A Book, A Movie, A Song

Thank you all for your wonderfully diverse but helpful comments and advice to the previous post. Like in that post, the squirrel remains in a pensive and philosophical mood and the wanderings of my mind led me to this discovery.

A number of times, I have come across bloggers who do a meme on the books that they have read. They would share about the latest books they have read, favorite author etc. and very often, which have been the books that have influenced their lives most.

I have always not participated cause, when it comes to books that have influenced my life, my brain usually draws a blank. One because I am not a prolific reader, two because I am not a serious reader (i.e. I do not like to read heavy intellectual tomes) and three, my reading list is a little embarrassing.

So, as I said, I was surprised to make a discovery of what may be the book that has been most influential in my life (apart from the bible) during my recent mental wanderings. The book is "Ring of Bright Water" by Gavin Maxwell.

Well, it is actually a series of books including "The Rocks Remain" and "Raven Seek Thy Brother". For those of you who are unfamiliar about Gavin Maxwell and his books, I have posted on it before. Follow this link. It is essentially an autobiography of a journalist, author and naturalist who purchases a small piece of land in a remote part of Scotland; his own personal bit of heaven which he named Camusfeàrna. The books also detail his relationship with a whole menagerie of otters; his first love, Mijbil; his long time companion, Edal; Teko who brought fresh hope; and the next generation including Mossy and Monday.

How has this book (or series of books) been influential in my life? Well, I first read "Ring of Bright Water" when I was about 13 or 14 years of age and I think it was the first book that taught me to love animals and especially animals in the wild. My current career in nature conservation some 3 decades later stems from this love that was first planted as a seed then. That makes it a major influence indeed.

The books were also a very brutally honest record of the difficulties, both personal and financial, that Maxwell faced in trying to make his little piece of heaven work. There were also the disasters and tragedies that struck. At that young age, this was my first time reading about a very human icon. He may be author and naturalist extraordinaire but he was far from faultless and far from knowing all the right answers. He made me appreciate that heroes are humans too and the real heroes are the ones that get up after being knocked down and start re-building again.

Maxwell could probably have continued his successful career or even entered into the diplomatic service but he gave it all up for a simpler life amongst his otters and outdoor pursuits in his tiny remote corner of Scotland. My dreams have been affected by his. Success is not as the world measures but by your own sense of happiness in doing what you love. I still seek a little piece of heaven on earth even now.

As I prepared for this post, I came across the old theme song for the movie based on the book. I had actually forgotten how wonderfully poignant and inspiring these words were to my younger self. They are wonderful. The song was sung by Val Doonican and here are the lyrics, followed by the song itself.


Where sun and wind play on a ring of bright water
That's where my heartland will be
The deer on the hill in the first snow of winter
the gull in the sky winging free

I wandered away from the dark crowded city,
Leaving my old life behind,
And came to a place where a ring of bright water,
Dazzled the care from my mind.
So I live with the wonder of the sky and the sea
And I'll always remember who revealed them to me

But now you are gone with your whirlpools of laughter
Racing me down to the sea
But I always smile when a ring of bright water
Echoes your laughter to me.

(key change)

But now you are gone with your whirlpools of laughter
Racing me down to the sea
But I always smile when a ring of bright water
Echoes your laughter to me.
Echoes your laughter to me

Here Lies Peter Rabbit And His Friends

Note: If the title of this post intrigued you, I'm afraid you will have to read through this long post as I only refer to it at the end. Of course, you could scroll to the end, there-by bypassing all the tripe at the front but that would be cheating and just "not cricket" as the British would say.

One of my unusual hobbies is to visit and photograph cemeteries. Since I started blogging, I have met a few kindred spirits who share in this particular interest.

Of late, I have had very little opportunity to visit interesting graveyards or cemeteries. So during my recent visit to London last month, I was straining at the bit for an opportunity to visit the famous Highgate Cemetery in north London. Unfortunately, I was thwarted by the unholy combination of foul (wet, cold and miserable) weather, inconvenient public transport routes and schedules, and an unwillingness of the guides (which you need to follow if you want to visit the more interesting part of the cemetery) to brave the winter winds except on weekends.

It's a pity. Did you know that you can visit Karl Marx's grave at Highgate Cemetery? But then, some people dismiss it as just another "communist plot". "Communist plot", did you get it? I made a small joke.

Anyway, instead of Highgate Cemetery, I placed my sights on Brompton Cemetery which was just round the corner from where I was staying.

Entrance to Brompton Cemetery (LGS)

Brompton Cemetery is located near Earl's Court in West Brompton which is part of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. It was part of the Magnificent 7 which were a series of private cemeteries which were commissioned through Parliamentary Bill in 1832 to address the fact that the inner city church graveyards in London were overflowing as result of the big population boom in London in the early part of the 19th Century.

Architecturally, it is interesting as it tried to follow an European layout and the design of its small chapel was meant to mimic St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.

View of the Graves and Gravestones (LGS)

Today, the cemetery is managed by the Royal Parks and is open to the public to use as a park although funerals and burials still do occur. It is believed that there is in excess of 50,000 monuments and graves of every imaginable type. Below is a picture of a rather unusual and ornate copper clad coffin.

Ornate Copper Resting Place (LGS)

I particularly like monuments that rather imaginatively record the passing of entire families, like this one below.

The Cross Rises from the Family Plot (LGS)

The Chapel (LGS)

The Spirit Highway (LGS)

This cemetery is quite atmospheric and a real gem right in the middle of modern busy London. It is not surprising therefore that this has been used as a filming location for a number of movies including the films, "The Wisdom of Crocodiles", "Johnny English" and the newly released movie "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) starring Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law.

The Wilder Side of the Tracks (LGS)

There is a whole list of important and famous people who are buried here. For those of you who may be a dead celebrity watcher or a paparazzi who prefer a stationary target, you can follow this LINK for a list of the famous.

