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London Fields # 83
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 6 October 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

One of the most famous pubs in London, if not the whole of the UK, was gutted by fire the other week. Thankfully no-one was killed, but as this East End local is a household name, the story attracted substantial media coverage. Actually The Queen Vic is not a real pub at all, but the social hub of long-running BBC soap EastEnders. For writers, pubs are an easy reason to get very diverse groups of people together, and when alcohol is imbibed, tongues are loosened and emotions can run high. The Queen Vic fire was a convenient storyline to allow the BBC to replace the old sets with ones suitable for high definition filming (as well as a way to write out some characters).

Yet EastEnders is far removed from life; the fictional properties these impoverished souls inhabit would be worth near enough to a million quid in the real world, so most likely they’d have sold up and moved to a larger digs in Chingford or Essex, pocketing a nice bit of change in the process. While in EastEnders the pub will rise like a phoenix from the ashes, and re-open in refurbished HD glory (whilst allowing new characters to run it), in the real world it would most likely be converted into a set of expensive flats, as has happened to many pubs near the real-life inspiration of the show’s Albert Square. A Clapton local which was run by two brothers (whom I’m sure were the inspiration for the show’s Mitchell Brothers) has been standing empty for some years. For while we’re being assailed by horror stories of Booze Britain and the terrible cost to health alcohol causes, the truth is that this vital part of British culture seems to be dying a slow death itself.

Once I would give directions to people based on the pubs they’d pass on the way (left at the Dog & Duck and down the lane beside The Crooked Billet), but so many have vanished that this is becoming increasingly impossible. Many London bus routes have stops named after the pubs found there, but these are disappearing as well. The 76 still terminates at the same place, but the bus destination no longer reads Tottenham Swan as this infamous late-night institution is currently being converted into units. The 55 may end its journey at Bakers Arms (Leyton), but the pub itself recently became a betting shop. And while (The) Nag’s Head (Holloway) is still there, it has been painted black inside and renamed The Gaff - and become the London home of the stoner rock movement.

These thoughts were precipitated when a friend contacted me to say a November visit was on the cards and that I must take her to a good old English pub. This could be a problem; most pubs in the centre are atrocious, and one of my favourites (and the only real ‘pub’ left in Shoreditch) Owl & Pussycat has recently been gutted. The Stag’s Head (another favourite nearby) has been forced to close as their rent became too high to be viable. After some thought, the best one I could think of was in Reading, a commuter belt town in Berkshire some 40 miles west of London, and not really handy for a shifty half. It’s not just my local favourites that are calling final time - The British Beer and Pub Association (BBPA) has reported that up to five pubs close permanently each day, which is up to a third more than last year’s already disturbingly high figures. Outside London, it may be even worse; the definition of a village is pub, post office and church, and in the BBPA reported 893 village pubs have closed in the past year. Meanwhile, the remaining pubs have seen the sharpest year-on-year decline in alcohol consumption since 1948, a significant 13% less than in 2004.

Obviously there are numerous factors that have led to the current state of things. The smoking ban had an impact (although for many it made pubs accessible again), while the recession has made cheap supermarket booze an appealing alternative an expensive night out, and changes to London’s cultural make-up mean there are now more communities in which alcohol plays no part at all. Small independent pubs must find it hard to compete with larger chains in a market where low prices are ever more important. Now there’s talk of the new government making changes to the 2003 Licensing Act. Although it failed in its aims of a bringing European café society to the UK, it did bring sensible drinking laws to the UK, meaning you could finally get a beer after 11pm without being a member of a secret society. With further austerity measures still to come, the future of this great institution is not looking good. So the next time someone asks "What ya havin’?" I’ll be hoping it’s a pub to drink it in.

© James McGalliard 2010

That Was The Year That Was

London Fields # 73
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 23 December 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

With news broadcasts full of stories of retail closures and impending strikes, it’s hard to summon up a spirit of seasonal bonhomie, despite the snow falling outside. Britain is still feeling the full brunt of recession, and as unemployment continues to rise, no one can be sure if they’ll still be in work in six months time. Such an atmosphere means that people seem to avoid unnecessary extravagances, so the great British public has probably spent more time staying in to watch television, or socialising in their own homes instead of pubs than at any time I can recall.

