Everyone wants a pizza the action

I didn't study economics at college. Maths, physics and chemistry were my chosen subjects. All very logical. I'd walk through the corridors wearing my acid-spotted lab coat and carrying a copy of New Scientist, imagining I looked simultaneously studious and exciting. Probably contravening assorted safety recommendations as well. But I did have friends who studied economics. I particularly remember one of my contemporaries emerging shell-shocked from an A-level economics class. The tutor, having prepared his class for their exams, had just admitted that college-level economics didn't really work in the real world. That reassured me I'd made the right choice. Not only was physics consistent outside the classroom but 'Power equals Current times Voltage' still comes in handy for choosing a replacement fuse.

The reality of local economics - microeconomics, I think my student friend would have called it - struck me this week when I popped up to the shops. First, the bad news. The greengrocer's is closed and the fish & chip shop has been campaigning against the arrival of a pizza retailer. Now the good news. The butcher's started selling nice-looking veg and there's a pizza shop coming.

A sign in the greengrocer’s window says "Due to local competition we will no longer be trading". The words 'local competition' are underlined, just in case anyone misses the point. I’m not sure I’d be so willing to admit that other people were doing a better job than me. This seems as implausible as Michael Schumacher announcing "I'm slower than I used to be but was hoping the younger guys would let me overtake them occasionally".

The situation at the fish & chip shop is equally confused. Last time I was there, a group of young lads almost signed the anti-pizza petition before they realised it wasn't a campaign to encourage Domino's into the village. The chippy is happy with the Indian restaurant and the bakery but doesn’t want another outlet offering takeaway food. Apparently that’s the last straw. (Probably a cheese straw if the bakery’s involved).

I know, I know, I'm oversimplifying. The opening of a pizza franchise may see enough mopeds on our streets to look like a remake of Quadrophenia. But complaints against someone adding variety?  As my physics-loving role model from Star Trek might declare, that’s illogical.

Maybe that's what the college lecturer meant when he said A-level economics didn't work in the real world. Maybe it’s the theoretical version that makes much more sense. It certainly does to me. Mind you, I also think pizza and chips sounds rather appealing.

First published on vivalewes.com 18th October 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/

A science-fiction double-feature

In the past week there have been two significant events in my life. I have lost my kitchen and discovered the new 'Total Recall' film. Curiously, both are connected.

Total Recall, as you may know, began life in 1966 as a short story by Philip K Dick. The original story tailed off into complete fantasy, probably influenced by the author’s preferred medication. A couple of decades ago it became an action-packed science fiction adventure starring Arnold Schwarzenegger - and now it's been remade with Colin Farrell acting out a different plot. Arnie's movie asked whether our hero was confused by an 'artificial memory' he'd chosen as an alternative to a proper holiday. And Colin Farrell's story has many a nod to the earlier film while following a number of new secret-agent story elements. (Yes, chaps, there really is a woman with three chests in the new film - and not in the same sense as Portia in 'The Merchant of Venice').

I rather enjoyed the film once I'd realised it was neither a remake nor a brand new concept. You could say it was 'inspired by' the original version, not unlike the new VW Beetle, a mock-Tudor executive home or a microwave lasagne.

Anyway, one of the reasons we had a family night out at the pictures in Uckfield on Saturday was because our lounge is currently stuffed with the former contents of our old kitchen. We're mid-way through having a new kitchen fitted.

The previous kitchen had seen better days... and many of them, too. It had been given a facelift in the 1990s, which helped to explain the odd combination of brushed chrome and flaky varnish. Fortunately, we're blessed with a decent kitchen designer and supplier in Ringmer.

First, of course, the old kitchen needs to be removed. That's why we have breakfast cereal balanced on the TV in the lounge. That's also why there's a pile of old kitchen units in the back garden, guarded by a couple of puzzled cats who haven't quite worked out where their food has moved to. For several days the kitchen area looked distressingly empty and tatty. Previously-inaccessible cobwebs were revealed. The fitter's pencil marks on the wall gave the impression of a graffiti lesson for infants.

Stage two is now underway as the new kitchen units arrive. But d’you know what? It all seems rather familiar. Yes, it's clean and shiny and 21st-century but... well... you can't help wondering whether you should have just left it alone. Whether a quick wipe round with a damp cloth would have saved all that work. Let's face it, the important stuff is still roughly in the same place.

All of which has me speculating whether Colin Farrell thinks the same about his film.

More importantly, I'm also wondering if that embedded technology from the film will ever make it into real life. Mr Farrell's character had a mobile phone implanted under the skin of his hand. Right now, I'd be very happy with a hotplate.

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

Somewhere beyond the sea

He's back. The quick-witted guy with the shaven head and a talent for fixing problems. A snappy dresser who attracts many women yet rarely notices the effect he has. Someone who frequently irritates his superiors but makes friends nearly everywhere he travels.

Sadly that's not a description of me, although I’ll admit we do have a few traits in common. I'm talking about the ever-impressive Italian detective Inspector Montalbano, who's just started a new series on BBC4.

I reckon the main difference between us is that Montalbano avoids my fondness for inappropriate humour that can ruin any moment. No-one really wants a laughing policeman.

Anyway, Commissario Salvo Montalbano works in the fictional Sicilian town of Vigata; a place that seems to be the perfect holiday destination. And the more I think about it, the more Vigata seems to be rather like Lewes.

Vigata - or perhaps its real-world location Porto Empedocle - is a long-established town with plenty of history, high-quality restaurants and tourists. It's acclaimed for its writers and for a colourful annual parade with a religious theme. You’ll even find a decent firework display.

The two towns could almost be twinned if it wasn’t for the complaints you’d hear across the English Channel from Blois and Waldshut-Tiengen.

