Rob, Rambling - A lot of things interest me...

Things I have done this evening without leaving my sofa:

  • Book a hotel in Fish Hoek, South Africa

  • Book car hire from Cape Town airport

  • Book car hire from Harare airport

  • Learned more about the initial history of the Normans and their invasion of England (via a great documentary series on BBC2)

A pretty solid evening all round, methinks.

I just found one of these coins in my pocket, and it struck me that I’d not seen one before. 2 minutes of googling and research, and it turns out that they were a special edition created last year by the Royal Mint to celebrate the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin.

You can buy an uncirculated version from the Royal Mint for £7.99 (plus postage), and they’re going on eBay for a similar amount.

What’s more interesting, however, is that even circulated versions, with the odd bump and scratch are selling for more than their monetary value. I’ve found one auction without even trying too hard, and with the £2.49 postage on top of the auction price, it’s already making a decent profit. Tempting, very tempting.

Now, all I’ve got to do is get through the day without spending it!

I just found one of these coins in my pocket, and it struck me that I’d not seen one before. 2 minutes of googling and research, and it turns out that they were a special edition created last year by the Royal Mint to celebrate the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin.

You can buy an uncirculated version from the Royal Mint for £7.99 (plus postage), and they’re going on eBay for a similar amount.

What’s more interesting, however, is that even circulated versions, with the odd bump and scratch are selling for more than their monetary value. I’ve found one auction without even trying too hard, and with the £2.49 postage on top of the auction price, it’s already making a decent profit. Tempting, very tempting.

Now, all I’ve got to do is get through the day without spending it!

I had to kill a few hours last night before meeting the girlfriend to go see a comedy show, but thankfully Thursday is one of the two evenings each week when the British Museum stays open until 8:30pm.

I’d been a good while back for a little browse round some of the Egyptian and Greek rooms, but on Thursdays more galleries stay open than on a Friday. It’s relatively empty, which is always a good thing, and you can really take your time wandering round.

I decided to do things somewhat chronologically, so went upstairs to the areas concerning early Bronze Age and then Iron Age northwest Europe. This basically covered the time from the beginning of farming and the end of the hunter-gatherer lifestyle, through to Roman dominance.

There were some absolutely fascinating items on display, from ceremonial jewellery through to swords, and many showing domestic life. I was particularly impressed with the metalwork on the weaponry (because I’m a boy), which was over 5,000 years old in some parts.

The intricacy of the gold jewellery, most notably the torcs, a form of heavy necklace in the Celtic style, is just mind-blowing, especially considering it was created without any of the machinery which we just take for granted nowadays.

It must be maddening for historians, though, that the Celts and similar European populations didn’t leave any written records. Most of what we know about them in terms of tribe names and so on comes from the Romans, and we are left with objects to try to piece together what life was like in those times.

It’s often said that you could spend a week in Paris and only go the Louvre each day, and you’d still have barely scratched the surface of its contents. I think the British Museum is very similar. I was there for two hours, and only got through two smallish rooms. I need to make it a habit to go there and gradually work through the collection.

One of my favourite parts of the recent Robin Hood film was the return to London of Robin and his colleagues, bearing the crown. Not so much for its part in the film as a whole (which I thought was pretty good as historical action films go, save for some truly cringeworthy dialogue), but because I’m sad and like all of the historical visuals.

This is the best of those sweeping vistas, showing the king’s ship approaching the Tower of London, then the residence of the monarch. It dominates the foreground, showing how it really was the biggest building in London for many centuries.

In the background, you can see the old St Paul’s Cathedral (replaced by the current iteration after the first was destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666), and the construction of the original London Bridge, which interestingly is absolutely historically accurate in terms of dating. Other than that, there is nothing above one storey high.

Compare that with a modern-day view from a similar position: the Tower is completely dwarfed by its surroundings, and seems very small indeed.

I got this image from a great interview with the FX team for the film, and on that article there’s another view of London, this time from the opposite side of the Tower of London. This one shows the juxtaposition of the Tower with its surroundings in stark contrast, and it’s also weird to see Bermondsey (the other side of the river) still being entirely wooded.

I forget that London was historically very compact, contained within the modern-day business district called The City of London for many, many years. Its spread to the southern bank and then outwards from the City only really gathered pace in Tudor times, before becoming the sprawling 8m people metropolis it is today.

(It really is quite sad that this is the scene which made most impression on me from the film, isn’t it?)

One of my favourite parts of the recent Robin Hood film was the return to London of Robin and his colleagues, bearing the crown. Not so much for its part in the film as a whole (which I thought was pretty good as historical action films go, save for some truly cringeworthy dialogue), but because I’m sad and like all of the historical visuals.

