Earthquakes - why I hate them

I absolutely hate earthquakes, so news of the latest incident always upsets me.

I spent 6 years in Japan. Like, no doubt, every other Gaijin(foreigner) there, I found tremors exciting at first. Then, bit by bit, they started to bother me, until I reached the stage when they scared the hell out of me.

My Japanese earthquake memories:

1. The times when I leapt out of bed and, as oft instructed, opened the main door of my flat, yet found that as the sole foreigner on the street, I was the only person to have done so. My Japanese neighbours would invariably sleep through the whole episode.

2. A visit to a 7 Eleven with my friend Mike. In the beer section, we noticed that the bottles were wobbling. We stood and watched as, in an eerie rippling effect, the shop's entire stock of bottles began to shake. Needless to say, no one else noticed. And no, we hadn't been on the grog.

3. The Kobe earthquake of 1995. Devastating, but what sticks in mind is the Japanese reaction. For a start, the first organised aid came from the local mafia - the Yakuza.

And the media coverage was, at least to this the western eye, hugely unsettling. The earthquake hit early in the morning. By the same evening, one TV channel was broacasting the names of the dead, on a continuous loop. Set against a black background, with the names in white, and dirge-like classical music playing, it felt deeply, deeply strange.

So all of that, I guess, adds up to why I hate earthquakes.

Blacksmith's empties

In Betchworth for lunch today, I noticed that the local blacksmith had left his empties out for the milkman. No idea why it tickled me, but it did.

The power of coincidence

I was trudging home from the station this evening - remember, first day back at work after a fortnight off - listening to Van Morrison singing "Cleaning Windows", when I saw ... the local window cleaner.

And, searching vainly for the song on YouTube, I came across a cover of Morrison's 'Into the mystic', by Jen Chapin, who I saw live, completely by coincidence, in Chicago last year.

So there, I'm feeling more cheerful already. Although my secret confession about Jen Chapin is that her small son was making so much noise (sitting in front of me) during the gig that I bailed out before it finished. Jen, hope this will make it up to you ...

Lego house

I finally made it up to James May's Lego house over the weekend. I use the phrase 'James May' loosely, as I gather that his involvement has been minimal. But hey, who cares? What does matter is that a group of dedicated, and possibly slightly mad, people are building something unusual and rather beautiful. And the setting is stunning, too. Up on a hill in the middle of Denbies, the biggest vineyard in Britain. In yesterday's baking heat, there was something wonderful about watching people trudging up that hill to get a glimpse of this modern-day folly.

Milk - the film, not the drink ...

Finally managed to see Milk, the Sean Penn starring account of the last years of San Francisco-based gay rights activist Harvey Milk.

Not sure what I expected, despite having read plenty about it when it hit cinema screens a few months back. Sean Penn was excellent - which I did expect - but it was somehow more documentary in tone than I had imagined beforehand. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing.

By all accounts, it was a faithful recreation, with the integrity that you'd expect from both Penn and director Gus Van Sant. But the events portrayed made more of an impact on me than the cinematography or the acting (again, that's probably an indication of the skills and effort involved).

I found it gobsmacking that those events took place just 30 years ago. A mere 3 decades ago, politicians in the US were still confusing homosexuality and paedophilia. And the amount of credibility the churches had then was alarming, although I realise that, for a lot of the US, this remains the case. As do random acts of violence towards anyone even expected of being gay.

And while we may despire about the level of homophobia, racism, xenophobia and religious bigotry sill rooted in society, it does make you realise how far we've come.

Here endeth the sermon! Dearie me, even a happy agnostic can occasionally come over all funny of a Sunday ....

Feeding time at the fish pond

I have a five year old nephew who seems convinced that I am capable of cruelty towards animals - and fish. Every time I speak to him on the phone he says "Did you feed the fish?". As if I ever didn't ....

Anyway, I took this video for him, as evidence. Yes, I did feed the fish.

Terrier racing - a must for the discerning punter

Sunday saw the annual Epsom Trainers' Open Day, a 'must' for us since we discovered it, er ... last year. Half a dozen of the stables are open to the public, and anyone so inclined can visit them, to pat the racehorses, talk nonsense to them, and even feed them polo mints, that equine favourite (although I saw one of the more jaded old nags spit one out - perhaps, like me, he prefers Extra Strong Mints or After Eights).

We had borrowed some small people for the day, labouring as we were under the illusion that they would find it as fantastic as we did. Not so, alas. One particular 7 year old, who will remain nameless, but may have forever blotted her copybook where I am concerned, failed even to be impressed by the highlight of the day ... the terrier derby.

Four small yappy dogs at a time, chasing a big ball of cotton wool down the last short stretch of the race course at Epsom, some finishing, others running amok, distracted by the howls of competitors and cooings of owners. What's not to like? I'm not saying that I'm particularly easily pleased, or that I lack a certain sophistication, but I thought it was brilliant!