The Superhumans

Meet The Superhumans

Taken from a TV advert', got me thinking.

The London 2012 Paralympic games open today Wednesday 29th August. It all started in 1948 at the then London games, with an archery contest for wheelchair athletes. If I understand correctly Stoke Manderville hospital had many soldiers with spinal injuries from the Western front campaign of world war 2. These young men were otherwise fit and healthy. Strong actually, and resilient. What a wonderful thing they started. Today there are paralympians too good to compete with "able bodied" athletes because their blades allow them to run so fast. They have a mechanical advantage.

What if we get as enthusiastic about the Paralymics as we did the warm up event? In the future will para sports get lottery funding and television money? Better prosthetics, more technology? Would it become mainstream? They may be about to. Regular Sunday afternoon sport maybe. What benefits? Leaps forward in cybernetic limb technology sounds reasonable. In fiction cyborgs are usually portrayed as machines. The truth may be very human indeed. Bring on the blade runners.

Team GB is fielding 8 ex soldiers amongst it's numbers. Veterans of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I bet the US team also has its share of ex military. I saw the lone Afghani athlete, wounded in the same conflict, doing what he does with just an ordinary plastic leg. This looks likely to be very interesting indeed. More time glued to the telly coming up.   

   



Anders Breivik

A dark one this time. Current affairs still has my attention and I care.

The sun was shining between showers as we took the little ferry between islands in the Stockholm archipelago. We were stood talking to the Norwegian riding the Spider on the car deck when the woman in the camper van started to cry. Her husband was also clearly upset. Their license plate marked them as Norwegians on holiday. Kirsi had known something was wrong earlier when we saw the Swedish flag flying at half mast over the royal palace. A fellow passenger approached the crying woman's open window and they exchanged words. This passengers eyes filled with tears also. Concerned expressions now stole onto everyones faces. Such is human empathy. The Spider rider went over and after a short but emotional exchange, returned. A mad man had blown up the offices of the Oslo government, and gone on to massacre another 69 youngsters on an island. They were youth members of the Norwegian Labour Party at a summer camp. 77 were dead in total. That was 22nd July 2011.

Friday August 24th 2012. The Norwegian high court has found Anders Breivik to be sane. His guilt was never in doubt since he confessed on numerous occasions. They sentenced him to 21 years with a minimum of 10. That a man who murders 77 people because he doesn't like their politics, can be adjudged sane took some getting my head around. It also took some getting my head around that a 10 year minimum sentence was appropriate. 21 years for each individual premeditated murder seems a better fit to the crime. It actually crossed my mind that by a different standard the legal system involved is insane, and that brought me to the subject I mulled over during a long walk around the lakes. If Breivik can be considered sane, so are the Islamist terrorists? After one and a half hours I concluded that sanity is subjective depending upon your culture and experience. Am I sane? No! Are the religiously devout? Maybe not. It entirely depends upon your point of view. I look at the way cats look at us and wonder if the cats know the truth. Humans are all fundamentally insane.

So what is important here? Protect the greater population from those who would gun us down surely. Anders Breivik apologised in response to the court ruling, for not being able to kill more. This morning I heard a Christian argument for forgiveness of mass murderers. Fine, just as long as the authorities exercise common sense to protect the rest of us from these monsters. My liberal values have been severely tested and I come down on the side of pragmatism. With dangerous dogs we don't take the chance of them repeating their bloody behaviour. The same thing? I'll let you decide.

One Small Step.....

I lost my hero! I was just a boy when he stepped out onto the moon. Dad got me up gone 3 in the morning. My sister Karen 2 years younger slept on. Mum, Dad and I sat silent and spell bound at the smudgy black and white Images coming from the moon. Mum and Dad held hands and the emotion of the moment was clear. A mild manoured American from Iowa, the perfect man for that momentous moment. Younger than my dad by just 5 years I think.

The rivalry beween the US and Russia was impossible for a boy to understand. That it was a race I got. The Russians put Yuri Gagarin into space first and with out him Neil Armstrong would not have walked on the moon. I'll raise a glass to Yuri while I'm at it, and the Russians. What a wonderful childhood they contributed towards. I took it all for granted. Grandma had followed the Wright brothers progress towards powered flight just a few decades earlier, and she enthusiastically followed the exploits of the Russians and Americans into space on her television (also arriving in her long lifetime). You know, for a while it felt these guys did it for all of us. Their adventures belonged to all of us. British, Swedish, German, Swiss, we all felt part of it I think. Little boys the world over, sitting with their Dads, watching open mouthed.   

