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An hour or so before, I had met Barney. He was the other floor manager I would be working with on the conference. Having never met him prior to that day I waited, casually sitting on a bench checking my phone for his announcement of arrival. Then a text message: “I’m @ Euston now – black coat, black t w/blue dog on, short beard, receding hairline – stood @ central info column in front of departures board.” I phoned him and waited and watched to see who would go to answer – then, seeing me, a man holding his phone acknowledged what I was trying to do – nodded and came over.
We talked about our work, we talked about Liverpool. Both of us were tired, he explained he had been looking after his girlfriend the night before – that she had been upset due to a bereavement and then I thought of Dave. Stupidly wondering and in no way spiritually but more inquisitively, whether I would see him again – a second later I had to remind myself that he was gone and when that happens during a conversation with someone outside of your mind – Barney standing in front of me – the atmosphere becomes somewhat awkward.
A while later, the train threaded its way through the last stretches of London streets and shot through the green hills, dotted by white specs of passing sheep and a strip of black; the canal that ran alongside the tracks.
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The first thing in Liverpool I saw, was a pub.
We got a cab to where the conference was being held, Liverpool Football Club, I noticed on the way I saw the word “Regeneration” four times. Having to describe the next six hours is near impossible to do so with any nuance of enthusiasm, due to having not much to do during “the rig.” We tested the satellite later however, and there was hope that the next day would run smoothly. When standing in front of the camera, leveling the microphones by clapping the car wash tune, things seemed promising – all locations could see one another, the comm links worked. What could go wrong?
Two of us, now four – with Daniel and…Lee? I forget – now joining our ranks, got a cab down toward the docks to check into our hotel. The cab driver took us down a busy street, our view was blocked by bulks of steel and glass. From the back where I sat, I heard the driver make conversation,
“…That there was where he stayed, got robbed and everything – that balcony there…fuocking great.” As we cruised into the center of town, with genuine concern he asked “Where are you lads staying?!”
My room at the Premier Inn was your usual four walled affair. I looked at my bed for a moment, thinking: ‘I may masturbate on you.’ before dumping my things and heading downstairs to meet the guys in the lobby. We went to a bar next door called Circa – a place you hear long before seeing. A polar bear stood, stuffed at the foot of the stairs. Women crowded booths and men charmed them for entry. This was the type of bar you would see a thousand times in London, only here they dimmed the lights, loudened the music with no one yet on the dance floor however. Daniel had to yell at me to tell me about his trip to Cyprus. “A man pulled…PULLED – up in his car, so I went over yeah, thinking he wanted directions or something, ok so – he lowers his window and he asks me for a blowjob for money, hah!” We laugh, kind of.
“Oh!” I said, “He asked to suck you off, and pay you for it?” Daniel nodded and laughed. I became slightly concerned he brought this up for a reason. We finished our beers, and I retired for the evening. Back in my hotel room, I thought over what was to come tomorrow. I stood in front of the window in my undies, looking out at the Anglican Cathedral. There was a river below that bounced reflected city light across the room, Gordon Ramsay was on TV – he was saying “fuck” quite a lot.
6AM, my “alarm” rings – the “snooze” button lights up, I misread it as, Adam Sloose.
We rehearse the day’s conference, our camera operators show up – mine is called Rich – a man that knows Liverpool well, he asks “Where are you staying?!” Later I meet my ET (I still do not know what that stands for) but his name was Mike and he worked for the company putting on the conference, he was also a twat. I stand him on the mark we placed for a nice backdrop and better lighting. I explain that we’re going to do a rehearsal, just to see all the cameras are working and the other locations can pick up our feed. I find myself quite nervous, standing in front of the camera again about to go live – even just for a few people – the feed appears and my first thought: ‘I look awful.’
The secretary at the desk rubbed a finger across the width of his cracked lips. I had a few hours break – what is there to see in this city? He looked up and said “You should go to Liverpool One, thats quite new – you should go see that.” Myself and Barney followed his recommendation and headed out to this Liverpool One. On the way, we pass the city hall – a stone building with tall standing columns lining the walls and circumference of the upper level dome. A statue looked over from on top. We were forced to look over to another street as the cab took us away into a busy shopping court. A sign read “Liverpool One.” There we saw a HMV, a Pret, Odeon, American Apparel, Burger King…
Barney stopped and said “This-this is just a mezzanine really, isn’t it?”
