Lavender Hill - An Opening

A Star on Lavender Hill (excerpt) - @Tim Robson 2018

It's approximately 2400 steps from one end of Lavender Hill to another. I walk one way in the morning, and the other in the evening. Typically I do this journey twice a day, five days a week.Through constant repetition, I can tell you the best places to cross the road, which coffee bars have the smallest queues, the most likely spots to encounter beautiful girls.

I can calibrate precisely the lateness of my train by the characters I meet as I begin my journey. If I’m early, for instance, I’ll pass a tall girl with the poise of a model striding through Clapham Junction Station concourse. Her long creamy hair is salon-perfect, clothes au courant, make-up professionally applied. She draws stares from those who see her for the first time, or those – like me – who hope to see her every day. Who she is and what she does is a mystery. My attempts to catch her eye and thereby swap a smile are coldly ignored. Being beautiful allows you to be dismissive with random strangers. 

Often, as I walk up the right-hand pavement, I pass a young professional lady – twenty-five, twenty-six – who, in the glow of Debenhams’ window display, occasionally does return my smile. It’s a validation and I seek it out. But when I’m late, which thanks to my insufferable train, I often am, she’s gone already. I’ve observed that she catches a bus around the corner on St John’s Road at 8:45; anytime later than this means I miss her smile. What if we talked one of these days? Went for a drink? Became lovers?

These pleasant thoughts are driven from my mind though as I pass the Corner Stone Christian bookshop where some crazy Korean dances in the doorway. He’s there in all weathers, practising karate moves and raving in some weird English/Korean gibberish. Why this spot and why the elaborate performance is unclear but, all the same, I avoid the wild riddles of his eyes and instinctively move towards the curb.

Between the library and the police station, they’ll be two yummy mummies, thirsty for quarter-shot lattes, wearing tight fashionable leggings, slowly pushing their baby strollers in tandem towards the Social Pantry Cafe. If I’m late, I'll struggle to get past their pavement-blocking phalanx of buggies and bags. If I’m on time, I’ll slip into step behind them, listening to their unvarying stories - children, husbands, other women - until they cross at the lights on Latchmere Road.

The Falcon, anchoring Lavender Hill

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Harold Wilson and the Decline of the West

“The main essentials of a successful Prime Minister are sleep and a sense of history.”

— Harold Wilson

I read history at university. I read history now.

What is the difference between the guided and autodidactic versions of myself? I guess specialism would be an obvious difference. Now, I tend to concentrate on Ancient Rome (both Republic and Imperial) whereas in the past I was more piecemeal in my choices.

As I write this, and think about my courses at university, I'm confused about what I actually studied - which periods of history were on my formal curriculum. In a way this haziness is a product of Sussex's convoluted degree structure which forced me to read Marx, Durkheim, Weber and Freud alongside my actual chosen subject. Actual history though, what do I remember? I know I studied American presidential history and wrote about Eisenhower and the Civil Rights Acts in the 1950's.

Looking through my personal reading record (yes I've kept note of every book I've read since 1982) I see that my reading whilst at university didn't support my actual degree. If I did specialise it was on recent UK and USA politics, the Wilson government of 1964-70 and maybe American post-war politics, Kennedy and Nixon being notable.

The Wilson government (Wilson, Callaghan, Healey, Jenkins, Crossman, Castle, Brown, Benn) seemed populated with giants. Giants who had served their country who meant well but were, ultimately, ineffectual. Though they did pass all the great liberalising measures - legalising divorce, homosexuality, abortion, Equal Pay - the country still seemed worse off in 1970 than it did in 1964.

So, why have I moved my locus from recent political history to the ancient world?

Tim of university days is different from Tim now. Then, I had worked in Parliament, I delivered political leaflets, supported campaigns, joined parties, engaged in politics. Now, whilst I keep up with the news, my expectations of personal involvement (apart from cryptic articles on this blog), is zero. My engagement in the political process is reduced to voting and cynicism.  