2009 was the year of so-called stripped-programmed event TV. Following last year’s experiment with Criminal Justice, where a drama was screened over consecutive weeknights, this year saw Torchwood return in this format with Children Of Earth, while the same approach was applied at ITV for Collision. Of course, you could argue that this is no different to a nightly soap, but the 43 consecutive weeknights of HBO’s In Treatment demanded intellectual and emotional attention in a way Home & Away never could. With a run of late night screenings on BBC Two, this was the year when The Wire hit the UK mainstream, as you didn’t need a premium subscription or a DVD to see what the fuss had all been about. Although its timeslot and heavy schedule were hard to keep pace with, it still made a major impact - from parliamentary discussions over street drug trade to the creators expressing their annoyance that the BBC policy of subtitling every show they broadcast meant audiences didn’t have to listen to the nuances to pick up what was being said.

The effects of last year’s Manuelgate are still being felt. TV comedy, particularly on the BBC, was visibly running scared, and most of the edgier material ended up back in the clubs, or online. This made Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle especially groundbreaking; most of it was simply a man talking to an audience, in a way perhaps not seen since the heyday of Dave Allen, but this wasn’t about simple jokes. Lee’s lengthy polemics were both witty and vicious and were intermingled with some sharp sketches to illustrate the point. On the other extreme was Miranda; this wasn’t to my taste, but I had to admire they way it attempted to revive the sitcom format of the ‘70s, albeit with perhaps more innocence, but additional Brechtian breaking of the fourth wall. It has been recommissioned; Lee has not. The wowsers also attacked The Thick Of It - its jump from satellite to terrestrial broadcast led to complaints about the wonderfully vivid swearing. Psychoville saw half of The League Of Gentlemen return, while the axed Pulling signed off with a one-off special, and then won even more awards; Sharon Horgan reappeared in Free Agents on Channel 4.

The influence of Skins continues to be felt. While the cast change had a better intent than the eventual reality, it could be argued that it led to both Misfits (E4) and Mouth To Mouth (BBC Three). Both these shows focused on a different central character of an interrelated group each week, so rather than a straightforward story arc, the back-story slowly becomes clear once you’ve heard the story from all the viewpoints. While Mouth To Mouth was literally a string of talking heads monologues, Misfits has a darker humour, and like Being Human nicely subverted expectations and genres. But perhaps the biggest shock on TV this year was Merlin which grew into a secret treat after a fairly risible first season, punching well above its weight in both in scripting and complexity.

The sound of 2009 was the motorik beat, perhaps ringing most clearly in the volte-face fortunes of The Horrors. It was a year that artists tried to work independently of the big labels, either by self releasing downloads (like The Boxer Rebellion or Spc-Eco) or by raising money for recording from fans through Bandstocks and the like (Patrick Wolf). Musical trends bubbling away included a predicted reemergence of C86, as well and a smattering undercurrent of prog, while electro went to mainstream chart success. The reunions continued - The Specials, Th’ Faith Healers, Spandau Ballet, The Comsat Angels, The Primitives, Blur, Chapterhouse, The Lotus Eaters and Ultravox – some as one-offs, and others as ongoing concerns. The charts themselves however were once again weighed down by the heavy influence of TV talent shows. Susan Boyle became a star, seemingly for having a talent more appealing than her appearance. But this also led to the popularity of truncated names (SuBo) in the tabloids, obviously predicated by LiLo (or was it South Holborn being better known as SoHo?). The cancellation of Big Brother after ten years could have been seen as the death of so-called reality TV, if over 20 million viewers hadn’t tuned in for the final of The X-Factor in December, leading to another battle for the Christmas # 1.

Following on from Echo & The Bunnymen performing Ocean Rain with an orchestra late last year, 2009 saw ABC, Elbow and James among others follow suit, with mixed results. Now it appears the trend may be headed your way too as The Angels are going to do this in Adelaide next April. Speaking of Australian acts, where were they this year? Wolfmother and Pendulum can still fill large venues here, and Jet’s take on Iggy Pop is a perennial radio favourite, but with the exception of The Temper Trap, where were the new Australian artists? I can only hope that they take advantage of the comparatively weak sterling and make a stronger contribution to events such as The Great Escape next year.

In London, it was the year that the Circle Line stopped going around in a circle, and that the River Thames disappeared from the iconic London Underground map. February snow brought the capital to a complete halt and the battle of the free evening papers led to the demise of both thelondonpaper and London Lite, while the Evening Standard was forced to become a freesheet. Political sleaze was back on the agenda, with parliamentary expenses claimed for everything from moat dredging to a floating duck house. In a year where only new shops opening were pawn brokers and even big chains like Borders went bust, there were some people who made it all bearable. In print and across his four TV series, Charlie Brooker once again was a brilliantly funny and scathingly critical voice of outrage and reason. On stage, with two entirely different shows, Daniel Kitson covered big topics, but with a human perspective. This clever, erudite and self-effacing chap weaved larger-than-life yarns which eventually revealed the heart-warming joy in the minutiae of the smallest details of everyday life.


