NIAGARA

we can hear it well before we can see it
like approaching a motorway
at first an almost inaudible background murmur
that slowly loudens into a thundering roar...
the greyhound from toronto drops us on the edge of town
spacious detached houses with overhanging eaves
stand well back from the street
funny black tufty-eared squirrels hop across the expansive lawns
stashing their booty for the winter ahead
as the roar attenuates we turn a corner
and a sweeping curtain of ice hoves into view
a perfectly sculpted white veil
plunging and melting into the river below
a mist of spray hovers high above the disgorged water
blurring the view
softening the brutality
what must the ancients have thought upon seeing this for the first time?
surely they must have believed they had reached the edge of the world?
niagara
niagara
a vision of the edge of the world
the sound of god's wrath and fury...
our passports are stamped as we cross the frontier to the us
a long low bridge straddles the turbulent waters to goat island
hemmed in between the calm serenity of the canadian horseshoe
and the raw violence of the american falls
as we cross the river
we pass a young girl with long hair
dressed in a grey duffel coat
she stands on the bridge staring out over the water
up close
the tumbling torrent is nature in all her raw power
over the centuries
many a daredevil has risked or sacrificed his life
launching himself in a barrel
over this vertigo-inducing precipice...
as we retrace our steps
and recross the bridge from goat island
we suddenly hear the scream of sirens
see the flash of blue lights
as if we have inadvertently stepped into a scene
from a hollywood action movie
a patrol car draws up and a cop gets out
'did ya see a girl on the bridge?'
a girl?
on the bridge?
our minds rewind the action
like a movie camera
spinning back through the scenes
a girl
on the bridge
oh god!
now a middle-aged couple come running up to us
all red-faced and out of breath
'we saw her! we saw her!' the woman says
'she just climbed over the top and jumped!'
the lady seems excited
almost thrilled
like she's just met the president or something...
we walk away
disgusted
inconsolable
we can no more turn back time
than we can turn off the niagara falls
later in my dreams
i see the girl in the duffel coat again
she lies face upwards
eyes closed
long brown hair flowing
floating serenely
just under the surface of the water
as her body slides over the edge of the falls
her serenity is her protection
she lands effortlessly at the bottom
slipping into the foam with barely a ripple
emerging from the fray
and continuing on her way to a new country
to a new life...

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CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

i wake up at the crack of dawn
with a woodle in my bed
a small perfectly-formed five year old
who can't be persuaded to stay just across the room
in her own perfectly servicable little bunk
even on those rare occasions
we can get the woodle off to sleep in her own bed
at some point in the middle of the night
she'll come crawling back in with us
like a puppy
oh i love watching the warm soft sleeping woodle
hands clasped together just like when she was tiny
all puckered up lips
and chipmunk cheeks
funny little snorts and groans
woodly is delicious to snuggle up against
but a lot less fun to sleep next to
on account of her nocturnal performances
which consist of endless tossing and turning
crowding one of us into a tight corner
and culminate in repeated kicking off of the duvet
which is ok for her in her warm pyjamas
but not for me shivering in just my boxer shorts
(cor blimey - secrets of the bedroom!)
apparently in korea it's quite normal
for young children to sleep in their parents' bed
until they are six or seven
i guess i should stop complaining
make the most of this father-daughter closeness
as one day in the future
the woodle will want nothing to do with us at bedtime
and in just a week
woodle and mummy will fly to sk for a month
leaving me with a whole bed to myself
be careful what you wish for...
as woodle and mummy sleep on
i migrate next door to the boxy L-shaped room
that nobody, including me, quite knows what to call any more
back when we were kids it was the play room
during the early musical experiments of my teenage years
it became the music room
a term now fallen into disuse
either the studio or the computer room
usually seems to win out
i sometimes refer to it as the office room
or even laughably as 'my office'
as it houses the desktop massage center
and it's the quietest habitable room in the house
although this fails to take account
of the interloping mrs fireseed
and her habit of installing herself for long periods
not to mention the woodle
who sometimes gets to watch a dvd
watch korean cartoons on the internet
or cover the floor with play-doh...
outside the window onto the street
another chilly july morning dawns
roofs of parked cars are wet with dew
windows of houses are closed tightly shut
the drizzle has held off
but the sky is painted a stubborn grey
welcome to england in high summer
an uncertain collage of overcast skies
showers
windy gusts
and patchy sunshine
the chilly early mornings and evenings
hold the population to ransom
so different from those sweaty korean summers
where dawn and dusk are warm and balmy
and the best time to be out n about
free of the sun's unforgiving glare
and the unremitting daytime humidity
how i used to long for temperate england
be careful what you wish for...
english weather is one thing
that poor mrs f just can't get accustomed to
she sits there disconsolately
permanently wrapped up in longjohns
winter jumper and fleece or coat...
slam!
a car door cuts bluntly through the silence
the day's first commuter has scuttled out of house
and into metal box without me even noticing
he lights up and speeds away
through still slumbering streets
a few sleepy-looking students wander past
lost in dreamy i-pod soundcsapes
it's time for me to unfurl my mat
unfold my limbs
and essay some yoga posies