“Aww…” I replied, “Maybe they haven’t had one before!” Walking the streets later, I noticed the word Regeneration another three times, I noticed “The Beatles” or statues of The Beatles six times, I noticed how friendly everyone was. We walked to Anfield, coming across no one, on the way to the football club. Buildings stood in half-ruin decorated in barbed wire, businesses were closed, shutters collecting rust through disuse, I couldn’t understand what must have happened. An old woman crossed the street, not really looking where she was going – we turned a corner and stopped. I couldn’t believe it, rows upon rows of houses – all boarded up, stretching nearly two miles maybe. The place was silent – dead. One car was parked outside the one house that had no metal or wood panels covering the windows and doors. For a moment, not really knowing why, I felt guilty – perhaps to be living the lifestyle I have been and not appreciating that Anfield could soon be the reality for many cities. I imagined what it must be like to be the person living in that house – what happens in Anfield in the dead of night, in a dead town?
We arrived back at the football club in time to go live, I got my radio and met Mandy a part of the Liverpool 2 team, that team being anyone in my room AKA: Liverpool 2 or Camera 5. She asked me, “Where did you stay?!”
Whilst the suits, the company employees sat at their tables and watched VTs of their company leaders talk about growth, Rich, Myself and Paul the sound guy, set up. Rain began to lash the windows, then suddenly we lost comm links! I couldn’t hear the director, Del. I exchanged a look with Paul and waited. A storm turned day into night outside. The comm links came back, we were minutes away from going live, “We’re having trouble picking up the satellite feed from Liverpool” Del said, “We may need to drop Liverpool.” Two days setting up the satellite and test running the entire event, to lose the signal, now?!
Well, we didn’t lose the signal – in fact Liverpool 2 put out one of the best feeds, if I do say so myself – very neat and with good timing.
On my way to the train station I took one last look at the city; towers against abandoned stone factories, warehouses, homes. There is an obvious sense of pride in the city with liverpudlians – there is so much talk of regeneration. But everyone seems to be waiting for something to happen. There is the tallest restaurant in the UK, surrounded by homes belonging to deprived families. Streets are silent – the only evidence of there once being life, the smears of spray paint that have failed to wash off anti-graffiti fences. Liverpool is a city in transition – everything, everyone seems to be waiting for some kind of correction – From brick to steel, jobless to working. In a park someone had painted the word “nigger” and later someone had changed it to “snigger.”
The city seems to be trying to grow up out of the poverty around it – the only problem being that what happens to what is left, the small businesses, the poorer homes, the people? I wonder if the entire city has been conned by the companies that have moved in, and whether the damage has been done. I found myself unsure whether I should be grateful for seeing what is left of the old Liverpool, as I did find it quite charming – or doubtful about whether the regeneration will ever happen.
We will miss you!
R.I.P Sexy
To impose my ego into the matter, I – along with thousands of others (including Stephen Fry) – declared my offense in response to the article. Branding Moir as “vile.” However, the escalation of this matter I fear to be bordering on ridiculous, bearing in mind that a police investigation has now gone underway. And this evening, audience members on the BBC’s Question Time were asking whether the article should have been published at all. The man sitting opposite to this audience was BNP leader Nick Griffin and the audience questioned our democratic right that is freedom of speech due to a gossip columnist?!
I do not believe Jan Moir is homophobic – and my ex-boyfriend is certain (being a close friend of hers) that she is not – that as a journalist you have demands set by your publisher (and remember, we are talking about a right-wing newspaper first established by fascists.) You have little time, and a lot of stress. This does not excuse the article however, no matter what her personal beliefs really are.
In the article, Moir claims: “After a night of clubbing, Cowles…” (Gately’s partner,) “…and Gately took a young Bulgarian man back to their apartment. It is not disrespectful to assume that a game of canasta with 25-year-old Georgi Dochev was not what was on the cards.” Not disrespectful? Some may not agree with the way in which Gately was portrayed as ‘whiter than white’ after his death but to make such a presumption, to scandalize the last few hours of his life without knowing for sure what had or had not taken place, as sleazy – then go on to question civil partnerships – is a great disrespect, not only to Gately but to the entire gay community, the article then is not about slandering a recently deceased celebrity, but using generalizations involving a minority group to do so and pose a question about the stability of monogamous gay relationships because of Moir’s own presumptions about Gately.
