All new beginnings are something we look forward to on the one hand but fear on the other.
Human nature does not like change, and things have to be pretty dismal for us to seek it proactively. As sadly they currently are in places like Syria.
But when it comes to something that reoccurs regularly once a week, you would expect to be immune to it. Under normal circumstances, we are. And I am as well. Or are we?
So let’s talk about Mondays.
Well, let me start with Sunday evenings, when I regularly get the blues and think – another day off would now be perfect, not necessarily to waste away or be idle, but to “get back into the swing of things” without the distraction and temptation of football (the global as well as, during the NFL season, the American variation) on TV, the need to catch up on domestic matters, and the opportunity to go shopping – a gradual reset including but not limited to work-related stuff.
That said, I remember a great cartoon I saw in The Wall Street Journal many years ago. It shows two colleagues (co-workers for their American readers), chatting at the water fountain. One says to the other: “After a long weekend with the family it’s great to get some quality time at the office!”
But seriously, who would ever think or feel that way? Right?
Contrast that with the relief we sense after five working days, the promise of the leisure and pleasure lying ahead, and the anticipation of the fun to come:
Friday Night Lights and Saturday Night Fever.
In case these phrases ring a bell, the former is the title of a book which I am currently reading, published in 1990 and generally acclaimed as one of the best pieces of sports writing at least in America. The author, H.G. “Buzz” Bissinger, a highly respected journalist and winner, among other awards, of the Pulitzer Prize, spent the year 1988 with his family in the small town of Odessa, Texas, following the Permian Panthers, a local High School football, not soccer, team through their season. The games traditionally take place on Friday nights under floodlights, hence the title. The sub-title is A Town, a Team, and a Dream. At the time, in Odessa the games attracted a home crowd of 20,000. There just wasn’t so much else going on. I bet they still do as there still isn’t.
The book spawned a movie (2004) and a hugely successful TV series that ran for five seasons from 2006 through 2011. The concept of Friday Night Lights is firmly embedded in the American way of life and cultural self-definition. And there are many, many other towns like Odessa, TX.
The latter expression of course is the title of a 1977 dance film that owed its success mainly to the fact that John Travolta starred in it when he still had moves (check out the white suit!) and to the music of the Bee Gees (it was their disco phase when they sang in falsetto): “How Deep Is your Love”, “Stayin’ Alive”, and “Night Fever”.
So, having survived the chores of the week and the action of Friday and Saturday nights, on to Sunday when we relax:
“By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work.” (Genesis 2. The Bible, New International Version)
You don’t have to be a Creationist to appreciate the sentiment. And it has survived through the ages:
“Lazy Sunday afternoon
I've got no mind to worry
Close my eyes and drift away”
“Lazy Sunday”, Small Faces (1968)
The band is one of the most acclaimed and influential mod groups of the 1960s. After the Small Faces disbanded in 1969, with founder Steve Marriott gone to form Humble Pie, the remaining three members were joined by Ronnie Wood as guitarist (later to move on the Rolling Stones of course), and Rod Stewart as their lead vocalist, both from The Jeff Beck Group, and the new line-up was renamed Faces. There’s a bit of UK Rock genealogy for you.
Rod Stewart eventually went on to a stellar career on his own. Too many hits to list here. My favourite song will always be this one:
“You're an essay in glamor, please pardon the grammar
But you're every schoolboy's dream
You're Celtic, United but baby I've decided
You're the best football team I've ever seen
“And there have been many affairs
Many times I've thought to leave
But I bite my lip and I turn around
'Cause you're the warmest thing I've ever found
“You're in my heart, you're in my soul
You'll be my breath should I grow old
You are my lover, you're my best friend
You're in my soul”
“You’re In My Heart”, Foot Loose & Fancy Free (1977)
[My emphasis.] What a declaration of love.
You see, born in North London in 1945 as the youngest of five children, Rod Stewart is of mixed Scottish and English ancestry, so he couldn’t easily make up his mind which team to support. (The “Celtic” refers to Celtic Glasgow, the “United” to Manchester United.)
You know my view on loving football clubs: There Can Only Be One!
