Greenbelt Festival 2010 - 'The Art Of Looking Sideways' (Or, 'Can You Have It Both Ways?')

I’ve just read ‘Consider The Lilies’, an enjoyable short comic strip from ‘While We Were Here’, the free paper from this year’s Greenbelt festival at Cheltenham Racecourse from 27-30 August, subtitled ‘The Art Of Looking Sideways’. The strip features a young man distracted by finding his car keys which he needs to drive (obviously) and meet his girlfriend, who doesn’t like festivals and whom the poor guy thinks is about to dump him. Whilst searching, he is distracted by a young girl who tries to cheer him up, yet only succeeds in annoying him. Eventually, she drags the harried fellow before a mirror and tells him he’s amazing, lovely and that he’ll be OK, even if his girlfriend dumps him. Still depressed about his situation, it’s only when the girl reveals her name, Lily, that the man ‘properly looks’ at her, as if having just ‘caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye.’ Ten years later, they’re married and he never did find his keys.

So what? Well, that simple but surprisingly un-cheesy story (based on truth or otherwise and created from hundreds of comic frames drawn by hundreds of Greenbelters) rang true for me because, good as it was, I felt diverted throughout this year’s festival; almost constantly unable to live in the moment and truly enjoy it. Initially, this was because I had been in two minds about GB10 for a while beforehand; wrestling with whether or not I should go, mainly because I felt God didn’t want me to. I’d felt the same prior to attending GB07 and 09 but fought it, putting it down to imagination, fear or cabin fever through being stuck at home a lot. The festival offered me things that ‘normal’ church didn’t and previous Greenbelts had left me entertained, edified and enlightened. They helped me think about the Bible, God and faith differently (‘looking sideways’ indeed) and introduced me to lots of different, interesting folk. Why should GB10 be any different?

This feeling, a sort of mental pressure coupled with guilt, lessened upon my arrival at Cheltenham Racecourse on Thursday evening but soon became exacerbated when I challenged a rowdy, foul-mouthed teenage girl camping next to me to turn her music (and bad singing) down at 7:30am, Friday morning. She refused, then proceeded to slag me off within earshot as I tried to sleep, feeling like I should’ve heeded that inner pressure and stayed at hom. Later, her friend came and apologised to me in person. I felt a lot better after that but the teens persisted with their inane banter at silly hours of every morning.

What bothered me most throughout the festival was the fact that our group, despite discussing it, never tried engaging with the teenagers, who seemed to have wandered into GB thinking it was Glastonbury. We just sat back and judged them for being rude and inconsiderate, which they were but, to my mind, maybe just needed to feel more included. That said, they must have noticed how open, inclusive and varied GB was and so it was there own choice to keep themselves apart with their own mini-festival. Plus, I think I was the only one of our group that the teens really got to, the others passing them off as just a casual annoyance. Like some sort of Good Samaritan, I felt compelled to talk to and maybe even evangelise the teens and so then, in perhaps a snobby way, show the hardened post-evangelicals I was camping with that the evangelical way still works. Naive? Maybe.

I’m wondering if this girl was my ‘Lily’, showing me what was of real importance amidst the contemplation, alternative worship, noise and nice people at the festival – my neighbour. The outcast. Even her own friends felt the need to apologise for her. That’s not to say that the various festival events I attended weren’t entertaining, edifying or enlightening. I’d hate to make my lasting memory of GB10 a negative one, inadvertently spoilt by a selfish brat. At least I made some connection in confronting her in the first place; making them aware they were disturbing people (for what good it did). So, in mentally focussing on the rowdy teens a lot, what did I nearly miss, only catching in the corner of my eye?  Where did I really meet Christ? Alternative worship group Vision’s Transcendent Mass? The contemplative advice of Franciscan speaker Richard Rohr? The messy, challenging performance by Applecart Theatre Co? The Dodge Brothers' set at the Rockabilly Grand Ball? What about Ambient Wonder’s Jazz ‘Improv’ alternative worship session, which, in contributing to in my own small way, got me a free festival ticket? As fun as it was and as well as it went, I think that I have to agree with our fearless curator Matt, who said that, if he had just been a punter who had seen the Jazz event in the programme, he probably would have given it a miss. It was short on numbers and under-publicised, so it didn’t get much attention.