I grew up thinking that the world had changed forever. Like most men of my age I expected we would have colonies on Mars by now. Instead we played with our gadgets and toys. Consumerism took the moon from us. So dumb. Right now I hope there is a boy watching, and dreaming of setting foot on Mars. Who ever you are, do it son! Do for those of us that regret that a generation have squandered the opportunity. Carry the torch for those of us too old to go. The world still needs its Neil Armstrongs to literally look up to.

Can't believe your gone. RIP Neil Armstrong.


Next time you look at a full moon, give Neil a wink.

Uncle Eric

Life is what hits you around the back of the head while you are busy making plans.

Just five days ago his ears should have been burning as Mark (myself and many others) worried about life ahead for an increasingly frail 91 year old.

It happened quickly. Mark had to work hard to keep up. Trying to support my friend/cousin I was always slightly behind the wave as Eric succumbed to pneumonia. This great old man, much loved by many, left us peacefully surrounded by his family.

Note for Uncle Eric: Thank you for your patience with two squabbling little boys. I sincerely hope that we repay your efforts with our enduring friendship.

My blog is about life. Death is part of life. We know that, but it is still hugely hard to say goodbye to those who were the adults in our lives as children. We remain their children is the lesson.

The best way to honour them I think is to remember them with love, square our shoulders and live life the best we know how. They leave a hole that cannot be filled though.

All energy is borrowed. We have to give it back, or pass it on.

Lyme Regis

Robi asked to come over from Zurich and visit Cornwall, but not in the awful English rain please. Err? Steve, Heather and I are due to catch up and if the Cornwall trip comes off (unlikely), Robi and I pass their front door, sort of. I think we invited ourselves but Steve and Heather were up for it. Nope,  the weather is horrible so Robi decided to just come for 3 days. Hang on? Friday evening Steve has a fine fish restaurant booked. Lyme Regis in the rain or Wood End in the rain. We thought it was a no brainer. Making our way to Lyme Regis on a Friday in August in torrential rain didn't feel to good, but we have all had so much rain across Northern Europe this Summer, we are all past caring.

The sun came out and eventually we arrived. Late and stressed we never the less embraced the walking tour Steve had sorted out for us.

If it had rained of course, we would have had a sound reason for three pints in the Volunteer. It didn't, so it had to be a mini cultural event for Robi.

Heather joined us in the evening for dinner. Fish and chips is as close as Steve gets to sea food. Robi got stuck into scallops and prawns on tagliatelle. For me it was lobster, crab and prawn sald. If you have to lose weight, do it in style. Unfortunately the tools supplied wouldn't touch the lobster claw. Solution? Take it outside onto the cobbles and jump on it! Steve and Heather coped well with Robi and I speaking Engmanish. Mainly English but shifting randomly into German. Vorsprung durch verwirrung verursacht! Actually, my German is lousy, so I was glad of the practise. I notice Heather joined in a little also.

Saturday the M5 was a car park due to an accident at Bristol (no surprise). We got off at the Severn bridge and crossed into wales complete with our hangovers. Any hope of an afternoon schnoozle was lost somewhere around Gloucester. We settled for a carnivore grill at my place, followed by a merlot grappa and early bed. Visits with Robi are always fun. Apart from trying to fit a 6'8" Swiss guy into a VW Polo!

  

Catching Up

Dodging the rain to progress my garden landscaping project. Slow going and frustrating.

Time to catch up with relatives, my sister in particular. She threw herself into house purchases and subsequent make overs. She is a brave girl and what she does usually works out. Aunts and Uncles to see also. The last of the senior generation are precious. They have wisdom if we can be bothered to listen. Especially with Mum and Dad gone, I want the company of their brothers and sisters. Rainy days particularly are meant for listening to your wise old uncle.

I intended to catch up with Ernie (aged 87. Tail gunner in a Liberator bomber during the 2nd world war). Not possible. He had taken himself off to South Africa to his daughters for a few weeks. Lots of birthday parties to go to apparently. Good for you Ernie!  

The sun came out so lunch in a pub garden with Ian, and again with Brian and Jeanette. Time on our hands and knees, weeding our vegetable plot, for Allen, Sue and I, and more catching up over al fresco cups of tea. The pace is busy but nowhere near the break neck long hours insanity employed friends have to endure. Wage slaves until we each find our own trap door and escape tunnel.

