Nudity. Is nudity with some people a statement? Remember the days when nudists were coy figures of fun to be sniggered at: the magazines and those dreadful movies of naked people in colonies walking behind low cut hedges and in other ways discreetly covering the genitalia, always with fixed smiles on their faces; the reasons or excuses for indulging in such bizarre behaviour consisting mainly of nudity being perfectly natural and healthy and giving folk a wonderful sense of freedom! Yes indeed, having stripped off on a nudist beach here in Crete, I can vouch for that sense of freedom and, once you’ve been swimming in the buff, having to wear a bathing costume is an encompassing pain in the arse if you will pardon the expression. Kids skinny-dipping in a pool is one thing and innumerable naked bodies on the beach is something else. I suppose those who have never experienced it must automatically think of it as sexually arousing, titillating at least as Frankie Howerd might have said, but in fact, with exceptions, I suppose there are always exceptions, at the sight of so many nude bodies sexual desire is curiously lacking

One day on another Cretan beach, one with far fewer bodies, probably only half a dozen, there was a large sign on the sand - NO NUDE BATHING - and using the sign as a backrest was a woman completely nude. Now, not to put too fine a point on it, this particular lady was fat. She was obese. She was gross. Rubins would have adored her. Later, in the sea, she sat on a protruding rock laughing with delight as the waves splooshed over her and here is the remarkable thing - she was absolutely beautiful, a giant flopping in every direction mermaid but so beautiful. Now had she been wearing even a bikini that beauty would have been lost and she would have been most unattractive.

So what about all the laws and municipal by-laws regarding nudity and the forbidding thereof? We’ve had the “Calendar Girls”, middle-aged ladies stripping off and posing for the camera all in good causes but they didn’t actually do it in public, and now we have a photographer who can persuade hundreds of people to strip off so that he can photograph them en masse and in public. The pictures I’ve seen have been most discreet; a display of hundreds of bums, in other words the equivalent of people walking behind low cut hedges.

But getting back to nudity masking a statement – Headlines – ‘Women Pose Nude To Combat Ageism On Television.’ Four actresses have stripped off challenging the powers that be not to ignore them. ‘Look at us,’ their action says, ‘we’re still beautiful, gie’ us the jobs.’ As the journalist Jan Moir writes, ‘What does their nakedness prove? Nothing except a bit of naked ambition’ and good on you, ladies, but is it going to have the slightest effect? I doubt it but you have to give cat in dog shows thumbs up for trying.

Isn’t it strange, don’t you think, that the three major world religions whose followers have created more mayhem, caused more anguish and been responsible for more bloodshed should have all originated in the Middle East? Judaism whose ancient prophets with their direct communication to their God were a horror story in themselves; followed by Christianity, good start maybe with the man himself but no improvement after that, followed by Islam. Nuff said.

Will mankind never be free from superstition? Not only of the religious kind with all its multitude churches, denominations, sects and beliefs, every one of them claiming to be the only holders of eternal truth, but in other ways as well? And here I am referring to the belief in witchcraft.

In England in 1612 the belief in witches and the paranoia it evoked was endemic. James l was on the throne, living in fear of a Catholic rebellion in the aftermath of the Guy Fawkes' gun powder plot. The king had a reputation as an avid witch-hunter and wrote a book called ‘Demonology.’ In it, he wrote: "Children, women and liars can be witnesses over high treason against God." This influenced the justice system and led to the nine year old Jennet Device being the key witness in the notorious trial of the Pendle witches in Lancashire in which she accused her mother and other members of her family resulting in ten people hanged. Previously children under fourteen were considered too young to be witnesses though today, thanks to Jennet and the Pendle witches, a child as young as three has been a witness.

Jennet was calm and convincing in her testimony against her mother, grandmother, brother and neighbours. Standing on a table she said, "My mother is a witch and that I know to be true. I have seen her spirit in the likeness of a brown dog, which she called Ball. The dog did ask what she would have him do and she answered that she would have him help her to kill.”

"At 12 noon about 20 people came to our house - my mother told me they were all witches."

Jennet named six people whose names she knew and her mother and her brother James, who also denounced his mother, but Jennet then turned on him saying he had been a witch for three years and she had seen his spirit kill three people.

Of course the Pendle affair was not the only notorious trial. There was Salem in Massachusetts and after the Civil War terrifying witch hunts continued for two years between 1645 and 1647. Perhaps the most ghastly figure to emerge was the Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins. The hunt for witches was of course a good way of making money and getting rid of troublesome Catholics.

Belief in witchcraft is dead then you think? Think again.

After my previous remark about albinos and witch-doctors in East Africa, malignant witches according to some do exist. I believe in South Africa the witchdoctor is still very much feared. But what set me off even more is that in the Northern regions of Ghana there are six “witches camps” holding over 1000 accused women and 700 children subject to the most inhumane treatment.

Someone please reassure me we are living in the 21^st Century.

.

Nature can be so cruel; not just the red in tooth and claw eat and be eaten predator variety but in other ways as well. I know when it comes to animals nobody could be more sentimental than I and what started this off was an article and sad photograph in the paper of an outcast seal pup; outcast because his fur, instead of being a sleek black, is ginger and his normal black relations want nothing to do with him. It doesn’t pay to be different. Think of the consequences of being albino in some parts of Africa. It could lead to your death when the witchdoctor wants your body parts to make muti.

I never knew there could be ginger seals but evidently there is a large colony of them near San Francisco so if the poor little outcast pup had been born in a different neck of the woods instead of Tyulenly Island, Russia, the whole start to his life would have been different. Evidently the colouring is caused by a build up of iron in his system but that can’t be explained to the normal seals so there he sits, so as not to be bullied, a forlorn little figure a hundred yards away from the cavorting colony on the beach and waiting for his mother who will never come to feed him. To make matters worse he has blue eyes and is partially blind. Fortunately at the time he took the pictures the photographer was with staff from a dolphinarium who took the pup under their wing. Maybe some philanthropic millionaire will fly him to San Francisco.

