The first step to saving the world is not being an asshole

Can you imagine a world where everyone was pleasant to everyone else? However hard life is, humans have the ability to make it harder. We tend to focus on the big picture and overlook the little things, but if you consider that the big picture is simply a collection of little things, then surely we’re not giving ourselves much of a chance.

I get angry when I drive; everything annoys me, and it is meaningless. So I’ve decided that will be my first step, I will get myself to the stage where I will not allow other motorists to get on my nerves. Will that make any difference to the world? Actually yes it will, it will be miniscule of course, but the world will inhale a fraction less negative energy, and that is a start.

I’m not on a do-good mission by the way, but I do have a son arriving into this world soon and I feel I owe it to him to make it a little less frightening. I’ve found myself asking many questions over the past nine months from the basic “will I be a good father”, to the more obscure “is it morally incorrect to steal from a crook”. I wonder more about religion, how should I approach it, it is something I find interesting, but I’m not a religious person at all. Is it possible to be religious without following a specific religion? Or is that spirituality?

All our lives it is drummed into our head that we are a few steps away from disaster, be it nuclear war, the ozone layer (remember that forgotten horror story), global warming, but we’re still here. Many of the dangers are real, but over the centuries we have adapted with the times and survived, and when the next potentially catastrophic event comes along we will deal with that. Money is the biggest danger to mankind. We know that anti-retroviral drugs can change AIDS from a killer disease to a chronic one, but the common complaint is that they are too expensive to provide to all AIDS sufferers. Why is that? Is it because world governments spend too much on war? Surely not…..

Other dangers are perceived, a use of psychological terror to enhance a weak argument. In South Africa the apartheid scum warned of the imminent disaster the country faced if all South Africans were given the vote, the “swart gevaar” or black threat that would see the country go up in flames the second white rule ended. Thirteen years later and we’re still here, not only that, we’re a country again, something to be proud of rather than ashamed of. Iraq is a tragedy that should not have happened; yet I can only see it getting worse. Blair says he should be judged on all the good he has done, rather that the “mistakes” made in Iraq, but those mistakes have resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people, destabilised an entire region and set off a chain of event that continue to spiral out of control. The Bush/Blair Axis loves to say that the so called “War on Terror” is not the West against Islam, but you would have to be an idiot not to see how pathetic that looks when the western press clearly view the death of a soldier as more important than the death of a Muslim.

So my son is coming into a world fraught with danger, but that is nothing new, war was raging in Vietnam when I was born, the world was at war when my dad was born, life is hard, it’s how you deal with it that counts. We can focus on the negative, or focus on the positive, that is a choice that we have the freedom to make.

I prefer driving without the road rage, and I will continue this journey one less tantrum at a time.

The 12ish steps

Anymous asked, “Why have the posts stopped? Has the music died?”

The answer to that is the music has simply been building itself into a frenzy for the past few months waiting for the moment to explode.

As the song goes, “The Music Never Stopped.”

Hello, my name is Kevin and I’m an expectant father.

I’ve been an expectant father for 8 months now and it won’t be long before the most incredible rite of passage we can ever experience changes mine and Robs life beyond all recognition.

There have been extremes of emotion during this period from the doubts of “do I have what it takes to be a good father?”, to the highs of knowing that together we have created life, and after that, there is nothing we can’t achieve.

In a few weeks’ time our son will be entering this world, in terms of impact I can only assume the change will be off the scale. A rite of passage is an event that you go through when you move on to another stage in your life, at least that’s my limited interpretation of it. So, as an example, you meet someone, fall in love, get engaged, then before embarking on your future journey together, you have a wedding to celebrate your transition or joining of your two paths. Having your first child is the ultimate journey into the unknown. The path to the birth is a marathon with twists, turns, highs and lows, and at the end of it you go straight off the cliff into the abyss, hoping beyond all hope that when you come out the otherside, you remembered to pack the nappies.