A long walk in the sunshine with Mark and Andy. Plans for a house purchase in Sweden swapped for concerns about Uncle Eric at 91, and Andy moving forward with his music. Saffy wanting to go in the water, but not at the same time. Is this lovely girlie puppy dog a Pisces like me?

Eight weeks away and missing Swedish friends, at the same time being so pleased to be with English ones. I guess this is how it will always be if I follow the path that is now obvious before me. Just catching up for now. Soon enough we have to move on.

Pictures

I look at my pictures and it reminds me, the sun did shine sometimes. What a wonderful summer it was despite the rain.

Bielefeld Germany



Midsommerfest. Note the barrel of beer. Well done Janne.

Alastaro Circuit Finland. Aki in the Background. Elsa and I in front (about to be lapped!)

Naantali, Finland

Absolute Bliss. Thanks Aki and family. I loved it.

Finnish recreation. I get it. Absolutely loved sauna and swimming in the lake.



On the Gota Canal

"Following the Smiley". Anders, Maria, Andreas, Teresa and Per. Fabulous day out on the bikes along the coast from Goteburg. We can do this every summer as far as I'm concerned. Change nothing.

Last Evening.

Tea and sunset in Bankeryd. See you again soon.

Bad History

The human soul is a gem stone. Each facet a life. Each life an opportunity to shape and polish the stone, to move it towards the best it can possibly be. To hold up the gem to the light and see it almost complete...........


Casparian was having a bad day. He'd had a bad week, month and year. Many bad years actually. Welcome to the 5th century. What an utter disappointment. So far it was much the same as the 4th century, but crappier. Nero was older and madder, that was about it really. He hadn't been able to attend the match at the Colosseum and was honestly satisfied that his money was still in his purse, such as it was. His pay had been sporadic this year to say the least. Two of their sporting hero's had received the thumbs down from this dreadful toad of an emperor. Careers cut short, bets lost, and sporting morale on the floor for months to come. He had the night shift again atop the walls, and frankly he'd had enough. The gasps of the crowd reached the ears of the sentries on the wall. He said he didn't do politics, but it was as plain as the nose on his suntanned face that the city had gone to the dogs. It was past 5 on a hot August afternoon when the German hoard arrived at the gates. He remembered glancing at the big sundial. The Colosseum was emptying and miserable sports fans were spilling into the hot dusty streets from the various gates. Kebab sellers called out attracting meagre business. The surly crowd had no appetite. The Germans at the gates were Roman trained and employed. Auxillary troops unpaid for months demanding access. Casparian looked down, and considered. "What the hell, bugger it, OPEN THE GATES". It was a hell of a resignation speech.

One life, one facet of the gem stone.



If this rain keeps up many more days, I'll start writing any old rubbish.

Thanks to Morecombe and Wise for inspiring me to write history like what I remember it.

London 2012

Could the heart of any red blooded Englishman not be moved by the sight of our wonderful posh lanky gals taking so many of the medals in the rowing? Absolutely stunning ladies. I'm not a big sports fan, and honestly, generally the coverage gets a bit much for me late into the evening, but even so HOORAGH!

The marathon will bring the runners to Buckingham palace. London has on it's Sunday best. It's not my city, but you know? I am a Brit so today I'll wave the union jack (quietly) and be proud.

A few days of catching up with relatives and friends, My brave little sister is working flat out on the houses she has bought. Good on yer sis. Mark and I took a walk around the park at Kingsbury with his 5 month old puppy, Saffy. She doesn't really get the whole lead thing. Mark is safely tethered to one end, and she to the other, therefore there is only one person left who can get tripped up. There is no prediciting how and when she will wind the rope around my ankles. Didn't the pup do well with her first thunder storm? The rain came down like stair rods packed solid and vertical, and we were stranded out in the open. The way she looked to Mark, and since he wasn't concerned, she accepted the situation OK. No drama from her. The yard outside the tearooms was 2 inches deep it rained so hard. An English summer is after all three sunny days followed by a thunder storm. We picked our way through the new lagoon towards the village and tea. Same again next week? You bet

It's comforting being among my own, but I'm missing Swedish friends, the forest and the big lake. Over there the gang will be attending Limatraffen, dancing, drinking, sleeping it off. Wish I was with you guys. Next year hopefully. An unintended consequence of my new situation may be that where ever I am, there will be people I am missing.