But to another animal story of a different kind. Of all the predators that exist surely mankind must top the list. Animals kill because they are hungry. Human beings kill.

The Faroe Islands have their own government, language, flag, currency and make their own rules but they are part of Denmark and the Danes and Danish government should hang their heads in shame at what goes on in the Faroes every year. I refer to the mass slaughter of dolphins and pilot whales when the sea runs red with their blood as they are hideously slaughtered in their hundreds. There are those in the water doing the killing while the rest of the community, including children, stand watching. This gruesome festival is supposed to prove adulthood! ‘Kill a dolphin and you will be a man my son.’ It has evidently been going on since the 10^th century but should it be allowed to continue? The hideous wholesale slaughter of these defenceless, friendly, beautiful, intelligent animals? The answer has to be a resounding no, no, no, and no again. The Faroes might have a certain independence but isn’t it time the Danish Government stepped in to stop this horror? It has no place in a modern supposedly humane civilised society. And, should you think horror to be too strong a word, look up ‘Denmark – dolphin killings’ on Google; that is if you feel your stomach can take it.

LOOK AT ME

A WOMAN IN HER PRIME,

IS IT A CRIME TO BE ADMIRED,

DESIRED?

THE WORLD IS AT MY FEET,

EVERYONE TREATING ME LIKE A DREAM

OR SO IT WOULD SEEM.

Sing for my supper huh? Yes, I’ll sing for my supper.

I’LL SHOW ALL THOSE STUCK-UP BITCHES

WHAT RICHES REALLY MEAN.

I’VE GOT EXACTLY WHAT IT TAKES

TO BE THE MOST TALKED ABOUT WOMAN

IN THE WORLD.

NO ONE WILL DISCUSS THE WEATHER,

OR WHAT’S HAPPENING ON THE BOURSE.

HIGH BORN LADIES WILL NOT BLETHER

ON THE RIVER NILE AND ITS SOURCE,

BUT THEY’LL NATTER ON AND ON

UNTIL THEIR THROATS ARE HOARSE

AND THE SUBJECT OF THEIR CHATTER

WILL BE ME OF COURSE.

BECAUSE,

I AM UNIQUE…

SO TO SPEAK.

I’VE GOT EXACTLY WHAT IT TAKES

TO BE THE MOST TALKED ABOUT WOMAN

IN THE WORLD.

NO ONE WILL DISCUSS TRAVIATA,

CARMEN, FAUST, OR OPERA COMIQUE.

I’M THE ONE INAMORATA

OF THE HIGHEST SOCIAL CLIQUE.

FOR THE REST WHO GIVES A FIG

THEIR SUFFERING FROM PIQUE

WHEN THE SUBJECT OF THE SHINDIG WILL BE

MY PHYSIQUE,

BECAUSE

I AM UNIQUE…

SO TO SPEAK.

I WANT TO REACH FOR THE STARS,

EVERY RIVAL TO OUTSHINE.

FROM MUD HUT TO ALCAZARS

THE GLITTERING PRIZES WILL BE MINE.

I WON’T RUN WITH THE HERD

BUT WITH GLAMOUR AND GRACE,

UNDETERRED

I’LL BE FIRST IN EVERY RACE.

I’VE GOT EXACTLY WHAT IT TAKES

TO BE THE MOST TALKED ABOUT WOMAN

IN THE WORLD.

THERE’LL BE NO END TO MY AMBITION,

TO THE FAME THAT I’LL ACHIEVE.

I’VE A SNEAKING PREMONITION

AS TO WHAT APPLAUSE I WILL RECEIVE

WHEN I STEP ONTO THAT STAGE TONIGHT

THE NEW WORLD EVE,

AND THE AUDIENCE WILL BE AMAZED,

THEY WON’T BELIEVE

MY WONDERFUL TECHNIQUE,

MY INCRFEDIBLE MYSTIQUE,

BECAUSE

I AM UNIQUE.

How’s that for a snubbed diva to wrap her vocal cords around?

There were four famous horizontals of the period: Cleo de Merode, Emilienne d’Alincon, Liane de Pougy and Otero and later in the show they have a quartet –

ALL: WE’RE THE GRAND HORIZONTALS OF LA BELLE ÉPOQUE,

OTERO: AND I AM THE GRANDEST OF THEM All.

ALL: EVERY MAN WHEN HE SEES US SIMPLY RUNS AMOK,

OUR FASCINATION NEVER SEEMS TO PALL.

OUR LOVERS ARE THE RICHEST MEN IN EUROPE,

AND AMERICA,

OTERO: AND RUSSIA.

ALL: CROWNED AND TITLED HEADS FROM MONACO

TO PRUSSIA.

EACH MADE HER FORTUNE

LYING FLAT ON HER BACK,

DOESN’T TAKE TOO MUCH EFFORT

TO DO A SIMPLE THING LIKE THAT.

COITION IN THE BEST

MISSIONARY POSITION.

OTERO: SO WHAT MATTERS IF THE PEASANTS STARVE?

CLEO: OR IF THE CONGO’S PILLAGED.

LIANE: DOES IT MATTER IF THEY LOSE THEIR CROWN JEWELS?

TWO: THEY SHOULD BE SO PRIVILAGED,

THREE: TO LOSE THEIR JEWELS IN OUR DIRECTION,

ALL: WITH EACH AND EVERY NEW ERECTION.

WE’RE THE GRAND HORIZONTALS OF LA ELLE ÉPOQUE,

OTERO: AND I AM THE GRANDEST OF THEM ALL.

CLEO: NO I AM THE GRANDEST,

LIANE: NO I AM THE GRANDEST,

EMIL: I AM THE GRANDEST,

OTERO: WHAT?

CLEO: Oh, have it your way…

THREE] YOU ARE THE GRANDEST OF US ALL.