And, speaking of Scotsmen, this is the motto from the movie Highlander (1986) in which, according to IMDb, “an immortal Scottish swordsman [played by Christopher Lambert and so not Scottish] must confront the last of his immortal opponents, a murderously brutal barbarian who lusts for the fabled ‘Prize’". It also stars the great Sean Connery. – There was a sequel, Highlander II: The Quickening (1991), but as so often is the case, it didn’t live up to the original. Which on a Lazy Sunday Afternoon you should check out.
Rod Stewart did, however, according to his own words, determine early on that there were only two ways of making it to the ranks of the rich and famous – football and Rock ’n’ Roll.
He left school at age 15 and worked briefly as a silk screen printer. Spurred on by his father, a former amateur level player and manager, his ambition was to become a professional footballer. In the summer of 1960, he went for trials at Brentford F.C., a Third Division club at the time. Putting to bed a long-standing myth, Stewart states in his autobiography that he was never signed to the club and they never even called him back.
Which didn’t upset him all that much as he concluded, "Well, a musician's life is a lot easier, and I can also get drunk and make music, and I can't do that and play football. I plumped for music... They're the only two things I can do actually: play football and sing." (Rod: The Autobiography, 2012)
What a favourite of the gods he is to have such stellar talents for his fall-back career option.
As a youngster, I also wanted to be a professional football player, and like Rod Stewart, I had to realise one day that I brought much more enthusiasm than talent to this particular ambition. But look at where I ended up compared to him – no fame or fortune I’m afraid…
Just kidding!
So, after a Lazy Sunday Afternoon, inevitably we face Monday mornings, and unless they are public holidays, it’s back to work.
The Brits, by the way, admirably pragmatic as they are in all things, have the wonderful tradition of moving their “Bank Holidays” to Mondays regardless of what other day of the week they may have fallen on, so for a few delectable times a year, my three-day-weekend phantasy actually works out.
In the same vein, Her Majesty the Queen celebrates her “official” birthday in June as on her actual one, 21 April, the weather in the realm she rules with such aplomb tends to, well, suck.
Boy, do I get distracted. It’s because I don’t really want to get to the Monday morning I had this week. So please bear with me, and I trust you will understand.
In the years when I was self-employed – twice in my career, but that’s another story – I often thought about having the music which callers would listen to while put on hold, waiting to be connected, themed according to the day of the week.
I never actually went through with this remarkably creative plan (as I’m sure you agree), although it would probably have been easy to implement. I guess I thought (prospective) clients who called because they had a serious problem they hoped I could help them with would find it altogether too playful.
But wouldn’t it be cool if the techies at Apple developed an app allowing you to have seven different ring tones, rotating every 24 hours, on your iPhone?
So here is the choice of songs I came up with that could have made that playlist:
“I Don’t Like Mondays” [more about this one later]
“Monday, Monday”, The Mamas & The Papas (If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears, 1966)
“Manic Monday”, The Bangles (Different Light, 1986)
“Ruby Tuesday”, The Rolling Stones (Between the Buttons, 1967)
“Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.”, Simon and Garfunkel (Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M., 1964)
“Thursday’s Child”, David Bowie (Hours…, 1999)
“Friday, I’m in Love”, The Cure (Wish, 1992)
“Friday On My Mind”, The Easybeats (Friday On My Mind, 1967)
For Tuesdays through Thursdays, I had to dig deep. They are really the poor relations in the family of weekdays.
And while calls on a weekend tend to be rare, and if they do come in, chances are they will be to your mobile, let’s just complete the exercise – and unsurprisingly, it gets easier as people let their hair down:
“Saturday Night”, The Eagles [!], (Desperado, 1970)
“Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting”, Elton John (Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, 1973)
“Another Saturday Night”, Sam Cooke (Ain’t That Good News, 1963).
Better known is the Cat Stevens version from 1974. Either way, I love the lyrics:
"Another Saturday Night that I ain't got nobody
I got some money, 'cause I just got paid
Now, how I wished I had someone to talk to
I'm in an awful way, let me tell you about, look it here
“I got to town a month ago,
I seen a lot of girls since then
If I could meet 'em I could get 'em
But as yet I haven't met 'em
That's why I'm in the shape I'm in”
And for the final day of the week(-end):
“Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down”, Kris Kristofferson (Kristofferson,1970)
Again, I can’t resist:
“Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for dessert
“Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
An' I washed my face, combed my hair
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day”
Say what you will, but they just don’t write lyrics like these anymore.