In practical terms, having a baby is not exactly rocket science. You take the necessary steps to prepare the room, making sure he has a place to sleep, a place to be changed, a place for him to be fed, drawers for his clothes. You make sure he has enough clothes, enough nappies, that the lighting can be controlled, that the temperature can be controlled. You get the chance to buy him what, you hope, is the best of everything; the bugaboo chameleon, the maxi-cosi cabriofix with easyfix, the cot, drawers and changing table from John Lewis. The more you buy, the more you realise there is more to buy, but possibly the best advice I have ever heard about having a child is this, now listen closely – the shops don’t close after the baby is born.

Don’t panic, because it’s a meaningless emotion. If there is something that needs doing, then just do it, panic is just a way of delaying the inevitable.

We don’t know what will happen after our child is born, but that’s all part of the adventure.

I must admit I haven’t done much pregnancy reading and it is my mission to read Baby Sense before our baby arrives, but there are two sources that have provided that security blanket when it was needed most. First of all the interactive pregnancy calendar which is a day by day account of what Rob should be going through while she is pregnant. It’s hard to explain the comfort you find when reading a certain symptom is a common effect for that stage of the pregnancy. Seeing your wife unwell is hard enough, but when it goes on for months on end you begin to feel that perhaps something is not right, until you read that what she is going through is normal at that particular time. Every now and again the calendar was so accurate it would describe, to the day, exactly what Rob was feeling. Secondly, and by far the most important, is the antenatal classes, which should be referred to as Expectant Parents Anonymous.

Pregnancy is nature at its finest, the ability to create life from love is a miracle and seeing my child on the scan, hearing his heartbeat or feeling him kick (and what a kick!!) are the most wonderful experiences, but it is also hard. For the woman, there is something foreign growing in your body and there is a good chance it will make you feel like absolute shit for months on end. In the first trimester they say it is normal to feel the dreaded morning sickness, all day every day. The second trimester is meant to be the good one, where you count the days until its arrival, knowing that when that day comes, the constant nausea and fatigue will simply disappear. Of course when that day arrives you feel just as terrible as you did the day before and, save for the occasional good day, you spend the second (good) trimester feeling pretty awful. Eventually you stagger into the third trimester on your hands and knees, and suddenly you actually do start to feel better. Except of course when it’s hot, which makes you finally appreciate the sick joke that is a London summer. Then again feeling better is pretty meaningless when you look like you’ve swallowed a basketball, and feel like you’ve swallowed a medicine ball. Your back aches, you’re energy comes to you in those ever so brief moments between absolute exhaustion. Then just when you feel ready to crack, when it feels no matter what anyone says they just do not understand what you are going through, you walk into a room and see ten women with the same bumps and you can tell immediately that they GET IT.

For the man it’s also a difficult process. Men are pretty clueless by nature, which is probably why it is the woman who carries the child and gives birth, we wouldn’t be able to do it. The man tries to comfort his wife as best he can, but we don’t get hormones. We can spent our whole life with the same woman and we still don’t know what to do when she has PMT, so what chance do we have when she is pregnant? You try not to worry, you try to do as much as you can, you try to remember that there is no we in pregnancy, you suppress the occasional annoyance when after a solid week of getting the groceries, doing the cooking and cleaning up you don’t get the pat on the head you feel your effort deserves. You also look forward to the second trimester; you can’t wait to see your wife feeling well and happy again. Dammit!!! You spend much of the third trimester in DIY mode, building (putting together is probably more correct, but man with tools likes to think of himself as a builder) the pram, the cot, the drawers, the changing table, sweating and swearing over the useless instructions (which just happens to be no end of amusement to your wife), and when eventually everything is complete you feel proud because you have just completed your first act as a father. But you still worry, you worry for your wife who is exhausted and sore and still has to go through labour, you worry about bringing an innocent, defenceless child into this frightening world and hope you are good enough for him. Then just when you feel ready to crack, when it feels no matter what anyone says they just do not understand what you are going through, you walk into a room and see ten men sitting next to women with bumps and looking as lost as you, and you can tell immediately that they GET IT.