OTERO] I AM THE GRANDEST OF US ALL.

The eleven o’clock number goes like this…

OTERO: LIFE IS A BOWL OF CHERRIES

MARIA: BUT NOT ALWAYS SWEET.

OTERO: How true.

LIFE IS THAT BIG AFFAIRE,

MARIA: NOT ALWAYS DISCREET.

OTERO: IF IT GOES WRONG BEAT A HASTY RETREAT,

IT’S CERTANLY QUEER,

HOW THE NEXT MILLIONAIRE

WILL SUDDENLY APPEAR.

MARIA: That’s fine for you but you are unique.

OTERO: And so are we all, my dear, so to speak.

MARIA: LIFE’S SO MYSTERIOUS YOU DON’T

KNOW WHAT’S IN STORE.

OTERO: wq right yoHow right you are.How right you are.

FOR HE COULD BE PRINCE CHARMING,

MARIA: HE COULD BE A BORE.

OTERO: Or he could be a skinflint what’s more.

MARIA: You have a one-track mind.

OTERO: IF HE’S THE LATTER YOU GENTLY WITHDRAW,

Gently, so as not to hurt his feelings too much.

AND GIVE OUT A CHEER

FOR THE NEXT MILLIONAIRE

IS BOUND TO APPEAR.

MARIA: But what if your way in life is the way of love?

LOVE IS THE KISS THAT LINGERS THROUGH ALL OF THE YEARS,

LOVE IS ONE KISS REMEMBERED THROUGH LAUGHTER

AND TEARS,

ONE KISS TO SOOTHE AWAY ALL OF YOUR FEARS.

OTERO: That’s all very well

BUT STILL BE AWARE

THAT THE NEXT MILLIONAIRE

HAS GOT TO BE NEAR.

MARIA: My dear Nina, you are shameless.

OTERO: Oh that’s been said to me before. But can you teach an old bitch new tricks? Or a leopard to change her spots?

LIFE IS A POT POURRRI, A BOUQUET

OF FLOWERS…

MARIA: Oh, I thought we would get on to flowers sooner or later. What is it with you and flowers?

OTERO: You don’t like flowers? All right, forget the flowers?

BOTH: LIFE IS A FANTASY, FAMINE OR FEAST,

MARIA: OTHERS TO MOLLIFY,

OTERO: PALMS TO BE GREASED.

BOTH: TRY TO TAKE CARE YOU WILL NEVER BE FLEECED

AND BE DEBONAIRE

WHEN THE NEXT MILLIONAIRE

OFFERS THAT REVIERE.

LIFE DEALS SOME FANCY HANDS,

NOT ALWAYS GLAD,

TAKEN IN ALL YOU’LL FIND IT’S TOO OFTEN SAD,

BUT WHAT THE HELL, KICK YOUR HEELS IN THE AIR

AND LET OUT THAT CHEER,

HERE’S THE NEXT MILLIONAIRE

WITH HIS BIG SOUVENIR.

LAUGH AND THE WORLD LAUGHS WITH YOU,

YOU CRY ON YOUR OWN.

LIVE EVERY PASSING MOMENT,

THE FUTURE’S UNKNOWN.

HAVE NO REGRETS FOR THE TIME THAT HAS FLOWN

AND NEVER DESPAIR,

FOR THE NEXT MILLIONAIRE

IS BOUND TO APPEAR.

Hard to believe but it is nine years since I wrote the book and lyrics for a musical based on the life of La belle Otero the famous, or infamous, Spanish courtesan of La Belle Époque. I had wanted to write about her for more years than I can remember but it was only coming to Crete and discovering the award winning composer Chris Littlewood lived not more than four kilometres away that it all came together. I sent him a sample of previous lyrics to whet his appetite and it did. He and Chris Beeching produced a demo disk in Athens with a number of the songs but nine years later there is still no sign of a production, not even a workshop. I know I’ve said it before but I will say it again, it takes an act of God to get a straight play on; to get a musical produced it seems it takes God in convocation with angels, archangels, saints, cherubim and seraphim.

In 1965 a film on the life of Otero was made in France with the beautiful Mexican actress Maria Felix and I have used the idea of a film in production being the core around which the story is set.

There are in fact three Oteros in the show: as a young girl, Otero in her prime, and as a very old woman and act one ends with all three on stage singing a song, ‘I Want Love.’ Looking at photographs of her it is difficult now to imagine just what she had that she was so sought after by kings, princes (The kings of Belgium and Spain, Edward the Seventh, the Czar, the Emperor of Japan) and the very rich including William Vanderbilt, Joe Kennedy, father of the American president, but she must have had something. You had to be extremely rich to enjoy her services and although she earned one fortune after another, because she was an inveterate gambler and couldn’t resist Monte Carlo and the wheel, she died in one room, penniless, cooking a rabbit stew.

One of the biggest hurdles to overcome in writing Otero’s story was how to make someone who was really nothing more than a prostitute, no matter how high class, one of the grand horizontals as they were known of La Belle Époque, sympathetic to an audience and the number at the end of the first act sums it up. Born in Spain in abject poverty she was raped at an early age. She never knew who her father was, it could have been any one of a number, and I decided she was looking for him throughout her entire life. Maybe every new conquest, who never gave her the love she really wanted, only material riches, could have been a father figure. Nearly all her royal conquests bore an uncanny likeness to each other and so I have five characters; William Vanderbilt, Prince Nicholas of Montenegro, King Leopold of Belgium, Czar Nicholas ll, and Otero’s imaginary father all played by the same actor.

The story is set against the backdrop of Paris, New York, Monte Carlo and St. Petersburg, told both directly and indirectly interwoven with scenes from her ‘biopic’.

Reading Arthur Laurents’ book ‘On Directing – Gypsy, West Side Story and other musicals,’ it would seem La Belle Otero has all the ingredients that make for success: great characters; lush, romantic, haunting music, a book with pathos, humour, sex, comedy, drama and opportunities for great visual set pieces, what more could one ask for?