f
x

KNIVES OUT

CERTAINTY #2

did any of you seeds catch last nite's document tree on c4?
the qur'an by anthony thomas
a rare uninterrupted couple of hours
in front of the goggle box for fireseed
but mmmm...a real eye-opener!
the qur'an
the recitation...
first off i now know where that apostrophy goes
second off i've learnt how to actually pronounce the word
'koor-ahn' rather than 'koo-rahn'
hence the position of the apostrophy...
a few other things i learnt:
the qur'an is the word of god
as dicatated by the angel gabriel to the prophet mohammed
but mohammed never wrote anything down
he memorised what he had been told and passed it on to his scribes
the text of the qur'an has no real beginning, middle, or end
its structure is nonlinear like a web
jesus gets more mentions than mohammed
jesus is believed to be the son of mary but not of god
as distinct from christianity
though he is a prophet
the virgin mary is the most respected woman in the book
abraham is the father of both arab and jewish nations
in fact the qur'an shares much in common
with the torah and old testament
more muslims have been killed by other muslims
in internecine warfare between the sunni and shia factions
than by those of other faiths
the sunni-shia schism is reminiscent
of the catholic-protestant-orthodox divide
sunnis believe each muslim has his own direct relationship with god
while shias believe ordinary people cannot access god directly
but only through an interpreting intermediary
a cleric such as an imam
sunnis allow no visual representation or description of god
shias believe in a divine successor to the prophet mohammed
his son-in-law imam ali who assumed leadership of the faith
the shias accuse the sunnis of falsifying the qur'an
then there are the sufis
the 'whirling dervishes'
explorers of the mystical dimension of islam
saudi arabian islam represents a paradox
although saudis are sunnis
a clerical hierarchy has emerged there known as wahabism
which bears similarity with shia iran
iran has the most per capita executions in the world
including the death penalty for possessing alcohol
nowhere in the qur'an does it say that women must cover their faces
the wording appears to be ambiguous
the role of women
the legitimacy of violence and taking up arms
these both seem open to interpretation
although the qur'an is written in arabic
controversial recent studies by a german scholar called luxenburg
suggest that an understanding of aramaic
the principal language of the middle east at the time of jesus
reveals new meanings of the qur'an previously overlooked
due to various nuances and subtleties of meaning
caused by the presence or absence of punctuation marks
luxenberg has been dismissed as a european orientalist...
all of this and more left my head spinning
what to make of it?
most of the programme's contributors
spoke with utter conviction
it brings us back again to that word 'certainty'
in common with other major belief systems n philosophies
christianity
judiasm
buddhism
the important thing to my mind
as a closing commentator said
is that the qur'an offers not dictums but guidance
it sets out a framework of challenges and choices
that invites us to reflect carefully
to think again
and to keep thinking and questioning
in search of truth
it is a creative companion
it sheds light on a complex world
without such guidance and discipline
we humans can easily go astray
lose connection with morals and values
lose respect for ourselves and others
until anything goes!
an atheistic culture
one that turns its back on this kind of light
is a culture in trouble