I was interested to learn that the Sioux Chief, Long Wolf, was buried here in 1892. He took part in a tour of the Europe as part of the Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show but died of pneumonia. He was buried with a 17 month old Indian girl named Star Ghost Dog who is believed to have fallen from her mother's arms while on horseback. He was finally re-interned on tribal land in South Dakota in 1997 after spending 105 years in England's wet and green lands.

The other notable thing about this place is that it is the resting place of many childhood favorites. It seems that the famous author, Beatrix Potter, lived nearby at 2 Bolton Gardens and was a frequent visitor to Brompton Cemetery. For years there were rumours that she derived some inspiration from what she saw there. In 2001, James Mackay, a member of the Friends of Brompton Cemetery decided to investigate using recently computerised cemetery records and found a startling number of Ms. Potter's story characters were interned there. There is, for example, Peter Rabbett as well as headstones for Mr. Nutkin (which of course inspired the creation of Squirrel Nutkin), Mr. McGregor (whose walled garden is believed to be modeled on the colonnades in Brompton Cemetery), Jeremiah Fisher, Tommy Brock and even a Tod (as opposed to the more commonly used "Todd").

The Nutkin Family (Photo by Rehan Qayoom)

That's me bravely investigating the spookier side of the cemetery. (LGS)

Squirrel's Secret Spot 14 : Regent Canal and Camden Locks

Hi folks. Sorry I have been away for so long. It hasn't been a great start to the year for me so far and that included being so swamped with work that I haven't been able to even go see "Avatar" for the last three weeks. But that is not the focus of today's post.

Instead, I want to carry on with my series of posts about my recent trip to London, England and coincidentally also add the 14th installment of Squirrel's Secret Spots from around the world (which is another series that I have not posted on for quite awhile).

Well, one fine winter day (which means typical wet, cold and miserable in England), having sated my appetite for tourist attractions and bored myself silly, window shopping along Oxford Street for the umpteenth time, I followed my nose (which was buried in a tour guide) and found myself at a rather interesting place.

I took the Underground to Camden Town, got out and went in the wrong direction and ended walking along the northern end of Regent's Park and took a circuitous route that almost took me back where I started but only after a walk of about 30 minutes. But I did not really mind apart from the bitter wind blowing because this route led me to walk along the blissfully charming Regent's Canal.

The Regent's Canal is a great place in summer to take a water tour by historical canal narrowboats from the Industrial Revolution period of the 19th Century. There is also a tow path that remains open for long walks in relative solitude long after the boating season is over. As the canal meanders its way between fields and buildings, walking along its towpath is like stepping back in time. I am a big fan of canals and canal boats. The calm surroundings, the brightly and gaily painted narrowboats, the often eccentric boat owners as well as the beautiful houses and buildings along the way would be more than enough to make me score this place very highly.

Stepping Back in Time (LGS)

Narrowboats (LGS)

Someone's Traveling Home (LGS)

However, the Regent Canal walk rewards its adventurers by leading them to the Camden Locks. This area was once the confluence of a number of different transportation modes. The Locks themselves were important to allow the canal boats to go upstream to a higher water level. Nearby there were the Camden Stables where many horses were kept. Also nearby are a couple of railway bridges which mark another important transportation mode. At sometime in its history, the area became depressed and many of these facilities fell into disuse. But more recently, the whole area has been revived with a mixture of recreational boating and a lively outdoor and indoor market scene, rich in arts, crafts and souvenirs.

Sure some of the stuff was tacky but a lot of the others were quite imaginative. My wife bought some Lithuanian amber at a great price. I, in turn was rewarded with a taste of Moroccan cuisine for less than 4 pounds sterling. Wonderful. And I ate it sitting on these cute seats made to look like mini-scooters and with a great view of the canal.

I loved it. I'd go back again. And so Regent Canal and Camden Lock Market makes it on to the Squirrel's Secret Spots' list.

Camden Locks in Action (LGS)

Art Climbing the Walls (LGS)

Camden Lock - Also Good Shopping (LGS)

Even the Stables Now Host Shops (LGS)

Art Galloping off the Walls (LGS)

Mini-Scooters by the Canal (LGS)

London Revisited; The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

I am back in Malaysia and already in the real world of work, bills and responsibilities. My break in London was a good one though and i come back well rested and recharged.

As promised, I will be posting about this adventure. To start with, I thought I would give you an introduction and a general review which I will call the Good, the Bad and the Ugly of London today compared to the London I knew 25 years ago.

The Good
There were quite a few pleasant surprises. I arrived at Heathrow Airport at a terminal that I had never been before and was pleasantly surprised at the ease and efficiency of the place. This was quite different from the chaos that I remember from 13 years ago and given the increase of security procedures since 9/11, quite impressive. It was rather a long walk to the Underground train station but then the train whisked me effortlessly through the early morning right to Piccadilly Circus. I walked out into the crisp cold morning air and into a city that was just awakening to the rhythm of a new day. It was a good start.

Just a short 200 m walk and I reached the hotel and had a great reunion with my wife who had been traveling separately for the last fortnight on work assignment. I don't like it when we are apart so the re-union was very good.

Eros at Piccadilly Circus in the early morning (LGS)

I spent the first few days in and around Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, Soho Chinatown and Covent Garden. Generally, all of these experiences were good. I was particularly impressed with Trafalgar Square. It used to be pigeon and dove infested and felt very cold and unfriendly. Visitors spent their time avoiding the stale bird droppings on the ground and on the statues and ducking the aerial bombardment with the hot and fresh variety. Well, the birds are mostly gone and the space is very people friendly now. It feels more like a space that belongs to the people and to be used by the people.

I got a similar impression about the museums and the parks. They have begun to lose their stiff institutional demeanor and become more of a place to serve the public needs. Hence there were Christmas fairs in the park and open air ice rinks outside the august Natural History Museum. London has become less stuffy and more alive. Covent Garden too has become more organic and brimming with innovation and spirit. This new London is more fun and youthful.