I had no intention of writing a trilogy on Mister Shakespeare but, considering the following nicked from the BBC, I thought I would end up with it if only to reiterate what a global phenomenon he is and what a disaster it would be for the Shakespeareans to lose their idol. Some of the waffle from various people has been omitted. People can be toe-curling embarrassing when asked to voice an opinion, like actors thanking everyone including God for winning a prize. Some of the ones left are toe curling enough.

“The World Shakespeare Festival is the ‘trump card’ putting art at the heart of the Olympics", the head of the Cultural Olympiad has said. What on earth is the cultural Olympiad? That’s a new one on me.

“There will be thousands of performers in 70 productions, with global artists acting in their own languages.

Festival director Deborah Shaw said at the launch of the festival, which is being produced by the Royal Shakespeare Company, that it would "redefine what's possible in creating a festival in a global age." (?)

There will also be two performances in Arabic - a Tunisian company will do a version of the Scottish play while the Iraqi Theatre Company will perform Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad. More than 50 arts organisations will take part in the festival, which is being supported by BP and the National Lottery.

The Globe, on the banks of the Thames, has already announced that it will present all of Shakespeare's plays, staging one production itself with the remaining 36 plays each performed in a different language by a different company from around the world.

The aim will be to celebrate "the vast array of ethnic communities and languages that make up London's vibrant multi-cultural landscape." More than 260 amateur groups, with 7,200 performers aged from six to 90, will perform their own interpretations of Shakespeare everywhere from castles, parks and village halls to pubs, churches and a coffin works. Michael Boyd, artistic director of the RSC, said it was the most "outrageously collaborative of festivals", adding it was important to "step outside the familiar" and seeing Shakespeare performed by global artists would allow audiences to do this. Mayor of London Boris Johnson added: "William Shakespeare is our greatest cultural export, and is quite rightly considered to be the finest writer of all time.”

This festival is a fantastic opportunity for these fine works to be brought to a new generation of schoolchildren, while at the same time reminding existing fans of Shakespeare's unparalleled insights into the workings of the human heart." Say no more.

The festival will run from 23 April to 9 September next year with more than a million tickets going on sale from 10 October.”

And that is the news for today, the 20^th September.

The reason for this little two-part essay into the works attributed to William Shakespeare has been brought about by a recent movie ‘ Anonymous’ putting the case for Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, being the true author. Shakespearians have naturally set up a campaign against the movie, Shakespeare being global and big business. The trustees in Stratford on Avon naturally will not tolerate any idea of Shakespeare not being Shakespeare. It would be like Haworth theorising that the Brontes didn’t really live in the parsonage and bang goes a lucrative tourist business. There is also the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre to consider. Would it be renamed the de Vere?

De Vere’s champions are numerous. There is even a de Vere Society with its own newspaper and more than one book has been written putting forward his case. I can’t remember just why the de Vere faction believe their man to be the true author as it is sometime since I read a book on the subject. (The film might be new, the theory isn’t.) What I do remember is the use of two sonnets to bolster their case. The first is sonnet 29. ‘When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state.’ Was de Vere at some time in his life an outcast in disgrace? Possibly, I don’t remember. Shakespeare certainly never was but the sonnet could be poetic licence of course. It could equally apply to Marlowe; disgraced, alone, and an outcast in Italy. The second sonnet and this has more to recommend it is number 125. ‘Were’t ought to me I bore the canopy, with my extern the outward honouring.’ According to the de Veres, if I remember rightly and, if not, no doubt someone will soon put me right, the canopy referred to is the one held over the queen when going walkabout and it was held up by four nobles of which Shakespeare definitely wasn’t one but de Vere was.

There have been innumerable books written on the “life” of William Shakespeare, there are half a dozen in my bookshelves, and they all have one thing in common when writing about his life between his leaving Stratford and becoming a member of the theatre company in London: they are full of phrases like – ‘We might assume’ and ‘It is believed that’ and ‘it could very well have been’ and words like ‘maybe’ and ‘perhaps.’ In other words nobody knows what he was up to in what is known as the missing years and these authors all have the most wonderful imagination when they make up for lack of knowledge by speculating – and they manage to accomplish it in a few hundred pages which is some feat!

We know virtually all we need to know about the contenders. We even know what Marlowe paid for his breakfasts in his college refectory whilst at Cambridge.

The Shakespeare story gets even stranger after he leaves London and the theatre and returns to Stratford a rich man and a landowner. He becomes a gentleman, gets his coat of arms and spends some of his time in litigation, issuing writs against various people but, as a man of such literary accomplishment, did he read? Did he write? In his will there is no mention of either writing or books to be read, no mention of his own works and, something that seems to have always baffled biographers, in his will he left his wife ‘his second best bed.’

Stranger still, the Shakespeare memorial bust in Stratford Parish church originally showed him leaning on a woolsack, indicating a merchant, but was later changed to an open book with him holding a pen. The rich merchant became a world-famous poet almost overnight.

Footnote: The World Shakespeare Festival is the "trump card" putting "art at the heart of the Olympics", the head of the Cultural Olympiad has said. See next time.

Did Shakespeare write Shakespeare? Apart from three (I believe it’s three) signatures, not all spelt the same, there isn’t a single word in the great playwright’s, the greatest playwright that ever lived according to many, handwriting and questions have been asked for some time about the possibility that he was not the author of the plays. Could the author have been someone like Sir Walter Raleigh? I doubt it.