© James McGalliard 2009

Summer In The City

London Fields # 67
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 August 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

When you live in a place, you end up with all kinds of insider knowledge without ever quite knowing how you picked it up in the first place. In London, milk is cheaper at the corner shop than it is in the big supermarkets, a hint of sun on a day warmer than 17 will result in hoards of shirtless men in the high street, and if you see a Japanese person with a bewildered expression in the centre of Hackney, it’s most likely they’re trying to find the Burberry factory outlet. Although an Englishman’s home is supposedly his castle, the fiercest pride and competition is in his garden. An unkempt hedge will draw disdainful glances, and any foray into your back garden is to invite comment on its state. That said, a true joy of gardening here is the lack of ferocious beasties; there are no white tails hiding in your gloves, or deadly critters in the undergrowth.

The great centres of the British making conversation continue to be weather and sport. The predicted long hot summer has so far failed to arrive, which is a little bit of a blessing as the long brick terraces of the capital can become furnaces once the mercury creeps over 30. Football (soccer) is the ubiquitous game here and virtually nothing else comes near challenging its dominance. Such is the strength of both sentiment for the sport and team loyalty, that to really follow a team you have to be born into it, which is not part of a shared upbringing for a lad from suburban Melbourne. These are some of the few weeks of the year when the game isn’t being played professionally; still it’s always football and never cricket that’s being played on the streets around where I live.

All that was different a few years ago, if only for a few short weeks, in 2005, when The Ashes were last played here. Back then the whole country suddenly went cricket mad, particularly after England ended up winning them back (The following series, where England copped a drubbing in Australia, seems to have been conveniently forgotten about). With the Poms last-minute survival in Cardiff, and their first Ashes win at Lords in 75 years, I fear that all this is going to repeat itself once again. In 2005, the Ashes games were shown free-to-air; this time around the live broadcasts are exclusive to a premium satellite subscription channel. So maybe it won’t capture the nation in the same way? It seems Aussie baiting has already become a secondary sport; all the more reason to hope Ponting and his team can still turn this series around.

Surely part of the experience of living in another country is about immersing yourself in that lifestyle, and becoming a part of the community in which you live? So while I may want to ‘fly the flag’, another part of me keeps a distance from the expat community here. Last week, the BBC dug out The Adventures of Barry McKenzie and I was wondering if it isn’t due for an update about the new generation of Oz ambassadors to the UK. With visits from Melbourne friends recently, more than once I’ve ended up on a purely Melbourne table in a pub. It was nice to talk to people with shared experiences of growing up, and to learn new examples of Australian vernacular as well. Walking up Essex Road in Islington en route to another pub, I pointed out Britannia Row, the former studios where Joy Division recorded Closer. In the ensuing conversation, it was suggested that the London I was living in was one based in the past, rather than what is happening now. I’ve never considered myself much of a scenester, in the context of this column it bothered me. So for a while I may be taking a step back from music and concentrate on writing about other aspects of life here.

Reading seems little more than a satellite town of London in the characterless commuter belt. I found myself here again recently as it was my only chance to catch some other friends from Melbourne before they flew home. Given the persistent mizzle falling, there was little other option than to retire to a nearby hostelry. It could easily be argued that real ale appreciation is just gauze to disguise another excuse to get drunk. But there was no piped music in The Hobgoblin, and mobile phones were frowned upon, so the only sound was that of animated conversations, it made me very glad to be in this place and time. It was a distinctly English environment yet sadly it’s now hard to find a place like this anymore in the city. On the train back into London, another thought struck me. It’s friends who make anything worth experiencing, regardless of where you or they came from originally.


© James McGalliard 2009

A Tale Of Two Cities

London Fields # 57

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 8 October 2008

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

So I’m sitting in a bar in Swan Street, Richmond, briefly back home in Melbourne, and I’m attempting to communicate over the noise and the alcohol some of the almost invisible differences between Melbourne and London life. When two societies are so close in so many ways, it’s the simple differences that can cause such misunderstanding and havoc. Even simple abbreviations can be treacherous, as a shortened version of Pakistani is an even more offensive racial slur in Britain than an abbreviation of Aboriginal is in Australia, yet the latter is a term which the Brits seems to use casually and without thought.

