ok the last roll of the dice is just to go for it and hope that the situation filters down to the little fella, that he decides to chill his boots, at least until you're off the bus and in your own home. You risk it.

Dunno about you, but i grew up on a fast moving road. This means that the bus is going about sixty mph which in turn means that the driver needs plenty of warning before your stop. In a modern version of the Cry Wolf story, the bus drivers know not to trust the ding ding of the bell at this time of day. Too many times have cheeky school pupils thought it funny to get the driver to stop by playing with the bell. No, if you want off you've got to ding the bell and move to get off. You've got to make sure the driver sees you in his mirror. This off course means you've got to be on your feet on a bus going 60 miles per hour, which can be difficult. Add in that you've got a heavy bag of books over your shoulder. Add also that you've got one hand in your pocket, trying to give off the impression of sauntering but really to push out the fabric of your trousers so the bulge is less noticeable.

Here you come to two more possibilities. The first is that you're the only person getting off the bus. This can be good as it means you can get right to front and make a quick getaway. It's also bad because when you get to the front, with a full bus behind you, some 40-50 people are staring in your direction. Be careful how you stand, profile is your enemy here. Try to stand with your back to everyone, with your hand in one pocket, holding on with the other for deal life.
The other possibility is that you aren't the only person getting off, in fact there is a queue. Again this can be good; there is safety in numbers. It can also be bad. You're standing halfway up the aisle, holding onto one of those flimsy handles, hand in pocket, heavy bag swaying you about. To your left is an old lady, her head just about cock height (this is a technical term). To your right is a half man, half beast, skinheaded, tattoed, armour plated killing machine. Do you stand square onto them, facing forwards down the aisle? If either looks sideways they are going to see trouser tent. Do you stand facing old lady? I'll save you the choice, you don't stand facing the nutcase guy. You probably opt for old lady, ok you'll probably go to hell but still, it's the safer option. But beware. As you may know, when buses brake and change gear there's a jolt. There is a very real danger that this sweet, old, blue rinsed lady is going to get hit across the face by your erection. This is not good. That means time to go, even if it is one handrail further down the aisle, just go and don't look back.

So, whatever, you make it out at the bus stop and off you go on your way.

I'm off outside to give my car a hug and thank god i'm no longer a teenager.

Be Pretty

Be pretty,
Be good to the cat when i die.
You may not know that i used to lie
In that place in the sun he loved so much,
When the house was silent and free of mockery.
I used to lie there and plot and scheme our lives together
Until one of us should fall.
It must be me or reading this will mean nothing.
It must be me but know that
When you lie in that place in the sun,
I will be the sun's fingers soothing you
With our lost love.

[Old poem I wrote years ago and just remembered, thought i'd write it down]