A NOBLE BREED

eight thousand years ago
my image decorated the walls of ancient caves
i was the cherished companion of arabian princes
i rode on their camels
wore their lucky charms
was invited to share their nomadic tents
my likeness was etched on the walls of their tombs
i thrilled my masters with my swiftness and grace
the pharaohs rated me first among all beasts
my popularity endured and steadily spread
eastwards through persia
to russia and india
westwards through greece
to imperial rome
and onwards to the shores of britain and ireland
accounts of me grace the pages of the bible
and later the canterbury tales
i was revered and honoured by the saxon kings
i snapped at the tender heels of moorland hares
king canute decreed that no commoner could own me
on pain of severe punishment
king john exchanged a castle to purchase me
my value exceeded that of a serf
and punishment for causing my death was capital
i decorated coats of arms
an enduring sign of purity and ancient lineage
i symbolised power
i represented pageantry and majesty
henry vii adopted me as his standard
i ran for elizabeth i in the sport of queens
i am altogether a noble breed

WEOLEY INTERESTING

history lurks all around
skulking beneath the surface of everyday life
concealed in place name
manifest in building
sketched in ruin
buried under housing estate
reflected in right of way
carved into topography
hiding in tree and pond and hedgerow
flowing through stream and culvert...
i grew up completely unaware
that just a mile down the road
stood a bona fide mediaeval monument
a moated fortified manor house
known as weoley castle
which appeared in the doomsday book in 1086
but has lain in ruins
since the seventeenth century
the site is only open to the modern peasant one day a year
nearby steet names reveal the mediaeval powermongers
former feudal lords and rich merchants
descendents of the norman aristocracy
the de paganels
the de somerys
the jervoises
the bottetourts
rumour has it
that parts of the walls were carted off
to build the nearby pub
the stonehouse arms
an early example of recycling
or rather reusing
a woman demonstrates the food of the era
the hoi polloi of course were pretty much vegetarian
a bowl of peasant pottage
consists of barley, leek and onion
only the posh nobles get a bit of beef mixed in
in feudal times
the peasants waited for their leftovers like dogs
while the nobles scoffed down their grub
lives were nasty, brutish and short
like those of some inner-city kids today
we watch a recreation of a sword fight
two armour-clad knights
sweating it out under some rare summer sun
six hundred years later
some things haven't changed all that much
as i gorp i start thinking
some of that armour might come in useful
out on the mean streets...

LETTER TO THE TIMES

Dear Sirs

It was with dismay that I read Peter Wilbey's article 'Publish and be damned' in The Guardian of Monday July 7, in which he describes how The Times has threatened Media Lens with legal and police action after it posted extracts from an email from Bronwen Maddox on its website without permission and urged readers to respond.

For a number of years, Media Lens, a small, modestly-resourced media watchdog, has held the liberal press to account with unflinching honesty, compassion and integrity, recently winning an award from the Gandhi Foundation. Indeed, in its latest 'media alert', Media Lens was moved to make a strong case for more rigorous and accurate media reporting on Iran precisely because that country is now at risk of potentially catastrophic attack by Western military forces.

Media Lens has always urged its readers to adopt a polite and constructive tone in correspondence with journalists. It is certainly unfortunate that a small number of individuals appear to have ignored that advice on this occasion but surely the newspaper's response is entirely disproportionate: in no way can a few unpleasant emails be balanced against the fate of an entire nation.