In the UK, a pedestrian has no right-of-way at a zebra crossing until they have walked onto the road, and even then you have to hope that that car will actually stop. But anyway, I’m trying to illustrate the unwritten rules which underlie social order in the British Isles. I explain that in a London pub it would be wrong in normal circumstances to strike up a conversation with a neighbouring table (subject to regional variations), hence the popularity of events like pub quiz nights, where these rules break down. Meanwhile, the effects of the smoking ban were more clearly visible in Melbourne both as evidenced by a chain of burning rubbish bins throughout the CBD from poorly-extinguished cigarettes and by the evenings spent huddled with the smokers in freezing beer gardens. In the UK, smokers duck outside for a few minutes, and then try to slip seamlessly back into the conversation.

I think I’m still fairly Australian, but when I use the expression ‘taken umbrage’, I am pulled up for being far too British. It’s a relief that the culture of fear than permeates London’s streets is fortunately yet to make major inroads in Melbourne. For in London you need to be very careful in offering assistance to strangers lest your motives are misinterpreted or taken advantage of. An offer of help can be seen as more than a threat than anything else, so the friendly Aussie soon learns to walk on by. But some things are not better in the Lucky Country. I was shocked at how expensive Australian groceries had become – the cost of a weekly shop is markedly higher than in the UK. And these rising prices seem to be leading to a new class divide – the haves and the have-nots, perhaps most easily distinguished by the home brands in their shopping trolleys. At least the recession is yet to hit, as the property market is buoyant compared to that in South East England.

While in Melbourne I caught The Wreckery play the first hometown show in twenty years. It was great to see them live again, and offered a chance to show that their legacy was a lot more vital and vibrant than reflected in the silly joke names that have dogged them for years. Even more refreshing was the fact that a large percentage of the audience were too young to have seen them the first time round, meaning that their sound, which has dated very little, has the potential to find a whole new listenership if they continue. Less than a fortnight later, I’m at the Royal Albert Hall to watch Echo & The Bunnymen, accompanied by an orchestra, celebrate their 30^th anniversary by playing the entire Ocean Rain album. The difference between the gigs was marked; the average Bunnymen fan was well over forty, and I didn’t see younger fans at all. Of course, that may in part have been due to the high ticket prices, but could it also be that younger Oz punters are more interested in what they missed? Sadly The Bunnymen were mostly underwhelming and lacking in the sense of occasion, which made the occasional moments of brilliance all the more frustrating, as it showed how great they can be still.

So it’s a few weeks later and I’m standing in a small venue in Hoxton watching a short but brilliant set from Frightened Rabbit. They finish with one of the best songs released by any band this year, Keep Yourself Warm, and I’m thinking that it’s a little like a modern take on Throw Your Arms Around Me. But “we may never meet again, so shed your skin and get started” has been replaced by “I’m drunk, and you’re probably on pills; if we’ve both got the same diseases it’s irrelevant girl”. So is this the change from 1984 to 2008, or is it Australia verses the UK? I’m not sure I know the answer to that.

Now I’m no anthropologist, so while some of the above may be a version of participant observation, I probably fail to maintain sufficient distance and become involved, making me prone to more than a little field blindness. But I think it is fair to say two things. Twelve days is barely enough time to find your feet again, let alone make value judgements. And that there is that risk in travelling – while trying to find a place that feels like home you may lose whatever one you thought you had in the first place.

© James McGalliard 2008

The Crunchy and The Smooth

London Fields # 52
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 May 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

“If you hate the place so much, why have you lived there for the best part of twenty years?” This question arrived by e-mail in response to a recent column, and played on my mind for days. Was I portraying such a negative viewpoint, or merely being actively and critically aware? And if I did indeed hate London, why have I chosen to make this large, cold, distant and potentially dangerous city my home for so long?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been watching a pair of magpies build a nest outside my office window. But I can no longer see it or them. For in the course of three days Spring arrived, and a tree of bare branches became so thick with foliage that the nest was lost from view. Now with this sudden change of season came the pollen, which for the past three years has blighted the capital with itching, eye irritation and other allergies. Even if you see it all though teary eyes, how can you not love a place that goes troppo the minute there is sun and temperatures over 20? The change in people’s personalities is astounding too, like that old episode of Star Trek where the townsfolk’s demeanour changed as the clock struck twelve. So too, the Londoners shed their winter hides and suddenly exchange scowls for smiles - there’s a latent friskiness in the air. At lunchtime, London Fields was awash with sunworshippers, and the turnstiles of the recently opened lido (outdoor swimming pool) clicked incessantly. It can be these little things that make you cherish a place so.