Even though he wrote a bit of poetry he was too busy being a pirate, war-mongering in Ireland, playing at queen’s favourite and indulging in magic. There have been three contenders: Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe and Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford. Bacon and his ciphers is definitely out of the running which leaves Marlowe and de Vere. If it was Marlowe, and let’s face it, he was a major talent in the Elizabethan theatre writing plays like “Tamburlaine” “The Jew Of Malta” “Faustus” “Edward the Second” which could all be thought of as precursors to the later plays, and of course poetry including those famous lines ‘Come live with me, and be my love,’ and ‘Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?’ Mind you, the line ‘come live with me and be my love’ was not uniquely Marlowe’s. John Donne also used it and so did Shakespeare, unless that was Marlowe repeating himself.

Marlowe was murdered in a pub in Deptford, or was he? The whole story of his supposed death is too shady for words which has led to the theory that he was spirited away to live incognito and safely in Italy from where he sent back the plays to his patron Thomas Walsingham who paid a little known bit part actor by the name of William Shakespeare to have them produced in his name. An interesting idea on the side: Elizabethans sometimes divided up their names so could the only begetter of these sonnets Mr W.H. have been Marlowe’s patron Walsing Ham?

Marlowe was a bit of a wild one and made no bones about his atheism in an age when religion was so important, the church so powerful. Also, even in an age that wasn’t so obsessed with men loving men as we are today, witness the homo-erotic sonnets- Marlowe didn’t endear himself to conservatives by stating, “He who does not love tobacco and boys is mad.” So, on the day of his death a warrant from the Star Chamber was already out for his arrest. In those days it didn’t take too much stepping over the line to meet the queen’s rackmaster face to face and Marlowe had certainly given his enemies enough ammunition.

So what was so fishy about the purported death of Christopher Marlowe? First of all why a room in Nell Bull’s Tavern in Deptford? Well, this one can possibly be answered. It is a dockyard town situated on the River Thames and close to the Walsingham estate and from where Marlowe could take a ship for the continent. But why was he there in such sinister company; Nicholas Skeres, Robert Poley, both cut-throats, and Ingram Frizer, servant to Lady Walsingham who bore no love for Marlowe? What was he supposed to be doing with these people? Moreover why spend the entire day with them? What were they doing? Evidently eating, drinking, playing cards or backgammon. The murder took place at night. Were they waiting for the tide to turn and a designated ship to sail for France? Surely, if murder was intended, Marlowe who had at one time been a spy and who was obviously a highly intelligent man would have been deeply suspicious in keeping with such disreputable company? Or was he already privy to the plot and knew the outcome.

Ingram Frizer who admitted to the killing maintained it was self-defence. He said it was a quarrel over the reckoning that started it off, that Marlowe lost his temper (he was known to be hot-blooded) and went for him with his poniard, wounding him twice on the head. Frizer then managed to wrest the dagger from him, turning it on his assailant and stabbing him above the right eye. Now here the first doubt creeps in. The poniard is a small dagger, the front of the skull is the thickest bone, could Frizer’s blow have had the strength and could the poniard have penetrated or would it have slipped? Note, Marlowe had already wounded Frizer twice in the same place before he was himself reputedly killed with this twelve penny dagger. The next question to ask is why did the inquest take place in the middle of the night just as soon as the coroner could be roused and enough local men to form a jury. Would any of those men have recognised Marlowe who was a compete stranger to them? And why was the body buried in such haste in an unmarked grave?

So, if the body was not that of Christopher Marlowe, whose was it? Well, in that day and age a body would not be too difficult to come by or a drunken sailor could have been lured up to that little room to take Marlowe’s place. Who really knows?

Hey hey hey! I am beginning to think my Blogs must be terribly boring as I get so few comments on anything I write. Or do I just have very few readers? Would that be the case I wonder? I know I overdo the religious bit and the sex bit but the two are sometimes so intertwined it’s almost impossible to separate them. When you think of the sexual shenanigans human beings get up to virtually everything in the eyes of the religious is a sin.

“Impregnation is the only mission of intercourse, I might say the holy mission of intercourse and there is only one proper position – the eye to eye position.” So said someone by the name of William M. Dwyer. I’ve no idea who Willy Dwyer was but as he uses the initial of his middle name I presume he was an American. Americans seem to go in for that. So there you are, everything but eye to eye intercourse solely for procreation is a wicked wicked sin. I shouldn’t think the Karma Sutra would have gone down too well in Willy’s neck of the woods and the sight of that famous Khajuraho temples of India covered in carvings of a - hush let it not be said aloud - sexual nature would have had him fainting away on the spot. And what on earth would he have made of the Japanese Penis Festival, The Kanamara Matsuri, an annual Shinto fertility festival involving every member of the family during which giant penises are paraded and marvelled at, wooden carved ones can be played with and, if hungry, penis shaped lollypops or vulva shaped candy can be licked and sucked with relish? Willy would have had nightmares for the rest of his days.

But phallic worship isn’t the sole province of the Japanese. A Penis Parade called a phallika in ancient Greece was a common feature of Dionysian celebrations and a Greek town even today holds a phallic festival on the first day of lent.

Closer to home what about red light districts? What about the Reeperbahn which is not at all what I expected when I visited it? I had always imagined it to be a sort of dark dingy alley, suitable for its reputation as a centre of vice after all, but it is in fact a broad quite pleasant avenue and the vice isn’t (or wasn’t) as blatant as I have seen elsewhere.?

As for creatures like the Bonobo monkey that are at it twenty-four hours a day either by themselves (masturbation is not confined to human beings) or with any member of the troop that happens to be to hand as it were, well they’re animals and just don’t bear thinking about. But are we not animals? I know many people don’t like to think about it but animal is what we are and, let’s face it, eye to eye in the missionary position will sooner rather than later get very boring.

And still talking of animals, we have a spayed bitch who tries to fuck a male cat that has no balls. How’s that for perversion? How’s that for frustration? But as Goethe once said, “How can you call anything in nature, unnatural?”