Healthcare in this country is pretty amazing when you think about it, two scans, countless midwife appointments, delivery, antenatal and after-care are all part of the NHS, but it is a lottery. By going through the NHS you are putting yourself into the system and you have to hope that the system works for you. We have been lucky in that regard because the midwife visits (which are the most frequent part of the process) have been great, the clinic is close by, most of the midwives have been good, some even brilliant, and we never have to wait. What I would suggest though is, if possible, have a couple more private scans because the last NHS scan is on 20 weeks and a lot can happen over the next 5 months, and go to private ante-natal classes that have been recommended to you.

Ruth came highly recommended and I would happily add to her plaudits. The most refreshing part about going to her classes is to be in the presence of someone who really loves what she does. Regurgitating the facts is easy, but if you are passionate about something, you can make anything interesting. I’m not going to go into the classes, because they will mean something different to everyone, but they are an incredibly reassuring, comforting, and most importantly shared experience when you need it most. It’s really quite enjoyable and you build a bond with other people who live in your area and are in the same boat as you, shared experience is an extremely powerful binding force (millions of deadheads can't be wrong so they say). I’m not good with names, in fact I’m terrible with them, but I do remember everyone from those classes, and the women are already seeing a bit of each other socially. The guys of course have made no plans, I guess it’s what we don’t do that makes us who we are.

Sorry if this has all been a bit of a mumble, but I am slowly refocusing my eyes on this whole writing while awaiting fatherhood malarkey.

I really can’t wait to meet the little one. He does have some kick on him.

The Music Never Stopped

There's mosquitoes on the river.
Fish are rising up like birds.
It's been hot for seven weeks now,
Too hot to even speak now.
Did you hear what I just heard?

Say, it might have been a fiddle,
Or it could have been the wind.
But there seems to be a beat, now.
I can feel it in my feet, now.
Listen, here it comes again!

There's a band out on the highway.
They're high-steppin' into town.
They're a rainbow full of sound.
It's fireworks, calliopes and clowns --

Everybody's dancing.
Come on, children. Come on, children,
Come on clap your hands.

Sun went down in honey.
Moon came up in wine.
Stars were spinnin' dizzy,
Lord, the band kept us so busy
We forgot about the time.

They're a band beyond description
Like Jehovah's favorite choir.
People joinin' hand in hand
While the music plays the band.
Lord, they're setting us on fire.

Crazy rooster crowin' midnight.
Balls of lightning roll along.
Old men sing about their dreams.
Women laugh and children scream,
And the band keeps playin' on.

Keep on dancin' through to daylight.
Greet the morning air with song.
No one's noticed, but the band's all packed and gone.
Was it ever here at all?

But they keep on dancing.
C'mon, children. C'mon, children,
Come on clap your hands.

Well, the cool breeze came on Tuesday,
And the corn's a bumper crop.
The fields are full of dancing,
Full of singing and romancing,
'Cause the music never stopped.

Words by John Perry Barlow; Music by Bob Weir

Karate - being a subject I don't like to talk about, so will probably never do this again

By the time I reached Philadelphia in July ’94 I was happy. This was a major step for me, considering the self-pity I had allowed to engulf me that year. The week I had spent in Washington DC had given me a glimpse of a world I always knew existed, but had to be experienced to be fully understood. It had also made me realise that things really weren’t that bad and I learnt to, as the girl in the parking lot so eloquently put it, “get over your fucking self-importance and come hang out with us.” Washington DC and Philadelphia are a few hours apart by train, but in terms of experience could have been two completely separate planets.

I spent the best part of the day lugging my backpack around Drexel University tracking down the dorm we were all meant to be staying in, only to find that is was closed until the team arrived the following morning. Keeping with the week I had had up to that point, this was another slight setback that turned into the most pleasant of surprises. I found a spare room in a dorm full of foreign exchange students from Europe and spent my last night alone sitting around a fire, singing songs, telling stories and drinking tequila. Although I knew everything would change the following day, everything that had happened up to that point, felt right in every way.