The London pub is a special place, and the old style establishments are becoming rarer all the time. Many have been converted into flats, or ‘upgraded’ to gastropubs and dining rooms. Yet they can still be found, and in a local boozer on a Hackney estate, they quickly learn your name, and remember what you drink. In this very pub recently a mate (London born and bred) commented on how hard it was to make friends here, but friendships you do make are exceedingly strong. So while it is harsh for the newcomer, there are rewards for staying longer term. For a place is as much about people as it is about architecture, and so London has become more an International city than a British one, as a true reflection of its shifting multicultural population.

Although folks moan about it, public transport in the capital is pretty amazing considering the sheer numbers it has to cope with. And living in a city so large means that it can take hours to get to a gig, but the sheer variety and number of acts means it’s hard to keep it to less than two nights a week. Bands from all over the world play here, and the local scene is better than it ever has been. Melbourne is so far away; here I see bands that have never made the journey there, sometimes because their Australian fanbase simply isn’t big enough to make a tour financially viable.

While it’s by no means perfect, the National Health Service (NHS) remains amazing, simply by surviving all the cutbacks. It may be underfunded, but is staffed by dedicated professionals who provide a high level of healthcare. You may sometime have to wait a while, and you’d be lucky to build the same bond that you had with your Australian GP, but I never fail to be impressed by a system that provides care to all, regardless of income or private insurance.

Another publicly funded jewel, the BBC, is an absolute gem. I may not entirely agree with its direction of travel, but find myself watching its five main television stations, listening to four of its radio stations, and using its comprehensive website daily. Really it is unmatched anywhere in the world. And it’s all commercial-free! British newspapers, from the popular red tops, to the ones given out free at train stations, to quality papers like The Independent and The Guardian are also wonderful. Without them, I feel disconnected from the wider world in a way that even the SBS News can’t fill.

I miss Cherry Ripes, and being able to say ‘Morning’ to people I pass in my street, and having a peer group with a similar background. But for the time being this will continue to be my home. I like that bands are finished by 11pm, so I can get to work the next day without too many ill effects. I love being embedded in history, from local place names, through to contemporary pop references.

I think what it all comes down to is that some time into a relationship, you realise that your chosen partner isn’t perfect. You see their faults, yet still love them. For if the things you love outweigh those you don’t, you stay. My eyes may wander, and my heart may desire more, but for now I’ll continue my relationship with London. Melbourne was my first love; and your first love remains with you for your whole life. I have no desire to be here when the Olympics arrive, and London is increasingly a city for the young. But for the time being at least, London is the one I’ll come home to each night.

© James McGalliard 2008

Paperweight

London Fields # 50
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 26 March 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

I’m often baffled at which stories Australian newspapers choose to republish from their UK counterparts. It sometimes means that weird creatures, such as the lesser-spotted celeb become known in Melbourne, when the TV show that made their name hasn’t been screened overseas. Perhaps more interesting are the stories that don’t get reprinted; maybe they seem too English, or simply not relevant. But these can paint a disturbing picture of the land in which I live.

Concerns about ‘youth run wild’ help to fuel fear (and to sell newspapers). So tabloids became obsessed with a spate of teenage suicides in the South West, even claiming links to social networking sites. Closer to home, London teenage gangs are said to be aping their LA equivalents in a war over territory and colours. Last year, 34 were killed; this year 7 have died so far. In Camden, a fast food chain is hiring bouncers as the late-night shenanigans of post-pub punters are getting out-of-hand.

The race for London Mayor ahead of the forthcoming elections on 1 May has lead to debates about everything from bendy buses to the future of live music venues. On 11 March, following the publication of the This City Is Built For Music report, current Mayor Ken Livingstone launched an initiative to try and halt the closure of so many of London’s music venues. Yet three days later, it was announced that The Astoria was to be demolished (to allow a new station to be built), following in the footsteps of the Hammersmith Palais and the Spitz. While we’re promised that a new, larger, swankier venue will replace The Astoria, the future of Camden’s Electric Ballroom is still undecided. But why should this be of any concern to someone that doesn’t live here? If London becomes end up a city of larger super-venues, the variety will suffer, as a wave of hyped or generic bands that can fill the larger spaces become the mainstay. Meanwhile, over in Shoreditch, some of the former YBAs (Young British Artists) are creating opposition to the demolition of a pub to build a twenty-five-storey tower, which they feel will destroy the character of the area.