I suppose we all become disillusioned at some point.

And Rome? It's remote but foundational to that much derided concept - western civilisation. I seek answers from the beginnings, not the ephemeral. Optimates v populists, Senate v people, dictators v Senate, a common law and trading bloc across Europe, paganism v Christianity, the over-running of the Empire, stoicism; these are ideas that one can study dryly but whose resonance reverberates even now. Who can read about the Goths being allowed to cross the Danube in 376 and fail to see any parallels with today? Does one learn from history, does it repeat itself, does it rhyme or is it different each time? I don't know but I do know we've been here before.

But..

Who cares, ultimately? Wish I'd have read Law instead.

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The Seven Traits of Curious People (remix)

Whoops! I did it again.

My Linkedin profile now proudly bears another article, another blind stumble through the dark alleys of wisdom. Yes, I recently posted The Seven Traits of Curious People. All very worthy and an exciting read, no doubt.

Why curiosity, Tim?

Why not, arsehole?

Seriously, why?  Explain to us your thoughts in this windswept and ill-visited corner of the internet?

Okay. Let's lift the curtain behind the creative process this one time shall we?

At university I studied some evolutionary biology and psychology. Totem and Taboo, The Future of an Illusion, some bollocks by Marx (obligatory at Sussex), Durkheim's Protestant Work Ethic, Hobbes, Rousseau, Masters and Johnson and Shire Hite (for the more racy stuff). Recently, I've been reading my copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, marvelling at Ecclesiastes and listening and purusing Jordan Peterson. 

What interests me is the un-variability of the human condition. Again and again, Marcus Aurelius returns to this theme; how everything has been done before. Human emotions and dramas that is. Okay so we have a laptop and a mobile phone, Tinder and central heating but the pride, the wants, the seeking of status, the lies we tell others and ourselves; not changed. 

And this interests me. Whilst we perfect the material side of life, the spiritual aspect remains the same. Marcus was, of course, a stoic who believed in the Pagan Gods. Solomon was a wise but over indulged King who sought meaning in life when none appeared to him  (all is vexation and vanity). He moved away from his god (Jehovah). 

Where rests truth and where lies meaning?

Fuck knows, to be honest. But let's be curious about everything, open our eyes and seek answers, however small, however insignificant.

Or maybe I've just turned fifty and so have tripped over the stone marked 'existentialist crisis'?

But I haven't the money for a red Ferrari, I don't seem able to attract women twenty five years younger than myself and I can't grow a ponytail. So, navel gazing philosophy and flimsy theories it is then.

As usual. Or as Danny Dyer - sage of our time says - Ter-wat!

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The Roman Theatre at Lillebonne

I was in France last week. In Normandy to be precise. I'll probably write later about the CItie de la Mer in Cherbourg or Omaha Beach or Etretat but today I want to quickly mention Lillebonne.

Lillebonne is a small town near the mouth of the Seine, about 30km from Le Havre. It has a pretty well preserved Roman theatre (one might also say amphitheatre). After Caesar subjugated the Gauls in the 50's BC, Juliobona - as Lillebonne then was - grew in importance in Roman northern Gaul. 

As well as the usual forum and bath house, Juliobona sported a theatre that held an audience of around 5000. This was built by the Romans in the first century BC.

It was used for the next three centuries until the various waves of barbarian invaders gradually caused its ruin in the fifth century AD. The population by then were more concerned with fortifying the town against the marauding Goths, Huns and Franks than watching classic Greek plays or contempory satires (and yes, probably some cruelty).

So the town and the amusements declined and were left for ruins for 1500 years. And yet, here it is still!  Rediscovered in the 19th century, partially standing, the theatre rises anew reminding us yet of the power of western civilisation. But also cautions us about it's decline. When I went last week it was beautiful day, hot, humid, a late spring day full of flowers and dappled sky. The grounds are immaculately kept, you can wander around at will and gaze at the Roman' architectural skill so many years later.