Headline news from the BBC – Is America ready for a Mormon president? Well, why not? Evidently there are two in the Republican line-up – or have been – I lose track day by day as to who is coming and who going. The Church of Christ of Latter Day Saints has about 5.7million members in the United States –would that give a Mormon candidate a distinct advantage when it comes to votes? Mormonism – about 12million worldwide - is not popular among other Christian sects, in particular fundamentalists and it is hardly surprising if, as I am led to believe, they believe God has a corporeal body and is capable of having children and humans can become gods in the afterlife! I mean the ancients of various pre-Christian civilisations believed that sort of thing, even to the extent of certain humans becoming gods in their lifetime. In a poll in 2007, attitudes towards Mormons were much less favourable than other Christian faiths, but better than those for Muslims or atheists. Evangelical Christians reject the Book of Mormon, the sacred text of the Latter Day Saint faith, and do not consider Mormons to be true Christians. On occasions, these tensions are laid bare. Reading a summery of Mormon beliefs it hardly surprises me. Everlasting life for Mormons doesn’t start after death but before birth when we are all “spirit children.” Strikes me as particularly weird but there you are, that is what they believe.

As far as America accepting a Mormon president I wonder where Judaism comes into the equation and, although there have been Jewish city mayors etcetera, will the states ever have a Jewish president? Once upon a time there was a debate as to whether Americans were prepared to elect a Catholic president and, with the election of Kennedy, obviously they were. Now they have elected a black man so who else is in the offing? A black woman would be something to talk about and why not if the likes of those frightening tea-party women are serious contenders? I don’t know if America will take one of them to its heart but they sure scare the shit out of me.

Meanwhile in a little European country that would fit comfortably into one of America’s states: that is Holland; or the Netherlands, or Nederland if you prefer, Christianity is taking a decided turn around the twist. The Reverend Klaas Hendrikse does not believe in life after death and makes no bones about it. He is part of the mainstream Protestant Church and presides over the Exodus Church in Gorinchem, central Holland. The service is conventional enough but the message of his sermons is bleak if you feel the need for eternal life – ‘Make the most of life on earth because it will probably be the only one you get.’ He says he has no talent for believing in life after death nor does he believe that God exists at all as a supernatural being. God, he says, is a word for experience - human experience. He describes the Bible's account of Jesus’ life as a mythological story about a man who may never have existed, even if it is a valuable source of wisdom about how to lead a good life. In actual fact I believe the Roman census indicates that Jesus (or Joshua Ben Joseph to give him his correct name) did exist though whether he was the son of God is another matter entirely and one for endless debate as the many Christian churches, beliefs and sects would indicate.

But the Reverend Hendrikse is not alone. A study by the Free University of Amsterdam found that one-in-six clergy in the church and six other smaller denominations is either agnostic or atheist.

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Nigeria's pastors run multi-million dollar businesses rivaling that of oil tycoons. They own businesses from hotels to fast-food chains, run flash cars and have private jets. The joint wealth of five pastors is estimated to be at least $200m (£121m).

Evangelical churches have grown in Nigeria in recent years, with tens of thousands of people flocking to their services. The richest pastor, Bishop David Oyedepo of the Living Faith World Outreach Ministry, is evidently worth about $150m. It is said he owns a publishing company, university, an elite private school, four jets and homes in London and the United States.

Bishop Oyedepo is followed on the rich list by Pastor Chris Oyakhilome of the Believers' Loveworld Ministries. He is reputedly worth between $30 and $50m. His diversified interests include newspapers, magazines, a local television station, a record label, satellite TV, hotels and extensive real estate.

What have the televangelists in the states got that these guys haven’t? There’s definitely money to be made in God’s name. They might all have their noses put slightly out of joint now as developers in Singapore have come up with a programme to bring religion to the multitude via the mobile phones to which they are so addicted: Biblical quotations, extracts form the Koran, Buddhist prayer wheels. I didn’t notice any mention of Judaic texts in the report.

Now what do these figures mean to you? 28.9million, 26.1million, 20.9million, 17.9million, making a grand total of 939million.These are pounds and this is the amount four top bosses in England; Peter Hargreaves, Henry Engelhardt, Michael Spencer, Stephen Lansdowne have earned in dividends. Now what do these figures mean to you? 3.7million, 10.5million, 20.5million. These too are pounds sterling. The first is the bonus James Murdoch has magnanimously declined, contented with his 10.5million salary. His father Rupert’s earnings for the year amount to 20.5million.

These figures make a breathtaking grand total of 973.7million. Now add the pastor’s 121m and we have £1104,700,000.

Now place this next to the description I gave you of the African ox-drawn so-called ambulance and tell me any of it makes sense. Who was it supposed to inherit the earth?

I’m sure my relatives in Perth, Australia and our friends in Melbourne will be delighted to know that their cities top the list of the most liveable in. Melbourne comes top, beating Canada’s Vancouver for the first time in ten years and altogether three Australian cities are in the top ten, the third being Adelaide which comes in in the number nine spot. I have visited both Perth and Melbourne and although I liked them both, I preferred Melbourne, a really beautiful city with everything to recommend it.

Adelaide I saw the railways station at six o’clock on a still dark, freezing cold morning while I waited for my connection to Melbourne. I love trains and decided to travel from Perth to Melbourne that way and loved every minute of it. There are still train journeys in the world I would like to take but alas I don’t think that is possible any more.

The cities were assessed in five categories: stability, healthcare, culture and environment, education and infrastructure. Out of 140 cities assessed London was ranked 53. I thought Hamburg a very liveable in city.

I wonder if an African city will ever enter the top ten. Cape Town would I’m sure if it weren’t for the crime.