South Africa was welcomed back into the international fold after 1990 and this was to be our second Shoto-Cup, which was the world championship for our form of Karate. There are two disciplines in Karate tournaments; Kumite – which is non-contact fighting (non-contact up to a point) with the first person to 1 full point or 2 half points declared the winner; in the semi-finals and finals this increases to 2 full points or 4 half points; and Kata – which is best described as a fight against an imaginary opponent based on a series of moves that become more complex the further you progress; the early rounds pits you against your opponent doing the same Kata drawn out of a hat with five judges deciding the outcome; this is followed by more senior Katas in later rounds; finally in each group you can choose from a predetermined list of Katas which are judged on a points system; the winner of each group goes through to the final where you can do a Kata of your choice. Our first Shoto-Cup took place in Japan in 1992 and we were all taught a lesson, some did better than others, but we were all aware of how far behind we were in terms of competition.

I had moderate success in Kumite through the years, won a few national titles and trained at one of the toughest gyms in the country, but my speciality was always Kata. It was just something that I could always do from the moment I began doing Karate in 1980. Competition is not the most important part of Karate, but at that stage internationals were a new experience and we were all a little star-struck by the Japanese team, and we all looked forward to the event. My instructor was also the national coach and our training up to that point had been intense.

The bulk of our training in South Africa was done during winter. We would meet at the gym at 5.30am in below freezing temperatures, do two weight circuits for about 30 minutes, train in the early morning class for an hour, and then work on our competition training for another hour. We would then meet for the evening class, followed by a further hour of specialist instruction. There were certain instructors who believed competition was all-important, but for our instructor it was always Karate first, competition second, which meant training in the normal classes first and foremost.

When I was younger I spent a few years training with someone who only concentrated on competition. After a while I realised that I hated going to the dojo and it eventually reached breaking point. I wanted to train in an environment that had a heart, so I went to the birthplace of Karate in South Africa, The Grove. This was always a traditional dojo and before I could be accepted there I had to prove myself. I would have to arrive early and meet Panico, Pavlo, Colin and Ian in the dreaded green room, where they would proceed to tear me to shreds before the official class began. This lasted for at least 6 months before I was made to feel a part of the group. It was also the period I enjoyed most during all my years of training.

We spent two weeks in Philadelphia before the tournament began. Whenever there is a world event, joint training sessions are organised in order to introduce the competitors and to take lessons from the top instructors in the world. Well that’s the aim anyway. In Japan that is usually the case, because you train at Honbu Dojo, which is the centre of the Karate-world, and all the top Japanese instructors are based there. In America though, it was more a case of “mine is better than yours.” We went to the first few sessions which weren’t anything special; then started getting drunk before training to see if that would improve the situation, until finally we stopped attending the group sessions altogether.

When you go away for a tournament, there are 2 types of instructors. The first believes in having total control over all your actions, what you eat, when you sleep, some even try to impose a dress code, and their method of teaching is based on their model irrespective of whether it suits the individual or not. Those instructors are known to most of us as, complete idiots. The other instructor accepts that you are there to compete and that your intention is to do as well as possible. When you train you need to give everything, but when training is over, it’s up to you how you spend your time. That was Philadelphia. When we trained we pushed ourselves to the limit. The rest of the time we had fun. Most of us were in the States for the first time and we were keen to fit as much as possible into those two weeks.

We had a local bar close to the dorm, which became a common starting point on our nights out. The foreign students I met on the first night used to hang out with us most of the time, and, thanks no doubt to their Latin spirit, they used to throw house parties every few nights and became our unofficial supporters club. We met Willy the Bum who tried to teach us the art of street-talk until giving up on our useless selves. The longest word in Willy’s vocabulary was, “sheeeeeeeeeet”; the shortest word, “muthafukka”.

“Sheeeeeeeet muthafukka, you muthafukkas are so dumb you ain’t never gonna learn my shit, sheeeeeeeeet, dumb ass muthafukkas.”

We got lost in an area that could only be described as the hood. We were so out of place there that people actually came out of their homes to have a closer look at these lost, alien beings. Some monster of a woman eventually invited us in off the street, gave us all massive bottles of beer, and directed us out of the harms way. We ended up at Mann Music Arena where we saw Spin Doctors in concert; except Pavlo who fell asleep as soon as they came on stage.