And - the cost is zero. If you are in the area pop in and take a look around. There's even a Norman castle hidden behind the oaks of the town's park. This - not the subterrainean theatre - was sketched by Turner on one of his forays into Europe:-

Turner's painting of the Norman Castle LIllebonne 1832 shows the hollow beneath where the Roman Theatre would later be excravated. 

The castle still stands - a snag toothed ruin hidden from view but the star of the show now is its older cousin - the Roman Theatre.

“Every calamity is to be overcome by endurance.”

— Vigil

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Elvis: 20 Minute Setlist

Wow! This is a hard one (said the actress to the bishop).

How can you even try to condense Elvis into 20 minutes? I'm lost, so lost on this quest. Rigorous editing, and tough internal fights, have led me - reluctantly and with many regrets of lost songs - to this Elvis 20 minute set list.

As I've said many times before, if I could have seen anyone live, it would be Elvis. From the fanfare of The 2001 Theme to the end of 'Can't Help Falling in Love' an Elvis concert was a ritual; a carefully calibrated event to whip the audience into a frenzy. 

He reinvented himself you know...

By 1968 he was a joke. A has been rock n roller starring in shite films.

By 1970 he was back, power-housing his way through some of the best performances ever. Jump suit. scarves, big belts, new hits, old hits, 50 piece back up, fuzz tone bass and wah-wah pedals. The King was back!!

Anyway, here it is, Elvis in 20 minutes...

1. 2001 Theme

2. That's All Right Mama

3. Never Been to Spain

4. Polk Salad Annie

5. Early Morning Rain

6. Suspicious Minds

7. Can't Help Falling in Love

Do you agree?

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Some words on the Royal Wedding

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Passion's Puppet

“Live not as though there were a thousand years ahead of you. Fate is at your elbow; make yourself good while life and power are still yours.”

— Marcus Aurelius - Meditations IV

Music.

Yes, to me music is the start and end and everything in between. It is the goodness, the evidence of the divine, the transportation from the banal the sublime. It's felt in the fragile wistfulness of Debussy's Claire du Lune, the raw power of the Pistol's God Save the Queen, in the once and future sound of Video Killed the Radio Star, right through to the aching nostalgia of Fairport Convention's 'Meet on The Ledge'.

It is the bounce of an 80's disco as - a then - unfamiliar Madonna's 'Holiday' hits you through a throbbing bass vibrating the floor, the smell of perfume and the heady mix of cheap lager and youthful camaraderie. 

It is the soaring guitar riff of The Charlatan's 'Just Lookin'' cutting through the air at Brighton's Event.

It is Lisa Stansfield and Blue Zone at Rochdale Football Club in 1986 - all mullets and big glasses.

It is a drunken Tim standing onstage at a Chicago Blues Club in a long overcoat playing and singing 'Mannish Boy' with all the passion tequila and respectful homage can muster.

It is in the choral movement of Beethoven's Ninth and it's epic climax - power, grace, counter melody. This is the riff-heavy 5th to the max with God thrown in.

It is the feel and beauty of Vivaldi's Winter Largo from the Four Seasons, impossible not to believe that this is the greatest melody ever written

It is a fifteen year old boy listening through expensive headphones to Jumping Jack Flash for the first time and being blown away by the power of rock.

It is in the poignant sadness of The Winner Takes it All as it plays through a soon-to-be-empty Brighton flat, a too-painful soundtrack to a failed domesticity.

It's The Beatles going down fighting on a rooftop in central London January 1969 playing themselves out one last time with Get Back.

It's in the all-to-apt breathing rhythm and aching guitar solo of Savage - Annie and Dave's masterpiece.

And it's in the two seconds between the middle eight and the scatter-gun guitar solo where my Marshall Valvestate 8080 growls feedback in anticipation, a horse about to bolt,  a future direction, an awesome power awaiting to be unleashed on 50 people in a Kennington pub as I kick off the best guitar solo I've ever played.