“Love the Lord your God with all your soul, with all your heart and all your mind...love your neighbour as yourself...and the rest is commentary.” This was the (para)phrase (from Matthew 22:35-40, also in Mark and Luke) that stuck with me most throughout the festival. I heard it from the first transgender (or “she-male”, their word, although I reckon he was more “he” than “she”) I’ve ever properly met. We were introduced through Ambient Wonder’s ‘Spontaneous Worship’ session, which involved setting up chairs in a busy area of Greenbelt and enticing people to join us to “meet Christ in a stranger”. I guess I met Jesus, well, through all those good enough to come and share with people they had never met before (only at Greenbelt...) but there was something about the Bible quote that made my transgender encounter the most memorable.

Having recently met a different transgendered person and was particularly interested to meet a Christian one, guessing rightly that he had had a tough time fitting into mainstream church, as had his transgendered friends. I was not quite sure what to think or what the church would have to say (or should say) to someone like him. All I could do was ask questions, which he was only too happy to answer. I can’t remember the verses he said had been used against transgendered types but I found him to be smart, savvy, and, as he was keen to point out, well versed in the Bible. Some of his views were decidedly off-kilter, such as believing the first man, Adam, must have been hermaphrodite, since Eve came from him.  I guess the Bible’s assertion that God built her from Adam’s rib is just metaphor, then?

His point with the Matthew 22 quote was that we get so hung up on judging others (like the noisy teenagers) we don’t understand (perhaps through the dualistic “this way’s right, that’s wrong” Biblical interpretation that Richard Rohr warned against). Some might argue that a person, e.g. a transgendered or gay individual, that doesn’t fit the “norm” established by ignorant or intolerant mainstream Christianity would interpret verses (e.g. Matthew 19:11) to their own ends and to defend what they are.

Some of the sincerely expressed but leftfield views heard at Greenbelt (looking sideways, indeed) can wobble my thinking and make me feel a little bit thick. These opinions can be of the sort that non-Christians have said to me in jest before, such as my transgendered acquaintance’s idea about Adam, or the Third Way magazine article arguing that Jesus Him (her?) -self was intersex (e.g. male/female sexual characteristics). This strikes at the core idea of male leadership in the Bible (e.g. God as Father, and there’s nothing to suggest Adam and Jesus were anything other than men, well, also divine in Jesus’ case) and goes to another level beyond Greenbelt’s feminist attitude towards the Bible, such as the idea of God as a female force and this year’s talk on ‘Christa’, Jesus’ female “aspect”. When I encounter such things, my curious brain won’t let go until I’ve worked out what I think, which I can often be too busy (or lazy) to do and will probably do in a future blog.

I feel caught between not wanting to narrow-mindedly avoid others’ wacky views (impossible to avoid in life anyway, unless I lived in a cave. And even then, I’d probably meet some spelunker who thinks penal substitution is wrong, or something) and not willingly exposing myself to ‘looking sideways’ and hearing stuff that will cause me anxiety. That sounds like I want to stay safe in my little bubble (not such a bad idea) but, whilst I’m unemployed and feeling very uncertain about life in general; I just need solid truth to cling to. However, I think the worry that these views can cause me shows that I’m carrying a lot of uncertainty around anyway, as are a lot of GBers, yet they seem more comfortable with their uncertainty than me, although perhaps GB is helpful in challenging me like this. Whilst wanting to avoid dismissing the rest of the Bible as mere “commentary”, the “Love God/Neighbour/Self” laws really are the crux of the whole Good Book and the best thing to fall back on when things get confusing or difficult. On their own, these laws are enough of a mission to fulfil.

Squeaky-Bum Time!

I'm a little bit behind with this post as ‘Cold Blood’, the episode of Doctor Who I'm reviewing here, was broadcast  on May 29th, nearly two weeks ago! I will probably review more, so I'll try and keep up to date with those.

