Personal

Birth

News from Luton is that my sister gave birth this morning to a beautiful girl, Abigail.

Meanwhile, in Suffolk, birth of another kind has taken place. The predominant feature of today's walk through Dunwich, Walberswick and Southwold was thousands upon thousands of hover flies. While other parts of the country suffer from flying ants, for some reason we chose the more sophisticated and infinitely more irritating wannabe wasp.

I'm not sure how Ruth will take the news that every time I see a hover fly from now on I'll think of Abigail Lily-May.

Angels

Purgatory

I know you've been worried, so to update you here's the front page of my local rag.

Apparently The Angel will be opening on weekends again, although the Police are still seeking the revocation of the landlords' license. (I wonder what it would take to run a pub. Anyone want to come live in Angel Lane?)

Personal

Goodnight

"A credible restoration of the West Pier in Brighton is no longer possible", said English Heritage today.

Arts

Album: Together We're Heavy

Jude was right.

I've been living with The Polyphonic Spree's new album for a week now. It's astonishingly good.

For a while I thought the 'Spree would remain a vivid memory of 2003 (especially at Greenbelt, where this picture was taken), that they'd not quite reach the same height again. With Together We're Heavy though, they deserve to soar much higher.

In some ways it's not as immediate as The Beginning Stages of The Polyphonic Spree. It's not just Texans bouncing to simple songs about the sun. However, all it took was two or three listens and I was captive to it.

The only disappointment? No matter how much I wish it were so, the track Mild Devotion to Majesty isn't The Polyphonic Spree's contribution to a Graham Kendrick tribute album.

Arts

Film: Shrek 2

Yeah it's good/funny/easy, etc. And for the same reasons it'll date very easily. Catch it while the world still remembers who Ricky Martin and Justin Timberlake are.

Personal , Website

Naked

Today I feel totally naked.

I've realised the downside of using an angellane.org email address: anyone I mail can find this site, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet.

(I met a girl at a party once. It was almost a cliché: we met towards the end of the evening, and before she left she wrote her phone number on a till receipt. A few days later, I received an email from a name I didn't recognise. Ah, it was her - so that's her surname. Over the next couple of weeks, we traded emails. With each message we learnt more about each other, peeling back the layers. It was exciting, fresh and new. Discovery. Unearthing. A journey. This blog changes all that.)

But I remind myself: the blog is here because I wanted to be more open, and I think it's a true picture of me.

I'd just rather meet people in the flesh first.

Personal

Woodbridge Regatta

"We have two special guests for the rowing race," said the voice over the tannoy. Who could they be? Surely not celebrities; Brian Eno lives here, but that'd be asking too much. It seemed equally unlikely that the Regatta Committee would fork out even for D-list celebs. Maybe the town Mayor, or the M.P.

All such guesses were way off the mark. The guests - "guest passengers", one per boat - were vicars of two of the town's churches: St Mary's and St Thomas'. The teams from the rowing club took their passengers up river, then raced back to the start. "Congratulations to St Mary's;" I heard later, "hard luck to Father Raphael - you'll have to come back next year."

Walks

Fynn Valley Walk

Distance: 11.6 miles
Ascent: 165 metres
Duration: 3 hours 42 minutes

A slow summer stroll

"Llamas," the notice on the gate near the start of this walk read, "are by their nature very gentle animals." Gentle is how I'd best describe this morning's walk.

The Fynn Valley Walk follows the River Fynn (more a stream really) for ten miles from Witnesham to Woodbridge. (This being Suffolk, it's not really a valley either; more a slight depression.) I took the train to Westerfield, pounded the road up to the start of the walk and then followed the waymarked path.

I really can't tell you much more about it. My brain disengaged and I spent the morning thinking of nothing. Gentle.

This walk could well become a favourite.

Angels

A wider angel

The white van drivers continue their attempts to widen Angel Lane.

Thankfully it wasn't my house this time. But I'm still puzzled as to what the walls of Suffolk have done to deserve demolition rather than a small scratch.

Comment

Who's next?

I've written to my M.P. just twice.

The first time was towards the end of 2002, when I encouraged him to explain to his colleagues why invading Iraq would be illegal, immoral and unwise. I received no response.

I wrote the second time after a crucial Commons vote when my M.P. was one of the minority that voted against the war. I wrote to thank him for his vote.

Two letters, no responses. Not even acknowledgements.

So today I was a little surprised to receive a letter from the Commons.

"Dear Mr Bennett," he wrote.

"Knowing your concern over the war with Iraq, I enclose a copy of my speech made yesterday in the House of Commons in response to the Butler report into the Government's handling of pre war intelligence and information. I do hope you find it of interest."