Fate was indeed at my elbow that night.

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* Passion's puppet is, of course, a telling phrase from my go-to Roman Emperor and stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius. 

A Veneer of Civilisation - Tim Robson

Read it here online for the first time. My 2016 published dystopian epic - A Veneer of Civilisation.

Enjoy.

Tim

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A Literary Girl On A Train.

So, I'm on the 8:23 from Clapham. A late night in the office as I wanted to send off 'Parallel Tracks' to a short story competition. Hard graft made easier by some Cava. I played Terry Hall, tweaked a few words, drank a glass and sent away this future winner.

Anyway, so I get to Clapham Junction and get on my train. Sit down at a four table. Only one bloke diagonal to me - great. Whip out the Mac.  Stories to write. Websites to edit. Usual stuff that an under appreciated writer does. We work - ALL - the time. In silence and unobtrusively. And then - opposite me - sits down a writer - a 'real' writer.

Let me describe her shall I? Not unattractive. Slightly boho. Wild and wiry hair. Glasses pushed onto her forehead. Voluminous scarf wrapped around her neck (I believe this is obligatory if you are a 'writer'.) And now she gets out a couple of beaten up leather notebooks and an ink pen. She figits. She attitudialises. She makes faces and waves her fingers around directing the very air with her abundant creativity! She looks concentrated. She writes furiously. She gazes off into the mid-distance as though being filmed.  She smiles outwardly so that everyone can see she's written a bon mot. She flicks pages quickly and noisily as she writes.

She is a stage version of a writer.

I am in the presence of greatness. Sat at the Brontes' table as they pen their classics. With Thomas Hardy as he tours Cornwall in 1912/3 researching the Emma Poems. With Oscar Wilde in Hove as he writes 'The Importance of Being Earnest'. Partying with Brett Easton Ellis in the 80's perhaps, or sharing a car with Jack Kerouac in the 50's. Someone good, anyway.

Literary greatness sits at my table!

Yeah... Me.

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Some words on impermanence

The thing about repetitive, quotidian behaviour is the seeming sense of permanence, of things always remaining constant. You see this especially as a commuter where you get up at the same time, perform the same actions to get ready, make the same journey to the station, pass the same people, stand in the same place on the platform, sit in the same carriage with the same people, do the same things on the journey, get off at the same platform and pass the same people as you walk to work.

Example: I know as I leave my house around 7:36 I will pass at the intersection a group of four kids, two on scooters, as they head towards school. After twenty seconds, they will go one way and I another. This has been happening for months now. And yet I know, that this glad happy morning – for them – will end and end very abruptly in one, two years never to happen again. And although I may walk the same route, I will never come across this foursome again.

How many groups of happy, singing, shouting children have I passed in a work career going all the way back to pre-history? Thousands. Maybe I sit amongst them as I write this on my commuter train. Maybe some achieved their youthful dreams they carelessly chatted about on those mornings when they crossed my path. And maybe some didn’t. Maybe most didn’t.

So, it’s with sadness that I see school kids on my commute every day. It reminds me how very temporary everything is, even things that seem forever permanent. So very quickly it all ends and then never happens again. Like friendships. Or your children at various ages (Slipping Through My Fingers describes this perfectly).

I’ve also mentioned this in the past in relation to buildings. How the sense of permanence hides, in fact, a constantly changing landscape and bit by bit, brick and mortar, things set in stone crumble like the happy group of school children or the person next to you on the station, who you smile at for ten years and then, suddenly, is gone.

Impermanence.

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Abba : 20 Minute Playlist

Well this one is an exciting 20 minutes! 

I always liked Abba and used to play their Greatest Hits 1974-76 in the 70's (pictured above). At university I defiantly played Abba - The First Ten Years. In these days of Mama Mia, you can't begin to understand how much derision I got. Clearly I was before my time in appreciation of good songwriting, crisp production and extraordinary vocals.

Anyway, as it was announced that the group has remarkably recorded two new tracks this year, here is my 20 minute Abba setlist.