Written by Chris Chibnall, ‘Cold Blood’ was the final part of a two-episode story that begun with the previous week’s ‘The Hungry Earth’, which reintroduced an enemy that the good Doctor has met at least twice before in the Classic ‘Who’ series, The Silurians. More commonly referred to by the Doctor’s eleventh incarnation (Matt Smith) as “Homo Reptilia", they occupied the Earth (presumably during its actual Silurian period 409 million years ago...thanks, Mac Dictionary!) prior to its present tenants, the Homo Sapiens. Now, thanks to a big drilling project in the Welsh countryside having woken up the lizard people, they think it’s a pre-emptive strike and decide to fight back by kidnapping the Doc's companion, Amy Pond (gorgeous Karen Gillan) and a Welsh father and son. The first part ended with the Doctor and drill co-creator/scientist Nasreen (Meera Syal) infiltrating the Silurian underworld to find their friends...

‘Cold Blood’ is one of the better episodes of Doctor Who series five, with a strong message of sharing the planet. This was put across a bit heavy-handedly, however, when the Doctor warned young Elliot, who looked to be the target age of a Doctor Who viewer, about being open-minded towards those different from us and learning to share what we have. This theme was rather reminiscent of ‘Avatar’ with regard to the idea of two species warring over a planet, yet this episode packed more plot into 45 minutes than Cameron’s opus did in nearly 3 hours. I was also reminded a little of ‘District 9’, especially by the plot point of a human character infected by enemy DNA and slowly becoming one of them (although not strictly alien here, since the Silurians originate from Earth). The narration by the wise old Silurian president/Prime Minister/whatever at the episode’s start and end was a little like that of Timothy Dalton’s Time Lord President during the 2009 Christmas special ‘The End of Time - Part One’. This is more of an observation than a criticism, since it gave the show more of an epic feel, hinting that Homos’ Sapiens and Reptilia eventually do learn to get along, despite their losses but also at the losses the Doctor himself must face.

This episode saw Matt Smith demonstrate the more genuinely alien eccentricity, compared to David Tennant’s slightly forced attempts, although Smith’s relentlessly chirpy attitude (“squeaky-bum time!” indeed) grates a little, making him seem a bit too cool under pressure sometimes. The Doctor retrieving a broken piece of TARDIS from another of those pesky Cracks in Time was a real shock, which made me recall a moment near the end of ‘Flesh and Stone’ where another Crack threatens to engulf everything and the Weeping Angels (the villains of that episode) tell the Doctor that the only way to stop it is for a “time and space event" such as he to be thrown into it. The thing is, the Angels are also such events, as the Doctor well knows, sending them flying into the Crack instead, sealing it. Yet, has the Doctor avoided this fate? Will he still have to sacrifice himself to stop the ever widening cracks erasing time and space? Yet, if he pilots the TARDIS into the Crack, wouldn’t that erase his own existence, creating a Doctorless universe; all his good work undone by his total erasure from time and space, not least the destruction of creation by his own people as they tried to win the Time War against the Daleks? The Doctor remembers the Angels, despite their vanishing into a Crack, so maybe he would be remembered too? That must be the case, if he can still find a bit of the destroyed TARDIS from the future. Paradoxically, perhaps, in flying into the Crack in Time to seal it, the explosion of the TARDIS is what causes the Crack in the first place? Oh no, I’ve gone crossed-eyed! ...I think I can see a real, bright light...

I’m glad Rory’s dead, his whole existence sucked into the Crack for good (or is it? If the Doctor can remember him and finds a surviving piece of the TARDIS from the future, maybe there’s hope...? Yet, I hope not...ah, that bright light again...so beautiful to me! I have to take a look...) It was hard to believe that plucky, sexy Amy would marry such a mopey, wussy bloke who, I must admit, reminded me a little of myself. That said, Rory grew some balls throughout the series though, getting into a sword fight (from which Amy had to save him), standing up to the Doctor on occasion (with the prescient line, “you’re a danger to people because you make them want to impress you!”) and, at the last, giving his life to save the Time Lord’s (whom I'm sure was well impressed by this). Despite my dislike of him, Rory's death was a surprise that, afterwards, had me wondering about what he’s done throughout the five episodes he’s been in so far and whether the fact that he’s now never supposed to have existed changes anything. I guess not. One thing’s for sure, I’m really excited about the series finale, now. Only four episodes to go…do you see the light?