Strike While The Iron is Hot

"Travelling will change you son". "Perhaps that's what I want Dad".



So far I've started enquiries towards opening a Swedish Kronor savings account with a British bank. I have also looked for Swedish language lessons near to my home address, to no avail. It's going to have to be an Internet package. I have every incentive to work at this. I have a job to do next spring. In the mean time...

..water to fetch and fire wood to chop.

Modernisation of my UK house is going to take 8 months more. No slacking. I need to finish that project before taking on a Swedish one.

I'm not sure how heavy I was when I left for Sweden, but the news my scales give me today is not good. I have 6 kilo's to loose. The diet and exercise regime starts this weekend. When I had dinner with Linus and Monica she showed the way with a wonderful "grill lite, for 2 fat boys". I actually looked around for who she was talking about. Chubby is a look I hate on myself.

I knew this blog would record a journey of a different kind, but I didn't know what it would be. Right now it feels good. Watch this space.

PS: Roland called from Fagerhult this morning. The puppy couldn't lift the 'phone.

Old Blighty

Grey, cold, windy, miserable. Home! Into wet weather gear for the 150 mile slog to Warwickshire. I put my watch back 1 hour and 30 years. Passport control takes twenty minutes queueing in the saddle. They aren't taking chances during the olympics. Drive on the left! Yep, mostly. A text to Allan and Sue to put the pot on. Homecoming requires tea.

Looking forward to seeing friends and family has pulled me along towards my destination, but honestly, this time I was reluctant to return. Something changed. I'm slow. I'll figure it out.

The 8 week pile of post is mostly junk. My bank cheerfully inform me that they are going to reduce interest on my savings to 1%. They are definitely on the list to meet the red knight. My new red beardy scowl looks scary and crazy. I slept most of the afternoon, exhausted and chilled. I have some thinking to do, but not today.

The Hook

Only 250 English miles to the port. More cold and rain. More autobahn service stations and the invisible Dutch border. It takes time but it gets done, safely and without incident today. 11 kilometres to go and Jane wants me to go past the exit signposted Hook van Hollens. Nope. I disagree and take the slip road. Jane switches herself off in a huff which is not helpfull when I have to find my way into the port. With now where to stop I do it the old fashioned way. Follow the sign posts! Then I recognise the road along the top of the dyke. Windmills. I could only bee in Holland. Those and the acres of glass houses full of tomato plants. The road drops off the dyke to a railway crossing, and then I'm at the Europort complete with it's fish n chip shop. I wouldn't would I? You bet I would. Even served with mayo battered cod and chips take very fine indeed to a homeward bound Englishman (Apparently I'm not a Dane any more).

A German motorcycling couple join me for the fish and chip experience. Company for the cruise home.   

Bremen

South from Aarhus on a cold Sunday  morning. I can see the wall of rain ahead and push the button that deploys Elsa's big wind shield all the way forward. It goes quiet as the shield cuts off the wind turbulence. I sit upright to get my eyes above the upper edge of the screen, and switch on the heaters. It's going to be a long and grim ride. Refuelling problems again. Visa cards don't work.

The sun came out as I drifted into highway filling station over the German border. I moved the bike once due to unsavoury looking types rummaging through the waste bins. The place looked OK but I felt uneasy all the same. Four minibus' full of youths bracketed me and spieled their hordes all around me. They were immediately larking around. 16 years old maybe, but 40 or more of them. I felt a sense of deja vous. They packed in close to myself and Elsa, beginning to jostle me. One started pratting around with one of Elsa's mirrors and called to a friend some way off (Translated from German) "Hey come over here, we are playing with the Englishman". No hesitation, I dared not. I shoved him hard shocking him and said in English "You may be playing. I'm not!" A quick swivel doing the Belfast walk and I spotted two adults supposed to be supervising the lads. I made eye contact and shouted "GET THEM OFF MY MOTORCYCLE!" The two guys intervened and moved the surly youths enough for me to reverse the BMW out, mount and ride away. What is it with teenage boys?