We were part of a parade through the streets of Philadelphia; we met the Mayor; we ran up the “Rocky” steps; we found a stretch of clubs along some river and offered the Violent Drunk to them as bouncer for the evening; we played basketball with the University team; we put on public training sessions for the Canadian Team; we didn’t sleep much, but we were fitter then we had ever been and didn’t need to take breaks; we became a very close-knit group; even decided to shave all of our heads during a vodka-tinged moment of team building; we spoke a lot, we had all known each other for years, but probably only really got to know each other during those two weeks.

The day before a major tournament begins always seems to drag on. The aim is to do a little light training and to spend the rest of your time relaxing, but all you really do is obsess about the following day. This is especially the case during a world championship because they make the draw the day before.

It wasn’t good news.

Johan la Grange is the most naturally talented Karate person I have ever met. The two of us began training at around the same time, moved to The Grove together, got knocked around the green room together, went for our third Dan grading together and we were now both given the news nobody wants to here. My first round Kata opponent was the Japanese number 2; his first round Kumite opponent was also the Japanese number 2 who also happened to be the reigning World Champion. We weren’t going to give up of course, but to beat a Japanese opponent at any stage was difficult; to beat them in the first round had never been done.

We didn’t get drunk after that, but did have a few tequilas to celebrate our sorry twist of fate.

The day of the tournament Keith Geyer our coach called us all together for a final talk. He is a person who is completely dedicated to and passionate about what he does. He gives you the respect he feels you deserve and he expects the same in return. He is also someone who fits comfortably into the category of “one of the good guys”, he has no hidden agenda, and wants nothing but the best for all his students and the teams he coaches. He is also the fiercest competitor you will ever meet. After the talk he called us all into a circle, and we did something I had never done before in a Karate environment, we said a prayer. Keith knew there were numerous religions there, he knew that while he was a religious Christian, most weren’t, but, after asking if anyone objected, he said a prayer that almost seemed to complete our circle and was the perfect final preparation for the tournament.

Luckily for me, my group was in front of the South African supporters stand, which meant I would have strong vocal support. They were joined by the students, which added to the atmosphere. Knowing whom I was up against gave me a feeling of complete calm. Keith told me to compete in a way that I would be proud of, then it wouldn’t matter what the Judges decided. Our two names were called, we went to our allocated crosses, and a Kata was selected from a hat by the lead judge. The Kata I did felt right, I gave everything I could to it, and did my best to over-power my opponent. At the end, the lead judge blows a whistle and the 4 other judges raise either a red or white flag, depending on who they judge to be the best. I can’t remember too clearly what happened after that until the lead judge raised his two flags in a cross above his head. It was a draw. This meant we had to repeat the process again, except this time was different, this time I knew I could win. And I did, it was a whitewash, 4 flags to 0, I was through to the next round, the Japanese number 2 was out.

After that it felt like there was nothing I couldn’t do. I won round after round, made it to the final 6 of my group, and won that as well. By the end of the day I was through to the finals of the world championships for Kata. I was the first South African ever to achieve this, and, as far as I am aware, I still am. It is something I will always be proud of. The following day in the final wasn’t quite as successful and I ended up missing out on a medal. It wasn’t my day though. Nor was it Johan’s who, although he fought incredibly well, lost his first round match to the reigning champion. I heard that a few years ago he lost in the final of the World Championship, he is as good as anyone competing in the world today. It wasn’t even Colin Smith’s day who, although un-fancied by just about everyone, made it through to the Kumite semi-final. The real star of the day was Pavlo Protopapa who Keith Geyer had trained since he was a little kid, and who went on to become the first person outside of Japan to become Kumite World Champion; this is an honour he still holds.

I will always look back on those 2 weeks as the high point of my competitive Karate. I continued competing for a few more years, but the passion was gone. When I began travelling in 1997, I stopped training altogether. There are often periods where I really miss it, and I’ll never forget the characters I met along the way, but as yet I haven’t started again. I’m sure if I bumped into Keith Geyer he would give me a disappointed look and shake of the head, but he would accept my decision. I also have no doubt that he would get me training again within days.