Ashes To Ashes - It's The Freakiest Show...(big spoilings!)

I'm still feeling a little bit spooked out after watching the final episode of 'Ashes To Ashes' last night, in a good way, that is. I've missed one or two installments of this third series (having seen all of the previous two but none of its parent show, 'Life On Mars') although  that didn't affect my enjoyment of episode 8, which finally solved  the ongoing mystery behind why DI Alex Drake (Keeley Hawes); a criminal psychologist from the 21st century, was somehow transported to the 1980's world of tough DCI Gene Hunt (Phillip Glenister). Hunt is an old school copper still living by the punch-now-interrogate-later school of policing he demonstrated in the '70's set  'Life On Mars' with policing partner, Sam Tyler (John Simm), similarly deposited into Hunt's world from our contemporary one and whose fate this final episode also reveals.

I was very impressed with how this finale played out and glad that I had avoided all the internet speculation on the series, which I think could well have spoilt it for me. Even though it's only speculation, I bet some geek following the show's hidden clues would have guessed the ending and posted it online. I preferred to just go with the flow and be surprised. I certainly was. I had no idea Gene Hunt would turn out to be a closet gay! No, but seriously, the main interest for me lay not in the will-they-won't-they tension between Drake and Hunt but in Drake (or 'Bolly Knickers'-Hunt's nickname for Alex, i.e. Bolly = Bollinger = posh drink = posh bird) returning to the real world, recovering from her bullet-in-the-head-induced coma there and getting back to her little daughter, Molly, finding out Gene Hunt's secrets along the way.

After two series of hinting and teasing, plus the seven episodes of this final series that show Hunt in a particularly bad light (exactly what did he have to do with Sam Tyler's disappearance, did Hunt kill him? What will become of Alex and the rest of Hunt's team?) creators Matthew Graham and Ashley Pharoah finally reveal the answers: Hunt didn't kill Tyler, he was already dead, (in the real world, at least, where we saw him jumping off a building at the end of the final 'LoM' to stay in Hunt's world) as are Hunt's associates, Shaz Granger, Chris Skelton and Ray Carling. Drake is the only one still alive in the real world and, therefore, the only one with any knowledge that their 1980's surroundings are...something else. Yet, up until now, even she didn't know exactly what, or where she was, initially thinking of Hunt, et al as "imaginary constructs" created by her comatose mind to keep her alive.

Alex and Gene's visit to a dilapidated farmhouse brings the revelation that Gene Hunt himself is dead (I got 'Sixth Sense' flashbacks at this point) in the real world, shot in the head at the very same farmhouse whilst still a young PC after attempting to take on intruders, thinking he was Gary Cooper at high noon. The gruff, tough, six-shooting Hunt we've come to know is just the mental image of what that young, idealistic, foolhardy copper thought a good lawman was. As far as I understood it, Hunt then created a 1970's, then '80's world where he was the sherrif, recruiting the lost souls of other dead cops to join him in his idealised fantasy.

 Relishing all this is Jim Keats who, for the whole third series has been on Hunt's case, hellbent on exposing his apparently dodgy past (including the possible murder of Tyler) and trying to displace the trust of his loyal team. He almost manages it, too, revealing the artifice of Hunt's world to Shaz, Chris and Ray by giving them videos of their own real-world deaths and showing their staunch reliable boss for what he really is: of similar age and rank to twenty-something WPC Shaz and dead, like her and the others. Their illusion shattered, these three are almost tempted to accept Keat's 'transfer' to his (under)world. However, Alex Drake keeps the faith in their boss (despite him losing it in himself), inspiring Hunt to draw his team out of all the metaphysical madness and back into the fray to stop some Dutch "armed bastards" in an airstrip-set showdown, where Gene's beloved Audi Quattro is the worst casuality, in a way that gives new meaning to Gene's phrase, "fire up the Quattro!"