Waterloo

Voulez-Vous

Dancing Queen

The Winner Takes it All

Bang-A Boomerang (SOS)

Super Trouper

All classics. The emotional highpoint would be - of course - The Winner Takes It All (their masterpiece). If this gig were played twice, then I'd alternate the early stompers Bang-A-Boomerang / SOS. Take a look at the video below. Mmmm, I'm thinking I'd like Agnetha and Frida to wear their cat 'dresses' in my fantasy concert... They could sing too, if they wished!

Agree?

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Happy St George's Day!

Whilst undoubtably a great Emperor, Diocletian (284/305), has a couple of historical black marks against his name.

1) The Tetrarchy (a system 2 senior emperors and 2 junior emperors). Diocletian saw the problem of one man ruling such a vast empire and also observed the chaos created by usurping generals in the mid third century. The system was supposed to provide stable government with senior emperors bringing on juniors who in turn would have Caesars to support them. It failed however as soon as Diocletian resigned and the renewed civil war was only finished when Constantine eliminated Licinius in 324 and became sole emperor (though he in turn, left the empire to his three sons and two nephews and so created a another bout of civil wars after his death).

2) His persecution of the christians in 303. Diocletian - prompted by his anti Christian junior Caesar Galerius, imposed strict restrictions on Christians, banishing them from civil service and the army, making them hand over their scriptures and, most tellingly, perform a pagan sacrifice. Many Christians refused and were killed in a variety of awful ways. It is here that St George comes in. A top general in the army, but a Christian, George refused to recant his Christianity and so was martyred by having his head chopped off after torture. Hence St George. 

This story is probably a bit more likely than some nonsense about a knight slaying a dragon and rescuing a princess. The persecution did take place and many martyrs were created. To be honest, this is a better, more interesting story than the dragon rubbish. Why is it we were never taught this at school? It combines classical history, the early birth of christianity and - yes - fables. 

Anyway, whatever, Happy St George's Day.

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20 Minute Playlist: Early Beatles

So a fantasy 20 minute playlist from the Fab Four - 1963-1965.

Ticket to Ride

She Loves You

Baby's in Black

I Feel Fine

This Boy

I Want to Hold Your Hand

Long Tall Sally

Twist and Shout

I decided to open with the distinctive guitar riff of Ticket to Ride (which is probably my favourite Beatles single). Then in to the full on Beatlemania of She Loves You segueing into the waltz time of Baby's in Black. The bouncy I Feel Fine is followed by the I Want to Hold Your Hand single in reverse order, with the harmonies of This Boy and Lennon's stand out vocal calming things down. We end with a Paul v John face off, Long Tall Sally and Twist and Shout, the two standard Beatles set closers. These two could be reversed but they end the set on a high and V sign to anyone who has to follow. Beat that!

The video below has the Fab Four at their most energetic and really rocking. If you want to skip to 5:57 you will hear the best ever performance of Twist and Shout followed by the best ever performance of Long Tall Sally. The Beatles were on fire that night and although sometimes they seemed on tour a bit jaded or in it for the money, these performances show, when they were up, they were the best live band ever.

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20 Minute Playlists - The Queen at Live Aid Test

Queen’s 20 minutes at Live Aid are often cited as the greatest rock concert ever (as now shown in the film Bohemian Rhapsody). I remember watching Live Aid on the day and I also remember Queen kicking ass and taking names. So much so that I stopped watching the concert, stop my video recording, rewound the tape and watched Queen again. Sorry David Bowie! What set Queen apart from the rest was good songs, great musicianship, obvious practice and, of course, Freddie.

Who can forget the thousands of synchronised arm thrusts during Radio Gaga or Freddie’s a-cappella call and response? For me, the set builds and builds until finishing with the awesome one-two punch of We Will Rock You and We are the Champions. This was anthemic all the way up to 11.