Trafalgar Square (LGS)

Covent Garden (LGS)

Reindeer, both artificial and real at Covent Garden (LGS)

Carnival rides (Leicester Square) (LGS)

Skating rink outside the Natural History Museum (LGS)

Outdoor Ice Rinks - grooming future Torvil and Dean's (LGS)

The food scene has also improved tremendously but that still doesn't mean that London is where you would go for a culinary experience. The improvement is in the fact there are more reasonably priced variety available with an increased emphasis on fresh ingredients. For example, the chain, Pret a Manger, offers exciting variety of sandwiches which are a world apart from the traditional fried foods of yesteryear.

The Bad
As time has marched on, London has also lost some of its traditional charm. The traditional fish and chips shop has become a rarity. Most have either closed down or have morphed into a more up-market establishment (meaning costlier). I finally did find one traditional chippie way out in Fulham Broadway that served it just the way I remembered it. You are more likely to find Indian food round the corner.

I had hoped that the quaint but functioning fresh produce market that I used to shop at near Fulham Broadway would still be there with its individualistic and colorful stalls scattered along a narrow lane. A form of the market can still be found but it no longer lies within the atmospheric side lane but on the pavement of the main road itself. The supermarkets also seem to stock less of fresh produce and more of ready meals.

I went to visit my alta mater and had mixed feelings seeing the old student's residence (which was a dump) converted now to choice apartments along the swanky King's Road in Chelsea. Good to see the fire station which was the scene of many student-firemen water fights during orientation week is still there though.


The Ugly
And finally, there was the ugly. Well, there wasn't really a lot of that. I guess the ugliest thing was the cold, wet rainy weather that I had to had to contend with for most of my stay and which resulted in me having a bad cough. But then again, cold wet rainy and miserable weather is part of the quintessential London winter experience so one really can't complain, can one?

Carols from Trafalgar Square

Christmas Carolling at Trafalgar Square, 2009

The Christmas Tree from Oslo

One of the highlights of my current re-visit of London is Trafalgar Square. This historical square at one point used to be filthy and pigeon and dove infested. This has all changed and it has been transformed into a truly people friendly spot worthy of being a focal point for travelers and Londoners alike in the very heart of the city.

For many years, the people of Oslo send a tree as a gift to the people of London and it is erected at Trafalgar Square. There, under the watchful eye of Nelson's statue and just across the way from the St. Martin's in the Field church, the tree is often the spot from which choirs and carolers sing and celebrate Christmas, the birth of Christ. It is a wonderful location and passer-bys get to sit on the steps leading from the National Gallery into the Square while enjoying the performances and singing along.

My wife and I were fortunate to be there on such an evening recently. The video below is of the same event in 2008. I have also included a video of Josh Groban singing one of my favorite carols, "O Holy Night", which he is singing from Rockerfeller Center, the New York City equivalent of Trafalgar Square.





And so, dear friends, may I wish you a blessed Christmas from Trafalgar Square. May the light of love and hope that shone in Bethlehem's streets, shine also in your life. God bless.

London Revisited: Omens

Dear friends,

Here I am with my first post of several about my trip to London. I studied there and graduated some 25 years ago and as one dear friend quipped, "Why, that's longer than the sentence that most people get sentenced for man-slaughter." Great. Such a sweet comparison.

As I mentioned in my last post, this trip was my first real opportunity to visit London and to meet some friends since then. Many of you would have perceived that I had mixed feelings about this trip; a mixture of excitement and apprehension about what changes I would find.

Interestingly, if you believe in omens, there were two signs that did in fact represent my experience and reinforced my mixed feelings. For the first part of my trip, I stayed at a hotel and then in the second part of the trip, in a self-service apartment.

The first omen, was this sign that greeted me as I stepped out of the lift before reaching my hotel room. It had a very foreboding message and reminded me of that famous phrase, "abandon all hope, all ye who enter here".

NO ESCAPE

Indeed I had a few bad experiences and disappointments in the first part of my trip but things did improve and I began to really enjoy myself in the second part. I was not surprised because I was uplifted by what I saw when I entered the lift at my self service apartment. The second omen was one of hope.

SCHINDLER'S LIFT

Lift - List. Get it? Schindler's Lift? Get it?

Now I don't believe in omens but I do believe in a God with a sense of humour leaving little messages for me. :)

A Brave New Adventure

Unrecognisable Hugh Laurie

Half a lifetime ago, I spent 5 years in the British Isles; three of those years as a poor University student in London and apart from a short stopover, I have not been back to visit for 20 years. Very shortly, I will be making that trip and I will be meeting up with old friends for the very first time since.

I am excited and a little apprehensive at what I will find. I already know that at least one of my old haunts have fallen under the wheels of progress and the relentless march of time. Will old memories come flooding back or will I find I no longer have a connection with this great city.

The London and indeed the Britain I knew must be quite different from what they are today. Mine was a Britain under the iron rule of Margaret Thatcher; a Britain where the fish and chippie shop was still common place; a country that still faced the problem of terrorist attacks from the IRA (I was nearby when bombs went off outside Harrod's Department Store); a country whose Queen was almost uniformly respected and adored; a country that fought a risky but (most people would agree) justified war for the Falklands; and finally, a country where Hugh Laurie played the straight-laced and proper mommy's boy sidekick to Rowan Atkinson in the Black Adder TV series.

Today, the time of Thatcher is like a distant memory. The fish and chip shop has been largely replaced by curry and rice shops. Thankfully, there is hope of a lasting peace in Ireland but London has been attacked by Islamic terrorists instead. The once unsullied Queen has suffered much bad publicity over her relationship with Princess Diana. Today, a commission is investigating the reasons why Tony Blair's government committed the country to an unpopular and possibly unjustified war in Iraq. And Hugh Laurie is almost unrecognisable as the caustic and cankerous Doctor House in the American TV series.

