When Worlds Collide

Given the large number of science fiction books I’ve read and the equally large number of sci-fi films I’ve seen, I always thought I'd be ready for a dystopian future. I knew exactly what I’d do if I found myself in the radiation-riddled ruins of Ringmer. My first stop would be the village shops, where I’d stock up with cake, award-winning sausages, bottled beer and a lamb dhansak, whilst avoiding any zombies lurking outside. I’d run across the road in sudden short bursts to confuse the killer robots. I’d build decoy bonfires to distract the heat-seeking alien predators. And, although an autonomous drone might not understand the tradition of religious sanctuary, the thick walls of St Mary’s church would prevent such a device from detecting me if I hid inside.

Next would come the resistance. If I wasn’t able to stow away on a rebel spacecraft, I’d stay in the village and start illicit radio broadcasts. ‘Free Radio Ringmer’ would offer post-apocalyptic news, anti-government satire and squirrel-based cookery tips. Naturally, we’d also jam state-sponsored TV propaganda with our programmes. Our secret headquarters – you won’t tell anyone, will you? – would be the football club bar. Not only is it close to the chemist for emergency medical supplies but the pitch could serve as a helicopter landing pad when we needed to evacuate.

But things haven’t worked out as I’d planned. Instead of malevolent computers and shape-shifting time travellers, 2016 gave us post-truth politics and Alan Rickman's funeral. Unbelievable.

Actually, the unbelievability of the past 12 months is further cause for concern. A number of scientists have suggested that we’re all living in some kind of virtual reality, a little bit like the citizens of The Matrix before they’re rescued and unplugged. The more I think about it, the more this makes sense. Although I don’t have any experience of creating artificial life, I did once have a model railway… and that’s very similar. When you’re a child with a model railway, you spend every penny of your pocket money on the contents of the Hornby catalogue. First comes a village halt with a siding. Next, a mainline station. You want a post office, some fields with livestock, a coal yard, a red telephone box, some weird spongy bushes and a level crossing. Essentially, you want at least one of everything.

Disconcertingly, Ringmer seems to have been constructed in the same over-enthusiastic way. We have butcher, baker, pet shop and pub – and another pub. And another. Village green with cricket club. Football club, too. Multiple industrial estates. A pond with a heron standing next to it. Schools. An electricity sub-station. Allotments. A petrol station. Even a farm with sheep and cows. That’s what really started me thinking about the reality of my current situation. I’ve not checked yet but I wouldn’t be surprised if the grass in the fields is stuck on with wallpaper paste.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine issue 124 January 2017

Manure wanted

There's a sign by one of the allotments at Earwig Corner. "Manure wanted", it reads. It could, of course, be a genuine request from a person who doesn't have enough manure in their life. But I think it's a test. I reckon it's a cunning ploy to separate the townie from the country dweller. If you laugh, you're obviously an urbanite. However, if your response is along the lines of "that’s brilliant, I've got a huge pile of the stuff behind the barn", then you're a fully signed-up member of the rural community. Television presenter John Craven believes he's failed this test. In a recent interview about his role on the Countryfile TV programme, he said "I think of myself as very much a country person. Although I know I'll never be fully accepted. But I like to think, as we try to prove on the show, there’s room for everyone in the countryside" I think he's trying too hard. If he'd stuck with the brightly-patterned jumpers he wore for children's television instead of kitting himself out in practical weatherproof clothing, he'd have fitted right in.

John Craven suggests he’s been a bit of a bad omen for the countryside since he started presenting Countryfile. In his interview he lists some of the unpleasant diseases that have affected British livestock since 1989. Yet if Mr Craven is the pastoral black sheep, I reckon I’m the equivalent of a smiling Japanese cat with its paw raised. Since I arrived in Ringmer we’ve had a pizza takeaway appear, Ringmer Community College has had its best-ever exam results and the sun smiled on the village fair. No, you really don’t need to thank me.

What’s John doing wrong? Some would say the secret to fitting in round here is in the language. Forget about your alleyways, in Sussex they’re twittens. Middlin’ is a useful all-purpose adverb, verb or noun. Always pronounce Firle with two syllables. And don’t, whatever you do, say too much about being druv.

I’m not so sure. I think becoming part of village society is more about being yourself and not trying to impress. Leaning on a five-bar gate and chewing a piece of grass won't endear you to many people. I’ve not seen round here anyone take a deep breath and say “arrr” when there’s the smell of silage in the air. Finally, I’d recommend not trying to match Emmerdale’s baby-swapping gun-toting bed-hopping antics. That’s the kind of manure no-one needs.