My sister, who lives in South Africa for those of you who do not know, sent me a collection of photographs – ‘Oh Africa.’ Yes, some are weird and wonderful and can only be African; a man cycling with a paint pot on his head in lieu of a helmet, the handle underneath his chin. I should imagine if he came off his bike that paint pot could do an awful lot of damage. A man wheeling a bicycle laden with seventy six bricks, no wonder the tyres were flat, a ramshackle old truck laden with fifteen or more men riding on the back, some hanging on for grim death, an even more ramshackle old car with hands of green bananas overflowing from the boot and piled four feet high on the roof, no wonder its tyres also looked in pretty bad shape, never mind the bursting doors. There is a picture of a donkey with, a BMW emblem on its forehead, a man wearing a pair of trousers so long the waistband is across his nipples, a man walking along a road with a loaded wheelbarrow on his head, and a raggedy barefoot ancient with a lap top sitting by the dusty roadside, some women so gross they are deformed and the deformity isn’t even funny. But amongst all the pictures the one that made me really sad was the photo of a long cart with four people sitting in it, a roof but open at front and sides; the driver seated under his little canvas canopy and the whole contraption pulled by oxen. There are two in the photograph so I don’t know whether it is a full span or not, not that it would go any faster, and painted along the side is the word AMBULANCE and the Red Cross symbol. I hope none of the four passengers was in immediate need of medical assistance because by the time that vehicle reached a doctor or a hospital they would more than likely have expired. Now seriously that really is so very sad. There is a well-known South African poem, one line of which is, “the pace of the ox is steady and slow but he gets there just the same.” I wonder how long it will take for the African ox to catch up with the rest of the world.

Good old elf and safety, no matter how many do this and don’t do that rules they promulgate, accidents inevitably happen. Five fairly recent ones immediately spring to mind. A ten year old girl had emergency surgery after having been impaled on railings. Evidently she fell from a tree (definitely no more tree climbing please) and one of the railings pierced her stomach and shoulder. How it got from her stomach to her shoulder or her shoulder to her stomach I have no idea but there you are, that is where she was injured. It took the rescuers two hours to set her free and she was taken to hospital with part of the railing still in her body and evidently a plucky little girl. A twelve year old boy died after being hit by a falling goal post whilst playing football with local lads.(Stay clear of goal posts please). Police investigating the incident took away the goalposts and a spokesman for the Health and Safety Executive said, ‘The HSE is aware of this incident and is following up with the police and local authority officials.’ Do the words horse and stable doors ring a bell? Thirdly, twenty people, mostly children, where injured when a barbecue at their school blew up. (No more barbecues. It’s cold sandwiches from now on). Fourthly a woman was killed by a herd of cows while walking her dog in a field. I’m sure it wasn’t the lady herself who spooked the cows but they are not particularly partial to strange dogs, (no more walking dogs in fields of cows please) and a young lad in Wales was savaged by a Rhodesian Ridgeback that leapt over the fence and went for him. The dog of course was put down but the boy needed surgery to his arm and face but this accident simply couldn’t have been foreseen in a hundred years.

Poor old elf and safety, in small ways they’ve come up with some pretty screwy ideas to make people’s lives that much more dismal like banning hanging baskets that livened up village streets and stopping kids from playing conkers, a game that’s been played for generations. School sack races are banned because a kid could fall and hurt himself. Another daft decision was to stop dodgem cars bumping into each other. Butlin’s complied with this one despite patrons complaining that the rides had become boring. Dodgem means dodgem, not bumpem. The British Legion stopped giving pins with poppies in case people pricked themselves. A school in Merseyside banned leather footballs and only allows those made of sponge! No doubt it was elf and safety that issued the instructions. Some councils stopped Royal Wedding street parties and told organisers of carnivals no fancy dress and costumes were definitely out. Obviously the Notting Hill Carnival decided to ignore this one. East Riding Council threatened to fine kite flyers £500 on various beaches and Colchester Council told an 85 year old that workmen couldn’t remove her television set for recycling in case they hurt themselves.

There isn’t any doubt that in the work place elf and safely is important but, it would seem, too many jobsworthy little bureaucrats are taking it on themselves to issue these edicts that schools and town councils are only too happy to comply with in this age of litigation and compensation when no one is willing to take responsibility for their own actions.

Well we’ve done the all things bright and beautiful religious bashing bit and we’ve done the immoral greedy bankers and overpaid footballers bit. We’ve done the elf and safety and the nanny state, (might get back to that one sometime) riots and rampant crime, immigration, corruption and politicians, and sex of various sorts, surely there must be something else to talk about?

Well of course, once again it is the fig season and it must be a whole year since I mentioned that so most people, if not all, will have forgotten and I can repeat myself with no qualms. Our one fig tree bearing edible fruit is a winter fig so the fruit won’t be ripe until the end of the year. The one we thought would be ripe for the picking at this moment in time as they say turns out to be a male and the fruit inedible so it is destined for the chopper (or the chain saw) as it is taking up too much space next to one of the walnuts and crowding it a bit. The walnuts are coming along nicely by the way. We still have sacks of the buggers from previous years but I reckon most of them will burn nicely in the zompa this winter. We’ve also lost one of the pines, due to old age I reckon, and that will chop up nicely for firewood only we need to get someone in who knows what they doing to fell it. It is a very large old tree and if we attempted playing at being woodsmen one of us would probably end up in accident and emergency so better safe than sorry. Also the nectarine that American friends gave us some years ago is for the chop. It has never born fruit but every year breaks out in peach curl no matter what we do to try and eradicate it. We’ve sprayed it with enough chemicals to create a hole in the ozone layer and accelerate global warming so before more damage is done to the environment, down it comes. In its place will go the loquat I planted from seed, that is a pip from our already established tree, and which is already a good eighteen inches high. In fact I planted half a dozen in a pot but this is the only one that has survived. Touch wood it will continue to do so as it is one of my favourite fruits and I might just live long enough to enjoy it.

But back to the figs. Even though we have no tree of our own, our neighbour Eleftheria has sent over so many the fruit drawer in the fridge is packed with them, enormous and, like Mister Kipling’s cakes, exceedingly tasty. So it is fig ice-cream, fig jam, fig tart, fig slices and fig chutney making time.