I have not seen the Millennium Bridge (or indeed any of the Millennium projects), the Princess Diana memorial, the London Eye, the Gerkhin etc. I'm hoping the old open air market in Fulham is still there. I'm hoping the kebab place near Golder's Green tube station still sells the best kebabs ever. I'm hoping to visit my old University residence and find it largely unchanged. I'm hoping Somerset Cider is as delicious as I remember it. I'm hoping that U.K. food standards have improved!

Most of all, I am hoping my old friendships will pick up where we left off some twenty years ago. Wish me luck.

Adventures in the Fast Lane

Fast Food?

I apologise if you have lured you here under false pretenses. From the title of the post, you might have thought that this post is about living the life of the rich and famous ...... it is not. Or you might have thought that it would be the confessions of a drug abuser and speed addict ....... but you would be wrong. Or you might have expected tales from the life of a race car driver ...... but you would be disappointed.

Instead, I am writing about fasting. Fasting is the the act of willingly abstaining from some or all food, drink, or both, for a period of time. It is now the month of Rahmadan during which Muslims all of the world fast from sunrise to sunset. No food or liquid should be ingested during the fasting period and this even means spitting out saliva instead of swallowing it.
The purpose of fasting is for Muslims to gain more noble values by gaining control of their natural desires and passions. Some Muslim friends have also explained that fasting makes them more appreciative of the suffering of those less fortunate.

Have you fasted before? I have four tales of fasting from my own experiences.

Tale No: 1 (The Early Years)
My first experience with fasting was in my early teens, when as a young Christian, I took part in prayer and fasting sessions. The purpose was to meet in groups to encounter God and to pray for issues and for one another. Aternating between periods of singing praises to God, silent devotion and prayer, these sessions would last from morning to evening (about 6 hours). We would often miss lunch as a result. The idea of fasting in this case was to put communion with God first before even our earthly desires. We used to do this about once a month and I actually enjoyed these sessions very much. Of course, not eating for just 6 hours isn't really a very long time but it was my first experiences in fasting.

When I was at University, I also took part in a couple of these fast to feed the world programs. The idea is to skip lunch and to donate your lunch money to a food aid charity.
Tale No:2 (The Surprise)
When I was studying in the United Kingdom for my A-levels, there was a short one week holiday and as I was staying in a hostel, a friend invited me to spend the holidays with his family. Now my friend is Jewish and his family home was in London. I had a great time and enjoyed their kind hospitality. My friend did tell me that there was a very important Jewish festival (I think it was Yom Kippur) during that week which they had to attend the synagogue. He told me that I could go off and do my own thing but I was keen to learn more about a different culture and religion. " When in Rome, do as the Romans do", as they say.

He was thrilled that I showed interest and even wanted to go to the synagogue with them. Now this is when he sprung the surprise. Apparently we had to fast for 25 hours. With the wild impulse of youth, I accepted the challenge. So I found myself fasting for 25 hours and attending an extremely long service at the synagogue (from morning to mid-afternoon).

Despite the length of the service, I was taken in with the paegent.ry and the strangeness of the language and the go-ing ons. As such, I was distracted from thinking about food but that completely changed after the service. The mind is a little foggy on this point but I think both my friend and I cheated on the fasting thing when his parents weren't around later. Still, it was the first time i felt truly challenged by fasting and gave me a better respect for those who practice it regularly.

Tale No: 3 (The Real Test)
A few years later, I was travelling through Yugoslavia. In those days the Yugoslavia dinar had no value outside of that country. Therefore, you needed to be careful not to change too much money if you did not want to be left with a bunch of notes that you cannot exchange back into any useful currency when you left.

Of course, being frugal, I exchnaged only a little of my traveler's cheques. As a result, I ran out of dinar on my last day in Yugoslavia and spent the last 8 hours effectively penniless while waiting for a train at the train station. I was hungry and very thirsty and all around me was food and people eating food but I was the penilless backpacker looking in on the feast.

It was a very difficult time. Unlike my earlier fasting tales, this was not voluntary and I could not stop even if I wanted to. In a way, this enforced fast made me understand the plight of the hungry more than any other experience.
Tale No: 4 (Still Unenlightened)
Some people say that fasting helps in self discovery and enlightenment. The earlier fasting experiences certainly taught me some life lessons and I am better able to fast voluntarily as a result. However, as this story shows, I was still very far from enlightenment or wisdom.

This final tale was set at the end of a long, tiring holiday. My girlfriend and I was on the way home after a long journey which included a long hike and bus journey. We were tired and dishevelled and had not eaten for about half the day when we got to the train station. We were taking separate trains from there. After buying our tickets, my girlfriend took the last of her money and bought me a hamburger.

She skips up to me and hands me the hamburger, served with a smile. Almost simultaneously, this homeless man comes up to me and asks for some small change for food. I looked and saw the hunger in his eyes. I had no money left either and so perhaps of the lessons I had previously learnt from fasting, automatically, I passed the hamburger to him. I remember two sets of expressions; the gratitute in the face of the homeless man and the sheer shock on my girlfriend's face. Perhaps i should have asked her if it was okay with her to offer the hamburger away. See......not so wise.

Grey Alert!

Grey Squirrels are cute and innocent victims.

Mad dogs and English Princes! I can't believe my ears. It seems bonnie Prince Charles has called for the culling of my Grey Squirrel brethren throughout the British isles. Our crime for which we have been singled out includes;

a) Damaging hardwood trees by peeling their bark and
b) Out-competing the local red squirrels.

This is outrageous! I have always had a soft spot for the Prince seeing as he has had to cope with a lot of public attention while still having been made to wait so long to take his turn as monarch of the realm. But this incident has made me wonder if all that waiting has not in fact resulting in him having a soft spot in his head! What he is proposing is nothing less than racial discrimination against the Greys and the squirrel equivalent of ETHNIC CLEANSING!