By the way, and à propos of nothing, here’s a great game to play:
“Name artists that became world stars both as singers / musicians and as movie actors.”
You may not even know him, depending on your age, but Kris Kristofferson easily qualifies! As does Cher on the female side of the roster. Your turn – ten each?
Which brings us back to the Small Faces and Sundays, full circle. You could almost think I knew all along where I was taking this, right?
“Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (American poet, 1807 – 1882)
What a wonderful line.
But, ever looking forward, this is maybe more what we should ask ourselves:
“This is Sunday, and the question arises, what'll I start tomorrow?” Kurt Vonnegut (American author, 1922 – 2007)
A new week, a new beginning? Well, ideally yes. But then experience tells a different story:
“Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7 of your life.” Steven Wright (American comedian)
“Life is like Friday on a soap opera. It gives you the illusion that everything is going to wrap up, and then the same old shit starts up on Monday.” Stephen King, Duma Key (2008)
Can you relate maybe?
This past Monday was, however, a special one – the first day not just of the week, but of a whole month. The First of February. Two new beginnings all wrapped up in one!
I’ve checked the calendar. There is only one more time this will occur again this year: The First of August. So while not unique, last Monday was somewhat special vis-à-vis its peers in 2016.
But let’s not speculate on what may or may not happen half a year from now. Let’s finally look at what happened a few days ago.
One of the beauties of living where I do is that I have a very short commute to and from the office. In the morning, depending on how the traffic lights work out, it’s somewhere between three and five minutes. Which is my facile excuse why I don’t tune in to BBC Radio 4 or 5 while in the car – it’s just not worth it as I don’t have enough time to follow what they are covering on any given day.
As a professional, I hasten to add, I am of course very respectful of these stations, and indeed I have appeared on them (both in the morning and early evening) – a lot of people have a long commute and thereby make up a huge listening audience. Do not, ever, underestimate the power of the good old radio as a media outlet.
You see, I firmly believe that all channels of communication complement each other rather than replacing their predecessors. Here is what I mean.
At first, once they had developed speech, mankind would sit around a fire and tell each other stories. Then, they started painting the walls of their caves – but they still told stories. Next, they developed signs and alphabets, early forms of writing – but they still told stories. Then, printing with movable types was invented – but they still told stories.
For a long time, nothing much happened, until “moving pictures” (the movies in short) and the radio came along (President Franklin Delano Roosevelt was the first to recognise its potential and employ it to talk, literally and directly, to the people of the United States: his famous “Fireside Chats” – he was sitting at his in The White House, they were huddled around theirs in homes across four time zones).
So people went to the cinemas and tuned in to their receivers – but they still told stories. Later in the last century, television invaded lives and living rooms big time. Whole families were henceforth glued to the screen – but they still told stories. And now we live in the age of the internet, of social media, of e-readers, and of streaming, but guess what – we still tell stories.
In a nutshell, the common denominator of all these channels of (mass) communication is just that – the telling of stories. It’s the one thing that has always held humankind and the societies we have built over the millennia together; it’s its glue. [Please indulge me and note the apostrophe in the first word – well, it is two really – and its absence in the second.]
And I count myself lucky to do the telling of stories for a living, never forgetting they must be interesting, relevant, and on a good day, compelling. Which also applies to this blog of course. You be the judge.
So, finally coming back to my commute this past Monday in my customary long-winded way, let me explain to you, literally, “the lay of the land”.
To get to the office, I have to drive down one of Bristol’s many hills and along the Avon, its [again the possessive adjective!] poor excuse for a river. There are two topographical facts I should explain at this point as they are relevant to my story.
First, in what is called the Avon Gorge, a geological phenomenon to do with water cutting through limestone formations and dating back some 350 million years at the last count, the River Avon claims to have the second-highest tidal range in the world, fed by the Bristol Channel, behind the Bay of Fundy on the Atlantic coast of Canada.
Then, the Clifton Suspension Bridge, a landmark of Bristol and indeed the UK, spans the gorge.