More than likely in the previous Blog when I talked about the figs, I probably mentioned the fact that in previous years, during the fig season prisoners were put on half rations and the figs were meant to make up the deficit. All I can say is I hope they had good toilet facilities which somehow I very much doubt.

There will be a good crop of pomegranates this year as well, that is if Mister Ratty doesn’t get to them first. He loves pomegranates. We will have to put up an old CD or two to frighten him off. We did that with the grape vine and it worked. The oranges too are yielding a bumper crop, ready for Christmas. And that’s quite enough fruit talk for today. You would think I had nothing better to go on about.

I finished reading ‘Cecilia’ which I really enjoyed, mainly because of the writing rather than the story itself and have now just finished reading the most delightful book, John Frazer’s autobiography, ‘Close Up’ and all I can say is, having read his book, I wish I had met and got to know the man, and higher praise than that I don’t think I can give. However as we were both born in the same year 1931 I hardly think that is likely to happen now. Once started I simply could not put the book down and whipped through it at the rate of knots enjoying every page, every anecdote, and every out loud laugh at the humorous bits of which there are plenty.

At the end of ‘Cecilia’ Macmillan & Co advertise their six shilling novels by writers I know and writers I had never heard of. Six shillings in 1902 was quite a lot of money - £18 today - average price I suppose for a hardback.

I know Marion Crawford now and of course Jack London and Rudyard Kipling whose entire output seems to have been published by Macmillan, and Owen Wister author of ‘The Virginian’ one my school set books, a book I really loved. “Smile when you call me that,” but I had never heard of Rhoda Broughton, Gilbert and Marian Coleridge, Gertrude Atherton, an Australian, Rolf Boldrewood (real name Thomas Alexander Browne so why he wrote under a pseudonym I have no idea) who wrote at least eighteen novels and is ‘Robbery Under Arms’ not a well-known book? Yes, indeed, an Australian classic filmed twice, in 1957 starring Peter Finch and in 1985 with Sam Neill. Then there is Rosa N. Carey, Harold Vallings, Charles Major, S.R.Crockett, Egerton Castle, Stephen Gwynn, A.C.Farquharson, Una L.Silberbrad, Evelyn Sharpe, E.Frances Poynter and more and I am sure somewhere their books are still available.

One famous name amongst them is Winston Churchill but not to be confused with bulldog breed Churchill. This one was an American novelist (‘The Crisis,’ ‘Richard Carver,’ - sold over two million and made him very rich, ‘The Celebrity’). The bulldog wrote one novel ‘Savrola’ and it seems the two men did have some contact.

One book Macmillan did not publish, or certainly it’s not advertised in this volume, is a book I’ve been looking for for years. I must have mentioned it before but I’ll mention it again. It is called ‘Lost On The Prairie’ it is a Victorian publication but I have no idea who the author was. I haven’t as yet even managed to find it on Google so if anyone knows of a copy please let me know.

Going back to the all things bright and beautiful,. I am now well into Paul O’Grady’s second fascinating autobiography, ‘The Devil Rides Out’ and I learn that when still quite young he spent three years working in a convalescent home for children. This is quite an eye-opener. Among his charges were fifteen boys ranging from eleven to thirteen and then later he looked after eleven boys seven to nine. ‘Out of the eleven there was a case of muscular dystrophy, three asthmatics, two boys with colostomy bags, a diabetic, assorted skin diseases including a lad covered from head to toe in psoriasis and a spina bifida, in other words all the beautiful perfect things God made. Hallelujah, praise the Lord and all that jazz. Do read this book. It is well worth it.

Will people never learn? Despite the fact that there have been any number of incidents because of a party being broadcast on Facebook there has been yet one more. A silly teenager threw a party, whilst parents were away of course, and a hundred unwanted guests turned up to gatecrash and trash involving neighbours and police. ‘I just wanted to invite a few friends,’ she said. Well in that case, dear you don’t tell the whole world, at least not all those yobs who have Facebook and can tune in to your little invite. You asked for it. You got it. I don’t do Facebook, I don’t do Twitter and I don’t do Linkedin. It seems to me to be a pure waste of time as everyone I want to get in touch with has an e-mail address and if there’s’ anything I want to look up research–wise I go to Google; an absolute mine of information. I have never yet been disappointed when asking for something.

I haven’t the faintest idea who Bill Thompson is but this is what he says. ‘Online tools and services such as Twitter and Facebook create a social space that encourages informality, rapid responses and the sort of conversation that typically takes place between friends in contexts that are either private or public-private like the street, pub, or café. Unfortunately on-line interaction has other characteristics which are very different form those of a casual conversation in a café. Not least the fact that many services make comments visible to large numbers of people and search engines ensure that a permanent record is kept of every inane observation, spiteful aside or potentially libellous comment. Many people have regretted what they let slip via Twitter.’ So you silly silly girl and all those other teenagers hooked on the internet, in future beware. I have no doubt though that there will be more of the same, especially while the cats are away.

Another point to be made is that there has evidently been a growing number of cases of defamation over the internet so what with all that, and cyber-crime from small cons to those worth billions, hacking, acres of spam, incitement to riot and viruses, is it all such a good thing? Well, there’s no turning back the clock. For better or worse we’ve got it and that’s that.

Con artists have always been with us and I have no doubt always will be but it is amazing how people still fall for these scams mostly it seems either from greed (get rich quick with little effort) or from being lovelorn, hence all those who lose their entice savings to Nigerian con-men who have discovered what a wonderful tool the intent is. Nigeria does seem to breed them as well as various other extremely nasty goings on such as young girls being promised fabulous jobs in Europe only to end up as prostitutes, badly treated and with no protection.

I have to say though, being careful about what one writes, I never realised how vulnerable one is in writing a Blog until I took a certain academic lady (one I personally didn’t know) to task one day. ‘Get a life’ I told her and received a response from her going tut tut tut naughty naughty, thank you but I have a life! Oops! Sorry, Missus.