First let me deal with the allegation that Greys are a threat to the Hardwood trees. Yes, it is true that Greys sometimes strip the bark off hardwood trees but this is something Reds do as well. Greys should not be singled out for this problem. Getting rid of Greys will not stop damage to these trees unless you also get rid of the Reds. However, one should look at the big picture and realise that Greys deserve a little reward because of the services they provide to the forest overall. It has been conclusively shown in their native habitat, eastern grey squirrels play an important role in forest regeneration. Buried but unretrieved nuts will often germinate, helping with reforestation. So, Greys in fact know more about taking care of forests than you humans! So let us get on with it.

As for outcompeting the Reds, Greys are charged with being larger, more aggresive, reproducing more effectively, nudging the Reds out of their habitats and spreading the Poxvirus which have killed up to 80% of the Red populations in some parts of the country but to which the Greys are immune. And so, the arguement goes, the Greys must be exterminated to save the Reds.

Let's see how this scenario compares with one from human history. I speak specifically of the arrival of the Palefaces in the New World. The Palefaces were larger, more aggressive (guns versus bows and arrows), had larger and larger numbers coming over, made treaties and broke them to push the "Red Indians" or Native americans out of their traditional lands and introduced the Smallpox virus which contributed to the decline of the Red Indian population from about 18 million before the arrival of the Palefaces to just over 500,000 at the start of the twentieth century. Now these same Palefaces from the motherland want to kill Grey Squirrels to protect the native Red Squirrels? What hypocricy!

If only, someone could have organised the culling of the Palefaces back then to protect the Native Americans, it would indeed be a fairer world. But there is one more important distinction. While the Palefaces came to the New World on purpose, the Grey Squirrels did not choose to come to the wet and rainy British Isles but were introduced there last century by the same Palefaces. So don't take it out on us Greys. Go see them forktongued Palefaces.

Now that the Greys are here (through no fault of our own), it is only right to live and let live. Instead of culling and inflicting such pain and suffering, by all means give us Greys contraceptives to control our numbers, set up reserves on islands to protect the wimpy Reds and we will even let you use our genes to help develop immunity for the Reds for the poxvirus.

Finally, do you really want to explain to your kids why you are war criminal for carrying out ethnic cleansing? Especially when us Greys are so cute? Take action now! Write to your MP. Protest in front of the British Embassies. Today, it is the Greys.......tomorrow it could be you!

Since Prince Charles has put his foot in his mouth with this outrageous statement of his, I feel it is only fair to end by having a little laugh at His Royal Highness expense. Enjoy.

Unburied Nuts from 17th November 2006: Goodnight, Mrs. Legatt

The "Unburied Nuts" series is an unashamed effort to recycle some of my earlier postings when I am too stressed out to create something new to post. This offering is certainly from the earliest period when the Lone Grey Squirrel was not so grey but going through a mid-life crisis anyway. I hope you like it.

As we travel through life, we pick up a lot of junk. Not surprising, I am a bit of a pack rat and will not allow things I collect to be put out for a yard sale without a fight. For me, these are more than just items, they are symbols of my life journey. More than things though, we each meet a whole host of people. Some have been a big influence on our lives while others less so but they all touched our lives and were part of the shaping of who we are and what we believe. Some of them taught us great life truths and yet others got us wondering about life.

Tonight, I find my mind traveling through time and space until I find myself sitting by the bedside of Ms. Legatt. My younger self was a thin insecure teenager who found himself thousands of kilometers away from home in a strange and cold place called Brighton, United Kingdom, so as to have the opportunity to study. Once a week, I took part as a volunteer in a community out reach project. My assignment was to visit shut-ins. These are elderly people who are pretty much bed-ridden or house bound. Food is sent to them by Meals-on-Wheels which are run by other volunteers and they get a visit from the community nurse a few times a week. Very often their only other visitors and social contact was with volunteers like myself.

Brighton Pavillion

The truth was that for many of the community volunteers, visiting shut-ins were the least desirable of assignments. There was always the smell of urine or worse. The rooms or apartments were generally unkept and you might be asked to clean mouldy dishes or throw out the rotting garbage. Many felt that the hour spent there was the most boring way to spend 60 minutes.

Not for me. I was able to ignore the lack of hygiene and cleanliness and perhaps I was also alone in a strange land, I was genuinely able to enjoy the fellowship and because of that I was able to learn quite a lot. So I spent many hours visiting and sharing a cup of tea and a cookie with Ms. Legatt at her bedside. Ms. Legatt was pretty much alone in the world. She had no close family. She was diabetic and bedridden with an amputated leg.

However, we made a connection and in her tales and stories, she was a young girl with the world at her feet. She was thrilled to learn that I was Malaysian. It seemed that she spent the best part of her life traveling in the Far East. She was adventurous for her time. She took on a job with the British Foreign Service and left the dreary British shores soon after the end of the Second World War aboard a warship. Her first port of call was in Singapore where she served in the British Administration and took part in the post war rebuilding. I know many British, like Ms. Legatt, were really carrying out their imperial and colonialist duties. Yet, I believe Malaysians inherited a relatively prosperous and peaceful country at independence and in part it was because of the services and sometimes sacrifice of these servants of the setting Empire. So in all sincerity, I wish to say thank you to all of them.

Ms. Legatt spoke of some girlfriends of like mind and spirit. They made Singapore their playground. They partied and attended all the social events. They rubbed shoulders with high society and my eyes opened wide at some of the adventures and hi-jinks that she related that she sweared involved the crown prince, heir to the Sultanate of Johor.

It was a colorful and exciting life. Ms. Legatt was one of the flowers that shone brightly at the twilight of the Empire in one of the most exotic parts of the world at that time. Somehow she never married, eventually came back to Britain and grew old alone. Somehow she was forgotten.

I remember Ms. Legatt tonight and wonder about my own life. How would I be remembered? All my memories, the victories I celebrate, my loves, my friends, my struggles, my fights, what would they mean when I am old. Who would remember? Who would care? What would my life really count for? Why am I pondering these things? Well, I am about the age where I am due to have a mid-life crisis and as one of my friends is prone to say, “it’s right on time.”