Opened in 1864, it is a marvel of engineering – the first free suspension bridge in history, based on a design by Isambard Kingdom Brunel (1806 – 1859), a certified genius who featured big time in the opening ceremony to the 2012 London Olympics. Remember the larger-than-life figure in the stove-pipe hat with the cigar in the scenes recalling the Industrial Revolution? Yep, that’s him, portrayed in the stadium that night by the great (ironically, Shakespeare actor – see next paragraph) Kenneth Branagh.
What qualified him for this gig is that in 2002, Brunel was placed second in “100 Greatest Britons”, a BBC television poll conducted to determine whom the United Kingdom public considered the most significant British personalities in history. The winner was Winston Churchill, and you will never guess who secured, in Olympic terms, the bronze medal – Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales, aka Lady Di. And William Shakespeare? Well, he only won a disappointing fifth place, behind Charles Darwin:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/2509465.stm
In addition to designing the Clifton Suspension Bridge whose realisation he never lived to witness – and by the way, forget the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco: it wasn’t opened until 1937 – Brunel created the Great Western Railway and built a number of steam ships, including the SS Great Britain, the first propeller-driven ocean-going iron ship, which was at the time (1843) also the largest ship ever constructed. And today, guess what, it is moored in Bristol Harbour.
Do come visit this very attractive city with a population of 440,000, three universities, a rich history, a lively cultural scene, and a lot of nice pubs, bars, and restaurants. When you do, I’ll show you a good time!
At the Clifton Suspension Bridge, the Avon Gorge is more than 700 feet (213 m) wide and 300 feet (91 m) deep.
The bridge’s clearance, above high water, is 245 feet (75 m). Above low tide, it’s much more.
But when it comes to something that reoccurs regularly once a week, you would expect to be immune to it. Under normal circumstances, we are. And I am as well. Or are we?
So let’s talk about Mondays.
Well, let me start with Sunday evenings, when I regularly get the blues and think – another day off would now be perfect, not necessarily to waste away or be idle, but to “get back into the swing of things” without the distraction and temptation of football (the global as well as, during the NFL season, the American variation) on TV, the need to catch up on domestic matters, and the opportunity to go shopping – a gradual reset including but not limited to work-related stuff.
That said, I remember a great cartoon I saw in The Wall Street Journal many years ago. It shows two colleagues (co-workers for their American readers), chatting at the water fountain. One says to the other: “After a long weekend with the family it’s great to get some quality time at the office!”
But seriously, who would ever think or feel that way? Right?
Contrast that with the relief we sense after five working days, the promise of the leisure and pleasure lying ahead, and the anticipation of the fun to come:
Friday Night Lights and Saturday Night Fever.
In case these phrases ring a bell, the former is the title of a book which I am currently reading, published in 1990 and generally acclaimed as one of the best pieces of sports writing at least in America. The author, H.G. “Buzz” Bissinger, a highly respected journalist and winner, among other awards, of the Pulitzer Prize, spent the year 1988 with his family in the small town of Odessa, Texas, following the Permian Panthers, a local High School football, not soccer, team through their season. The games traditionally take place on Friday nights under floodlights, hence the title. The sub-title is A Town, a Team, and a Dream. At the time, in Odessa the games attracted a home crowd of 20,000. There just wasn’t so much else going on. I bet they still do as there still isn’t.
The book spawned a movie (2004) and a hugely successful TV series that ran for five seasons from 2006 through 2011. The concept of Friday Night Lights is firmly embedded in the American way of life and cultural self-definition. And there are many, many other towns like Odessa, TX.
The latter expression of course is the title of a 1977 dance film that owed its success mainly to the fact that John Travolta starred in it when he still had moves (check out the white suit!) and to the music of the Bee Gees (it was their disco phase when they sang in falsetto): “How Deep Is your Love”, “Stayin’ Alive”, and “Night Fever”.
So, having survived the chores of the week and the action of Friday and Saturday nights, on to Sunday when we relax:
“By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work.” (Genesis 2. The Bible, New International Version)
You don’t have to be a Creationist to appreciate the sentiment. And it has survived through the ages:
“Lazy Sunday afternoon
I've got no mind to worry
Close my eyes and drift away”
“Lazy Sunday”, Small Faces (1968)
The band is one of the most acclaimed and influential mod groups of the 1960s. After the Small Faces disbanded in 1969, with founder Steve Marriott gone to form Humble Pie, the remaining three members were joined by Ronnie Wood as guitarist (later to move on the Rolling Stones of course), and Rod Stewart as their lead vocalist, both from The Jeff Beck Group, and the new line-up was renamed Faces. There’s a bit of UK Rock genealogy for you.
