The Pun of the Year 2008

"it seems to me that you can already maintain your stroke well over the length"

adding to that,

"Also you're receptive to learning new skills"

said my swimming instructor to me this morning, and in so doing put a smile on my face. The funniest thing about it is that I don't think the instructor meant to sound so ruthlessly carry-on. This is just normal swimming talk.

I signed up for tutored swimming classes run by the University's Swimming Club this semester in order to "improve my technique and stamina" in the pool.

I was allocated a place in the middle group which has meant quite a wide variety of skills amongst us. A very wide spectrum indeed. I've enjoyed it nevertheless although I've missed a good few sessions due to being in various locations in the world, frankly, anywhere but Manchester. There's only one final session left and we received an email about enrolling to the continuation classes over the Spring term.

Yes please, I thought, but I could do with a challenge. Should I suggest moving up to the advanced class?

The answer lies in the stroke - maintained over the length, mind, one is not to stall or slow down half way up the length, that does not earn you a place in the advanced group.

From there on you build your stamina to maintain the stroke over longer sessions (or greater lengths). Can't wait.

Pause for thought

I should start this post by wishing Finland a very happy 91st birthday. The Finnish Independence Day is a big deal at home, and to prove the point I, too, gathered with a number of compatriots at the Ambassador's Independence Day reception at his official residence last night. To my defence I would have had to make a trip to the Embassy anyway to pick up a certificate which the Finnish authorities require in dealing with my father's estate. Today, the President of the Republic hosts her own (televised) reception which the entire nation follows with interest: who's been invited, who wears what (the fashionistas making live commentary online, such this one from 2007), who's on their own and who launches a new partner by their side on the red carpet. The sombre and serious cause of our nation's independence has been turned into one of the biggest showbiz extravaganzas of the year. Go figure.

It's been a bit quiet on this blog since my trip to Australia, from where I continued to Shanghai and Nanjing for a quick look around. China was a real eye-opener, but Sydney impressed me most (pictured left). Beautiful city, great weather, food to die for at reasonable prices. Perfect for a holiday. The only problem is of course the hideously long journey to get there from almost anywhere in the world, bar New Zealand perhaps.


That having said, Shanghai was intriguing to say the least, it was at the Urban Planning Exhibition opposite to the People's Square where I saw this gigantic model of Shanghai (pictured right). I reckon it's the only way to get a proper grip of the city - once you're in it the high rises, complex motorway flyovers and little narrow alleys merge into this one giant bowl of noodles. An enourmous pulsating beast of a city. Only by looking at the city physically at your feet you understand what's where and the scale of it. Particularly if you only have three days as in my case. In 2010 Shanghai will host the World Expo, and having looked at the displays of the various Pavilions, and the plans for huge redevelopment of the river side where the Exhibition Village is going to be built, one is almost tempted to go back to have a look at it in 2 years time. As a peculiar little detail, the authorities have launched a "better city, better life" campaign as part of which for example the extent of spitting that happens in the city will be curtailed. Yep, that's right, spitting.

The day before I was due to leave Manchester for Melbourne I received a phone call from home - it was mum saying dad had been taken into hospital. 16 days later when I came back I had a hectic 5 days in Manchester before dashing off to Finland for a surprise visit on Father's Day. I was supposed to come back straight away and crack on with my PhD but that was not going to happen. Dad's condition deteriorated suddenly, so I decided it would be a bad move to return to England. Only four days later he passed away. Even the nurses were shocked at the speed of his decline. They assured us it was actually a good thing, in the case of a combined liver and heart failure it's not a nice experience for anyone to hang around for a prolonged period of time.

So my research was put on the back burner. I have officially "interrupted" my studies for 3 months, starting from 1st November until 31st January 09. This is to give me more time to spend at home over the Christmas period and generally to take stock.

2008 has been a very, very hectic year. I have contemplated on my carbon footprint - in the space of 11 months I have been to Madrid, Amsterdam, Florence, Helsinki (7 weeks), Cinque Terra, Nice, Marseille, Melbourne, Sydney, Shanghai and Nanjing. Oh, and then Helsinki again.

Things will be different next year.

Lessons in life and coffee at Pellegrini's

After my first sweaty day in Melbourne, dinner in the form of rice paper rolls from a street side stall in the Block Arcade, I thought a few drinks would be in order. I tried two different rooftop bars, since the weather was more than favourable for al fresco drinking, I would recommend both for anyone who wants to soak up the atmosphere of cosmopolitan Melbourne in stylish surroundings. The first place was upstairs of an Tuscan restaurant on Bourke Street, the other the famous Supper Club on Spring Street.

The former was more relaxed, the latter perhaps bordering on pretentious but with fabulous views overlooking the Parliament building and a very exclusive atmosphere (and wine list, you could order a bottle of plonk for a reassuring $600. Needless to say I didn’t). I did, however, try some very nice Aussie wines – the nicest one actually served in the first place I went to, the less salubrious of the two rooftop joints.

Earlier in the day I had walked past an Italian espresso bar called Pellegrini’s (pictured below). It caught my eye for many reasons so I earmarked the place for a visit later in the day. The way to describe it is that this place was the perfect antidote to the Starbucks generation of coffee bar chains which have mushroomed all over Melbourne. Pellegrini's oozed individuality and old fashioned charm.

I didn’t expect Pellegrini’s to be open when I was walking home from the Supper Club, jetlagged and exhausted with the heat, around 10 pm. Cafes generally seem to close around 5 or 6 pm in Melbourne, but not Pellegrini’s.

I stepped in, and it felt like I travelled back in time and found myself on the scene of a Federico Fellini film. Not the least because the owner of the place, a gregarious Italian gentleman called Sisto, greeted me with a beaming smile and called me “la bella”. Take a seat here, bella, now what would you like? Espresso, here, is that good for you? Do you like it shorter or taller? A little bit of gelato, there you are, lemon and vanilla. Home made. Try it!

I popped in for a quick espresso on the way home, and ended up being served espresso, gelato, lemonade and two pasta dishes before Sisto offered to drop me off at the hostel at closing time (midnight). I refused the lift, and insisted on walking home to get some fresh air.

In the kitchen of his espresso bar, when I was tucking into some ravioli and pasta marinare, Sisto declared that “If I was 30 years younger, I would ask you to marry me tomorrow”. Awh.

Sisto introduced me to Pellegrini’s “resident artist”, a Kiwi lady called Louise. Louise had spent the past two months in Melbourne finishing her book. She also sings, plays the guitar and writes poetry, mainly in Pellegrini’s when she in Melbourne.

The trouble with being treated like this is payment. I asked Louise for advice, as Sisto would clearly refuse any offer of money. I slipped $20 onto the tip tray which was spotted by one of the staff. Rosie, the vigilant Italian lady, at the end of the night, took out my $20 note and handed it back to me, saying it was too much. “If you give me $5”, she said, “I’ll accept it”. I gave her $10. She handed me a fiver back. Did you ever have to do reverse haggling? Bizarre.

In the course of the week, I went back to Pellegrini’s almost every day. In the kitchen, Sisto taught me everything I need to know about the art of coffee, and cooking pasta “the proper way”.