Yes, Lewes and Vigata certainly share a great deal of culture and tradition. But one of the things they also share is my label of ‘tourist destination’ rather than ‘potential home’.

I'd love to visit but I really don’t think I want to live there. Aside from the constant trek of sight-seeing visitors past your front door, there's a somewhat disconcertingly heavy police presence, there’s the invariable challenge of trying to fit in with the local community - and all this set against the persistent background of Mafia activity.

I imagine things are much the same in Italy.

Incidentally, my wife finds Montalbano as compelling as I do, although not for all the same reasons. I noticed she wasn't as distressed as I was when Montalbano's swimming trunks fell off in the most recent show. Still, she says I should be reassured that Salvo and I have a similar haircut.

In fact, she’s actively encouraging the similarities. As we finish our arancini and drain a glass of prosecco, my wife poses a question. "Can you speak with an Italian accent?", she asks, seductively.

"Corsican", I reply.

First published on vivalewes.com 6th September 2012: http://vivalewes.com/

Where everybody knows your name

"Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got."

You probably recognise those words from the song that announced every episode of 'Cheers' on TV. It was set in a Chicago bar "where everybody knows your name and they're always glad you came".

Much like my home in Ringmer, I reckon. And not like the neighbouring town of Lewes.

Yes, I’m continuing my campaign to praise the advantages of Ringmer over Lewes.

I'm not saying Lewes is unfriendly. Given the volume of tourists the town sees, most retailers are innately sociable. Customers are greeted with a friendly smile. Even the bus driver is happy to change a £5 note (although trying to pay with Lewes Pounds didn’t go down so well).

But there's something missing. The truly personal touch.

I'm not just talking about the barman at my local pub offering to pull me a pint of Harveys whenever I walk in. That could be a lucky guess... or a shrewd marketing move.

It's the sense of community.

Up here in Ringmer, you feel as though you belong to the place. That doesn’t mean everyone agrees with everyone else – the Village Hall extension appeal is a good example of local discord, as is the rumoured arrival of a pizza franchise – but there’s an atmosphere of us all being in it together. Whatever it is.

Lewes seems a bit too big for that. Pubs, clubs and societies may have loyal memberships but I can’t imagine walking through the town and having the same sense of belonging that tends to happen with a village.

There is, however, a downside to all this familiarity.

My mother was brought up in a little Sussex village that wasn’t much bigger than the bar in ‘Cheers’. All the residents knew each other. And all the residents knew about each other.

One of the villagers had a child. That child was called... actually, I don’t know his real name. You see, as a toddler he had a tendency to take his clothes off and wander outside the garden into the street.

No harm done, you might say. A tight-knit community. Gentler times. All this is true.

However, because of his habit, the child was given a nickname. Let’s say that nickname was ‘Nudie’.

A couple of years ago, mum and I drove through the village where she grew up. We passed a middle-aged man walking uphill.

“Oh look”, she said. “It’s Nudie”.

At least he was fully dressed.

First published on vivalewes.com 30th August 2012: http://vivalewes.com/

Turtle recall

My mother phones from over the border in West Sussex. “I’m taking the tortoise to the vet”, she tells me. “One eye looks a bit cloudy and he can't find his food very well.”

Given that mum’s been treating the old chap to M&S salad, his inability to locate it is particularly worrying.

This, incidentally, is not my tortoise. Technically it’s not even my mother’s tortoise. He’s called Fred and was given to my brother as a childhood pet some decades ago. His equally-aged companion Susie is my tortoise but both are very much in mum’s care. I think it’s her way of guaranteeing I call round every so often. You don’t get the same longevity with a hamster.

“All very interesting”, I hear you saying, “but what does this have to do with your ongoing campaign to prove Ringmer better than Lewes?”

Well, mum’s phone call reminded me of a famous Ringmer citizen.

Take a look at the village sign as you escape from Lewes into Ringmer and you’ll see it features a tortoise. Not just any tortoise. No, that tortoise is Timothy Snooke.

Lewes, I'll grant you, has seen many illustrious residents. But while Lewesians speak reverently of Thomas Paine and Richard Russell, it’s Timothy who made more of a difference... especially when you consider the reptile had neither the power of speech nor the ability to write. Let me explain.

The story begins when naturalist Gilbert White visited his aunt, Rebecca Snooke, in Ringmer during the late 18th century. Mrs Snooke owned a female tortoise called Timothy. (Don’t get distracted by the gender issue; apparently it’s an easy mistake to make if you’re not a tortoise).

The Reverend White – for the naturalist was a curate – wrote about his local environment, including his visits to see Timothy, and later published these records in a book entitled ‘The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne’. It’s a study of British plants and creatures, with much of it focussing on questions of bird migration and hibernation.

Hang on a moment. Hibernation?  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  I reckon Timothy’s wintertime behaviour influenced Gilbert's ideas. She’s a tortoise that changed the course of scientific research.

But that’s not all. Gilbert White describes her by using prose that transforms his book into a classic of English literature. “It hobbles towards its benefactress with awkward alacrity”, he notes. A lovely turn of phrase.

In fact, Timothy was such an influential figure that Rev White adopted her when his aunt died. The tortoise was taken on an 80-mile carriage ride to live with him in Hampshire – an early example of domestic pets being permitted on public transport.

She’s a hero of naturalism. A literary muse. A pioneering polymath.

Thomas Paine helped found America. Richard Russell placed Brighton on the tourist trail.

But I’d say their achievements pale into insignificance when compared with the impact of Ringmer’s renowned reptilian resident.

After all, neither of those two citizens achieved anything while buried in a garden.

First published on vivalewes.com 2nd August 2012: http://vivalewes.com/