Seriously, I think it is good to take stock of our lives from time to time to see if the things that occupy us, whether it is our work, careers, hobbies, friends, dreams, problems really remain as important against the test of time. As for me, I think you lived a full life, Ms. Legatt and you contributed to shaping a great country. Many may have forgotten but I remember and I enjoyed tea, cookie and friendship. Good night, Ms. Legatt, wherever you are.

Fuzzy and the Travelers' Divorce

Who is your archetypal Englishman? Who best represents that icon that is the representative of all things English? I refer to that stereotype of that gentleman's gentleman who is impeccably dressed in pinstripes or suit and is complimented with a bowler hat; who is unflappable, honest to a fault; has that queer sense of fair play; has a dry sarcastic understated sense of humor; is so patriotic that he wears the Union Jack as his undies; speaks the Queen's English better than the Queen; defender of tradition and fine etiquette and stoically holding up the stiff upper lip, eh what! Oh yes, and always has time for a civilized cup of tea.

For many, it is Sir John Steed of the Avengers. Sir John Steed was played by Patrick MacNee for many years on the British television series and more recently by Ralph Fiennes in the 1998 movie version.

For me, the archetypal Englishman is represented best by my friend Fuzzy (name changed to protect the guilty). Apart from all the characteristics mentioned above, he is also smart, charming and chivalrous in the ancient sense of the word. Well, alright, I'll admit that I have never seen him in Union Jack undies but it wouldn't surprise me if he had them. Fuzzy is so English, the big surprise is that he is not Anglo-Saxon. Nor is he Norman, Welsh, Irish, Scot, Celt or any tribe of the British Isles. In fact, although he was born in England, his roots is actually Egyptian Coptic. He does not look English but Egyptian. Nevertheless, Fuzzy could out Steed Steed, if you know what I mean.

To prove this, I shall relate a little tale from our travels backpacking and train tramping through Europe. I call this story "Fuzzy and the Travelers' Divorce".

My big European adventure started out with Fuzzy and I traveling together. I was prepared to rough it out. As we had both bought train passes for the whole month, we planned to save money by traveling and sleeping on the trains as much as possible. We expected most of our meals to consist of bread and cheese or pate and supplemented with an apple or banana . For eating utensils, I had packed one plastic knife in my backpack.

To my surprise, when we arrived in Belgium at the start of our adventure, Fuzzy calmly walked into a train station cafeteria and emerged with a full set of plastic cutlery and I do mean a full set of cutlery. Subsequently, whenever we stopped to have a meal, whether on the train or under the open sky, he would spread a napkin between us where we would place our bread and cheese. He would then ceremoniously lay out his cutlery. There were forks, spoons and knives for both of us. There were even dessert spoons and teaspoons. All were neatly arranged as if in a restaurant. He did this even if all we had was stale bread. "There's no need to eat like savages" he'd say.

Now, we had intended to travel together for the entire trip but we had very opposite goals. I wanted to go to Norway and he wanted to go to Greece. After much discussion, we agreed to go to Norway first and then to go together to Greece. What can I say? I defaulted. After going to Norway, we were traveling through Austria on the way to Greece when I just made up my mind that I did not want to go to Greece. I reasoned that at that point, I had only about 10 days left in my holidays and did not want to spend half of that time just sitting on the train to and from Greece. I broke this news to Fuzzy and he was not happy but reacted in his typical stoic stiff upper lip form.

As we were about to part ways, we took stock of what we had to divvy up. We had been sharing a single travel guide book that I had bought so I took it on myself to tear the book so as to give Fuzzy all the sections on Greece and other places that he needed. Fuzzy received those pages with appreciation.

Fuzzy then ceremoniously took out his cutlery and started to divide the cutlery. I kept telling him that I really only needed a knife and maybe one spoon but he would not have it. He insisted that each of us should have a full set of cutlery and he divided between us what he had and raided the train restaurant car to make up what was missing. And so when we finally parted ways, we were both fully equipped and "There was no need for either of us to eat like savages".

Fuzzy is the ultimate English gentleman, don't you think? I will relate more Fuzzy stories in the future, including why I call him Fuzzy.

Robin of Sherwood

The Legend of Robin Hood, the folk hero who robbed from the rich to give to the poor and hid in the forest of Sherwood with his merry men and who had a thing for Maid Marion is a well known and well loved story. It's appeal is in a hero that fights against oppression and wins despite the odds. Is this character real? Probably, but it is hard to perhaps distinguish truth from legend now. And what about the enigmatic name, "Robin Hood"? Well, the squirrels say that one day he divesting one aristocrat of all his money and effects and some say even his clothes. However as he turned to disappear into the forest, the aristocrat shouted after him, "The sheriff will catch and hang you one day, you dirty robbin' hood." The rest as they say is history.

Needless to say, there have been numerous versions made on film and TV on this legend. But which was the best? Well, for me, clearly the worst was Kevin Costner's "Robin Hood - Prince of Thieves". The reason for that was cleverly delivered by the Robin Hood (played by Cary Elwes) in Mel Brook's comedy version "Robin Hood: Men in Tights" when he said, "Unlike other Robin Hoods, at least I speak with an English accent."

However, I have to say that in my opinion, the best Robin Hood version ever is a little known British TV show called "Robin of Sherwood" which was telecasted originally between 1984-1988. This series lasted just three seasons but it was a magical head above all the other Robin incarnations. Robin was played by Michael Praed (and later by Jason Connery, Sean's son).

What made it stand out was a combination of gritty realism, artful fantasy, alternatively bright and then dark and brooding cinematography, a clever melding of pagan beliefs into the legend and strong development of characters. In this version, Little John, Frair Tuck, Wilf Scarlet and the others are not just background props but have interesting stories of their own. This version also introduced for the first time the character of a Saracen brigand called Nasir. An idea clearly pinched for Morgan Freeman's character in the "Prince of Thieves".