I strongly urge The Times to retract its threats towards Media Lens and to concentrate on the serious business of accurate and impartial news coverage. Media Lens has clearly demonstrated that on this occasion The Times has been found wanting.

Yours faithfully

Mr F Seed
Selly Oak
Birmingham

VULTURE CULTURE (FIRESEED ON HIS SOAPBOX)

four young men
lie murdered on the streets of london
in the pools of congealed blood
that poured from their dagger wounds
latterday montagues and capulets
teenage protaganists straight out of westside story
a nation cries out why?
why are these kids knifing each other to death
in modern britain?
politicians wring their hands
and bemoan the absence of fatherly role models
parents demand metal detectors in schools
and stiffer punishments for offenders
youths say they need knives to protect themselves
everyone chants it like a mantra:
'there are no easy fixes'
so what is going on?
it's difficult to make sense of things
when you're in a state of denial
when the truth is too painful to face up to
but i reckon we have some facing up to do
what turns a young man or woman
living in a prosperous western country like ours
into a killer?
what context could possibly nurture these mean streets?
those streets of london paved with gold
one view of culture conceptualises
an almost infinitessimal number of human interactions
many of them brief, remote, second-hand
a word spoken
a meaning conveyed
a look interpreted
a purpose deduced
a nuance gleaned...
gradually
over time and experience
the sum of all these little interactions creates a culture
an accepted or typical way of behaving
a common way of going about things
to act differently
particularly as a youngster
is to risk being shunned
viewed as an oddball
treated as an outcast or an undesirable...
within a mainstream culture
sometimes a counterculture can develop and break away
as did the hippy and radical culture in the late sixties
as the bombs reigned down on vietnam
and hallucinogens became common currency
or sometimes subcultures develop
cultures within a culture...
so what are the characteristics of our cultural mainstream?
what kind of interactions stand out
and what values do they promote to the young?
'two for the price of one...
buy now, pay later...
you ain't nothing without the latest (internet camera psp player mobile phone gizmo)'
message?
all of the following are good:
consumption
greed
obsolescence
throw-away
getting what you want - now!...
'outtatheway motherf***er!'
gangsta rap
hollywood blockbusters
violent computer games
meat-eating
new clear weapons
'bomb saddam and crush the taliban'
message?
brute physical power and violence is not only acceptable
it's cool...
'reach for the stars'
'pop idol'
beckham's perfect pecs and enlarged genetalia
staring at you from a giant billboard
jordan's reconstructed and barely contained boobs
splashed across the front page
message?
celebrity, beauty and fame is the be-all n end-all...
you want uncool in today's britain?
i can offer ya any number of qualities
not generally associated with stabbing someone
thrift
frugality
self-control
self-restraint
humility
compassion
altruism
selflessness
generosity
gentleness
patience
...need i go on?
a moral crisis?
a spiritual vacuum?
you bet boyo!
there's a vulture culture out there
and it's coming to a place near you!