This is the best of those sweeping vistas, showing the king’s ship approaching the Tower of London, then the residence of the monarch. It dominates the foreground, showing how it really was the biggest building in London for many centuries.

In the background, you can see the old St Paul’s Cathedral (replaced by the current iteration after the first was destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666), and the construction of the original London Bridge, which interestingly is absolutely historically accurate in terms of dating. Other than that, there is nothing above one storey high.

Compare that with a modern-day view from a similar position: the Tower is completely dwarfed by its surroundings, and seems very small indeed.

I got this image from a great interview with the FX team for the film, and on that article there’s another view of London, this time from the opposite side of the Tower of London. This one shows the juxtaposition of the Tower with its surroundings in stark contrast, and it’s also weird to see Bermondsey (the other side of the river) still being entirely wooded.

I forget that London was historically very compact, contained within the modern-day business district called The City of London for many, many years. Its spread to the southern bank and then outwards from the City only really gathered pace in Tudor times, before becoming the sprawling 8m people metropolis it is today.

(It really is quite sad that this is the scene which made most impression on me from the film, isn’t it?)

There was a good stat a few minutes ago on the Guardian’s Liveblog of this evening’s events (at the 10.13pm mark): of the 53 Prime Ministers since Walpole in 1721, 19 went to Eton.

A huge proportion of the representatives from the Tories and Lib Dems involved in coalition negotiations this week went to either Oxford or Cambridge university (9 out of 10, apparently), in another sign of how small a pool our political elite is drawn from.

This got me wondering: how many of the 53 Prime Ministers went to either Oxford or Cambridge universities? I went through the list on Wikipedia, and found out that 39 of those 53 PMs went to Oxbridge.

That’s 73.6%!

To be fair, things have improved since the start of the 20th century, with only 12 of 21 graduating from Oxford or Cambridge. So things are looking up!

Ah yes, it’s that day when we celebrate a Palestinian soldier in the Roman army from the 3rd/4th century AD who refused to renounce his faith when ordered to by his superiors, and who probably didn’t kill a dragon.

The dragon story seems to have been brought back with the Crusaders as they returned from the Holy Lands in the 11th and 12th centuries, no doubt as a bit of jingoism for their campaign against the Muslims of that region. This resulted in the creation of a feast day on the anniversary of his death, celebrating his martyrdom for the Christian faith.

There’s no obvious connection with England, and he probably never visited our island in his lifetime, but every year on April 23rd we celebrate his patronage. His cross decorates the English flag, and is the red vertical/horizontal element of the Union Jack as well.

Happy St. George’s Day, everyone!

Happy 84th Birthday, Your Majesty!

I still think it’s unfair that she gets two birthdays each year… Her “official” birthday is on June 12th this year, changing by a few days every year.

Apparently, the tradition of an official birthday was started by Edward VII, who didn’t enjoy celebrating his November birthday in winter each year. He wanted a summer celebration, and being king he was able to do a Picard and Make It So, creating an official birthday in the summer months.

The tradition which has continued, despite the current queen’s actual birthday being in late April. As an aside, the official birthday varies in different commonwealth countries, so she could conceivably have 6 birthdays a year should she so wish.

Happy 84th Birthday, Your Majesty!

I still think it’s unfair that she gets two birthdays each year… Her “official” birthday is on June 12th this year, changing by a few days every year.

Apparently, the tradition of an official birthday was started by Edward VII, who didn’t enjoy celebrating his November birthday in winter each year. He wanted a summer celebration, and being king he was able to do a Picard and Make It So, creating an official birthday in the summer months.

The tradition which has continued, despite the current queen’s actual birthday being in late April. As an aside, the official birthday varies in different commonwealth countries, so she could conceivably have 6 birthdays a year should she so wish.

John Logie Baird, who 83 years ago today gave the first public demonstration of his new invention, the television, also had quite the history when it came to inventions in general.

My favourite little anecdote is that he caused a power cut across the whole of Glasgow when attempting to turn graphite into diamonds. And who said alchemy died in the middle ages?!

Columbine, by Dave Cullen, is the defining narrative of what happened on April 20, 1999 in that school, the events leading up to it, and the aftermath. It is stunning in what it achieves, both in terms of the detail in which it delves into the events and the people, and in terms of the thoroughness of the research.

Cullen starts with a second-by-second, shot-by-shot walkthrough of the day itself, then jumps back and forwards in time to show how the killers developed their plan (and there was a plan), and then the police investigated the massacre.