One thing that may strike any visitor to London is the lack of public loos. Across the UK, over five thousand have closed over the last ten years, for reasons including cost, vandalism, safety, cottaging and drug use. There are some French-style Turdises about, but these are often out-of-order or unusable. And with pubs being closed and converted into flats, there really is literally nowhere to go.

Smokers have had a tough time of it here. The ban in public places was one thing, but some live venues continue to have a No Passouts policy. A smoker told me that last week’s three hour plus gig by The Cure at Wembley felt even longer than a long-haul flight as he couldn’t duck out for a ciggie! Now there’s talk of removing cigarettes from visible sale, so they’ll literally become under-the-counter items. But there’s more; Health England wants to introduce smoker’s permits - without one of these photocards you won’t be able to purchase tobacco at all. I suppose it’s all down to the lack of tax on the illicit, but a report last week stated that a line of coke is now cheaper than a London pint.

If a smoker’s ID card sounds a bit Orwellian, then what about the introduction of new UK national ID cards? Non-European Union nationals will be issued with compulsory ID cards later this year. Then, almost by stealth, it will roll out to security staff, and then students will be encouraged to apply as it will ‘assist’ them to apply for a loan, or to get served in a pub. Anyone applying for an UK passport from 2011 will automatically be enrolled. There are fears of how secure our data will be. We may shred our bank statements, but government officials seem to almost have developed a habit of leaving CD-ROMs full of personal data lying around. But at least an ID card is an invisible marker.

David Cameron, the Conservative leader of the opposition, has an idea about how to deal with overcrowding in British jails (asides from building new ones). He wants those on Community Service to wear a uniform so that they can be easily identified by members of the public. I’m not sure if he wants them to wear pink stars or yellow triangles as an additional form of identification. Yes, that comment is in questionable taste, but is it worth noting that he launched this idea a mere ten days after describing government support for visits to Auschwitz as a "gimmick"?


© James McGalliard 2008

Food For Thought

London Fields # 45
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 31 October 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

We found ourselves sat huddled and shivering in a local beer garden after work the other week. The practical ramifications of the smoking ban (which was introduced in the summer) are now really making their presence felt, as the clocks go back and the long nights close in. We sat there so that the few smokers in our party could continue as they always had.

There’s often talk here that the welfare state has evolved into the nanny state, but the health of the UK does give cause for concern, particularly in the light of some recently published reports. The nation is drinking far too much, and some of the largest problem drinking levels were found in average middle class areas. This will get see a huge rise in liver and heart disease, and a subsequent strain on the NHS as a result. Even now casualty departments already have a pretty rough time of it with the drink-related injuries and incidents every weekend.

Now the garden we were sitting in was equipped with gas fires, but sadly these weren’t turned on. I’m aware that these are a hugely inefficient form of heating at a time we’re being asked to be much more aware of our environment. But in recent weeks the health secretary Alan Johnson has said that the people of the UK face a threat to rival global warming, and that is obesity!

According to the Foresight Report, the UK has the highest obesity rates in the European Union with 24.2% of adults now classed as obese. The predictions given by for 2050 are even more startling and alarming; mainly that 26% of children, 50% of women and a staggering 60% of men will be obese by this date. The health service is struggling with this already, and they’re not alone. In Lancashire, the fire brigade is wondering if they’ll have to impose fees on helping to move very heavy people. This is not a joke – some people can’t get out of the house without a crane. In North Wales, they’ve has an obese dummy weighing over 26 stone especially built to give their emergency services practice with something they’ll experience more and more often.

Harry Enfield returned to the BBC in April after a long absence with Ruddy Hell! It’s Harry and Paul. Enfield may not be well known in Australia, suffice to say that The Fast Show grew out of characters rejected by Enfield for his own show back in the ‘90’s. Anyway, some sketches were based around two enormous teenage children, known as Jamie and Oliver, whose life only moves from one take away to another fast food joint, only stopping for some chocolate on the way. Although never stated, perhaps it is a factor that crisps and chocolate are so much more available and affordable than fresh produce? And while Jamie’s School Dinners did actually achieve some success, our supermarkets (one of which Jamie advertises) can’t agree a standard labelling on displaying dietary information. Looking for lunch last week, I put the macaroni cheese back after seeing this small tray represented 110% of my daily allowance for saturated fats.