Coffee is not just a drink, it’s nourishment for the soul. The way they serve it in Pellegrini’s, I have to agree.

You'll be allright for as long as you're not in rubber thongs

It was a promising start for the journey, despite my initial fears that 60 minutes between arrival at the infamous Terminal 5 and departure towards Melbourne (via Hong Kong) from Terminal 4 at Heathrow was cutting it a tad fine. The transfer guide in the seat pocket onboard the BA flight Manchester-Heathrow advised passengers to allow 120 minutes to transfer between T5 and T4. An hour would have just about done it, but as it happened, the Qantas flight to Hong Kong was delayed by almost an hour. A fact I discovered only after having legged it to the gate thinking I have minutes to spare.

This second leg of the journey was gruesome. Mercifully, I had a window seat and the two seats next to me were occupied by a very nice Dutch couple in their 50’s, no screaming children anywhere near.

The problems started some time after the main meal: “greek beef” with very suspicious mini bottle of red wine with a long list of additives. I want to know why wine always tastes shocking during flights, is it just the quality of the wine (sub-standard) or is there something about serving wine at that altitude/atmosphere that is best avoided? After the food was served, coffees drunk and everyone snug in their seats somewhere over Russia the crew switched the lights off and it was time to go to sleep. The moon shone beautifully on the landscape way down below, we were following the silver ribbon of a river which reflected the moon remarkably brightly. There was fat chance of me catching any sleep. My body clock knew it was only 17:00 GMT.

Up until that point I hadn’t familiarised with the in-flight entertainment kit, I had been too busy reading “Le Dossier” (or how to survive the English) and the Rough Guide to Melbourne, making mental notes as I went along. Now I was stuck. I could read no longer, the plane was dark and the only thing to do (apart from sleeping) was to watch “on demand” films or documentaries. My headphones wrapped in plastic, the remote control stuck on the side of the armrest, I fiddled with each for a while but soon understood I was not going to find the socket for the headphones in the dark and gave up.Thankfully I had my Mp3 player to keep me company.

My legs were aching, I hadn’t had a chance to go for a walk along the corridor, and now I really wanted to but the nice Dutch couple next to me were in slumber land - I couldn’t bring myself to disturb them.

By the time the lights were switched on again, breakfast about to be served, I was stiff, tired, achy and just about to fall asleep.

Breakfast, my friends, was an extraordinary affair, not in any positive sense. “Baked egg” with some unidentifiable objects which were supposedly imitating sausages, a rubbery piece of bacon all sitting in a pool of what can only be described as brine. My analysis is that the whole affair came from a tin. The Dutch couple next to me were grunting their approval and discussed the green matter that formed part of the “baked egg” experience. Yep, spinach, yum-yum, tuck in.

A refuel and a welcome stretch of legs in Hong Kong, and it was back to the business of flying. Disappointingly didn’t see much of Hong Kong, it was very foggy (or smoggy) so visibility was nil. Could just about make out high rise buildings and steep mountain sides in the distance.

On arrival in Melbourne I somehow knew I wasn’t going to be reunited with my luggage. Reluctantly I made my way to the carousel only to confirm that my fears were indeed correct. “Was it a tight connection in London” the operative asked me. Well, it could have been, I said, but the flight was delayed by an hour so there should have been plenty of time to get all the bags onboard. To apologise for the inconvenience, Qantas gave me a little pouch containing the following items:

Qantas pyjamas consisting of a t-shirt and boxer shorts; toothbrush; toothpaste; comb; shower gel; deodorant; body lotion; and disposable razor.

It is now Sunday morning and I am yet to be reunited with my luggage.All the free pyjamas in the world are not going to make up for this inconvenience. After four uses, the bristles are coming off the complimentary toothbrush.

It is not funny.

Although, sourcing a pair of shoes to allow myself to dine respectably Saturday evening, I enquired at a shoe stall at the famous Queen Victoria Market what sort of footwear one gets away with in these parts.

“For as long as you’re not wearing rubber thongs, you’ll be all right” she said.

OK, that was funny. I told the friendly assistant not to worry, that I had no intention of wearing rubber thongs for dinner.

For information, “rubber thongs” refer to flip flops of the Havaianas kind. For further information, Ozzie people do widely go about their business wearing rubber thongs in the city. I also spotted several pairs of naked feet in Melbourne yesterday (it was +29 degrees and very humid, but still).

Great stuff

What I love about the internet generally is that so much great stuff is out there. Yeah, sure, there is the dark side too, but for those who wish to impose major restrictions on t'internet, I say one can't have one's cake and eat it, too.

You can make as much or as little as you like of the internet, but there is a burgeoning debate amongst the internet literati about its impact on society, for better or for worse.

See for yourself, I'm going to rip Paul Canning's handiwork here, but I'm sure he won't mind as in keeping with good academic practice, credit belongs to those who deserve it... Canning quotes the Technology Liberation Front as the original source, which appears to be accurate if you care to follow the link.

The typology below summarises the main advocates within the "optimist" and "pessimist" camps as regards the world wide web:

Adherents & Their Books / Writings

Internet Optimist	Internet Pessimists
Yochai Benkler, The Wealth of Networks	Andrew Keen, The Cult of the Amateur
Chris Anderson, The Long Tail and “Free!”	Lee Siegel, Against the Machine
Clay Shirky, Here Comes Everybody	Nick Carr, The Big Switch
Cass Sunstein, Infotopia	Cass Sunstein, Republic.com
Don Tapscott, Wikinomics	Todd Gitlin, Media Unlimited
Kevin Kelly & Wired mag in general	Alex Iskold, “The Danger of Free”
Mike Masnick & TechDirt blog	Mark Cuban

And here’s a rough sketch of the major beliefs or key themes that separate these two schools of thinking about the impact of the Internet on our culture and economy:

Beliefs / Themes

Internet Optimists	Internet Pessimists
Culture / Social
Net is Participatory	Net is Polarizing
Net yields Personalization	Net yields Fragmentation
a “Global village”	Balkanization
Heterogeneity / Diversity of Thought	Homogeneity / Close-mindedness
Net breeds pro-democratic tendencies	Net breeds anti-democratic tendencies
Tool of liberation & empowerment	Tool of frequent misuse & abuse
Economics / Business
Benefits of “free” (“Free” = future of media / business)	Costs of “free” (“Free” = end of media / business)
Increasing importance of “Gift economy”	Continuing importance of property rights, profits, firms
“Wiki” model = wisdom of crowds; power of collective intelligence	“Wiki” model = stupidity of crowds; errors of collective intelligence
Mass collaboration	Individual effort

You can make your own mind up about who you choose to believe. All I can say is that I never really believed in the polarisation of such debates, even though I love the above typology for it points out the fickleness of what is widely considered as "knowledge".

Remember, the pond you fish in determines the fish you catch.

I nearly got killed twice this morning

This was an atypical morning: it wasn't raining, there wasn't much traffic around and the cycle was actually more enjoyable than my average 2.5 mile commute to the campus. I was humming along to Liz Green on my MP3 player.