The team all agree to celebrate their victory by going to the pub and Hunt takes them to The Railway Arms. They enter, one by one; the open door letting out an ethereal inner light, as well as the strains of Bowie's 'Life On Mars' on the pub jukebox. This just leaves Alex and Gene some touching final moments as we realise that this is the 'boozer' where Gene last saw Sam Tyler, and is where Alex realises that she must now enter, having died in the real world, as Tyler did when he jumped off a building. Rather than some limbo between this life and the next, it seems that Gene's world is a sort of 1980's Police purgatory; or perhaps he is a modern Charon, the ferryman of Greek mythology, leading the souls of newly deceased coppers across the River Styx to the Underworld, or, in this case, The Railway Arms public house. Either way, he has driven his team to be the best they can be, to be 'Heroes' (as Bowie, again, sings over images of the characters during the end credits), and finally, to their eternal rest.

I loved how this episode used prosaic things like a pub to convey the profound concepts behind it. The character of Jim Keats (Daniel Mays), ostensibly a 'Disciplines & Complaints' officer, turns out to be the Devil in disguse as he tries to tempt Hunt's team away from the right and true path (I'm mixing Christian theology with Greek mythology but bear with me). Shaz, Chris and Ray are almost lead by Keats into a possible express elevator to Hell ("What was that?" cries Shaz, upon hearing tortured screams coming up from the bottom of the lift shaft). Keats' gurglings after Hunt punches him outside the pub at the end certainly sounded demonic, too. His team and nemesis dealt with, Gene is left alone, staring into the night sky as 'Life On Mars' plays - "It's the freakiest sha-ha-ha-ha-ow/take a look at the lawman/beating up the wrong guy/oh, man, look at those cavemen go!" Then, we're back in his office...a beleaguered new arrival bursts in, confused and raving - "have any of you seen my iPhone?!" he bellows. Gene opens his office door to introduce himself as only he can (although I couldn't quite tell what he actually said) and the after-life goes on...

It's fun to stay at the YMCA!

 

Me in rough-sleepout gear (looking a little like a Jedi Knight. 

The flash looks like Iron Man's chest piece.)

Sleeping rough has been something I've wanted to try for a while and, with the nationwide YMCA Sleep Easy event ("sleeping rough so others don't have to"), I got my chance, if only for just one night. YMCA Norfolk's Sleep Easy (go here for the official write-up) took place on a cold, frosty winter's evening in the car park at the back of the YM's main accommodation in Norwich city centre, which provides board and lodging to 75 young men. Our event was to raise awareness about homelessness (we had visits from local media at the start and end of the evening), as well as raise money for a new £4.2 million block of flats to replace the current one, which has been declared 'Not Fit For Purpose'.

Twenty-one of us congregated in the car park from 7:30pm onwards and, following a short prayer to kick things off from Tim Sweeting, YMCA Norfolk's Chief Executive, we all set about building our own cardboard shelters, with the best one earning a prize (chocolates, I think?) My shelter was rubbish, so I didn't stand a chance. Others resembled miniature apartments. Initially, I opted to build my shelter between two of the large red rubbish bins underneath the stone stairs, thinking this would be a nice, sheltered spot. I was warned that rats lurked there, so I decided to move further round. Later, a YMCA chef whom, from his accent, I assumed hailed from Italy made a last minute decision to join us after his shift ended and took shelter between the bins. Various irritated yelps in his native language indicated he had met the rats.

 

The cardboard arrives 

(webcam on balcony upper right of bright light)

People preparing their shelters 

(mine is the one with the red and white bag at the bottom of it.)

After creating our cardboard city, we all took part in a couple of games and sat around drinking hot soup, tea or coffee and got to know one another. There was a good mixture of people, most of whom worked for or supported YMCA Norfolk but a few, such as myself, did not, which the local media unfortunately chose not to pick up on.