Finally, the one thing that had me glued to my TV every time this show was on was the music. The haunting and atmospheric music was something I had never heard before and it was soul captivating. This was my introduction (and many others too) to the Irish band "Clannad". In fact, the show's original soundtrack, Legend, was released in 1984 and won the BAFTA award for Best Original Television Music and was pretty much the beginning of Clannad's rising star.

Clannad is certainly worth another post but for now, honestly, look at these three below and tell me which is the best looking Robin. Then, go on to watch the video which will introduce you to some examples of the type and quality of characters and cinematography in the series, "Robin of Sherwood". I will warn you that the first 30 seconds may be a bit disturbing as it shows how dark and brooding the series can get but if you get past that stage, I think you will really enjoy how the music so complements the scenes. Enjoy "Robin of Sherwood" with music by Clannad.

Juliet, Juliet, Wherefore Art Thou?

I am not good at keeping friends. I don't mean that I get into arguments with them and end up lifetime enemies. No, it's just that I keep misplacing them.

It all boils down to the fact that I am or have been very bad at keeping in touch by correspondence and soon lose touch when they move around. When I discovered Google and other search engines on the internet, I actually was successful in finding some of my missing friends.

One of them, I traced by visiting a BBS site on United Kingdom culture and folklore (the sort of thing he might be interested in) and leaving an strong insult that only he would understand and sure enough he replied after a couple of weeks to my calling card.

This particular individual I was able to trace over a period of 15 years even though he tried to ditch me by shifting at regular intervals. The last time was the hardest and I had to resort to writing a letter to a known work colleague at his previous job before I could locate him. Happily, this led to him visiting me in Malaysia about a year later.

Altogether, I have found 5 others via the internet search engines and am still in contact with 4 of them. The last one dropped off the radar in the last 5 years. However, there are a couple of people that I have failed to locate entirely and one of them is Juliet.

Juliet Wilson is a friend from my time at Chelsea College, University of London. How long ago was this? It was during the time of the Falklands War. If you didn't even know that there was such a thing, I suggest you Google it.

Juliet was studying to be a nurse and she shared a flat with two other sweet girls which we took to call the "Bickley Sisters" on account of their closeness to one another and the name of the street where they lived. This was a place that always made visitors feel welcome.

We both served in the Christian Union committee and also grew close through that. Somehow though we seemed to hit it off and we were always able to share our problems with one another.

Juliet was to teach me one of my most profound lessons about friendship. I went through a period of severe depression brought on by my inability to cope with low self-esteem, emotional pressures from my family and my helplessness to help certain dear friends who were going through immense suffering. One day during a break in sessions , in my desperation to just get out of my darkened room and to see some sun, I just called Juliet out of the blue and asked if I could spend the weekend at her home in Winchester.

In retrospect, it was quite something that I was asking. She might have had better plans for her time than to spend it baby-sitting a morosely depressed friend who was no fun at all. Her parents were not at home that weekend which may also have been a problem as it was not her custom to entertain gentlemen in her home alone. I believe she might have had a boyfriend then who also might not have appreciated this scenario.

All I can say is thanks. Juliet, the fact that you said yes to my request without any hesitation (at least as far as I could tell), was very important to me. In fact, all the rambling conversations that weekend and even the way I panicked when I met your parents at the end of the stay, all taught me something about myself and my underlying psychological issues which was the turning point for me in battling depression. You made me realise that friendship and other worthy causes were bigger than social rules and pressures.....an important lesson for me.

Anyway, miserable being that I am, I have also misplaced her somewhere in this world. Hence my plaintive cry, "Juliet, Juliet...wherefore art thou?"

I am hoping she is happily married with kids and living in South Africa. If my some remarkable miracle, one of you readers knows fair Juliet, I hope you will let me know. With my good fortune of re-finding friends via Google, I am hoping Blogger will also perform, so I am not giving up hope at all.

Don't Move.....Be Quiet.

As far as movies go, I think the British are superior at making the historical drama. They seem to be able to create a sense of realism that is true to the period and yet reaches out and enthrals the modern day audience. The recent success of movies based on the reign of Queen Elizabeth I and Queen Victoria, staring Helen Mirren are such an example. To further illustrate the point, here is a short clip from a film done by a well known British actor (Lenny Henry) and set amidst the carnage of the English Civil War.

Culinary Misadventures in Britain

Some regular visitors are probably wondering why I have not done my semi-regular "World Food Spot" series for quite a while now. The reason is simple. I am trying to diet and while writing about food is not difficult for me, trying to take beautiful photos about gorgeous food is well,.......mouth watering work. Definately something to avoid while on a diet. Don't worry. I will start that series up again once I fall off the wagon. As a low calorie alternative, I offer you this little rambling about the U.K. and food.

It was while I was studying in Britain in the early 1980's that I really learnt how to cook as opposed to my earlier adventures or rather misadventures in this area which I had described before.

Today, the U.K. might be very cosmopolitian and its food scene very vibrant but back in the 1980's everyone in the European Union were telling jokes about English cooking.

There was this one which says, "Heaven is where the French are the chefs, the Germans are the Engineers, the Italians are the lovers and the British are the police. Hell is when the French are the police, the Germans are the lovers, the Italians are the engineers and the Britiah are the chefs."

Misadventure 1 Condiment Confusion
When I first arrived, I tried the famous English Fish and Chips and I asked for Tomato Ketchup. "Huh?!" was the reply. "Ketchup for flavoring", I offered. "We use Vinegar here." he replied before attending to the next customer.

Hmmmm. For someone raised on Tomato Ketchup or Chiili Sauce and who had never ever thought of using vinegar as a condiment, it was a cultural shock. I tried the vinegar on the fish and chips and found the mixture to be very foul. However, I was starving and could ill afford to throw food away so I ate it up. Over the next four years, the British weather and food must have altered my senses or pickled my brain cause now I love pungent vinegar on my Fish 'n Chips. I also love soggy chips and mushy peas now though a better part of me remains that shakes his head at my declining food standards.