Until I reached Upper Brook Street, that is. Now, Upper Brook Street behind St Mary's hospital is hardly enjoyable at the best of times to cycle along, but this was shocking altogether.

There I faced horrid traffic, a continous line of cars inching forward as far as the eye can see, leaving a very narrow strip of road to pedal along and a very thick cloud of exhaust fumes to breath in. The traffic had ground to a halt, but as I and a handful of other fellow cyclists kept on going in between the kerb and the cars, a passenger decides to vacate a vehicle right in front of me and opens the door wide just as I'm passing. Thanks to my reflexes which were quicker than a greased lighting a collision was avoided. I don't quite know how I did it.

Phew.

I continue, peeved, reach a set of traffic lights (red, bummer). As the lights change, the car next to me (with Russian plates, I might add) decides he wants to go left really quickly before the other cars start moving (because he's in the wrong lane for turning and no, he's not even indicating). However, I am in a quick mood today and move forwards quite fast, too. Screeching of breaks, bike and car, and again by some miracle I didn't get mowed down.

At this juncture, I want to shout abuse at all the effin' stupid motorists spoiling my perfectly pleasant morning.

I hope they bring in the congestion charge soon.

Hit 'em hard I say, make them pay for their sins!

I can't not comment on this

Oh, alas! Finland has been put on the world map again, for the same ghastly reason it hit the headlines last time: another Virginia Tech style school massacre. I first heard about in on Radio 4 while having breakfast this morning.

In the afternoon I log onto hs.fi (Helsingin Sanomat, the biggest newspaper in Finland) to find out more. Apart from a de facto description of how the events had unfolded, what the police & rescue services had confirmed as true and the death toll, there wasn't much there to chew on. No commentary, nothing at all to discuss this, let's face it, DISASTER of an international scale, #2.

I log onto the Guardian website, and I get this commentary. I get discussion - hooray! Perhaps he is just hypothesising, but a British academic resident in Finland is trying to speculate the reason(s) behind this repeated tragedy and thus making a contribution to the much needed debate on this topic.

Everyone who knows me well also knows how I keep praising the British media particularly for not just reporting plain old facts, but also providing oftentimes poignant social commentary. They sometimes overdo the commentary bordering on vacuous speculation, but nevertheless I welcome this public debate. It's up to the individual to be critical about the quality of the debate.

A wider discussion will perhaps follow in the aftermath of the incident in Finland. One would hope.

What Edward Dutton says in his article in the Guardian could be summarised as: Finnish men are depressed, violent, dangerous and incapable of expressing their feelings. This is backed up by the high suicide rates among men as well as the frequency of domestic violence. Finns (particularly the men) are also over-sensitive and lack in confidence. What a dire species!

Having lived in the country for 23 years, as opposed to Dutton's 3, I think I can reflect on this with some insight. I don't think the crisis of masculinity in Finland is quite as wide-spread as Dutton implies. I would have to agree however that the whole suicide thing can't be dismissed. I would argue that most people in Finland know someone who has either killed themselves or someone whose family has been affected by this. I personally know two families where the father took his own life, in both cases in the home and subsequently discovered by family members.

I'm not too convinced however that there is a link between the school shootings and the suicidal tendencies among Finnish males. Why? Well, suicides have always been quite common in Finland, to the point of being traditional. (Yeah, that sounds pretty bad I know.) These murderous shootings strike me as a very different kind of act of violence.

I may be jumping into rash conclusions but I honestly think these are a breed of copycat killings, a macabre side effect of globalisation. Young minds seem to be particularly at risk - the cluster of young people's suicides in Wales earlier this year springs to mind as an example.

In the Finnish case I do think the unhealthy glorification of American culture has got a big part to play in this. Dutton also mentions this fixation on America in his article, but sort of fails to join the dots. Guns are readily available and socially acceptable in Finland - gun ownership at 12% of the population is the third highest in the world after the U.S. of A. and Yemen (yikes!), the BBC told us on the 10 o'clock news (N.B. I haven't checked this data, the Guardian says Finland is in the top 5 in the world). To think that there are more guns per capita in Finland than in, erm, say Afghanistan, or any other part of the world where insurgency is rife, sends a cold shiver down my spine. Perhaps this is largely due to the very active hunting scene mainly in rural communities (they've got to cull an annual quota of moose otherwise the animals would take over the country). But clearly that sort of thing makes the country very susceptible to all things gun-related.

Maybe I should calm my nerves by thinking that these figures report legally held and licenced firearms, conversely illegal weapons in Finland are probably very rare? Gun violence as we know it in the major cities of Britain doesn't seem to happen in Finland. I don't suspect it offers any consolation to the families of those killed by Matti Juhani Saari that his gun was legal.

This is something the nation has got to think about long and hard in the weeks and months to come.

On a lighter note, I wonder would the British government consider a change of status for all resident (female) Finns in the UK based on the great perils in their homeland? Maybe I should seek asylum here, claming to be escaping the threat of domestic violence and random shootings that I would be subjected to in my native country by my countrymen?

The dreaded third year

When I started this on this journey approximately 2 years ago, I thought I had forever and a day to get it all done and dusted. At the end of the first year I do vaguely remember thinking to myself "oh, that went quickly". Now, at the end of the second year, I am filled with terror at the thought that I should have a first draft of the entire thesis by Easter.

Is it even possible, I ask myself? Only time will tell. What has made me very conscious of the merciless passage of time is the fact that NOW is the time to start thinking about post-phd options. Wwwhhhhaaaattttt???!!!! I want to cry out, surely I need to only focus on getting the doctoral thesis written, and not worry about what comes after, until, well, at least until I have something by way of a first draft handed in?

But that's not the way it goes. My supervisor has been dropping hints ever since Spring this year about post-doctoral opportunities, and if I want to take that option seriously an application to the research council should be cobbled together (I mean, carefully grafted) some time soon after Christmas.

So thinking about these options I have done, and no surprise it turns out to be a combination of a tangled web of interdependencies and whatever opportunities might be there at the time. In principle, there are two options to choose between:

(i) the academic route; or
(ii) the non-academic route.

Let's call the academic/non-academic continuum the X-axis.

On the Y-axis we have:

(i) UK-based; or
(ii) international career.

You can see where this is heading, a multitude of options ranging from civil service, post-doctoral fellowship to, yes, return to local government. Civil service, post-doctoral fellowship or other research-related positions for that matter could be materialised almost anywhere in Europe, the research option even beyond this continent.

Taking small decisions like, which shoes to wear, can be difficult for me at the best of times, so navigating my way through the choppy waters of career development is a challenge, to put it mildly. Commitment, that's what is required of me, to one route or another - particularly on the X-axis.

I let you know how I get on.

In the meantime, to keep this blog even mildly interesting i.e. offer something more relevant to read than my personal navel-gazing, I've decided to ask two people to do a guest post each, on the same topic: The Party Conference. Yep, two of my associates are indeed soaking up the atmosphere (err, and no doubt a good measure of the sponsored booze) whilst rubbing shoulders with the incumbent political elite.