Rod Stewart eventually went on to a stellar career on his own. Too many hits to list here. My favourite song will always be this one:
“You're an essay in glamor, please pardon the grammar
But you're every schoolboy's dream
You're Celtic, United but baby I've decided
You're the best football team I've ever seen
“And there have been many affairs
Many times I've thought to leave
But I bite my lip and I turn around
'Cause you're the warmest thing I've ever found
“You're in my heart, you're in my soul
You'll be my breath should I grow old
You are my lover, you're my best friend
You're in my soul”
“You’re In My Heart”, Foot Loose & Fancy Free (1977)
[My emphasis.] What a declaration of love.
You see, born in North London in 1945 as the youngest of five children, Rod Stewart is of mixed Scottish and English ancestry, so he couldn’t easily make up his mind which team to support. (The “Celtic” refers to Celtic Glasgow, the “United” to Manchester United.)
You know my view on loving football clubs: There Can Only Be One!
And, speaking of Scotsmen, this is the motto from the movie Highlander (1986) in which, according to IMDb, “an immortal Scottish swordsman [played by Christopher Lambert and so not Scottish] must confront the last of his immortal opponents, a murderously brutal barbarian who lusts for the fabled ‘Prize’". It also stars the great Sean Connery. – There was a sequel, Highlander II: The Quickening (1991), but as so often is the case, it didn’t live up to the original. Which on a Lazy Sunday Afternoon you should check out.
Rod Stewart did, however, according to his own words, determine early on that there were only two ways of making it to the ranks of the rich and famous – football and Rock ’n’ Roll.
He left school at age 15 and worked briefly as a silk screen printer. Spurred on by his father, a former amateur level player and manager, his ambition was to become a professional footballer. In the summer of 1960, he went for trials at Brentford F.C., a Third Division club at the time. Putting to bed a long-standing myth, Stewart states in his autobiography that he was never signed to the club and they never even called him back.
Which didn’t upset him all that much as he concluded, "Well, a musician's life is a lot easier, and I can also get drunk and make music, and I can't do that and play football. I plumped for music... They're the only two things I can do actually: play football and sing." (Rod: The Autobiography, 2012)
What a favourite of the gods he is to have such stellar talents for his fall-back career option.
As a youngster, I also wanted to be a professional football player, and like Rod Stewart, I had to realise one day that I brought much more enthusiasm than talent to this particular ambition. But look at where I ended up compared to him – no fame or fortune I’m afraid…
Just kidding!
So, after a Lazy Sunday Afternoon, inevitably we face Monday mornings, and unless they are public holidays, it’s back to work.
The Brits, by the way, admirably pragmatic as they are in all things, have the wonderful tradition of moving their “Bank Holidays” to Mondays regardless of what other day of the week they may have fallen on, so for a few delectable times a year, my three-day-weekend phantasy actually works out.
In the same vein, Her Majesty the Queen celebrates her “official” birthday in June as on her actual one, 21 April, the weather in the realm she rules with such aplomb tends to, well, suck.
Boy, do I get distracted. It’s because I don’t really want to get to the Monday morning I had this week. So please bear with me, and I trust you will understand.
In the years when I was self-employed – twice in my career, but that’s another story – I often thought about having the music which callers would listen to while put on hold, waiting to be connected, themed according to the day of the week.
I never actually went through with this remarkably creative plan (as I’m sure you agree), although it would probably have been easy to implement. I guess I thought (prospective) clients who called because they had a serious problem they hoped I could help them with would find it altogether too playful.
But wouldn’t it be cool if the techies at Apple developed an app allowing you to have seven different ring tones, rotating every 24 hours, on your iPhone?