Crossing Hamburg North to South is worse than East to West. The tailback to get through the tunnel under the river is massive, even on a Sunday afternoon. Remind me not to use this route. More autobahn and into Bremen's city centre. Finally Satnav Jane got me to my digs on the riverside. Parking Elsa on the Pavement (sidewalk) as suggested at reception, I made my way to my room and a very welcome hot shower. Once clean and changed into civvies, I set off along the riverside promenade to explore the beer gardens, bars and restaurants. Alone is not great but I'm used to it. To early to eat I returned to my digs. The tramp was going through my gear as I rounded the corner. He actually looked at me and disregarded me. Then it dawned on me. I am not in motorcycle gear. He doesn't know the bike he is robbing is mine. He turned his back on me and carried on, until I hauled him off and spun him around. The poor old bugger nearly wet himself. What he had taken was my bottle of mineral water secured under the cargo net. I let him keep it. He scampered away. I check all else was secure and decided I was ready for bratworst, bread and beer after all, and an early night. You know what? There is a lot to be said for boring days.
    

Only Human

The little dog was whimpering as I continued to empty my bedroom and load Elsa. She was so upset that she was shaking. She was trying frantically to get on to my lap. She's only a puppy really. Her mother looked on with sad eyes. They know! I relented and let her climb onto my lap where she curled up and pretended to sleep. I tried to put her down which started her whimpering. Please don't do this Lizzy. Your putting a lump in my throat. As I insisted on continuing my preperations the dogs took themselves off to their bed. To my human eyes what they seem to be reacting to is rejection. I'm leaving therefore I don't like them any more. Is that right? Dogs have that much?

Stephan got up early to catch me before this difficult departure. As I left Fagerhult along the highway with views of mighty Vattern iluminated with bright summer sunshine, the lake has never looked so impressive. Just a glimpse she gives me of what I will be missing. My leaving is reluctant but I have business in the UK to attend to. I will buy the summer house here, but that is 8 months away. I suspect I will return for a flying visit before then. People to see.

My journey today is one of those iron britches occasions. South all the way to Malmo and the 17 mile bridge to Copenhagen, remembering to fill my tank for Swedish cash expensive to convert into £s. Lunch also with the last remaining Kronor. The afternoon takes care of Zealand and Funen, finally crossing the causeway onto Jutland. Turn right (it sounds so easy) and head north to Henrik, Anne and family fir the last weekend of this trip. Once into Denmark I have further trouble with bank cards and petrol pumps. I started trying to refuel at half a tank which would get me to my destination. Second attempt I got a tankful and pressed on. How to eat an Elephant? You do it one plateful at a time.

One thing that put a wry smile on my face was that somewhere along the road I seem to have become a Dane! At least to those I make transactions with. I speak Swedish with an accent no surprise, but an Englishman doing it is unexpected. Brits out here are rarer than hens teeth. On two occasions when they went conversational I had to put my hand up and switch to English. I was shocked that that was a shock, but there you go. The one young guy's mouth dropped open "holy shit, you're English!". "I am". He thought I was a Dane. They get by fine in Swedish. It happened in the shop in Fagerhult as well for the same reasons.

Arrival at Henrik's place never disappoints. The house seems to cry "home" from a distance of two miles out (UK). It was a shame that our planned Saturday out on the bikes was rained off, like so much more of this dreadful summers events. Good company and a warm house, so no complaints. It was a nice visit.

I have had enough of getting a soaking though.

Following the Smiley

It's a year since I rode with the Goteburg guys, and we are on the behuslan coast north of the city again. Anders is a natural leader with an eidetic memory. Carefully study the map for twisty lanes to have fun in, and he commits them to memory. Today the women are with us. A wife and a girlfriend. Per changed his bike and now sits astride a monster 2.3 litre Triumph Rocket Three. As last year it's a sunny day on this beautiful coast. Fish lunch at a harbour could not be better. The guys swap motorcycles and women (or should I say the women swap pillion seats and drivers) often. Elsa and I are content not to be involved in the swapping. Last night these two pleasant and sensible young women kept us sober ready for today. Good work ladies. They had permission to do so before we started on the beer. Actually how sensible? They are bikers wives.

On the registration plate of Anders Yamaha there is a space just big enough for a fluorescent smiley face. I'm riding number two herring bone pattern to his right and rear. The others follow on left and right zigzag. I am honestly happy to follow. My leading days are done, unless I absolutely have to. Am I still talking about riding motorbikes on a sunny day. No, not exactly.

Thanks to the gang for a wonderful weekend. I'll see the guys for the motorcycle show in Birmingham in November.