I shall ask them both to divulge some details about inside party gossip and their respective experiences. I also expect a thorough appraisal of the wine offerings: was it all Italian Pinot Grigio and cheap New World Chardonnay and Merlot, or was there something more interesting to wet your throat with, like a Viognier or an Albarino... or a Shiraz from the Barossa Valley if you must leave Europe? It should be jolly interesting from an ethnographic point of view.

I let you know how I get on with that one, too.

The Spider, the Blizzard and the Which?!?

Who would have thought that the streets of Liverpool could be filled with magic and fantasy, reminiscent of the wondrous land of Narnia?

No, I didn't think so either, but a trip there on Saturday certainly paid off, for La Princesse worked its magic on the crowds that had gathered to witness the spectacle. For a 50-foot mechanical spider, La Princesse was full of grace, somehow delicate yet awesome. You had to be there, really, to appreciate the moment when she conjured up a snow storm, but you could watch the video clip below to get an idea...





From Liverpool I headed up North to the Yorkshire Dales to spend the night in a place called Malham. Due to the Very Heavy Rain we have been experiencing of late just about everywhere in the country, the river running through the village was ripe to burst its banks, as you can see from the picture (left). The local newspapers had been speculating about it, too, but thankfully Malham was spared, by the skin of its teeth!

The next day our entourage of 6 ladies explored the delights of Skipton, which included an eccletic mix of sheep shearing and an arts and crafts market where we flogged the jewellery made by the mother-in-law of one of our number.

Maybe it was the fresh air, the high altitude, or the surreal giant spider and her snowstorm, but somehow I managed to commit to a 6.00 am run around Ladybarn Park Monday morning. You will not be surprised that I made this promise Saturday night over a lovely dinner of game pie, a log fire crackling in the corner and a glass of warming red wine under my nose.

Tonight I have to set the alarm for 5.30 am in order to "enjoy" a predictably damp bike ride to Withington, and a jog around a soggy park before the rooster crows?

No news

This is not really meant to be a political blog, there are those out there who would beat me six-nil in that game so I'll keep this to a minimum.

I just need to say that the tail end of the summer season is really bad for news.

On Monday, Newsnight put on a full debate between the three main parties over this alleged f(r)iction between No 10 and 11 Downing Street, and what the Chancellor said/didn't say about the economy in his first-ever "residential interview" with a Guardian journalist at the weekend.

I watched the news item in disbelief as I had read the said article, in full, featured in the weekend supplement of the Guardian. I can only say that the vibe I got was one of whole-hearted support for the PM, and of a long-standing friendship which seems to be in short supply these days on the top tier of government. And as for the "doomsday" comments about the economy, surely Mr Darling was just trying to appear honest and therefore earn some trust with the electorate? Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

This was such a blatant hyped up news item that it made me despair. And I'm always going on about how brilliant the British media are.

Adding to that, last night (Newsnight, again) there was a very, very lengthy footage from this Arctic research team carrying out analysis of seawater below the ice cap to determine the extent of carbon dioxide trapped in our oceans. They had rifles and all to defend themselves against the hungry polar bears who hang out in that neck of the woods. All fascinating stuff, but at that hour of the night I really struggled to stay awake through this very comprehensive science report which was an obvious attempt just to fill a 15-minute gap(ing hole) in the programme.

Speaking of rifles, there's the issue of the Republican convention which, again, has been such a non-news item. It is clearly imperative for the world to know that the gun-wielding would-be VP of the US of A has an unmarried teenage daughter five months pregnant (shock, horror)? It is obviously worth our while on this side of the water to worry our heads with the state of the said daughter, and the potential uproar amongst the social conservatives her current predicament may cause. Right. It was also hugely enlightening to see Mr McCain on the 10 o'clock news tonight getting off his private jet, greeting his family first on the tarmac and then making a very special effort to give Mrs Palin and her family a big hug, including the wretched teenage daughter, AND - wait for it - the father of the unborn embarrassement, the boyfriend whom Mr McCain was enthusiastically patting on the arm in a very Alfa Male fashion so as to show his unequivocal support for the lad. Well done, boy!

Maybe I've been in the UK for too long, but really, the pregnancy of someone aged 17 hardly even qualifies as a teenage pregnancy in the British sense. At 17 you've practically finished school and all that, you're free to fill as many prams as you like. At least you won't be queuing up for IVF treatment in 20 years' time and using up those scarce public resources. [Note to self: unmarried and childless at 32, please show some restraint on this topic!]

Watching the news these days is only marginally better than lowering yourself to the level of Big Brother, Jerry Springer, or some other utterly repulsive form of "entertainment".

I do wait eagerly for the Labour Party conference to kick off in Manchester, maybe then we'll get some coverage on the national news about policy and the way forward?

Quelle chaleur! (or around the Med in 8 days)

I'm going to start this post-holiday post with some general observations, this first one particularly true of France, je pense: it is fair to say that as a rule, when you see ladies with big jewellery and small dogs you know you've landed in a classy cafe, expect to pay Paris prices.

The other general observation I believe is key to a harmonius holiday anywhere: do not moan about tourists or prices because: a) you are a tourist yourself, therefore b) expect to pay over the odds. When you then feast for 5 euros because you stumbled across a bar that does an early evening aperitivo deal, full of locals, it's an added bonus.

I had the most extraordinary things happening to me, too many really to recap in just one post, if you can't be bothered reading this then just check out the slide show on picasa. I try my best to be succinct (me?) and reduce the whole experience into a few highlights divided into five chunks mirroring the locations that I based myself in during those 8 days: Cinque terre, Genova, Nice and Marseille, and one part dedicated to the memorable arrival as follows:


1. Arrival (Pisa)

The most noteworthy thing was the heat, from the moment of touch down at Pisa airport at 7.35 pm on Wednesday 6 August. I didn't think I'd last for 8 days in those kind of temperatures (it was still +32 at that hour of the evening) but strangely one gets used to it, and by the time I reached Marseille I was cycling, taking un-airconditioned local trains and not feeling in any way restricted by the hot weather.

The incident that has to be recorded here sums up the most eventful 15 minutes of the year thus far: I had an ambitious plan to catch the 8.06 pm train from central Pisa to La Spezia, given that at 7.45 pm I was still waiting for my luggage in the arrivals hall, I didn't think I'd make it.

I jumped into a taxi at 7.52 pm, untypically for Italy the traffic was unproblematic so I reached the station at 8.00 pm. Untypically still, there was no queue at the ticket office, so when I was rushing up the stairs awkwardly with my luggage towards the platform with about a minute and a half to spare, I had no intention to turn around when I heard someone shouting "signora, signora". When I reached the platform I could still hear the persistent voice behind me so I turned around and saw a chubby man with an impressive moustache roughly in his late 50's hopping up the stairs and waving his arm in the air. Hang on, is that my purse he is clutching in his hand? He was huffing and puffing and speaking with great speed in Italian to two ladies witnessing the bizarre event, whilst handing my purse back to me. Undoubtedly he was explaining how he saw a pickpocket at work in the tunnel under the platforms and his heroic confrontation of the thief (I indeed spotted a suspicious looking teenage girl in the tunnel but I was too much in a hurry to clock that my shoulder bag was unzipped and my purse in full view after having just bought the train ticket, and also I heard some commotion behind me but again I was undeterred from my mission to catch the train).