So here is the choice of songs I came up with that could have made that playlist:
“I Don’t Like Mondays” [more about this one later]
“Monday, Monday”, The Mamas & The Papas (If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears, 1966)
“Manic Monday”, The Bangles (Different Light, 1986)
“Ruby Tuesday”, The Rolling Stones (Between the Buttons, 1967)
“Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.”, Simon and Garfunkel (Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M., 1964)
“Thursday’s Child”, David Bowie (Hours…, 1999)
“Friday, I’m in Love”, The Cure (Wish, 1992)
“Friday On My Mind”, The Easybeats (Friday On My Mind, 1967)
For Tuesdays through Thursdays, I had to dig deep. They are really the poor relations in the family of weekdays.
And while calls on a weekend tend to be rare, and if they do come in, chances are they will be to your mobile, let’s just complete the exercise – and unsurprisingly, it gets easier as people let their hair down:
“Saturday Night”, The Eagles [!], (Desperado, 1970)
“Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting”, Elton John (Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, 1973)
“Another Saturday Night”, Sam Cooke (Ain’t That Good News, 1963).
Better known is the Cat Stevens version from 1974. Either way, I love the lyrics:
"Another Saturday Night that I ain't got nobody
I got some money, 'cause I just got paid
Now, how I wished I had someone to talk to
I'm in an awful way, let me tell you about, look it here
“I got to town a month ago,
I seen a lot of girls since then
If I could meet 'em I could get 'em
But as yet I haven't met 'em
That's why I'm in the shape I'm in”
And for the final day of the week(-end):
“Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down”, Kris Kristofferson (Kristofferson,1970)
Again, I can’t resist:
“Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for dessert
“Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
An' I washed my face, combed my hair
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day”
Say what you will, but they just don’t write lyrics like these anymore.
By the way, and à propos of nothing, here’s a great game to play:
“Name artists that became world stars both as singers / musicians and as movie actors.”
You may not even know him, depending on your age, but Kris Kristofferson easily qualifies! As does Cher on the female side of the roster. Your turn – ten each?
Which brings us back to the Small Faces and Sundays, full circle. You could almost think I knew all along where I was taking this, right?
“Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (American poet, 1807 – 1882)
What a wonderful line.
But, ever looking forward, this is maybe more what we should ask ourselves:
“This is Sunday, and the question arises, what'll I start tomorrow?” Kurt Vonnegut (American author, 1922 – 2007)
A new week, a new beginning? Well, ideally yes. But then experience tells a different story:
“Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7 of your life.” Steven Wright (American comedian)
“Life is like Friday on a soap opera. It gives you the illusion that everything is going to wrap up, and then the same old shit starts up on Monday.” Stephen King, Duma Key (2008)
Can you relate maybe?
This past Monday was, however, a special one – the first day not just of the week, but of a whole month. The First of February. Two new beginnings all wrapped up in one!
I’ve checked the calendar. There is only one more time this will occur again this year: The First of August. So while not unique, last Monday was somewhat special vis-à-vis its peers in 2016.
But let’s not speculate on what may or may not happen half a year from now. Let’s finally look at what happened a few days ago.
One of the beauties of living where I do is that I have a very short commute to and from the office. In the morning, depending on how the traffic lights work out, it’s somewhere between three and five minutes. Which is my facile excuse why I don’t tune in to BBC Radio 4 or 5 while in the car – it’s just not worth it as I don’t have enough time to follow what they are covering on any given day.
As a professional, I hasten to add, I am of course very respectful of these stations, and indeed I have appeared on them (both in the morning and early evening) – a lot of people have a long commute and thereby make up a huge listening audience. Do not, ever, underestimate the power of the good old radio as a media outlet.
You see, I firmly believe that all channels of communication complement each other rather than replacing their predecessors. Here is what I mean.
At first, once they had developed speech, mankind would sit around a fire and tell each other stories. Then, they started painting the walls of their caves – but they still told stories. Next, they developed signs and alphabets, early forms of writing – but they still told stories. Then, printing with movable types was invented – but they still told stories.
For a long time, nothing much happened, until “moving pictures” (the movies in short) and the radio came along (President Franklin Delano Roosevelt was the first to recognise its potential and employ it to talk, literally and directly, to the people of the United States: his famous “Fireside Chats” – he was sitting at his in The White House, they were huddled around theirs in homes across four time zones).