Right. Am I interested?

Not really. He starts off well enough (I knew there was a reason he'd spoken at Greenbelt in the past), but then can't resist the temptation to call for Blair's resignation, scoring political points as the braying hoards cheer him on. ("Pull the other one!" they shout as a Labour M.P. joins the fray.)

No, what I'm really interested in is whether anyone's prepared to say they've learned a lesson here. Were we a little to eager to invade, or are we even now drawing up a list of who's next?

Arts

Hepburn in a can

I've grown to love graffiti. Rarely will a week go by without me photographing another mark someone's left on the landscape: a carving, a brush-stroke or a sprayed tag.

Here's last week's.

Have I been sleeping? Stencilled graffiti seems to have really caught on in the past five years, yet I have a sneaking suspicion it's been around forever.

Whatever the history, stencils have given artists the freedom to be more daring, more contemplative, more imaginative and more humorous in their work.

Whether it's Hepburn beside the River Orwell, Banksy in London, or just a pair of initials carved into an old lock gate, graffiti remains my favourite art.

Personal

Yellow

It's another warm evening so both front and back doors are wide open, inviting a breeze to frighten the heat from the house.

Having the doors open connects me to the community too. (This goes back to my days in Hall, room door open to the gossip and fights on the corridor.)

Personal

Keys and cars

Should I ever appear stressed
about something I've lost,
tell me to look in the car.
Then tell me to look again.
And - though I may protest - make me look just once more.

Because lost things don't turn up immediately
and they burrow deeper for your second glance.
But the third time - when you're about to give up - they get tired of hiding.

I won't be needing to change the locks then.

Comment

Jesus for sale

That'll be the commercialisation of religion then.

Comment

My Pet Goat

If you've seen Fahrenheit 9/11, be sure to check out the source material.

Coastwalk

Woodbridge → Bawdsey Quay

Distance: 15.5 miles
Ascent: 202 metres
Duration: 4 hours 59 minutes

The Battle of Nettle Hill
« Felixstowe Ferry | Orford »

It's the cartographer's job to convey the truth. Map makers have to present in two-dimensional form an approximation of the landscape and key features. At times cartographers seem to take the odd liberty. Just north-west of Brighton, the Ordnance Survey's 1:25,000 map is annotated with the instruction Rest and be Thankful. (No other map shows it, but I like to think it's twinned with the pass east of Beinn Ime.)

I'll admit now that I've grown lazy on this coastwalk. Navigation's easy - keep the big wet thing on the right - so I rarely study maps in detail. Today that was a mistake. The cartographer was trying to warn me. Nettle Hill is marked on the map presumably because Six-foot nettle, bramble and thistle hill was too long to fit.

I eventually made it to the other side of the wood, and dropped down to the Ramsholt Arms. In the pub I asked if it was possible to complete my walk on the riverside or whether - as the map suggested - I'd have to head inland by the roads. "Oh you can walk it," said a burly guy in a chequered shirt. "Just head up this cliff, then cut your way down through the undergrowth for a mile or so..."

I didn't hear the end of his directions. My mind was immediately settled on the roads.

So today I walked the other bank of the Deben from my house to the sea: a walk I've wanted to do ever since moving here.

Thunder storms rolled in as this scratched, stung, exhausted walker reached the river mouth. It wasn't quite the glorious walk I'd imagined.

Next time I decide to walk to the sea I'll take the other river bank.

Arts

Film: The Ladykillers

There's really only been one review of The Ladykillers, the latest film from the Coen brothers. And there's good reason for it: there's not much else to say.

So I'll be boring and agree: it's a good film, but not their best. I can't tell you how it compares to the original, so you'll have to rely on other reviews for that.

On the plus side, the gags you anticipate are presented with such pace and force that you can't help but laugh. Isn't this what slap-stick is all about?

Greenbelt

Dispatched

One of the smaller of my Greenbelt jobs is sending out Festival Dispatches, our occasional newsletter. I don't write it - that's done by those more used to shaping words - but I do get to read it before anyone else.

Surprisingly, today's issue refers readers to a number of blogs, including this one.

So welcome, dispatchees.

Make yourself at home. Click on the "Comments" link below, say "hello" and introduce yourself. Let us know who you are.

You'll find all Greenbelt-related entries over here.

There are plenty more Greenbelt bloggers who weren't listed in Dispatches. Follow the links from this site to find some of them.

Personal

How to cheer up

1. Re-order your map collection.

   Mine are now in three groups:

   1. Non-coast
      (sorted numerically)
   2. Coast, walked
      (anticlockwise from Pembrokeshire)
   3. Coast, not walked

2. Buy some new music.

3. Watch a good film.

I can feel it working...