Misadventure 2 Exotic Foods
Now I also quickly learnt of some very exotic sounding dishes that raised my hopes about British cuisine. I was mesmerized with wonder over dishes with names like "Welsh Rarebit", "Toad in the Hole", "Bangers and Mash" and "Bubble and Squeak". I actively looked for opportunities to try these unique dishes. Needless to say I was soon disappointed when I actually discovered what they were. In retrospect, I now realise that if your cuisine is boring, you try to make up for its inadequacies by creating fanciful names. Spin doctoring, as it were.

For the uninitiated, here is a quick tour of the above;
a) Welsh Rarebit:- Is it a secret welsh recipe for rabbit or perhaps for a "rare bit of meat"? No, it is cheese melted on toast.

b) "Toad in the Hole":- Is this a special way of cooking a meat like fish steamed in bamboo? Is it really toad? No, it is sausages baked with batter.

c) "Bangers and Mash" :- Is this a special combination of food items? Do "bangers" release a powerful punch of flavors? No, it's just sausage and mashed potatoes.

d) "Bubble and Squeak" :- How fascinating? Is it an ancient recipe based on the days of witchcraft and druids? (as in bubbling cauldrons?). What's squeaking? Is it a mouse? No, it is cold cooked vegetables fried together with mash potatoes.

Imagine my disappointment.

Misadventure 3 Vegetarians Beware
After, I had been there in UK for about three years, I felt I had learned most of the idiosyncracies about British cuisine but there was one more surprise waiting to be sprung. Some of my nursing friends, decided to make some mince pies for a Christmas Party. I was present during their discussion and they asked me if I could help by buying the mincemeat. Anxious to enter the spirit of the season, I agreed. I asked how much mincemeat would be needed and they told me that about 2 kg would be enough. The alarm bells started ringing when I asked them if there was a preference for beef or lamb and should it be extra lean.

Apparently, the British with no concern for logic, make mince pies out of mincemeat but mincemeat is a mixture of raisins, apples, spices and vegetable fat. Conversely, they make mincemeat pies out of mince which is made out of meat.

So vegetarians beware and pity the poor squirrel whose little brain had to deal with all this gibberish.

Squirrel's Secret Spot No: 6 (Canals of England and Wales)

1.The Crew of the Oliver Cromwell sans Photographer; 2. Lowering the boat in a lock; 3. Raising the boat through a lock and James' shoes about to get soaking wet 30 seconds later; 4. Have you heard of Hot Cross Buns? It originated here in Banbury and this is the Banbury Cross; 5. This farm dog taught us how to play fetch with it; 6. Hotel Canal Boats; 7. learning about Industrial History; 8. Making friends along the way; 9. Ah, the peace and solitude at night. (Photocredit: All by LGS except No:9 which is a postcard).

For a long time when I should have been studying for my second year exams, I was actually looking at travel brochures and day-dreaming about having a holiday on a long, narrow canal boat. I wanted a lazy, relaxing holiday with the wonderful company of close friends and to enjoy the clean air and to bask in the sun and a canal boat holiday seemed to fit the bill.

While juggling my exams, I managed to organize the holiday on a canal boat called the Oliver Cromwell on the Oxford Canal. I had hand picked James, Katherine and Julie to be my crewmates as the close confines of a canal boat is one that you wish to share only with people you got on well together.

We picked up the boat on Lower Heyworth with great excitement. Spent an exciting hour learning how to handle the boat and then we were off. Within 5 minutes we were having a great big argument. On a canal that only runs north and south, the crew were split on whether to go north or south! It appeared as if the cramp quarters had already made everyone snappy and crabby. The decision was finally made on the call of a coin toss and we headed north.

Ah, soon the bickering was forgotten as we cruised along at 4 miles per hour. The anticipation of the next 7 days intoxicated us even more than the beers in our hands. It was as I had imagined. This illusion, however, only lasted until we reached the first lock. We had been briefed about locks which are the means by which canal boats can be raised or lowered between sections of the canal which are at different heights. Locks are fascinating bits of engineering history. They can also be back-breakingly hard to operate. First you have to maneuver these heavy wooden gates and then you have to use a key to open the paddles that control the water levels. Did I think this was going to be a lazy holiday? It was hard work. A Good Samaritan who witnessed our pitiful efforts of trying to push the gates open and close, advised us that it was actually easier to sit on the beams of the gates and to push with our legs. Bouncing on the beams on our behinds also helped if the gates were stucked. We tried it and it worked like a charm and we happily operated several gates that first day, only to discover in the evening that our buttocks had turned blue-black and was covered with painful wooden splinters!

My other illusions about the canal trip were similarly exposed before long. Clean fresh air was replaced by miles of farmland reeking of cow dung. Basking in the sun? Did I forget this was England where rain is like a friend that drops in unannounced all the time and often outstays his welcome. And when night came, so did the mosquitoes.

Yet despite all these setbacks, it was one of the most enjoyable holiday I have ever had. The fun was in the people that you met along the way; the fellow novices, the old salts and the local characters. There was freedom in deciding where to go and when to stop. The historical pubs along the way were great places to stop and sample local hospitality, food and beer. It was away to learn about the history of the country especially around the period of the Industrial Revolution for which these canals were built to serve by bringing coal from the Midlands to London.

It was the surprises that awaited you at every bend. A water vole. A heron. It is waking up in the morning to the sound of cow bells in the adjacent farm or sleeping with visions of the stars and the sound of the crickets. It was having picnics on the boat or in the fields with close friends. It was terrific.

In the end, the holiday came to an end too quickly and I have been enamored with canal boats, their history and associated crafts and culture ever since. The Oxford Canal is not even one of the more interesting canals. I would love to go on the Llangollen Canal with its Pontcysyllte Aqueduct in which the canal boat would glide across the valley more than 40 m above the Dee River and to glide into Llangollen town during their celebration of Celtic culture in music, poetry and dance, the Eisteddfod Festival. That would be so wonderful.