So I came up with a clever concept; take what Queen did at Live Aid in 1985 – produce 20 minutes of distilled brilliance from your back catalogue – and then apply that concept to other bands.

What would be the dream 20 minute setlist of your favourite band? The hits maybe. But which hits? Album tracks? Live favourites? So many choices.

Well, I’ll be posting some of my fantasy twenty minute sets from my favourite bands over the next few blog posts. I’ll be explaining my choices.

Let me know if you agree with them.

In no particular order, I’ll be writing set lists for :-

      The Beatles

       Elvis

       The Stones

       Led Zeppelin

       The Who

So far, so obvious...

         The Smiths

         The Byrds

         The Stone Roses

         Abba

         Oasis

         Blur

        Queen (I would probably drop Crazy Little Thing Called Love and Radio Gaga from their Live Aid setlist and add Don’t Stop Me Now and Another One Bites the Dust)

Sounds a good game, eh?

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It Ain't Half Hot, Heathcliff!

“No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere”

— No Coward Soul is Mine - Emily Bronte

When I was younger, I used to be a fairly frequent visitor to Haworth in West Yorkshire, home of the Bronte Parsonage, where the three sisters used to sit around the dining table in the mid 1840's and knock out Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. There's something magical about the place and its story of how Anne, Emily and Jane each became - briefly, so briefly - published authors before they died so very young.

Wuthering Heights is my favourite book. It uses and enthuses the dark, featureless moors that predominate around this part of Yorkshire. It's bleak spot and always guaranteed to be cold and rainy. Or so I thought!

Last week I week back to Haworth after a gap of several years. As you can see by the pictures, Haworth was bathing in sunlight, warming itself under clear blue skies. This is not what I wanted! I wanted dark clouds, intermittent rain, howling winds chasing people off the street and into appropriately named cafes cashing in on the Bronte's fame where taciturn waitresses would bring you a tea and bun and tell you the storm outside was 'owt about nowt'...

Well none of that! 

Where's the rain? Costa del Haworth, April 2018

How was the parsonage itself? Well, it seemed somewhat larger than last time I wandered around - was the entrance hall and gift shop there 20 years ago? Dunno, can't remember. The exhibits and memorabilia were all present and correct, from youthful tiny magazines to both the sisters' and Branwell's pretty good artwork. Pride of place goes to the actual table all those great works were written (bought by the Bronte Society a couple of years ago). If, as a writer, this scene doesn't inspire you or fill you will awe, you're probably not a writer - or even a reader.

The dining room table where all the action happened. I wonder if the pub table where I penned Franco's Fiesta in my local Harvester will be similairly immortalised? Should be.

Leaving Haworth - using the 'old' route, i.e. a ridiculously steep hill where you really don't want to do a hill start at the top - I was thinking that I should reread Wuthering Heights. And then the others. So, I am. 

Isn't that the point of muesums? Get you back to the source and renew your energies and passions?

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AC/DC

We know the formula...

- A guitar riff

- Band joins in

- Singer screeches a verse of smutty lyrics

- The big chorus

- Another verse and chorus.

- Angus whacks out a solo, familiar and yet always different

- Double chorus. Fade.

And that powers a great career. Simple but effective. 

Anyone who grew up when I did basically had a choice - for contemporary heavy metal - of Motorhead, Iron Maiden or AC/DC. They dominated teenage boys' lives and denim jackets. Gathered in bedrooms, we'd play these records and discuss their meaning. Well, with AC/DC there only ever was one meaning!

Bon Scott / Brian Johnson. Both great in different ways. Angus and Malcolm powering their way through, a steady beat, a boogie. A great rock n roll band!

I had the opportunity to see AC/DC in 1991 at the Wembley Arena touring The Razor's Edge. They played their new stuff - which was excellent - plus all the greats! I bought a tour poster of ANgus Young and put it up in my bedsit. Hello ladies. It didn't last long!