Personal

The worst

Well, with the exception of the GB meeting last night, that's been the worst forty-eight hours of my year so far. Excuse me if I don't sound chirpy for once.

I'll spare you the details.

Personal

Locked out

Against all odds I was outside my house by 2315 after tonight's Greenbelt management group meeting. There was a chance I'd even be able to type up the minutes before midnight.

Or, there would have been that chance had I not locked myself out.

With twenty-four hour security at work, I knew secreting a spare key there all those years back was a good idea. Half an hour later the key that hadn't been used in six years thankfully did its stuff.

But I suddenly don't have the heart to do any more typing tonight.

Personal

No railway

The most annoying thing about the closure of the main railway line through East Anglia over the summer is that I agree it should be done. The closure will allow remedial work to be done that makes the line suitable for the containers coming in to Felixstowe. (Containers off the road and onto the railways? A good thing.)

The second most annoying thing is that the work started on a second Monday - my monthly trip into London. The work's due to end on 3 September, so that's just two meetings where my journey time is doubled.

Local talk is that the work will over-run though. Suggestions that this project can be completed in the eight weeks allotted are laughed off.

I have to say the free parking and replacement bus service have worked smoothly enough this afternoon, but I wonder about the journey back and I fear I may find third and fourth most annoying things.

Angels

The Quest Project

I've not posted an Angel for a while, so here's one that caught my eye today.

I've no idea what it's like - I didn't buy the CD. But at 69p, I might pop back in the morning. (Besides, it may be worth upwards of $9.50 and there's always eBay.)

Anyone know the it?

Coastwalk

Felixstowe Ferry → Woodbridge

Distance: 14.1 miles
Ascent: 208 metres
Duration: 4 hours 32 minutes

Walking back home
« Orwell Country Park | Bawdsey Quay »

I've discovered the coastline on my doorstep.

Woodbridge sits on a tidal river; the first bridge across the Deben is two or three miles upstream. Previously on my coastwalk I've crossed the river mouth by ferry. I've decided to change that and walk both sides of the river.

Today I walked home from the sea.

Personal

Driving to work

Parked at work today:

• A Mini Cooper, complete with Union Flag trim
• An Aston Martin, including optional headlight missile launchers
• The Batmobile

Has car-park one-upmanship gone too far? Were this year's bonuses higher than expected? Or is there a more mundane reason?

I feel the need to compete. Anyone got a C5 I can borrow for Monday?

Comment

Changing waterfront

The second Ipswich Arts Festival has been running these past two weeks. It's a wonderful initiative.

Sadly, as with most festivals, you can't see everything. In fact, I've seen next to nothing. I caught part of Ipswich Music Day and an exhibition of abstract paintings at the railway station on Sunday, but I missed so much more.

So today I wanted to catch one last thing before the festival was over. Deserting Islands seemed just right: a sound sculpture at the old dock.

The sounds were missing, but it was a good opportunity to sit and look at the dockside again. Standing at the Old Custom House, you're sandwiched between the old and the new. To the left: flats, hotels and restaurants are in various stages of construction. Across the water the marina is playing home to an increasing number of expensive boats while to the right, the mill drones on, pumping out its malty aroma.

You couldn't dock a ship here now, and the malt-house is the one remaining industry. Before long it'll be gone too and Ipswich waterfront will be indistinguishable from so many others: just a long mile of yuppie flats.

In Woodbridge we're a good few years off this. We still have two boat-builders in the town centre, and the flats are half a mile upstream. But they're coming, and soon we'll have our changing waterfront too.

Comment

Green and plesant

Have you been to Multimap this past week? Next time you're looking at a map there, press this button. The map will fade into the background as it's overlaid with a photographic map of the area.

This is the Millennium Map, a photographic map of the entire country.

I'm a big fan of the Millennium Map. You can see it on Multimap. In some towns you can buy street maps based on it. (Including Cheltenham, where the photograph shows Greenbelt '99 being dismantles.)

But by far the most impressive product is getmapping's
Photographic Atlas of England. This huge hardback book is page after page of vertical aerial photography, seamlessly woven into a single map. It literally takes your breath away.

What I find interesting is that almost everyone shares the same reaction. "It's all so green," they say.

It's true. There's scarcely a single page that's covered in a patchwork of fields and hedgerow. Even the cities are dotted with greenery, and when you get to the Peaks or the Lakes, it becomes hard to find pick out buildings and roads.

So when I saw a news report this evening about the proposed widening of the M6, I found it hard to credit comments by the representative of the Campaign to Protect Rural England.

"There isn't that much countryside about," said Lillian Burns. I agree we should carefully look after the land we live in, but to suggest it's already nearly totally covered in concrete is just sloppy.