To add to the authenticity of the homeless experience (!), there was a webcam set up overlooking the carpark so people at home could watch us all milling about or trying to sleep, if the mood took them (I guess this is the equivalent of CCTV for a regular homeless person?) At various points throughout the evening prior to our bedding down, pretty much everyone got on their mobile to friends and/or family and stood before the hallowed camera, waving frantically whilst crying out things like "can you see me, yet, Mum?!"

If viewers did want to use the webcam, they had to wait until 9pm until it was working properly and then they still had to enter a password and queue up to be one of the lucky ten people allowed to view it at any one time. Their chances would not have been helped by the fact that several of us were using our internet-capable phones to vainly watch ourselves on the webcam standing there observing ourselves being all brave for the homeless. "Will this cause some kind of feedback?" I jokingly wondered aloud as I watched the rather blurry live webcam feed on someone's iPhone (just able to make out the red on my shoes).What if standing too close to the webcam that was viewing us, whilst viewing it on a phone, caused a deadly loop and both devices exploded, thus spoiling everyone's fun? "No, it won't", I was told in a serious manner by someone clearly more technically savvy than me.

Some people found webcam joy, whilst others had visits from friends and family throughout the night. I was disappointed that none of mine contacted or visited me. Alright, so I hadn't asked them to but most of my friends and family knew I was doing this and had sponsored me, so it would've been nice but, hey, I guess it added to the homeless experience - how many proper street sleepers get visits from loved ones? This event was all about raising awareness of them. Still, toward the night's end and the following morning, I found myself getting morose about no one calling or visiting, as if they didn't care. It was just one night, after all and perhaps I just wanted someone to visit and confirm my heroism, which was selfish but otherwise, just having that moral support during the event would have been appreciated.

 

"THIS IS NOT ROUGH SLEEPING"

If the cold weather got too much, there was a room reserved for Easy Sleepers to kip in. Inside was a flipchart with the warning, 'THIS IS NOT ROUGH SLEEPING', even though the hot drinks, etc made the 'rough' aspect of the whole night fairly easy. A friend and ex-homeless man from my church told me that one night's sleeping out with other people, on-tap hot drinks and a webcam doesn't compare to proper rough-sleeping, as he did when he spent three months alone in a tent on Mousehold heath, where paranoia over every sound he heard haunted his every step. Yet, the Sleep Easy was more to do with gaining publicity for the issue of homelessness (occuring as it did at the start of Poverty & Homelessness Action Week) rather than truly emulating homelessness. In any case, not many people who have a home to go to would choose to sleep out in such weather as we did, which, if you're actually homeless, could surely be the death of you, eventually. One night in the cold was enough to get some idea of the physical aspect of being a rough sleeper.

 

TOP: 'Mama' and Denise snuggle down together. 

BOTTOM: Elly and Becky get warm (I think they won the Best Shelter award?)

 

TOP: Frosty campsheet         BOTTOM: In my sleeping bag

 As midnight approached, people got ready for bed. Before I settled down, I went inside the main building to do my regular Celtic night prayer; I was happy to be joined by Tim Sweeting and Martin, a YMCA Support Worker. I had been reluctant to ask anyone to join me for the prayer, worrying that they might think me weird, which they may well have done, but Tim was encouraging, "An event like this should be a spiritual experience." he said. True, although I doubt actual homeless types would agree. Yet, we all agreed that it was a good way to end the evening. Afterwards, there was much rustling, jostling and laughter as we all clambered into our shelters. I was not encouraged that the campsheet on top of my sleeping bag was all frosty but I was confident that it, as well as my thick orange blanket, bubble wrap and several layers of clothes would keep Jack Frost from biting me too hard.