Top Ten AC/DC moments

- Highway to Hell

- Thunderstruck

- Satellite Blues

- Problem Child

- Back in Black

- Downpayment Blues

- For Those About To Rock - We Salute You

- Whole Lotta Rosie

- Touch Too Much

- Hell's Bells

Anyway, here's a great video...

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Dreadnought

When I was younger (so much younger than today?), I used to collect many things. Old coins, bus tickets, soldiers, Doctor Who novelisations and old battleship postcards. I recently scanned those very cards so that I might share then on this site and save the images for posterity amongst a similarly nerdy community.

I also used to read books about warships but the ones that especially caught my interest were 20th Century battleships, starting with the eponymous HMS Dreadnought (1906).

The arms race between Britain and Germany before the WW1 produced many huge ships - battleships, battlecruisers - as Britain sought to maintain her naval dominance and Germany sought to catch up. This race is classically cited as one of the causes of World War One along with the tinderbox of the Balkans, the Great Power alliance system, colonialism and German military ambitions. 

I've just finished Robert K Massie's book Dreadnought, a history so stately and magisterial you want to salute it as it hoves into view and leaves you bobbing in its wake. This near 1000 page book recounts the road to war told principally, though not exclusively, through the lens of the unfolding naval arms race. Thus we get to know characters such as Tirpitz, Jackie Fisher, a young Winston Churchill, the mercurial Kaiser Wilhelm 2.

The book dwells on the interconnected European royal families - how through marriage the crowned heads of Britain, Germany and Russian were grandmothers, uncles and cousins to each other. Famously, the Kaiser was half British, spoke English without an accent and revered his grandmother Victoria (he was present at her death). He was also an honourary admiral of the British fleet and often used to wear his admiral uniform.

The book describes how the scramble for colonies - a scramble that Germany came late to the party - led the Kaiser to want to protect trade routes which then generated a demand for a navy. Add Admiral Tirpitz into the mix and you have an arms race in the making.

Britain never had much of an army. As an island we always relied on the navy to defend our shores and so any acceleration of building plans would inevitably lead to Britain building more herself. This was - in British minds - not a nice-to-have but existential. First Sea Lord Jackie Fisher - an explosive character - also used this time to design a ship so far advanced of all previous ships, it made the others immediately obsolete. Once Dreadnought was built, the arm race started from zero again. Game on!

However, I left the book feeling somewhat depressed. The road from Sarajavo to the trenches (July / August 1914) is a slowly evolving car crash. How did the assassination of the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the Balkans lead to the slaughter of the Western Front? 

1) Austria wanted to punish Serbia. Humiliate her.

2) Russia would not allow Austria to take over Serbia.

3) Germany would step in if Austria and Russia went to war.

4) France was bound to an alliance with Russia.

5) The German General Staff devised a two front war with Russia and France where the German army went through Belgium and took out France in six weeks (not unlike the previous war 40 years earlier) before starting on the Russians.

6) Britain was bound by treaty to protect Belgium's neutrality. Moreover, Britain did not want a potential hostile power with naval bases just across the channel. The German fleet would not be allow to parade in the English Channel shelling the Northern coast of France.

So there we have it. A shot triggered an escalating series of 'if you do this, I will do that' responses. Reading through the book as it gets to its climax one is left with the sheer inevitability of war and the powerlessness of politicians (Grey and Bethmann-Hollweg for instance) who couldn't prevent the outcome though seemingly they were in charge. A sobering lesson.

So did the big ships cause war? No. No they didn't. Although the one large naval action Jutland was a score draw that favoured Germany on the day, in the end the superiority of the British fleet kept the German High Seas Fleet at port. And then, after the war, the captured High Seas Fleet scuttled themselves at Scapa Flow where some of them still rest to this day - permanent reminders of the pre-war arms race.

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USS Texas a pre-war Dreadnought of course still floats as a permanent museum.

Some Writing Success

It appears that - in terms of competition wins, places etc - 2017 was a horrible year for Tim Robson, the Writer. (Yes, that one. Not the other one.) Basically, although as active on the Apple MacBook keyboard as ever, seemingly nothing tangible came out of 2017.