TALENT SCOUT

the lot of a creative
must be a lonely n exhausting one
imagine having to sit there
day in day out
continuously pouring forth original ideas
like a fountainhead
like roald dahl in the shed at the bottom of his garden
tapping out amazing stories on his old olivetti
there may be a few who can do it
the types who can turn the creative muse on and off at will
like a faucet
or who have tapped the wells of unbridled creativity
but what hope for the rest of us?
well i'll let you into a secret, my seedlets
maybe creativity ain't the be-all and end-all
or even the holdall after all
maybe there's a more important aptitude
i'll call it talent scouting...
just think about it
consider one person sitting there generating ideas
just how much inspiration can that one individual have
compared with the whole vast caboodle of human civilization
past n present?
see that's where the talent scout's role comes in
the talent scout is ever alert
always watchful
always with an eye or ear out
for something interesting or useful
the talent scout's antennae are fully functional
the talent scout is lucky
by that i mean prepared for opportunities
a talent scout makes good use of a few simple but crucial tools
for capturing, storing n retrieving ideas:
a small notebook
a dictaphone
a snap camera
a shorthand system
but what kind of talent are we talking about here?
you may well ask
by talent i'm referring to a fragment of potential
however tiny and undeveloped
however unpolished or rough around the edges
talent can be:
a concept
a phrase
a metaphor
a rhyming couplet
a spoonerism
a pallindrome
an axiom
a quotation
a story
a parable
a title
an image
a sound
a texture
a movement
a gesture
a look
a tune
a rhythm
a riff
a refrain
an emotion
a gestalt
an atmosphere
and much else besides
talent can be concrete or abstract
crude or refined
talent can be complete and perfectly formed
a mere spark
a seminal idea
or anything on a continuum in between
my notebook is nearly empty of original thought
but chock full of talent
of course a lot of talent falls by the wayside
just like in life
it's all about the zeitgeist
the right time
the right place
the right people
and the talent to match
take punk rock in new york and london in 1976...
a favourite trick of mine is to borrow chord progressions
once i nicked pretty much the complete chords to a song
not to mention the basic rhythm
(ed: which song was that?
fireseed: now that would be telling!)
i write a completely new melody and lyrics
and publish the song as my own
which of course it essentially was
why did i do that?
because these chords had talent
they demanded an alternative melody
they were just too versatile to limit to one song...
tonight i am listening to a guy on the radio
he did the sound effects for the star wars trilogy
the light sabres
darth vadar's scary breathing
and more recently a load of stuff for wall-e
well he explains how a lot of his sounds are objets trouves
found objects
chance encounters
the thing is
this guy is prepared
he never goes anywhere without a mike n tape machine
so when he hears a sound
befitting a jedi spacecraft changing gear
he is ready and waiting to commit it to tape
he is constantly scouting for talent
so that's what i am
pilferer
pickpocket
common thief
talent scout

CATCH MY DRIFT

a patch of blue
haloed in a golden fleece
breaks courageously through the slate grey cloud
after several weeks of letting go of my focus
of letting it float adrift from its moorings
i struggle to rein it back in
i have made a commitment
i am due to give a business presentation
in the august surroundings of the bmi
(birmingham & midland institute)
the audience is a bit of a mystery
but likely to feature a few fellow starter-uppers
i set up my laptop and get to work
struggling to pull together the threads
of what i want to say to these sceptical strangers
doubtful of my ability to speak from prompts
i script the message word for word
i start with some guidelines:
Simple
Unexpected
Concrete
Credible
Emotional
StorieS
i factor in my two-metre-high banner
which will act as a visual hook
at first i can't see the wood for the trees
but once i get going i get going
for starters
i introduce the simple three-pronged message
which i will be repeating throughout:
save money
help the planet
live better
for the emotional
i toss in a reference to my 40th the day before
linking it to 2043
the year hannah reaches 40
an excuse for showing the photograph
of an innocent little schoolgirl in reception class
the symbol of the future generations
whose fate lies in our hans
for the unexpected
i cite the depressing mounting evidence of cc
and suggest we might as well enjoy what's left
while we can
of course that's a rhetorical device
to argue that there's too much at steak
(just think of hannah's future)
then i ask who is going to take the lead if not us
at this point i want the audience to suggest
the government (wrong)
big corporations (wrong again)
technology (wrong a third time)
no it's us who have to be the change we want to see
then i return to the three-pronged trident
it's a bit of a no-brainer really isn't it
there's just one problem
the maize of contradictory advice can make it difficult
and that's where green b's come in
for advice on reducing the fuel bills
minimising yer environmental impact
leading a healthier more satisfying life
look no further!
here's where i bring in some stories
a quote to add credibility
and some concrete examples
and hey presto
a bit of editing and i'm done
i print the whole thing off
and make it into cards
small and unobtrusive enough to hold in my hand...
the bmi
all wood panelled walls n high ceilings
the weight of history hangs heavy
i arrive sweating from a cross-town bike ride
but the audience is fairly small
and when i stand up to speak
i'm surprisingly calm and assured
it's good having the banner to gesture at
but there's one thing i'm conscious of
i don't know what to do with my free hand
i probably end up waving it around too much
but i get a few laughs
some questions at the end
and when i ask who is going to take the lead if not us
a chap pipes up right on cue with 'the government'
why thank you kind sir!
afterwards a jamaican fellow approaches me
he wants me to come round
to give him a second opinion
on his plans for renovating his place
eureka!
the holy grail
at long last
my first proper customer...