  

TOP: Shot of YMCA sign from my bag                   

BOTTOM: Two Easy Sleepers on the stairs overlooking Bethel Street

I spent a couple of fairly warm hours in my bag, listening to relaxing music and ignoring the ambient sounds of talking, footsteps and rustling cardboard and plastic. Eventually, despite all my protection, the cold still got too much and I had to go to the loo, after which, I got a hot drink (ensuring I'd probably need the loo again sooner or later) and stood talking to two or three other restless people. One of them, a Street Pastor (I can't remember his name), had had his rather nice cardboard shelter accidentally demolished by a clumsy late-night reveller who, whilst walking past the Sleep Easy, had drunkenly slipped on an ice patch and plunged right into the poor Pastor's shelter, which also housed two other Easy Sleepers. They presumably all used separate sleeping bags.

The Pastor spent the rest of the night kindly looking after other people and gave me a bright, shiny survival blanket to help keep me warm. He tucked it round me when I attempted to get back to sleep again. I felt like I was Bear Grylls on some adventure, except if I had been him, I probably would also have been naked, or something, to make it even more challenging. I wasn't naked but I was still damn cold. Someone said that, at its lowest, the temperature was minus 4 degrees that night. 

 

A guide dog

The Street Pastor had a rougher time of it than anyone else as, not only was his shelter ruined, but he also had to contend with a a rather protective dog that belonged to one lady who joined us. Whilst bending down to pick up something near her, the dog leapt up and bit the Pastor, who steered well clear of the moody mutt thereafter. I had met the dog earlier in the evening and it seemed fine then but didn't endear itself to me by growling for most of the night once we were all bedded down. Whether this was because of the presence of the Street Pastor or the cold, I couldn't be sure but I didn't really want to go near it to find out. The guide dog above, belonging to YMCA trustee Simon Stokes, was much better behaved. 

 

TOP: Car park after the Sleep Easy ended 

BOTTOM: Bethel Street at 7:30 AM

Finally, morning came and I hadn't slept a wink. Well, I think I dozed for a while but that's about it. I was glad to hear I wasn't the only one as we all packed up our things, the headed in to YMCA canteen for bacon butties. 

Afterwards, at around 7:30 AM, Susie had us all wave at the webcam to round off the event (I doubt anyone was watching, maybe it was being recorded?) and almost everyone went home to their beds. I stuck around, not quite sure whether to hang on for the bus home at 8:55, go to church, or call my Dad to come and pick me up. I opted to stay at the YMCA a bit longer and hang out with all the boys. I joined Adrian, a YMCA resident - the only one to take part in the Sleep Easy - for more breakfast. 

As I drank coffee and watched the other residents drifting in to eat their food at separate tables before leaving again, I reflected that the YMCA didn't seem as joyous a place as the Village People's song made out. Between leaving home and gaining a council flat, a friend of mine spent a short time living at the YMCA, where he was friendly to the other lads but kept himself to himself. It seemed that most of the other guys had the same idea, generally. It seems that one can't really 'hang out with all the boys' if they don't want to hang out with one. Adrian revealed that the Sleep Easy hadn't aroused much interest amongst other residents, who hadn't given him much support in doing it.

I had never been in the YMCA before the Sleep Easy and had often regarded some of the characters that I saw hanging out by the entrance with trepidation. In the canteen, it was easy to judge them by appearance but then, after a sleepless night out in the cold, I probably looked a lot worse. Most of them probably had not had to sleep rough, lately, thanks to the YMCA giving them a roof but come pretty close. I may not have whatever 'issues' they may be struggling with but like most of them, I assume, I'm 'between jobs' (as they say), on benefits and looking for a place of my own. I can't say that I now understand how tough life is and has been for these men (and rough-sleepers) but the whole Sleep Easy experience made me think how easy it could be for me to end up in their situation. It's said that most people are only two pay cheques away from becoming homeless. Along with countless others, I currently survive on benefits, so thank God for the welfare state.

It's been two weeks since I slept rough, my sponsorship money has been counted up and (mostly) handed in, all £291 of it (so far). Thank you to all who sponsored and encouraged me for the YMCA Sleep Easy, you can still do so here and I hope you'll do the same, or even join me, if I do it again in 2011 and beyond.