The strange man with a moustache saved my holiday, the train pulled in, and all I could say was "grazie, grazie" and hurry on to the train. The purse still contained all my bank and visa cards, my driving licence, NI card, a substantial amount of euros (enough to last me for 8 days).

My faith in the human race is restored.


2. Cinque terre



Sun, sea, cliffs, tiny ports, formaggio and vino. Cinque terre probably could be entered into the Oxford dictionary of English to describe the word "pictoresque".

The most famous inhabitant of the (very) small town of Manarola was the lemon tree right across the road from our B&B. Groups of visitors stopped outside for a photo opportunity of the said member of local flora.

Cinque terre was the main venue of the honeymoon, so one of the first things my friend announced as we met at La Spezia station went something like this: "fear not, the sheets have been changed this morning, but us girls will have to do with one big sheet to sleep with, despite my repeated requests for two single sheets for the double bed that we would share".

As Nicola would say, worse things happen at sea.

Va bene!

3. Genova

We stayed in the most delightful B&B in the heart of the old town. It was a cute converted attic apartment in an ancient building consisting of 4 double rooms, a lovely spacious kitchen and a quirky roof terrace accessed through the kitchen window onto a narrow ledge, past the drain pipes and up a narrow flight of steps onto the most spectacular little sun trap in the entire city of Genova. I urge you to check out the pictures in picasa to see it for yourselves, it was incredible. The building itself didn't have a lift (but one was going to be installed, I witnessed the public notice of works downstairs next to the entrance) which made the experience of dragging your luggage up to the 5th floor with the temperature raising by about 5 degrees celsius after each flight of steps, well, quite an effort. It was all worth it though.

Genova could be described as having bags of gritty appeal, the old town with its narrow streets, the port, the prostitutes.... it's a working city in more ways than one. For high culture, via Garibaldi is a Unesco listed street with palaces built by the Italian aristocracy in the Genoese heyday, around the 16th century (pictured).

On Sunday 10 August the honeymoon officially ended and my friend returned chez elle, and I continued on to France by train.

4. Nice

Palm trees, pretty pastels and frilly french balconies en masse. NB the re-assuring queue outside a boulangerie (pictured). Dining al fresco in Vieux Nice is not to be missed, I had the lushest fried sardines known to mankind there. Enjoying their meal in the table next to me was an unlikely couple (I thought: a classy lady with a toyboy) who turned out in fact to be mother and son, the latter doing his training in the kitchen of a Parisian 3 Michelin star restaurant, the former visiting him all the way from Brasil. There was something about the way they shared a cigarette after the starter that made me think otherwise. Anyway, no wonder I couldn't figure out what language they spoke, it sounded nothing like the Portuguese I heard in Portugal last October.

It was a funny co-incidence that the mother and son were doing almost the exact same journey I was, only in reverse order: from Paris they had headed South to Marseille, from there along the corniche to Nice where out paths crossed, and were going to continue to Italy! On their recommendation I resolved to visit Cassis (just East of Marseille) and in return I gave them the number of the delightful B&B in Genova described above.


5. Marseille

In a word, Marseille is massive.

The whole experience of Marseille was rather dominated by my stay in the iconic Unite d'Habitation (Hotel le Corbusier, rooftop pictured), not only because it is such a mould-breaking building, but also because it is well off the beaten track so I found myself having to travel miles to get to the vieux port and the other touristy parts of town.

The touristy thing to do in Marseille is to visit Cassis (a tiny fishing town turned into a bit of a middle-class day trip destination), where you drink A.O.C Cassis ("blanc de blancs") on the beach, and catch a boat to visit les Calanques (tick).

However, Marseille couldn't really be described as touristy. The Marseillais have their very own Arndale centre (le centre commercial Bourse), and the city is more or less covered in graffiti. The metro is very retro indeed, and as with all other public forms of transport, it stops around 9 pm (this I found out the hard way, typically, and still find it incredible given that their dining habits are the same as everyone else's in the Med, ie late). On the bright side, you can access public transport bicycles, but you need your credit card to do this which I didn't have with me the first night...

Anyway, the Marseillais are wonderful, they speak French to you no matter how badly you speak French back to them (a refreshing change since in Nice, they all spoke English back to me as soon as I said "bonjour"). Also, they are very friendly and approachable (perhaps with the exception of the quey-side cafes where posh ladies with big jewellery and small dogs can be found in abundance), I was a bit paranoid first as random people would greet me in the street for no apparent reason. On the last night, I owe my fantastic bike ride along the corniche J.F. Kennedy to la plage du Prado to a friendly local who (seeing me struggle with the task) helped me operate the state of the art system to get on my bike.

The most bizarre element of the entire holiday was Hotel Le Corbusier/Unite d'Habitation, in its' entirety. It's like an ode to modernity and people who live there "live the utopia". Visiting the famous rooftop one gloriuos morning I spotted some folks dressed in old-fashioned white t-shirts doing their 1950's style weight lifting and other healthy exercises. In addition, no formal signing-in was required at the reception, I just told them my name and they took me to my room. I could have been anyone. To add to the strangeness, a different man at the reception when I was "checking out" (ie handing back my key and 138 euros in cash) advised me that Finnish people are asian. He assured me that he has several books on the topic and that this really is the case. Maybe he's right?

The height of weirdness was the nocturnal visit from some unidentified French guy into my room at approximately 12.30 am the first night: I was in bed, asleep, and woke up to the sound of keys rattling against the outer door which lead into this shared foyer between my room and next door. Right, I thought, the neighbour has arrived back from late dinner. Only that the rattling of the keys in the second door sounded far too loud. Before I could really think properly, the door opened and a man walked into the room, rested his shopping bags on the floor and flicked all the lights on. "Pardon, je suis trompe!" he exclaimed, seeing me gawking at him from between the sheets, grabbed his shopping bags, turned on his heels and made his swift way out.

Thankfully, he swithed the lights off again before he left the room so I didn't have to get out of bed.

The end.

The honeymoon

Let it be known that I am very excited indeed about going on a honeymoon in two days’ time.

It was all a bit unexpected, to say the least, in fact I've just been to Pisa and Florence a scant 3 months ago, I certainly wasn't planning to return to Italy so soon. But when the opportunity arose to bask in the Mediterranean sun for a few days and to discover the delights of “Cinque terre”, I slept on it and decided to “seize the moment” and embark on this impromptu holiday.

….but a honeymoon, you might rightly ask. Yes, that’s right. I am going on a honeymoon, but not my own. If you have visited this blog previously you may be aware that I found myself quite unexpectedly performing the role of a bridesmaid at my friend Mari’s wedding in Helsinki in the Spring. From what I gather it wasn’t quite going to be like that, and I guess it wasn’t quite going to be that I should join her on her honeymoon either, but it’s just the way things worked out. The newlyweds are currently enjoying their romantic break, but following a pretty boring visa/work permit kerfuffle with the Turkish and Chinese authorities, the husband has to take his leave and return to China a tad prematurely. Oh, alas! So I received an emergency phone call last week from the bride who was less than prepared to spend the second half of their honeymoon on her own. Fair enough.