First published on Viva Lewes 17th July 2014: vivalewes.com

Spies Like Us

According to the papers, it seems the American government - and possibly civil servants here in the UK - may have been reading my email and discovering which web sites I've visited. On one hand I'm not too bothered about the reality of this. My online activity is either work-related (boring, so our resident teenager tells me) or entertainment (slightly embarrassing, given my fondness for dystopian sci-fi and 1980s music). On the other hand, I'm less happy about the underlying assumption that I'm potentially guilty unless proven innocent. Anyway, if I wanted information about bomb-making I wouldn't search online; I'd borrow my wife's library ticket instead.

I'm also troubled by the apparent incongruity in the decision to charge 'whistleblower' Edward Snowden with espionage after he revealed the US security service was spying on just about everyone. If there was an Interpol of Irony, they'd currently be making arrests at the highest levels of government.

But all this has got me thinking about the many benefits of living here in Ringmer. There's been a lot of talk recently about people living 'off grid' to avoid being tracked by surveillance... and I reckon this village is a good place to choose. To start with, it's easier to get here than flying to Moscow. The 28 bus from Lewes runs every half hour and is happy to accept cash payments, so there's no worry about being tracked through your credit card receipts.

Being monitored via mobile phone calls can be a concern in some cases. Less so in Ringmer, where we're blessed with many mobile black spots depending on your chosen network. I reckon you could avoid receiving incriminating text messages for weeks just by hanging around at the back of the chip shop. And if you want to be completely self-sufficient, you can rent an allotment next to the electricity sub-station.

Yes, Ringmer is a perfect safe haven. If you’d like to become totally anonymous, it's the place to be. What could this mean to the free world? I need some time to think about my plan to promote Ringmer as the new Ecuador, so I head to the pub. As I arrive at the bar, I'm greeted with "Your usual, Mark?"

Oh dear. Perhaps it's not as anonymous around here as I thought.

First published on vivalewes.com 27th May 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/spies-like-us/

I bring you bad tidings

Since Victorian times there's been an unwritten Christmas tradition in Britain. Anyone who says anything negative about the season will be called ‘a Scrooge’. Regardless of any concerns about the estate of Charles Dickens taking legal action over copyright, you're only allowed to be upbeat. EastEnders is bad, Morecambe & Wise are good. Disagree and Santa's little helpers will throw mistletoe at you. This was brought home to me last weekend when I went Christmas shopping in Lewes with my lovely wife. Whilst she stocked up on glittery cards, I distracted myself with my mobile phone. After a while I noticed she'd put her potential purchases down, mainly because she couldn't hold them at the same time as folding her arms in a threatening manner. "Stop tweeting", she told me. "I don't want to read your sarcastic comments when I get home". She was right, of course. This year, more than ever, there seems to be an inclination to treat Christmas with excess humour. To follow the 2012 trend I should have been offering my wit to everyone as we walked through the shops, not muttering to a tiny audience on the internet. There's postmodern irony wherever you look. The gingerbread latte has become a long-established festive drink. Sparkly shirts are now essential fashion for your office party. All mum's hard work will be ignored... but that's just the way things are, ho ho. Better stuff the turkey with indigestion tablets, eh? When you've finished laughing, you can move on to enjoying a wry smile. Listen to yuletide songs that talk about escaping the crowds to find a few minutes of peace, of battling through the supermarket aisles but discovering the true meaning of Christmas regardless. Watch seasonal TV programmes where everything falls apart before everything comes together. It's all wrong. Wrong, I tell you. We need to get back to a traditional Christmas.

So let's start with the Winter Solstice, a festival so significant that the ancient Brits toiled for many years to build Stonehenge as a place to celebrate it. Winter was a scary time in those days; reaching the solstice meant you stood a half-decent chance of surviving for another year without finding your family marked as tumuli on an Ordnance Survey map. Then there's 25th December itself, which commemorates Jesus being put in a feeding trough by his affianced mother because there was no room for him anywhere else. Christmas, therefore, is traditionally about being terrified. About working long hours to create something that's ultimately pointless. About awkward moments with the relatives. About important plans that didn't turn out as expected.

But that’s not to say we should be miserable now. In fact, I have the perfect role model. A man who laughed because he was genuinely happy, not because he was mocking the festive season. A man who realised Christmas was an excellent opportunity to help others. A generous man, a friendly man... and a man who enjoyed a joke, too. It’s Ebenezer Scrooge.

First published on vivalewes.com 13th December 2012: http://vivalewes.com/

The CSI Effect

"Funny people live in Ringmer", opines my mother from the safety of West Sussex. She seems to have forgotten I've chosen to make my home here. I shrug, a gesture that's completely lost down the telephone line.