English cooking has improved over the years; so the lard-heavy recipes of Two Fat Ladies tended to leave a reactionary and slightly sick taste in the mouth. But now it seems that Nigella Lawson has jumped into the frypan with her latest series, Nigella Express. This new series sometimes seems one step from how to take the ready meal out of the freezer and pop it into the microwave. Nigella smiles and tosses her hair as she boasts that the only exercise she ever does is to skip to the fridge. Then she uses half a kilo of chocolate to make 12 "therapy" cookies, and I feel fatter for just watching it. Later she fries bread and rolls it in sugar for instant midnight gratification, and then shovels it down. Now the Daily Mail has started a whole thing about Nigella’s weight, but that’s not the real issue here. Rather it’s about responsibility to a populace that is rapidly heading towards avoidable diabetes and early death. Although on one level it’s simply a matter of less food, less saturated fats and more exercise to avoid this, the British mindset also has to be overcome. After a long day, it’s hard to resist the affordable temptation of three supermarket pizzas for three quid.

Whilst in that pub beer garden, one of the blokes their related the story of when his Italian flatmates cooked a "traditional English breakfast" for him. It was gorgeous he said. But they’d used some delicatessen sausage, and a lot of it was grilled. So the next day he resolved to cook it for them properly, with cheap snags, value baked beans and fatty bacon.

There’ll always be an England. But between size zero and XXXL, there may be very little middle ground left. And its people may no longer live as long as their neighbours…


© James McGalliard 2007

A Craic In The Clouds

London Fields # 41
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 11 July 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Ostensibly my reason for travelling to Dublin was to catch one of the "rehearsals" that R.E.M. held over five nights at the Olympia Theatre there. "This Is Not A Show" stated the projection behind them, and in many ways it wasn’t – the idea was to road test new songs for their partly recorded next LP. But it did provide an opportunity to catch one of the biggest bands in the world in a comparatively intimate venue, and the trip overall provided me with an unexpected reflection of life in London as well.

The last time I was in Dublin was in October 2001, in the aftermath of September 11. This trip coincided with the attacks on London’s West End and Glasgow Airport, which insured lots of shenanigans getting through security procedures, as it had nearly six years earlier. But the city has changed so much over the period. Like London, the influx of workers from Eastern Europe has had a visible aspect, both in the rise of specialist shops, and in those employed as waiting and cleaning staff. It seems as if the divide between rich and poor has widened too; there are far more beggars on the streets. Near Parnell Square I see a bottle shop where the worker is behind bulletproof glass with a small bank teller like window to distribute the booze. Making the purchases are a couple of scangers, the Irish version of the chav.

I catch up with an old friend, someone I met on my first trip here in 1990. He’s a musician who has toured the world in an award-winning band. He tells me that although rental prices in the city have increased astronomically, the average income has not followed suit. Rising rents means that many of the beautiful old bookshops near Trinity College have had to close, or move to cheaper premises elsewhere.

The one thing Dublin has retained, and possibly its greatest tourist attraction, are its many bars. It’s such a contrast to London, where those remaining pubs that haven’t been closed and converted into flats are often nearly identical, as part of large chains. There a very few places in central London where you’d be tempted to have more than a swift one on your way somewhere else. In Dublin, it never more than a stone’s throw to the next pub, but they’re actually places you’d want to stop and spent time in. The Stag’s Head is probably my favourite, even seamlessly absorbing the after show crowds from the nearby Olympia Theatre.

The biggest change to Dublin’s pubs has been the rise of the "beer garden" following the introduction of the smoking ban a few years back. Often these are little more than a small covered area for smokers to huddle into, and while the pubs seem quieter, but they still have retained the atmosphere without the smokehaze. But land values have risen so much that there is talk that even the famous Guinness Brewery at St James’s Gate may be up for development as luxury flats, such is the value of the land in the current climate.

My old friend also worries about the lack of variety in the Dublin music scene. While their rock industry bible HotPress celebrates its 30th Anniversary, and the Oxegen Festival is national news, he tells me that while the scene is buzzing, there a few acts not aping what they see as the current "NME taste". In fact, the only newish act he could recommend had just called it a day. Which is all the sadder as HotPress has retained some of the more in-depth journalistic pieces that the present-NME abandoned in favour of a Smash Hits-style presentation.