Grateful Dead - Start from the bottom and work your way up

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In 1972, the Grateful Dead toured Europe, their adventures have entered into legend.

I have tried to explain a Grateful Dead Concert, and maybe one day I'll be able to. But for now, the best I can do is show you.

Live from the Tivolis Koncertsal in Copenhagen, Denmark on 04/17/72

Would you welcome please:

The Grateful Dead

Travel bunnies sing travel songs

I find it easier to write with music in my ears, literally. I need headphones, for some reason the effect is completely different when the music is coming through external speakers. There you go. It’s my meditation.

So here I am, Stevie Wonder playing, and I’m taking a break from everything.

I often wonder why life pans out the way it does. Little differences, slight shifts in timing, the simplest decisions, can all change your life in the most profound ways. Robs and my path had run almost parallel for four years, we travelled Europe at the same time, both caught the U2 POP Tour within days of each other, both lived in Cape Town for a year before deciding to come back to London, spent almost 2 more years here, before we ended up meeting at a party neither of us had any intention of going to. Is that destiny or is it possible that it was just perfect timing? Was I always going to change my mind while on a train going home (from an ex-girlfriend) and decide to go to the party? Was Robs always going to go to the world’s worst house party, before a friend of a friend suggested gate-crashing another party he knew about in West Hampstead?

Personally I don’t believe in destiny. I feel we have complete control over the decisions we make. It was more the experience of talking to her for the first time and feeling like we had been having this conversation our entire lives, than any supernatural force, that brought us together. Maybe we’re given the occasional nudge in the right direction, but the rest is up to us.

Maybe it was better that I didn’t meet Robs when she and Gina left South Africa for Europe with backpacks bigger then them and without a clue about the adventures that lay ahead. I wouldn’t want to have taken anything away from their trip that gave them a lifetime worth of memories and a never-ending supply of stories to tell.

Some say they should write a book about their adventures.

So they are!

The best part about revisiting memories, especially when you concentrate on a specific space in time when great adventures were had, is that you never really know what you will find. It’s almost like travelling again.

Who knows, maybe I did bump into them along the way?

Then again, while some people are always geared to form part of the chorus, they were always destined to be lead singers.

And when travel bunnies sing travel songs, they are not easily forgotten.

Random thoughts

I’m just going to try some random thoughts and see where I end up. Over the coming days/weeks I will try go into each of these thoughts in more detail. This should bring some order to the chaos, but I can make no guarantees.

Having a great idea is easy, it’s knowing what to do with it that is the real skill.

I was in the shower about a month ago when I had an epiphany. I can’t be sure until I actually put it into practice, but I think it is a great idea. I am busy working on a business plan, doing research, investigating various angles, trying to find faults wherever I can, it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.


I hate winter.

I can feel that all too familiar chill find it’s way through my ever increasing layers of clothing and I know that, all too soon, the bright memories of summer, will be replaced by the damp chill of winter.

All people look better with a tan, there are no exceptions.

Even the quintessential English rose with perfect porcelain white skin and cheeks that look like they have been painted with the most beautiful garden flowers, would look better with some sun colouring.

Midlife is being young enough to relate to young people and old enough to understand the difference between you and your parents generation.

Midlife is the second generation. Knowing how different we are from today’s kids makes it easier to accept why we are so different to our parents’ generation.

Are people you meet moveable feasts?

There are certain people you meet who will always energise you. Be they your wife, friends, friends of friends, family, or even the person you occasionally bump into in the street or supermarket, there is always an electricity between you that leaves you feeling a little more alive after seeing or talking to them. These people are our moveable feasts, who will continually lift us whenever we are in their presence or in their thoughts.

During our lives we are continually reaching crossroads, the older we get, the decisions we make there take on far greater importance.

Remember the days when our biggest decision was whether to do History or Biology as a school subject? Today the decisions we make span continents.