Relying on the huge volume of documentation amassed by the police investigation, extensive interviews with the survivors, investigators and just about anyone connected with the shooting, and most dramatically using Harris and Klebold’s own words from their journals and videos, Cullen is able to reconstruct the entire sequence of events.

He does so in a clinical, unemotional way, but not so distant from the subject as to appear cold and disconnected. Indeed, it’s pretty easy to spot which people he feels the most sympathy for, usually those he has interviewed over and over again in the decade since the shooting. Sometimes he gets a bit too close to these people, and I couldn’t help but feel that they were given a touch too sentimental a going-over, but that’s a minor gripe.

Perhaps the most important part of the book is the debunking of the most commonly held myths surrounding Columbine, and particularly the killers’ motives. They weren’t Nazi-sympathisers, they weren’t outcasts, they weren’t bullied, they weren’t Jock-haters, they weren’t gay, they weren’t part of ‘The Trenchcoat Mafia’, they weren’t Marilyn Manson fans, and they weren’t warped by violent films and video games.

Cullen perhaps lets his mask slip a little when calling out the media for jumping to such conclusions and repeating them ad infinitum until we can no longer think of Columbine without the above mistruths clouding our judgement. He explains why this occurred, but criticises the media for failing to correct themselves as quickly as they spread the rumours.

There was no single cause, nothing on which to hang blame for the massacre, other than the killers themselves. Harris and Klebold, particularly Harris, were fucked up. For want of a better way of describing it, they were born evil. Harris was probably a psychopath, in the clinical sense, and Klebold’s depression manifested itself in fits of rage.

Cullen strains to make the point that the parents aren’t to blame, and nor is anything else. He fully subscribes to the idea that some people are mentally ill in this manner, and some of those people act on their psychopathic impulses with horrifying results.

And the horrors at Columbine could’ve been worse. A lot worse.

I was completely unaware that the entire plan was to blow up the school, and everyone inside it. The guns were to shoot those fleeing the burning building. There were even extra bombs timed to go off in the car park when the police and media arrived.

It was only through the (relative) ineptitude of Harris and Klebold’s bomb-making skills that no more than the 13 died. The plan was to make McVeigh’s exploits look mild in comparison.

And the killing was designed to be indiscriminate. Harris just wanted to kill humans, no matter who they were. They didn’t target jocks, the religious or anyone else. They only targeted everyone.

As Cullen points out, “of course, Eric would enjoy killing jocks, too, along with niggers, spics, fags, and every other group he railed against.” This is probably the most disturbing aspect of the book, that someone can wish death upon every single other person on the planet.

The investigators and the media wanted to leap upon a why for the massacre, but for many years this couldn’t be provided. So many other theories were put forward, as listed above. Maybe the fact that it was indiscriminate killing was too horrifying a theory to put in print, to put into the public consciousness.

Because if it’s indiscriminate, how can we protect against it? That’s a real fear for many people.

I think we forget just how much this event, this massacre, changed society. Yes, something like 9/11 changed air travel and international relations forever, but Columbine created a complete distrust of the younger generation, which has yet to fade. Parents and the elder generation actively fear the young, the teenagers, nowadays.

But if this book does nothing else, it says that you can’t fear a generation, no more than you can fear a race, a kinsfolk, a religion. Certain people are just fucked up, and as much as we try to help them, or to protect against their impact, we can’t do so 100%.

The survivors whose stories are detailed in this book are its saving grace, in terms of a positive message. Almost every single one has grown beyond the effects of the shooting, and not it let define their lives. It brings a tear to your eye to read passages describing someone learning to talk, to walk, to feel again, but they do it.

They do it because they must, because they won’t let the actions of a mad-man dictate their lives for them.

Some do fall into the trap of letting it rule them. One father who lost his son has become a relentless campaigner for not forgiving, for not forgetting, and for pretty much seeking vengeance. His story is sad, to be honest, because he’s lost some of his humanity.

I can’t begin to fully describe the detail that this book goes into, as it is exhaustive. Journals are laid bare, videos are transcribed, police reports are pored over. I doubt that any line in the book hasn’t been fact-checked a hundred times over, and it’s this level of research that gives it its authority.

This is how every single-subject book should be: scholarly, yet journalistic. Detached, yet so vivid in its descriptions and eye for detail that you’re practically inside the heads of each person on the page.

It’s beautiful, but horrifying.

Columbine, by Dave Cullen, is the defining narrative of what happened on April 20, 1999 in that school, the events leading up to it, and the aftermath. It is stunning in what it achieves, both in terms of the detail in which it delves into the events and the people, and in terms of the thoroughness of the research.