"It's cause you're shit, Tim."

Maybe, maybe. 

Anyway, if you take a look at my Roll of Honour page, you'll see that 2018 has started with a brace of third places in literary competitions. Yes, if that sounds like some Monopoly £10 second prize in a beauty contest Chance card, you'd be right. But I'd rather be third than fourth, eighteenth rather than thirty-second, praised rather than ignored, rewarded as opposed to not.

All publications are special, but I wanted to shout out Hit and Run Lover. This was a novel I wrote over several years. I spent ages on it; editing, rewriting, printing out, deleting, rewriting again. A real labour of love. And all for nothing. So, I'm particularly glad that the opening chapter is being published by those doyens of style, Grindstone. 

What next?

As I think I've hinted before, I'm back writing another novel. It's contemporary, London-based, and benefits - I think - from lessons I've learnt the hard way about how to pace, add style and characterisation, plot. The more mature Tim Robson.

"What a pompous arse you've become."

Yeah.

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The Brit Awards 2018

Ah the Brits. Oasis behaving badly. Blur winning sack-loads. Jarvis Cocker jumping on St Michael's stage. Madonna falling off the stage.

Well, your correspondent was at the O2 on Wednesday night to get down with the kids and see what they're listening too. Or at least hang out with the corporate people in the good seats on a freebie and go "Who? Who?" every five minutes like some latter-day Duke of Wellington.

So, Tim's review and scores.

Evening, event and company : 10/10

Justin Timberlake - He's got a beard and he's a lumberjack and so, probably, okay. Next.

Rita Ora and that Liam bloke from One Direction - I liked this one as I've downloaded the track from the Fifty Shades of Rip Off movie.

Rag N Bone Man - Okay performance. But he just looks like a walking cliche of everything wrong with contemporary society - big, fat, tatoo'd, and that song 'Human' is just a victim searching for a hood. Still, did use a good West Pier backdrop.

Stormzie - A rapper apparently, your honour. Shit. Political. Yawn.

Kendrick - Another rapper, your honour. Smashed up a car? Why? Who knows? The ways of the rapper are mysterious and unfathomable.

Foo Fighters. Some plugged in rock n roll at last! But, as I only know, Times Like These, an air of the B side hung over their performance.

Dua Lipa - A self appointed feminist who wandered around wearing a G string showing her arse. That was the most memorable thing I remember about her. Probably mimed. My kids say New Rules are popular.

When I think Sam Smith was one of the best acts of the night, you know the music ain't to my taste. He held his tune though and - through constant car reptition - I know Too Good at Goodbyes.

Ed Sheeran -  As I was in the loo when he started, my memories of the first half of his song are very satisfying. Why didn't he do Shape of You? Apparently 2017's best selling single. No, that would be like, obvious, man.

And then, we had the God-like genius of Mr Manchester himself, Liam of the Gallagher, Oasis Revisted! Yes, Liam was there to pay tribute to the victims of the Manchester bomber in 2017. Ariana Grande couldn't make it so up stepped Liam, with cello, beard and parka doing Live Forever. At last! A proper rock star singing a good song in a good cause. Sang his song and walked off. No bollocks about Liam tonight.

Yes of course he isn't like he was in 1994 but, there again, who is?

And then to the afterparty looking suave in my blue suit, white shirt, pocket hanky, looking every inch the new Justin Timberlake. And yes, I hit the dance floor. I'm already a legend and, like Caesar, I write my own PR.

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Read Tim Robson's Second Thoughts!

I've posted my short story 'Second Thoughts' up on the Random Writing page.

It was published late 2016 having come 2nd in - now defunct - publisher Artificium's 2016 short story competition. I've written about the experience, and the genesis of this story before.

I hope you like it, and if you like stories of dating confusion, prejudice and second chances, it's for you. I'll publish more of my winning stories in the following weeks.

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