Mum isn't simply spraying slander but is commenting on the errant local teacher who's recently been making headlines. During the search for this man and his teenage charge, a criminologist was interviewed about the possible techniques being used by the police.

Although detectives could try to locate fugitives through mobile phones and credit card usage, he said most people were aware of this due to the 'CSI Effect' - and therefore anyone looking to avoid discovery would try not to use either. What he didn't mention was that the CSI Effect is rooted in fantasy.

CSI, an abbreviation for Crime Scene Investigation, is one of my guilty pleasures. It's an American TV drama that focuses on the high-tech processes used to solve crimes; I like to think of it as Quincy for the 21st century. All that's missing is Jack Klugman and his hearse. However, CSI is as much science fiction as it is science fact. Real forensic science isn't as slick as those technicians on television might suggest. But we're all falling for it.

I'm reminded of Dallas, the 1980s TV series that's recently returned to our screens. When I watched the original episodes in the innocence of my youth, I really thought adults behaved like those caricatures. Greed, lying, affairs... that was normal, right? Wrong, of course. Dallas is no more a realistic portrayal of the oil and cattle ranching businesses than CSI echoes Saturday night at Lewes police station. You’ll also notice there's no Dallas Effect, with home-owners keeping a couple of Friesians in the garden and drilling an exploratory bore-hole by the shed. No-one ever went into medicine because they thought it would be like The Singing Detective. Six Feet Under was never seen as an exposé of the funeral trade. Yet we have a CSI Effect, where everyone's an expert in fictional criminology.

Mind you, if those transgressing the law believe in the CSI Effect, there's nothing to worry about. Criminals who fear being tracked will leave their mobile phones at home, never to receive the warning text message that says "COPS R ON UR TAIL". They'll run out of money as they flee justice. And they'll sell their guard dogs for fear of being identified via canine DNA.

Anyway, since Dallas I'm no longer taken in by television dramas. In fact, work and domestic chores leave little time for TV watching these days.

Talking of which, our resident teenager has just attracted my attention. One of our cats has left a dead mouse on the doorstep. I carefully draw a chalk outline round its tiny corpse and reach for my chemistry set.

First published on vivalewes.com 4th October 2012: http://vivalewes.com/

Kate Middleton and the iPhone 5

I need to finish a piece of work in the next couple of hours. I’m working from home, which means I’m already being disrupted by the ongoing remodelling of our kitchen and the occasional disappearance of mains electricity as part of that process.

Worse still, having no electrical power cuts my internet connection off. Our resident teenager is taking it particularly hard. “It’s like the end of the world”, he says through mouthfuls of sausage roll. Eating is the only offline activity he can think of at the moment.

However, this cloud has a silver lining. Losing my internet connection creates fewer distractions.

Distractions like checking Google for the latest news. It tells me that Kate Middleton and the new iPhone 5 are currently trending. This apparently means they’re both immensely important to many people.

The most obvious difference between the iPhone 5 and Apple’s previous phone is that the updated device has a larger screen. There’s more on display than before, you might say.

The Duchess of Cambridge is in the headlines for a similar reason.

Now, some people have suggested the Duchess shouldn’t have been sunbathing topless in a private garden. They think she should cover herself at all times just in case she’s seen en deshabille by someone who isn’t Prince William. Maybe a thin layer of gold paint would suffice, rather like an Olympic letter box or the unfortunate Jill Masterson in ‘Goldfinger’.

Others say it’s an invasion of privacy, none of our business and is no more in the public interest than hiding a webcam in George Osborne’s bathroom or publishing Hannah Cockroft’s tax return. They say – and I’m in agreement with this group of people – that being famous doesn’t automatically make you a contestant in a ‘reality TV’ competition.

The truth is that neither Kate nor the new iPhone is remotely important in the grand scheme of things. Yes, the bigger issues of security, privacy, technology and communication are worth talking about… but getting excessively excited about a mobile phone and a half-naked woman? Not unless you’re a 14-year-old boy.

If the iPhone 5 offered time-travel, it would be worth discussing at length. If the photos of Kate had revealed the inner workings of a cyborg, newspapers could make a case for publishing them.

But these current reports are only about increasing sales, not about changing the world.

Anyway, that’s why I’m rather pleased the plasterer has switched off the electricity. It means I can get on with my work and not have this kind of trivia on my mind. Which, of course, it isn’t.

Right. Where was I?

First published on vivalewes.com 20th September 2012: http://vivalewes.com/