Cullen starts with a second-by-second, shot-by-shot walkthrough of the day itself, then jumps back and forwards in time to show how the killers developed their plan (and there was a plan), and then the police investigated the massacre.

Relying on the huge volume of documentation amassed by the police investigation, extensive interviews with the survivors, investigators and just about anyone connected with the shooting, and most dramatically using Harris and Klebold’s own words from their journals and videos, Cullen is able to reconstruct the entire sequence of events.

He does so in a clinical, unemotional way, but not so distant from the subject as to appear cold and disconnected. Indeed, it’s pretty easy to spot which people he feels the most sympathy for, usually those he has interviewed over and over again in the decade since the shooting. Sometimes he gets a bit too close to these people, and I couldn’t help but feel that they were given a touch too sentimental a going-over, but that’s a minor gripe.

Perhaps the most important part of the book is the debunking of the most commonly held myths surrounding Columbine, and particularly the killers’ motives. They weren’t Nazi-sympathisers, they weren’t outcasts, they weren’t bullied, they weren’t Jock-haters, they weren’t gay, they weren’t part of ‘The Trenchcoat Mafia’, they weren’t Marilyn Manson fans, and they weren’t warped by violent films and video games.

Cullen perhaps lets his mask slip a little when calling out the media for jumping to such conclusions and repeating them ad infinitum until we can no longer think of Columbine without the above mistruths clouding our judgement. He explains why this occurred, but criticises the media for failing to correct themselves as quickly as they spread the rumours.

There was no single cause, nothing on which to hang blame for the massacre, other than the killers themselves. Harris and Klebold, particularly Harris, were fucked up. For want of a better way of describing it, they were born evil. Harris was probably a psychopath, in the clinical sense, and Klebold’s depression manifested itself in fits of rage.

Cullen strains to make the point that the parents aren’t to blame, and nor is anything else. He fully subscribes to the idea that some people are mentally ill in this manner, and some of those people act on their psychopathic impulses with horrifying results.

And the horrors at Columbine could’ve been worse. A lot worse.

I was completely unaware that the entire plan was to blow up the school, and everyone inside it. The guns were to shoot those fleeing the burning building. There were even extra bombs timed to go off in the car park when the police and media arrived.

It was only through the (relative) ineptitude of Harris and Klebold’s bomb-making skills that no more than the 13 died. The plan was to make McVeigh’s exploits look mild in comparison.

And the killing was designed to be indiscriminate. Harris just wanted to kill humans, no matter who they were. They didn’t target jocks, the religious or anyone else. They only targeted everyone.

As Cullen points out, “of course, Eric would enjoy killing jocks, too, along with niggers, spics, fags, and every other group he railed against.” This is probably the most disturbing aspect of the book, that someone can wish death upon every single other person on the planet.

The investigators and the media wanted to leap upon a why for the massacre, but for many years this couldn’t be provided. So many other theories were put forward, as listed above. Maybe the fact that it was indiscriminate killing was too horrifying a theory to put in print, to put into the public consciousness.

Because if it’s indiscriminate, how can we protect against it? That’s a real fear for many people.

I think we forget just how much this event, this massacre, changed society. Yes, something like 9/11 changed air travel and international relations forever, but Columbine created a complete distrust of the younger generation, which has yet to fade. Parents and the elder generation actively fear the young, the teenagers, nowadays.

But if this book does nothing else, it says that you can’t fear a generation, no more than you can fear a race, a kinsfolk, a religion. Certain people are just fucked up, and as much as we try to help them, or to protect against their impact, we can’t do so 100%.

The survivors whose stories are detailed in this book are its saving grace, in terms of a positive message. Almost every single one has grown beyond the effects of the shooting, and not it let define their lives. It brings a tear to your eye to read passages describing someone learning to talk, to walk, to feel again, but they do it.

They do it because they must, because they won’t let the actions of a mad-man dictate their lives for them.

Some do fall into the trap of letting it rule them. One father who lost his son has become a relentless campaigner for not forgiving, for not forgetting, and for pretty much seeking vengeance. His story is sad, to be honest, because he’s lost some of his humanity.

I can’t begin to fully describe the detail that this book goes into, as it is exhaustive. Journals are laid bare, videos are transcribed, police reports are pored over. I doubt that any line in the book hasn’t been fact-checked a hundred times over, and it’s this level of research that gives it its authority.

This is how every single-subject book should be: scholarly, yet journalistic. Detached, yet so vivid in its descriptions and eye for detail that you’re practically inside the heads of each person on the page.

It’s beautiful, but horrifying.

About

Londoner, thinking and writing far too much about far too many random things. Wannabe photo-/videographer of my life. More likely to be found propping up a bar somewhere.

I also write about football.

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