The nuptial sejour is based in Manarola near La Spezia in Cinque terre, which is a breathtakingly beautiful cluster of 5 Unesco world heritage villages, just south of the Italian Riviera… which in turn is only a stone’s throw from ‘le Midi’ (where I had been secretly plotting to go for a little jolly for some time now). A quick Google session revealed that I can hop on a train in Genova and in just 3 hours disembark on French soil in Nice. Parfait! It wasn’t really such an arduous decision to make, even though the thought of going on someone else’s honeymoon might seem just a little bit on the exotic side.

Adding the fact that the unplanned appearance as a bridesmaid in May indeed turned out to be my (unlucky) third time in this role, if I was at all superstitious I might draw the conclusion that this may well be the nearest I ever get to a honeymoon… all the more reason to make the most of it!

In summary, my dear friend’s matrimonial misfortune has given me an excuse to embark on a week-long rampage on the Italian and French Riviera.

I have no complaints.

Cats vs dogs

An interesting debate emerged over dinner last night which could roughly be summarised as:

can one trust dogs more than cats?

My argument is that you can, dogs are far more loyal and obedient than cats generally, and speaking as someone with extensive experience of both canine and feline friends in a domestic setting I thought I speak with some authority about the matter.

I was not prepared however to be faced with a table-full of dog phobics who obviously favour cats because they are smaller and not as scary. I never felt comfortable with this 'are you a dog or a cat person' juxtapositioning, but I found myself fighting the dogs' corner last night, tooth and nail.

The funniest remark made last night against dogs (and their owners, in particular) is that when a dog attacks a human being the "classic" line from the owner is always "but s/he is such a sweet dog" thus approaching the unfortunate incident with complete incredulity.

I think that the above is not half as common though as a similar trend among parents towards their children's mischief. Speaking as a non-parent and having had to confront parents over their children's behaviour I can only say that one faces some kind of a brick wall where trust indeed becomes a huge issue. What parents generally don't seem to understand is that children are incredibly mischevious and have no trouble lying to their parents in order to save their skins.

And yet, faced with a naughty child with every incentive to be dishonest, a parent will automatically take the side of their offspring against a reasonable and polite grown up presenting an incriminating case against the offending minor.

So, back to the question, are dogs trustworthy? I think there is every reason to believe that dogs are more trustworthy than children, and that parents generally are more deluded than dog owners.

Oh, and what about cats then? I think much in tune with many fellow gardeners in urban areas I find myself increasingly frustrated with their pesky habit of using my flower beds as a public lavatory. But as far as their trustworthiness goes... well, if you see a cat guiding a blind person, please get in touch.

Who decides what is in the public interest?

Having read the conclusions of a doctoral thesis completed by Pia Backlund in Helsinki entitled "Tietamisen politiikka" - meaning something like "the Politics of Knowing", I have gathered valuable further ammunition to build the case for why participation is good in the context of local government.

I need all the evidence I can find, frankly, because most of the stuff that's happening out there carrying the label of "citizen/public participation/consultation"/ whatever/ is pretty depressing, from everyone's perspective. The residents who turn up are the "usual suspects" who hold their (stubborn) views and are thus oblivious to any messages deviating from their core beliefs, and then you get the ones who just turn up for the free biscuits. Generally, the general public are ill-informed, they have a narrow viewpoint often fuelled by "NIMBY" [not-in-my-backyard]. I raised this at the summer school last week, because everyone seemed to be raving about public engagement, perhaps erring on the side of (naive) enthusiasm. My challenge was that maybe everyone should just leave it to the professionals, there must be several studies carried out into the engagement of the public in decision-making which have concluded that most people take a short-term, self-centered view on things, where perhaps greater foresight and the "public good" should take precedence.

I'd like to illustrate this with the example of the proposed congestion charging in Manchester, the public debate (in the press) around which is strongly influenced by one heavy-weight interest group obviously positioned against the scheme.

The answer I got from the floor to my questioning of the value of public consultation was that a lot of resources have to dedicated to public education/information dissemination and all that, to make an informed public debate. Ah, but my problem with that is rooted in normative ethics: so the authorities should decide what is right/correct/unbiased, so as to make sure people know how to respond to the forthcoming consultation, to make the right decision?

I can't resist drawing on another practical example which was the Irish referenda (2001 "no"; 2002 "yes") on ratifying the Treaty of Nice. From the Government's viewpoint the public didn't quite get their facts right the first time, then more public education was required, and another referendum held until the majority at least got their facts right and voted in favour of the Treaty.

If Michel Foucault had been in the room at the summer school when the "public information campaign" was suggested as a solution to the public engagement dilemma, he might have had a thing or two to say about power/knowledge and all that.

Anyway, I said I had some positive evidence in favour of public engagement. Indeed, that engagement does not however take the form of "yes/no" type referenda or consultation even on issues predetermined by the administration, it's more to do with building bottom-up knowledge and the administration tapping into that information base, "the wisdom of many". The public servants' job is surely to understand what life is like in their jurisdiction and try to make the most of what resources they have to make life better, right?

This brings me to my final point: to describe it I'm going to use a term coined by Richard (the "PPGIS guru") in our supervision yesterday: "geographically referenced community information base" (that could be built, yes you've guessed it, with the help of Public Participation Geographical Information System, a mouthful and a half).

Maybe there is hope for us active citizens.

Ascetic existence in Salford

It's day 2.5 of the iGov2008 summer institute at the University of Salford, and last night I took the plunge and stayed at the Halls of Residence with the rest of the group. Even though I had brought my own sheets for the less than inviting single bed (elitist, I know, but after having showered this morning I wish I had brought my own towel as well) , it was still a bit of an ascetic experience. I say no more.

The institute consists of 20 students from all over the world, but notably none from the UK (apart from myself, that is, but I'm not originally from the UK either). The institute focuses on Greater Manchester with a strong theme on urban management issues, whilst some of the students seem a little critical about the lack of focus on e-government in a more purist sense, personally I find it refresing (read: I don't think I'd have an entire week of e-government in me).

This morning we had a keynote address from the venerable Stephen Coleman, whom I had the privilege of hearing also at the Politics 2.0 conference back in March, for some reason I found his address this morning more resonant than the previous time. Professor Coleman offered insighful analysis on the state of democracy, politics and citizenship in the digital/information age. Personally what I took away from it was his analysis of the concepts of trust vs. efficacy (in goverment-to-citizen relationships). Professor Coleman put forward the view that trust creates dependency which is inseparable from the flip side of the coin: let-down or disappointment; whereas efficacy would suggest a more proactive approach with people influencing the outcomes which affect them, a more engaging approach than "blind" trust.

I made a mental note of this and in my head hyperlinked this notion to that offered by Nikolas Rose (2000) in his essay on citizenship, New Labour and the Third Way. Rose talks about "a double movement of autonomization and responsibilisation" where the government off-loads responsibility onto the citizen-consumer coupled with increased autonomy in their drive for (double) devolution and "empowering communities". I am greatly enthused about Rose's analysis on "sociological determinism" [remember New Labour mantra "what works is what matters"] and "therapeutic individualism" [I hardly need to refer to user empowerment, "choice" and all the rest...].