So people went to the cinemas and tuned in to their receivers – but they still told stories. Later in the last century, television invaded lives and living rooms big time. Whole families were henceforth glued to the screen – but they still told stories. And now we live in the age of the internet, of social media, of e-readers, and of streaming, but guess what – we still tell stories.
In a nutshell, the common denominator of all these channels of (mass) communication is just that – the telling of stories. It’s the one thing that has always held humankind and the societies we have built over the millennia together; it’s its glue. [Please indulge me and note the apostrophe in the first word – well, it is two really – and its absence in the second.]
And I count myself lucky to do the telling of stories for a living, never forgetting they must be interesting, relevant, and on a good day, compelling. Which also applies to this blog of course. You be the judge.
So, finally coming back to my commute this past Monday in my customary long-winded way, let me explain to you, literally, “the lay of the land”.
To get to the office, I have to drive down one of Bristol’s many hills and along the Avon, its [again the possessive adjective!] poor excuse for a river. There are two topographical facts I should explain at this point as they are relevant to my story.
First, in what is called the Avon Gorge, a geological phenomenon to do with water cutting through limestone formations and dating back some 350 million years at the last count, the River Avon claims to have the second-highest tidal range in the world, fed by the Bristol Channel, behind the Bay of Fundy on the Atlantic coast of Canada.
Then, the Clifton Suspension Bridge, a landmark of Bristol and indeed the UK, spans the gorge.
Opened in 1864, it is a marvel of engineering – the first free suspension bridge in history, based on a design by Isambard Kingdom Brunel (1806 – 1859), a certified genius who featured big time in the opening ceremony to the 2012 London Olympics. Remember the larger-than-life figure in the stove-pipe hat with the cigar in the scenes recalling the Industrial Revolution? Yep, that’s him, portrayed in the stadium that night by the great (ironically, Shakespeare actor – see next paragraph) Kenneth Branagh.
What qualified him for this gig is that in 2002, Brunel was placed second in “100 Greatest Britons”, a BBC television poll conducted to determine whom the United Kingdom public considered the most significant British personalities in history. The winner was Winston Churchill, and you will never guess who secured, in Olympic terms, the bronze medal – Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales, aka Lady Di. And William Shakespeare? Well, he only won a disappointing fifth place, behind Charles Darwin:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/2509465.stm
In addition to designing the Clifton Suspension Bridge whose realisation he never lived to witness – and by the way, forget the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco: it wasn’t opened until 1937 – Brunel created the Great Western Railway and built a number of steam ships, including the SS Great Britain, the first propeller-driven ocean-going iron ship, which was at the time (1843) also the largest ship ever constructed. And today, guess what, it is moored in Bristol Harbour.
Do come visit this very attractive city with a population of 440,000, three universities, a rich history, a lively cultural scene, and a lot of nice pubs, bars, and restaurants. When you do, I’ll show you a good time!
At the Clifton Suspension Bridge, the Avon Gorge is more than 700 feet (213 m) wide and 300 feet (91 m) deep.
The bridge’s clearance, above high water, is 245 feet (75 m). Above low tide, it’s much more.
Sadly, but not altogether surprisingly, like the Golden Gate Bridge, it holds a magnetic attraction to people who for whatever reason feel suicidal. There have even been scientific papers published about this tragic phenomenon:
So, coming back to the radio choices I have on my short commute, for me, it’s the local rock station, SAM FM, and I normally get to listen to one or two songs that fire me up for the day. Which is the idea really.
And once again, to set the scene, on my way to the office, I do drive down to the Avon Gorge and along the river, passing under the Suspension Bridge.
As I did on Monday 1 February 2016.
Already on the way down the hill there was a longer-than-usual tailback, but I thought it was just a Monday-morning traffic thing. And of course I benefitted in terms of the additional songs courtesy of SAM FM.
When I reached the bottom of the Gorge, traffic still was uncharacteristically slow. Next I passed under the Bridge, crawling rather than rolling really.
Then I looked to the right, the river, and noticed an inordinate number of ambulances, police cars, and fire engines parked on the opposite bank – on the narrow tow path to be precise where I often go for runs.
And then I saw something I never ever wanted to see, not on a Monday or any other day of the week.
Up the very steep bank, a kind of make-shift contraption had been installed, and as I was passing, they were hauling up a coffin.