Please leave a comment or two below to let me know what you think!

Viggo's The Man | The Road - Film Review

Suffering somewhat from January blues and not having been a fan of director John Hillcoat's previous film, the dull and grainy The Proposition, I wasn't particularly keen on watching his latest effort, which I had heard was a bleak and depressing vision of a dying Earth and also featured Nick Cave as a composer. I remember his soundtrack for Hillcoat's earlier film as being irritatingly repetitive, although I held out hope that his pairing with Bad Seeds bandmate Warren Ellis for "The Road"'s music would fix this. Nevertheless, I thought the film looked good in publicity, it had a high-calibre cast and I had read good things about it, so I went along.

I had mentally prepared myself for two and a half hours of nihilistic, misanthropic misery that could well have tipped me over the edge into postmodern hermitude. As it happened, Odeon Norwich had got the running time wrong on their Now Showing board and the film was in fact around one and a half hours of almost comically relentless nihilistic, misanthropic misery but tempered by the pure heart of The Boy (Kodi Smit-McPhee), whose relationship with his father, The Man (Viggo Mortensen) provides the main thrust of the film. It is also the only real point of it, as grim survival is all that is going on in this barren, wrecked, earthquake-rent world, torn apart by some unnamed catastrophe that, like the human characters, is all the more intriuging for remaining unnamed. It's people, not effects or spectacle, that matter here and the father/son relationship is also the soul of the film.

A well chosen and distinctive character name gives the audience a clue about the identity and purpose of who they are watching, imagine if James Bond had been called Dennis Grimwood, for example? Not really a suitable moniker for a globe-trotting, ladykilling assassin and spy? Here, the characters aren't named onscreen (the two main protagonists are just credited as "The Man" and "The Boy"), giving the impression that, inhabiting a world meant to mirror reality, they are Everyman (and boy) and yet, no-one in particular, just ordinary souls trying to stay alive in extraordinary circumstances.

The nameless characters who populate this world don't need names to tell us anything about them as they are well-rounded and never less than engaging, even when glimpsed only briefly, as is the case with everyone our 'good guys' meet along the road. Perhaps that's why Hillcoat uses great actors like Robert Duvall and Guy Pearce to flesh out these fleeting roles in such a short period, in which Man and Boy often question who, including themselves, is really good or bad in their wretched world. The existence of God is also questioned, The Man at one point narrating that "If I were God, I would make the world just so..." Here, the Almighty is mentioned in a sort of abstract, rather than a literal, way. Biblically, God did make the world just so, it was us humans who messed it up and, in this film, humanity is still suffering the after-effects of its own devices. All that's left is hope, perhaps only of the vain kind, as The Man and Boy head along The Road to the coast, not really knowing what, if anything, they will find there. As it turns out, fresh hope and community is found there but will things really change for the survivors?

I liked The Road for its totally believable and terribly beautiful depiction of a post-apocalyptic landscape and admirable restraint in showing us only hints of the ongoing destruction (unlike a film such as 2012, for example), not to mention the darker effects on humanity of a world without order, such as the packs of cannibals the Man and Boy bump into at odd intervals, whose attacks on their prey aren't dwelt upon, thankfully. That said, they themselves are pushed to some extreme behaviour in the course of their journey. The music score is as sparse as the cinematography and thankfully, not at all repetitive (perhaps Hillcoat pulled Nick Cave aside before he began composing and said, "Nick, mate, could you do more than one track for this one, please?") Despite this, The Road has an off-puttingly meandering story as we follow our two road warriors as they wearily plod from one shelter to another, trying to forget The Woman (Charlize Theron) who was The Man's wife and his son's mother.

I have to admit that I was distracted during the common quieter moments by a chattering old couple behind me, plus, I fell asleep about halfway through, only to be awoken by The Man himself awaking with a start from another dream of his wife. Spooky! Still, the look of the film and the two strong central performances were involving enough so that I appreciated 'The Road', rather than be entertained by it. I have not read McCarthy's book but I have a strong feeling that this story probably works better in its original literary form.