I expressed some of these thoughts in the informal discussion over a cup of coffee after the keynote address, and somehow managed to rope in my notions of the global-local complexities in the network society, particularly how nowadays frustrations at the local level are often derived from global flows of information and conflicts (multicultural societies and all that). To my surprise Prof Coleman said he had just written a piece about this which was about to come out (next week in fact) and added that he would like to read some of my stuff, a huge compliment to a nobody such as myself. Incidentally, I am presenting a paper at a conference in Liverpool next month but don't think I'll have the nerve to send it to Stephen Coleman, it's just not quite good enough, I don't think completing that paper just before shooting off to Helsinki was my finest hour.

I am finding this institute nevertheless a welcome distraction to help me ease my way back into academic-analytical thinking after my 7-week long (empirical) rampage in Finland, which I have to write up before the end of August. (yikes)

The grass is greener...

When I set off in mid-May to do my overseas benchmarking fieldwork in Helsinki, I was fully expecting the Finns to have sorted out all the e-government stuff to a very advanced degree, based on their reputation. I expected there to be channel management strategies, refined systems of monitoring customer contacts, and above all a single window citizen-centric portal for all council services. The information society experience on the ground certainly is pretty advanced, as confirmed by the undersigned: mobile broadband, wireless hotspots, free cable modems from the library, funky walk-in centres in regeneration areas for anyone to use - no registration required.

In addition, Helsinki's current ICT strategy is a superb document, I could not have written a more comprehensive one myself. So, what's wrong? Erm, well, the vision of an all-singing, all-dancing e-service environment is thought be a reality in 2015. Yep, some 10 years later than I would have expected.

Thus the overall story from Helsinki for me is one of bewilderment mingled with disappointment. I couldn't stop myself in the subsequent interviews from trying to ascertain what on earth went wrong, as if there was some huge failure on the Council's part to have delivered more in the decade after I had left the country for England. That expectation ofcourse was mainly in my head, but most interviewees admitted that Finland had, overall, experienced an alarming period of stagnation in the past decade or so. Favourable economic trends and steady growth don't make a good environment for Finns to flourish, apparently. They need to struggle, hardship is required to bring out the best in Finns! Good news then for my compatriots, the world economy is in turmoil thanks to the much written about credit crunch in America, rocketing fuel prices etc. - there are certainly challenging times ahead for Little Finland too.

The other surprise was that I found such deep-rooted silos in the administration of Helsinki that I think they even surpass those in Manchester. "Maybe good hierarchy is better than a series of teethless partnerships" Nicola suggested on my first day back in Manchester. There's food for thought, the "system" does seem to work remarkably well in Helsinki - services are generally well-run, at least they keep raving about it in the press, the formidable "Nordic welfare model".

But is it really so great as they all think?

They may take away my passport for expressing anti-patriotic sentiments, but I do think the "system" that is the welfare model is heading towards a crisis in Finland anyway. It is perhaps based on an out-dated model of a homogenous society where everyone sings from the same hymn sheet, but that is increasingly not the case in Finland, as it is not the case anywhere else in Europe. Am I going to be the first academic to predict the demise of the Nordic welfare system? What a shock it would be to the entire leftie-liberal world who hail countries like Finland and Sweden as their ultimate progressive safe havens.

One or two interviewees, whose names I shall not mention here, admitted that they have come across some exaggerated ideas about the Finnish public sector during their travels. One even admitted that some policies have been borrowed from elsewhere in Europe - shock & horror! In the same time those who had had some exposure to UK policies and/or familiarised with Manchester's digital development, seemed to have an exceedingly positive image of what it is like over here. I didn't have the heart to tell them that they would be surprised if they scratched the surface, as much as I had been having scratched the surface in Helsinki.

I draw two important lessons from my comparative study:

1) Reputation, it appears, is not always built on hard facts.

2) Apparently, for public sector workers, the grass is always greener on the other side.

Let's not tell that to all those buraucrats in Brussels dishing out money for civil servants across Europe to travel to exotic places to learn how things are done "better" elsewhere.

Viva study visits!

A blue rinse, please, and some silver shampoo to take home

It’s about time I did a serious post, I said to myself earlier this week. I even started drafting one, it was going to be an attempt to sum up the big themes emerging during this fieldwork that is drawing to a close in just 10 days! How quickly time has flown, such a cliché, but so true.

However, the fat lady hasn’t sung yet and thus far I have fixed two interviews for the ultimate week, and have 3 more pending confirmation, plus two site visits. The battle of Helsinki isn’t over yet, but we are definitely approaching the final throws.

On the other hand, the battle against grey (hair) has ended. At the tender age of 32, I have thrown in the towel and it is now time for a blue rinse and stocking up in silver shampoo, or so my hairdresser advised me today.

Depressed?

Far from it, the invasion of grey hair has justified me going, well, blonde(ish). Trying to hang on to the brunette look has meant persistent and very noticeable snow white roots beginning to glisten in my parting in about 2 weeks after a colouring. Frustrated, I noticed that my brother has a near identical tendency to get grey hair, but his fairer base colour means that his greys hardly stand out. (Not fair!) The morale of the story is: don’t conceal your grey hair, rather camouflage them! No more attempts to dye my hair brown (for information, grey hair doesn’t really soak up colour very well, nevermind what it says on the tin), it was time for some creative thinking and drastic action.

As I’m typing this post no one I know has actually seen the new look, so the jury is out I guess…. You can make your own mind up, here it is - a world premiere - on my way home from the hairdresser's. (Yes, it is central Helsinki in the background, and no I haven't got a clue how I'm going to re-adjust to the concrete and red brick jungle that is Manchester)

Love and marriage

Things are getting chaotic - too many subjects to blog about, too little time. I shall have to prioritise my friend Mari's wedding and all the associated shenanigans . Let it be said first of all that this was the most laid back wedding I have ever attended, and it is unlikely to be beaten to the poll position by any future matrimonial ceremony that I shall ever witness.

Let's begin withTuesday when the bride, myself and Ana the Spaniard with hubby Austin took a ferry across the Gulf of Finland to Tallinn, supposedly for cheap treats. We procured pedicures at competitive prices, eat and drank well... and I did the unthinkable, that is to fall for the "cheap beer" trap which is really laughable these days. Having bought two crates of Saku, I calculated a maximum saving of 9 euros in total! But it was all about the experience of trolleying the crates across the bumpy pavements of Tallinn, thus joining the ranks of dozens of other Finns on the beer trail... The only saving grace was that my beer trolley was at least dubbed the "Ferrari of beer trolleys"! Ana is the queen of photo opportunities so she should be able to provide us with some visual material from the day.