What is important to note is that no, the amount of homophobic attacks does not seem to have increased but instead the number that have been reported. Yet the BBC decided to campaign to gay men in particular to come forward if they have experienced homophobia. The news story went further to suggest that in doing so, it may help the police in being able to respond appropriately to such crimes.
Oh, are the police not yet trained in being able to deal with crime? Does this not put their entire purpose into question?! A representative from Stonewall (the gay and lesbian “charity”) suggested that in order for ‘us’ to tackle homophobia we need to be coming forward to police about the types of abuse we have been experiencing. Does it not make sense instead for police to respond to any crime, no matter the crime – its type or its victim? Do we, as a minority group need to put ourselves upon a pedestal – to not only report a crime but use its possible motive as a means to single ourselves out as victims more so?
A hate crime, is a crime. No more horrific than the next. Does it need to get to the stage where a crime against a gay man or woman will be considered homophobic by default? Similarly being the case with white men who commit acts of violence against black people.
Where will the line be drawn? What purpose will reporting the crime as homophobic, serve?
I was sitting opposite a man and with a row of train seats between us, but through the gap I could still see his bulging stomach and the dull carriage light bounching off his balding head. I thumbed my phone hastily as he made a call on his, I pressed record and tried discretely as I could manage, to bed it between two seats.
My intended experiment had now gone into practice. I was without question pleased by this. For the entire afternoon, since the idea had come to me, I had been meaning to use my phone to record conversations between people, whether they were a couple, a group or someone on the phone, such as this man. The experiment had no real hypothesis – no results to evaluate other than to stimulate my interest in language, in speech and the way in which people really talk.
Ever since I saw The Girlfriend Experience (by Alecky Blythe) I realized the pronounced difference between dialogue you read in novels or see on the screen and real dialogue – real words. You sometimes forget. Although, I was not about to make a new play in the form of Verbatim Theatre.
For any writer it is essential you can convince a reader that your characters are real, if not then that they are engaging enough to draw the reader into their world. This had something to do with my new voyeuristic hobby, but to be entirely honest there have been so many times I have overheard a conversation or argument and wished I could have recorded it. To use it somehow and if not then at least post it on Youtube!
“Hiya, Mark? Y-yeah…it’s me” The man on the train said. It was working, it was going well; so so well.
“Yes…yes, look I have just come back from there – yes…I’m afraid I have to tell you, that your mother has passed away…”
I pressed stop. I deleted the recording and stuffed my phone back into my pocket – then I looked behind me, for judgmental stares I suppose if anyone had spotted what I was doing. I wondered what the man was doing, telling someone such news on a train, but I was then distracted by another man – a short drama teacher shouting down his phone, perfect. UPDATE: As it was my first attempt at recording, the sound quality was awful but be sure to check out recordings I’ll post via Youtube on here, soon
(P.S. I know this is could be considered, somewhat illegal – but it is purely a study and no personal information of anyone recorded will be shared or their identities revealed)
I woke up this morning feeling much better, I thought, than yesterday. That was until I stood up – I suffered what I found out to be called, a Hypovolaemic attack (apparently). I hadn’t increased my fluid intake enough. My body was using all of the water I had to flush out the virus and therefore it needed more than usual to keep my blood pressure steady. I felt like I was going to faint – my body was shutting down and I couldn’t walk properly – I stumbled into the room next to mine and pleaded for help – having no clue what was happening to me.
I had heard from a friend of mine who has had Swine Flu that he spent most of it vomiting, I thought I might – yet I realized nothing was actually happening, I didn’t vomit – I didn’t shit myself. I started sweating profusely – it was cold and my clothes begun to stick to my skin. I didn’t know what to do but water was the safest bet – I turned the bath tap on in the bathroom and stuck my head under the torrent of water and opened my mouth – within a few minutes I was back to normal (normal flu-like conditions that is) and went back to bed – having dried off first.
Swine Flu is here. It is as popular a topic discussed as Michael Jackson’s death. I woke up this morning to find my face was burning, my throat felt swollen and there was a peculiar taste in my mouth.