It was on my last night that I saw R.E.M. and they played an uberfan’s set – asides from the new material, it was all early IRS-period material with Harbourcoat and the entire Chronic Town EP. Some things are the same everywhere, like the couple who elbowed their way beside me just before the band began, and then spent the first two (new) songs nattering about how exciting it was to be there, her pausing only to yell "We love you Michael" repeatedly. But two things told me I wasn’t in London at the gig. Firstly the amazingly well-run bar, and secondly no one would choose London audiences as a testing ground for new material. While London is seen as old and set in its ways, Dublin is still perceived as somewhere willing to embrace the new.

© James McGalliard 2007

Everyone Says I'm Paranoid

London Fields # 33
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 29 November 2006
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Is Britain heading towards the dystopia predicted in George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four? Spin doctors are straight from the Ministry Of Truth, and while reality TV has softened the concept, the question remains “Is Big Brother watching you?” There are currently 4.2 million CCTV cameras in Britain, and around half a million of those are in London. Recently published figures suggest that you’ll be filmed about 300 times on a day out in the capital. This camera footage is also linked to numberplate recognition software to see if the £8 daily congestion charge for driving in central London has been paid.

But you can avoid the charge if you use public transport, and the cheapest way of doing this is by Oystercard, a smart card which will eventually eliminate paper tickets and cash fares. There’s great pressure for punters to switch - some buses don’t sell tickets on board, and cash fares now cost about double those made by Oystercard. Yet every single journey you make is monitored, and CCTV footage can link you to your card, even if it’s an unregistered, pay-as-you-go one. As a punter, the only time this journey-tracking really comes into its own is when you’ve been partying hard and can’t remember just how you got home. All you have to do is place your card on the reader in the station and hey presto – your forgotten past is there on the screen as your journeys of the previous evening are displayed. But what else could this information be used for?

Recycling of domestic waste is still in its infancy in the UK; many folks will dump their newspapers into the wheelie bin rather than the recycling box next to it. To meet tough new government targets, compulsory recycling is being introduced, involving random checks, and warnings or fines for non-compliance. More stringent measures include the use of hidden cameras, and in one council simply refused to collect a household’s domestic waste because it contained recyclable materials.

New biometric UK passports have just been introduced to meet the stricter requirements of a post-9/11 US. Already you need to submit to having your fingerprints taken if you wish to enter the USA. But a new UK scheme is asking drinkers for them to be fingerprinted before they’ll be served in the pub! The idea is to cut alcohol-related crime, and it’s already been tried as a pilot scheme in the village of Yeovil in Somerset. Publicans who didn’t want to join in the scheme were told they faced having their licences revoked if they refused. The scheme is set to expand, as figures showed a 48% drop in violent alcohol-related crime over six months in the pilot area. So if you’re barred, you’ll stay barred! I wonder what Liam Gallagher and Pete Doherty will make of this? Recent newspaper reports claim that they’re scouring Kentish Town, looking for the right local to take over and run.

The British judicial system is the model on which many others are based. In April last year, the double jeopardy law, which prevented someone being tried for the same crime twice, was removed after being a part of law for 800-odd years. It could be successfully argued that the law had to be changed following the unsuccessful prosecutions of those involved in the murder of black teenager Stephen Lawrence. So sometimes age-old laws need to change or evolve, but consider the case of anti-war protestor Brian Haw, who has held a one-man protest in Parliament Square, outside the Houses of Parliament, since June 2001. Existing laws were unable to remove him. In answer came the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005 (SPOCA), which prohibits protests within a one kilometre radius of, yup, Parliament Square! Following a High Court battle, sections of the legislation have been applied retrospectively, and he is now facing criminal charges.

It could be argued that all this is necessary in the dangerous world of 2006. Dame Eliza Manningham-Buller, the head of MI5, has said that there are at least 200 al-Qaeda cells operating in the UK, and that the agency is currently tracking over 1600 people, and investigating 30 major plots, and 200 others. This, she says, is an 80% increase in casework since January, and went on to say “I wish life were like Spooks, where everything is knowable and soluble by six people”. Yet the recent fifth series of Spooks continually repeated the mantra that the stakes were raised, and previously accepted freedoms just weren’t possible in this new world. So now policeman have cameras fitted to their hats, and are carrying devices allowing people to be electronically fingerprinted in the street, when previously an arrest was needed to do this.

So, in summary they’re watching us, and monitoring what we buy and where we go, and even what we throw out. Some may argue that only the guilty need fear this level of intrusion, as the innocent have nothing to hide. The worry is what this information may be used for. Just remember - no matter how many pictures you take on your London trip, more will be taken of you!


© James McGalliard 2007