Arts

Film: Shattered Glass

As a piece of fiction, Shattered Glass would make a good film. That it's a true story turns it into a great film.

(And yes, I probably have been spending too much time in seat D13 this week.)

Arts

Dead jealous

So last night, Jude was one of the luck few with The Polyphonic Spree at the Barfly.

Coincidentally, yesterday was the biggest day in Ipswich's music calendar: Ipswich Music Day.

Here's what the main sponsor's stage looked like at the height of the event. Not exactly buzzing is it?

OK, to be fair I framed that photo carefully, the rain was flooding down, and that was only one of six stages. (The crowd was much busier at the stage run by Gopher, Greenbelt's old site builders.)

Still, I know where I'd rather have been.

On Friday this same park plays host to Busted, then a week later it's a band I'm ashamed to name. This is why I'll readily travel a hundred miles to go to a gig, even one less significant than the Spree's album launch.

Arts

Film: Fahrenheit 9/11

The reports coming in from the USA about Fahrenheit 9/11 are incredible. In the UK, here in Ipswich, it's a little quieter. There are no queues round the block and the cinema didn't sell out (thought it was pretty full).

The reaction to the film though was probably similar. Stunned silence in many places, incredulous laughter in others.

My view? It's good, but not brilliant. It's an easy target in places (for example, when Michael Moore is ridiculing the Coalition of the Willing, he fails to point out that the UK was a member). But equally it brings back to centre stage some key points, such as the farcical 2000 Presidential election.

And that's what it's all about, isn't it? Making sure Bush doesn't get back in.

There's plenty of finger-pointing, lots of reasons why we shouldn't have invaded Iraq, much hinting at Bush's deeper agenda, but it doesn't work hard enough to put that across. Moore certainly raises good questions about Bush's competence as President, and that might just be enough.

Arts

Film: The Fog of War

A biographical film with a purpose, The Fog of War gives Robert S. McNamara the space to look back at his time as US Secretary of Defense.

It's gripping and effective, a deserving Oscar winner. The film takes no direct stance for or against war, instead demonstrating the complexity of the issues involved, leaving the viewer to weigh up the moral and ethical issues.

It's fascinating, and perhaps best summed up by McNamara in the opening minute or two:

Try to learn.
Try to understand what happened.
Develop the lessons and pass them on.

Personal

That was quick

Wanna live next to me, here on Angel Lane?

Sorry, you've missed your chance.

The house was barely on the market a week, for - according to my best estimate - £50,000 more than it was worth.

So the slow-down hasn't reached Suffolk yet.

Tech

Saving souls through spam

The technical side of the message bore all the hallmarks of spam: forged headers, bad capitalisation, word soup ending.

The content was a surprise.

From: "Mack Norris" <ptuazudzval@...>
To: paul.bennett@...
Subject: Accept
Date: Wed, 30 Jun 2004 09:15:22 +0500

Hello Paul.bennett,

Eternity is a really long time.If you or someone close to you has not accepted GOd
please do so tody. The following prayer can save you or someone that you love.

Say, "Oh God, save my soul. I'm so sorry that I have
sinned against you, but I have come home. I will
serve you, Lord, the rest of my life. Deliver me
from all my sinful habits. Set me free! I do believe
Jesus died on Calvary for me, and I believe in His
blood, that there is power in His blood to wash away
all my sins, all my sins!" Say, "Come into my heart,
Jesus; come on in, Jesus. Come on in!"

If you meant it, He has come. If you meant it,
Jesus is yours. Start reading your Bible, pray daily
and believe that somebody's listening; His name is Jesus.

While I may agree with the message, I'm more than a little concerned about the delivery mechanism.

Spam engines have made it as far as Utah. We should all be very afraid.

Arts

Film: Troy

As someone to whom, at the age of eight, mythology meant everything, I was surprised to realise I couldn't recall much of the story of the fall of Troy. Consequently I can't tell you how faithful Troy is to the stories I heard as a child.

That out of the way, it's a great film. Possibly even an epic - lots of lingering stares into the middle distance, that kind of thing. Some of the dialogue was interesting too, and I suspect you could run a good comparison with the modern world; "Don't fight for a foolish king" seems to be referring to the leader of one of today's countries rather than those of ancient Greece.

The film's re-ignited an interest in mythology for me. I think later tonight I'll be digging out Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis' retelling of the love of Psyche and Cupid. (Time to admit: this is the only C.S. Lewis I've read more than once, and the only book of his I've really appreciated.)

One final note, and this is directed at the guy sitting in the row behind me, eight seats to the right. If you have to sleep in the cinema, please try to keep your snoring to yourself.