When I sat up my head throbbed with pain – as I gradually became more awake I realized my whole body was aching. The day has past, and I do not feel any better. I sent texts to a few people, whom all shared the same idea. Except one fellow who suggested I have AIDs, ahem…
I phoned my GP and she said I cannot be given any drugs to sort myself out because I cannot give her my temperature – I have no thermometer!
My head feels split open and like someone is squeezing my brain any time I look into any light.
Cue the sympathy…
In more urban parts of Japan sex has become so mainstream in its presence in the public eye, it is sold in a similar fashion to a person purchasing a drink. In fact, not only are bottles of beer sold from vending machines in parts of Tokyo, but used pairs of underwear as well. I recently wrote an essay on the topic of prostitution in urban sectors of Japan. I went about my research clear in my mind that sex has become an obsession for Japanese people. Tokyo is full of sex alleys, Love hotels, prostitutes and pornography. But what I discovered was that there are deeper reasons why sex has become accepted into mainstream outlets.
Rapelay is one of the more recent scandals; a videogame in which the player simulates raping female victims, which is being sold in Japan. In the USA it was banned when Amazon.com tried to list it on their site. The Telegraph quoted a spokesman from the company responsible for the game: “We believe there is no problem with the software, which has cleared the domestic ratings of an ethics watchdog body.” (2009). This alone could make you question how sexually explicit media is censored in Japan.
Rapelay and many other types of pornography (ranging from media broadcasted on TV to magazines and comic books showing nudity, sold from vending machines and other outlets) have considerable success in Japan. “Under the influence of Western morality, the Japanese imposed restrictions on pornography…even today, visual materials still must not show genital and pubic hair. With this one exception, pornography now appears throughout Japanese society.” (The Functions and Effects of Pornography 1986) with boundaries made clear, it has in fact made sex more widely accessible in many forms. “Themes such as rape are common yet rape rates in Japan are relatively low” (1986) this goes against western ideas, if Rapelay is considered, that violent or sexually explicit media can lead to the consumer becoming more violent or sexually active and so you would think that any criticisms of sex becoming mainstream in the east, can now be considered unjustified in some respects.
The differences between western values and eastern may be more distinct when the issue of Love Hotels is discussed. Love Hotels may seem kinky an idea to you, but in fact they’re used mostly by married couples who need to escape from the cramped confines of home in order to be intimate with each other. What some may slander as Sex Hotels are in fact helping to keep families together. Japanese people are far more open about sex, this openness can be tracked back to the Samurai, who were able to pursue same-sex affairs due to (it is believed) the lack of a connection on a conscious level between gender and sexual preference during that period. Today, their society has no connection as we do, between sex/pornography and the negative results that could have on the public. Take Soho, (the centre of the city of London, as one example,) where sex is sold in many forms and as a result the area is considered sleazy.
Sleazy being something Westerners perhaps do not want to associate with themselves, yet sex and pornography is what most people naturally take an interest in at some point in their lives.
The changes that have occurred within Japan have led up to the way in which people view sex. “Post-war Japan, with its rapidly developing industrial culture, is witnessing changes in sexual attitudes and behaviour and sex is gradually losing its feudalistic aspects including arranged marriage and preservation of virginity until marriage.” (Asayama S: The Japanese Association for Sex Education, January 1974) and with less marriages generally, more divorces and the legalization of birth control methods – it has meant a complete shift in people’s attitudes toward sex can take place. This shift has also contributed to the way in which people now think about extramarital affairs. With Love Hotels being somewhere for partners to openly go to be intimate, it is not uncommon for married couples to be intimate with someone else as well. The study into adolescent sex development and adult sex behaviour (Asayama S, 1974) has found that over 90% of married men have had extramarital intercourse.
Japanese society has developed into one that has embraced what would be taboo for western countries. Sex has become a part of every facet in Japanese adult life. It is sold alongside food and drink. It is not criticised and has liberalized those whom in other countries would have been victims. Censorship has given Japanese people the reason to abide anything pornographic and in turn, it has allowed an audience to embrace it openly. It is this openness that has been key to couples pursuing intimacy outside of their homes where they would have been otherwise restricted.
People may be quick to question attitudes toward sex and even women in Japan – yet this is a country where Companions (what the Japanese call their prostitutes) choose whether they have sex with their clients. Wives are also having extramarital affairs but it doesn’t automatically lead to divorce anymore. What I once thought to be a wild obsession, I believe now to be structured, thoughtful and ultimately, harmless.