The wedding crowd were treated to the best Finnish late Spring weather imaginable on the Big Day. I had the privilege of acting as the hair stylist and make-up artist of the bride, and in return spent the afternoon with Mari in the exclusive Kämp Spa - lush! The bride and I made our glamorous way on foot along Esplanadi (turning a few heads, naturellement) to the Suomenlinna ferry around 5.30 pm, the only bride I know of having caught public transport to her own wedding ceremony (Mari pictured en route in her smokey grey wedding dress, left, and below, she slips a ring on Gokhan's finger). I think Petite Anglaise (aka the celebrity blogger & Brit expat in France, Catherine Sanderson) tied the knot this weekend too, and in her blog she has hinted at having ditched the seating plan and other traditional things too, but I doubt very much she quite reached Mari's level of informality.

Towards the tail end of the night we (the Manchester gang) took the ferry back to the mainland and headed to Kappeli for some late drinks. We started off by polishing a couple of bottles of Cava, after which the nasty Finnish style shots were served, as well as the ominous sounding cocktail "Helsinki Hell" - highly recommended! There was nothing nasty in particular about the shots flavoured with Fishermans Friend, if it wasn't for the fact that I had been first introduced to the darned things only the night before after the official launch party of the summer season at restaurant Vespa.



At the end of the night, much later than I care to think right now, I walked back to the Glo Hotel (pictured) with the newly weds to pick up my stuff from the reception, and what else was playing in the hotel bar but "Love and Marriage" - what a hilariously fitting end to the night! I continued, by foot, back to Kallio for a few hours' sleep before....

... my impromptu roles continued the day after the wedding at Mari's parents' summer cottage. I rather took to my alter ego as the (almost) Naked Chef. It came about as I visited the kitchen after a quick splash in the lake and was drafted in to prepare a salmon soup for the wedding entourage. Gokhan's friends, also known as the Turks, were entertained, I'm sure, by my less-than-fitting chef's outfit which consisted of a swimming costume and nothing else (I'm glad to point out this is a NEW piece of swimwear, purchased after one fateful visit to the local pool in Kallio). The story sounds even better if I add that Mari actually works for the Jamie Oliver brand and we indeed had his exclusive range of table spices with which to liven up the soup!

We had all kinds of entertainment at the cottage, including a game of boules (Gokhan pictured performing one of his winning throws), where I very expertly stepped into the shoes of the (almost naked) adjudicator. It didn't really matter that I haven't any notion of the rules, I discovered all you have to do is make them up (convincingly, I might add) as you go along, and if in doubt, ask the Father of the Bride (pictured, gutting a fish for smoking later).

The wedding well and truly over on Monday, after a site visit to Kontula launching my public internet access point user survey, I met up with Mari for a very, very long lunch at Teatteri, followed by lattes & cinnamon buns at Cafe Esplanad (the latter a MUST, they serve cinnamon buns about the size of a dinner plate at Cafe Espa).

I concluded the day's socialising with a sunny walk around Töölönlahti [the Bay of Töölö], talking about love and marriage(s) - what else!

The Breadline

Today, I witnessed a crowd of easily 200 people in a breadline on Helsinginkatu. I can't believe it! I used to live on Helsinginkatu for a while, my brother for years and years. There were never any breadlines.

It made such an impression on me that I mentioned it in my interview with an officer from Helsinki City Council later in the afternoon. She showed equal "passion" for the phenomenon, she agreed that 10 years ago you would get less people queuing up for handouts. She really wants someone to do a bit of research into it, there's been such an exponential growth of people seemingly unable to make ends meet. The really strange thing is that whilst there were a few of the "usual suspects" hanging about (i.e. homeless alcoholics, of whom Helsinki always had its' fair share) but the majority seemed to be quite untraditional types: sort of "normal" looking people.

"Uusavuttomat" [nouveau helpless] my interviewee suggested. Some time ago people would do almost anything to avoid the humiliation, whereas it wasn't such a big deal for this new generation of people to join the breadline. They'd rather prioritise something else, above getting food on the table, as they knew that the food thing could be resolved if they bothered to queue up for it.

Harsh words perhaps? Undoubtedly these were people living in (relative) poverty. I noticed myself that the price of food has hiked up in Finland, probably outperforming any pay rises (or increases in state benefits for that matter).

Still, I'm gobsmacked.

The Catch Up

Helsinki bus station has been swallowed by Earth. I stand where it used to be, my bus is leaving in 10 minutes but, oh alas!, I cannot find the station. The web service informed me that the departure was at 14.45 from Kamppi bus station (behind Lasipalatsi – precisely where buses used to leave from 8 years ago, or so I thought). I have to ring my sister-in-law to enquire where the bus station has gone to. “Underground” she laughs. “You know the big Kamppi shopping centre, you’ll spot a set of stairs going down, it’s there”. “No” I sulked in response, “I don’t know the Kamppi shopping centre, I’ve never been there and there are no signs anywhere for the station either”. Turns out the Kamppi shopping centre is a spitting distance from the old yellow building that used to be the bus station, and underneath this monstrous retail complex hidden inside its’ guts, is the shiny new bus station. I get there just in time for my bus, but I can’t find the ticket office anywhere, so I miss the connection. Tuusula thankfully has regular connections from Helsinki, so I catch the 15.03 instead. I discover I could have bought the ticket from the driver, I didn’t need to find the ticket office at all. I am peeved. I have this false sense of confidence that I know how things work and definitely where things are in Helsinki, but as it happens, my tacit knowledge is utterly out of date.

I attended a family gathering at the weekend, my aunt and my old art teacher of 6 years, Eeva, celebrated her 70^th birthday. I remember her 60^th, as well as her 50^th birthday celebrations, which makes me feel my own age. My aunt’s big birthdays coincide with my grandmother’s, she is 80 in a week’s time. Embarrassingly I no longer recognised some of my more distant relatives, and I found myself telling the same story time and again about where I am and what I do these days. I used to be at the heart of things in my extended family, if anyone would be asked to bake a cake or help out with practical arrangements, it would be me. It felt bizarre just to walk in like any guest to a party that had been planned and arranged without any input from me. In many ways it was a trip down memory lane, made all the more intensive by my aunt’s lovely display of her works in the garden and patio area turned into an exhibition space. Amongst the oeuvres were three images of me, aged 6:

I have vivid recollections of sitting for her, Eeva
indeed verified that I used to be her favourite still
life model because I had the patience just to sit there for ages (unlike most children, even grown-ups). For me it was a pleasant experience, I remember the rhythmic sound of charcoal on rough sketching paper, it was as though I could feel the eyes of the artist drawing on my skin.

To continue the narrative of happy reunions, Restaurant Comrade proved to be the smartest venue imaginable in the heart of Kallio, a perfect location for a hard core catch-up with my old bestest comrade Susanna (pictured with me outside the “Comrade”). We used to be inseparable at school, but we haven’t met in over two years! The Comrade has a very chic ambiance complete with vintage leather furniture, perfectly fit for the intellectuals and leftie-liberals who favour this part of town. The pair of us perhaps the least smooth element there that evening, although it was quiet for a Thursday, we made sure after 3 bottles of wine that it was quiet no longer. Susanna doesn’t remember cycling home and I woke up Friday morning with the lights on. The last time we had a decent catch-up, I ended up nearly missing my flight to Manchester the next morning and at the airport, just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I found myself inside a cubical in the men’s toilet as my flight was announced for boarding.

All that ends well...