FOCUS

to be effective
you gotta be selective
rather than busy doing nothing
(hannah's current fave song)
focus is the name of the game
stripping things down to the core
and giving that core yer full attention
it's hard to stay focused
in a world where everything is interesting
where the suggestive shape of a cloud
an intriguing snippet of conversation
a waft of exotic scent
the furrowed texture of treebark
a subtle new flavour
each tells a fascinating story
conjuring up its own micro-world
the universe in a grain of sand?
i confess to one of my biggest weaknesses
i can get sidetracked n distracted by almost anything
as time evaporates into the ether
like when i walk into a bookshop
looking for a particular title
and find myself an hour or two later
waylaid in a completely different section
ah this sweet life is a myriad of temptations:
tempting books, magazines and articles to peruse
landscapes n filmscapes to feast the eyes on
radio n tv broadcasts to gobble up
music to transport you to another place
guitars to strum
keyboards to tinkle
songs to write
blogs to post
pictures to paint
food to prepare
fun and games to be had
sweet daughters to play with
sweet wives to play with
sweet lovers to play with
(though not in my case)
campaigns to fight
important letters to write
pressing emails to send
the internet = a full-scale attack on focus
not enough hours in the day
give me 25
and i'll steal an extra couple
i know my scattergun approach to life
sometimes does me no favours
cos in the end
the effective seed
is the selective seed

CERTAINTY

i don't know what to think
i don't know what makes us tick
i don't know the state we're in
i don't know anything
all i'm certain of is my uncertainty

i wrote those lines in seoul back in 2003
and to my mind they're still true more or less
we can all come up with our nice little theories
explaining the nature of the universe
the meaning of life
we can work em up into something fancy
weave stories around them
test em in laboratories
even market them as world religions
or postulate them as scientific laws
but it doesn't make them certainties
or even probabilities
tonight i met a man who blew me away with his certainty
a member of the christian orthodox church
who informed me categorically
that jesus and god are one and the same
that the catholics and the protestants have it all wrong
that there are two types of people
believers and non-believers
that one type will go to heaven
and the other will be damned in hell
that it's their choice and they go willingly
it's all there in black n white in revelation
when i explained that i believed there was something out there
something beyond the everyday human experience
but that i was neither sold on the bible
nor evolution theory
that you could call me agnostic
he shook his head
and smiled sadly at my heretic views
there was no room for doubt in this dude's head
no truck with woolly nonsense about 'something out there'
no time for mystery
nah
this fella had it all completely sussed
all mapped out
not a shadow of doubt
not an ounce of uncertainty
not even a tiny smidgin
110% sure
absolutely categorical...
sometimes it must be nice to feel that way
but other times it must be suffocating
the art of living says: stay alert
don't get complacent
keep questioning
don't rest till you're satisfied
and then still don't rest...
tomorrow: focus