From this point on, for me traffic was flowing again, but now coming the other way it was stalled, and I realised this whole back-up had been due to drivers slowing down to get a good look at what was happening on the opposite river bank.
Human nature. Empathy? Curiosity? Sensationalism? Normal, despicable, forgivable – you tell me.
And at that very moment, I swear, my home radio station SAM FM (that’s three times I have mentioned them now – they owe me!), blared out “I Don’t Like Mondays” by The Boomtown Rats – a song I had never ever heard them play before.
“The silicon chip inside her head
Gets switched to overload,
And nobody's gonna go to school today,
She's going to make them stay at home,
And daddy doesn't understand it,
He always said she was as good as gold,
And he can see no reason
Cos there are no reasons
What reason do you need to be shown
“Tell me why
I don’t like Mondays
I want to shoot
The whole day down
“The Telex machine is kept so clean
As it types to a waiting world,
And Mother feels so shocked,
Father's world is rocked,
And their thoughts turn to
Their own little girl
“Sweet 16 ain't that peachy keen,
No, it ain't so neat to admit defeat,
They can see no reasons
Cos there are no reasons
What reason do you need to be shown
“Tell me why ...
“All the playing's stopped in the playground now
She wants to play with her toys a while
And school's out early and soon we'll be learning
And the lesson today is how to die,
And then the bullhorn crackles,
And the captain crackles,
With the problems and the how's and why's
And he can see no reasons
Cos there are no reasons
What reason do you need to die
“The silicon chip ...
“Tell me why ...”
“I Don’t Like Mondays”, The Boomtown Rats (The Fine Art of Surfacing, 1979)
[My emphasis]
“I Don’t Like Mondays”, The Boomtown Rats (The Fine Art of Surfacing, 1979)
[My emphasis]
According to Bob Geldof, leader and creative heart of the band, he wrote the song after reading a telex report at Georgia State University's campus radio station, WRAS, on the shooting spree of 16-year-old Brenda Ann Spencer, who fired at children in a school playground at Grover Cleveland Elementary School in San Diego, California on 29 January 1979, killing two adults and injuring eight children and one police officer. Spencer showed no remorse for her crime, and her full explanation for her actions was, "I don't like Mondays. This livens up the day."
Geldof further explained:
"I was doing a radio interview in Atlanta… and there was a telex machine beside me. I read it as it came out. Not liking Mondays as a reason for doing somebody in is a bit strange. I was thinking about it on the way back to the hotel and I just said 'Silicon chip inside her head had switched to overload'. I wrote that down. And the journalists interviewing her said, 'Tell me why?' It was such a senseless act. It was the perfect senseless act and this was the perfect senseless reason for doing it. So perhaps I wrote the perfect senseless song to illustrate it. It wasn't an attempt to exploit tragedy.”
I have seen The Boomtown Rats perform this song live in concert, and every time I hear it, I still get goose bumps. But to listen to it in my car as I was witnessing the scene in the Avon Gorge made me acutely aware of how thin a line it is between normalcy and tragedy. And how, as Martin Luther phrased it, “In the midst of Life we are surrounded by Death.”
Let’s not ever forget it.
Locals will quietly tell you there is a case a month of individuals jumping off the Clifton Suspension Bridge – it’s just not advertised by the authorities in order not to provoke copycat actions. And of course, it’s also not so great for tourism of which there is a lot.
While the study referred to above does not go into the question if there is a pattern as to which days of the week see the highest number of suicides, I would be willing to bet money that it’s late Sunday evening and the early hours of Monday morning.
“Monday, Monday, can't trust that day
Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way
Oh, Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be
Oh, Monday, Monday, how could you leave and not take me?
“Every other day, every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes but whenever Monday comes
You can find me crying all of the time”
The Mamas & The Papas, “Monday, Monday”, If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears (1966)
There’s clearly a Western cultural uneasiness with the first day of the week, and I don’t think it’s to do with hating to have to go back to work – many actually enjoy what they do for a living, and most recognise that having a job is a key prerequisite not just for security but also for self-esteem and, indeed, fulfilment.
It may well be the sense of uneasiness towards new beginnings, even of the regularly recurring kind, that gets to us. We just dread uncertainty.
So we don’t like Mondays.
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