THE ROARING FORTIES

a new era dawns
a new chapter begins
out with the old decade
in with the new one
four zero
forty
40
just a number
just a number?
just a number
a symbol really
like #666
or #007
i guess it matters if ya want it to matter
it might matter to some other people
who want you to behave in a certain way
mature?
middle-aged, anyone?
but it doesn't really matter
at glastonberry
billy bragg addresses the audience
how pleased he is to see so many young people in attendance
by 'young' he says he means under forty
aw come on, billy
try telling that to yer average teenager!
it's all relative
and it's all subjective
i say: you're only as old as the woman you feel
ain't that right, mrs fireseed?!
okay
so certain artificial thresholds are inevitably crossed
i believe i'm now older than the average uk citizen
entering the grey half of a greying population
(does that mean i might soon slip out again?)
i have a different tick box on the market research form
a new category on the motor insurance form
(but hey i don't own a car!)
so time to take stock i guess
where was i a decade ago?
well
in july 98
i was...
single
without childe
(though i had just met mrs fireseed)
living from hand to mouth
renting a cramped studio flat in boringmouth
cruising along without direction
a rather self-centred person in many ways
quite uptight
a bit full of myself
certainly not a particularly happy chappy
only a recent convert to veganism
spiritually shallow
only vaguely in touch with my creative side
only intermittently writing songs
a fully paid-up member of the bewildered herd
still a trusting consumer of 'liberal journalism'
even more innocent and niaive than i am now
if you can believe that!
i had...
a lot of bad habits
misconceptions
issues to deal with
and a whole lot to unlearn...
a decade later
and i reckon i'm starting to make some serious progress
on most fronts
beginning to liberate myself
from the tyranny of the past
so if life indeed does begin at 40
then bring it on!

NO COMPETITION

this afternoon
whim-bull-done ladies' tennis final
the williams sisters pitted against each other
tall elegant elder sibling venus
versus not-quite-so-tall chunky younger sib serena
playing out their intimate sisterly rivalry
before an audience of millions
despite myself i find i'm rooting for venus
daughter number one
but also the underdog according to the commentators
meanwhile brother john's supporting serena of course
our own version of sibling rivalry played out on the couch
venus and i get the rosebowl - yes!
competition
competitiveness
engine of the free market economy
an innate inbuilt human trait
widely regarded as a virtue
in western culture at least
was i competitive when i was growing up?
you bet!
any game was worth playing as long as i won
victorious scrabble matches against my mom, dad n nan
made me feel grown-up and clever
endless monopoly victories chalked up over my neighbourhood pals
built up a superiority complex to be proud of
lost in my private little ego-charged world
i basked in the glory of invented 'gang records'
where i continually triumphed over the other local kids
setting amazing new standards by the week
drunk on self-aggrandisement
on mum's olivetti typewriter
i churned out match reports in the style of the newspapers
documenting my latest heroics at football or cricket
in junior school
we sat in rows of desks according to our test results
cleverest boy next to cleverest girl at the front nearest the door
snaking in boy-girl pairs all the way across the room
to thickest boy and thickest girl
right under teacher's nose
yours truly sat proudly next to brainy tiffany bell
just behind the unassailable richard wood
destined for greatness
in the junior playground
rather than playing footy with my peers
i joined in with my brother's classmates 3 years below me
so that i could be the star
pick the teams
keep the younger kids in a state of suspended awe
you get the picture:
a childhood spent as the proverbial big fish in a small pond
as i got older
of course i started to find it harder to get my own way
or to engineer my superiority against an inferior opponent
university games of squash against rich cannon
were a complete humiliation
chess against chris smith was fun
until he improved his game and started consistently beating me
games of football in london with the foreign students were great
until one day under the westway
we came up against adrian from chile and the south americans
whose technical skill and flair made us look like statues
still i couldn't let it go
if i couldn't be really good at football or guitar playing
or whatever
i wanted to be the best english teacher in the school
the best materials writer
the best teacher trainer
the best manager
which was fine
until somebody better came along
and knocked me off my precarious perch
until at long last i began to see the self-delusion for what it was
the shallow ego-boost
the pride before a fall
the absolute 100% guarantee of eventual disappointment and disillusion
the artificial high
followed my the artificial low
ah humility seeds!
the only chance we have of cultivating genuine happiness
so easy to talk the talk
so hard to walk the walk
yet another string to the bow
of the art of living