Sunday, 28 February 2016

"It was good while it lasted"...

I can’t pretend I knew anything about Jimmy Savile’s crimes; I just knew him as a very creepy individual who I couldn’t bear to watch. If he was on Top of the Pops, I switched over; if he was on the radio, I’d find another station. His catchphrases were cretinous - “How's about that, then?”, “Now then, now then”, “Goodness gracious”, “As it ‘appens”, “Guys and gals” - even though he was a member of Mensa. For all his mannered eccentricities - tartan-dyed hair, etc - he seemed incredibly boring. If he ever said anything remotely interesting it was never while the cameras were rolling.

He presented Jim’ll Fix It for twenty years, even though he openly admitted he “hated children”. He never owned a computer, so he could “never be accused of looking at child porn” (which is a rather odd reason for not owning a computer). The programme’s premise was to make children’s dreams come true (how sinister that sounds, with the benefit of hindsight). Jim’ll Fix It won an award in 1977, from the National Viewers' and Listeners' Association, founded by Mary Whitehouse, for “wholesome family entertainment”.

In a phrase that’s become attached to him, since his death, Savile “hid in plain sight”. His preference for young girls presumably went largely unquestioned at the BBC, where girls would wait, after Top of the Pops, to see the DJs and their favourite stars. As Johnny Walker, another DJ, put it, no-one ever asked to see proof of age, and a girl of 13 could, with make-up, easily pass for 18. A man of 30, fondling young girls in his dressing room, was regarded as lucky, not a paedophile; it was a perk of the job. Problem? What problem?

The estimated £40,000,000 that Savile raised for his ‘favourite’ charities was real enough. Did he start the fundraising as a cover for his abuse of women, children (and some men and boys)? If so, it worked. Despite the rumours over the years, and the isolated complaints about his behaviour, from people at the BBC, hospitals, orphanages, young offenders institutions, and the other places where he gained access, Savile carried on abusing vulnerable people until the end of his life.

After his death, his body lay ‘in state’ in the Queen’s Hotel in Leeds, and crowds gathered to watch the funeral cortege go by. Engraved on his elaborate headstone in Scarborough, was the motto “It was good while it lasted”. The BBC ran a couple of tribute programmes, and cancelled the Newsnight special, which investigated some of the accusations that were  surfacing. As late as 2012, the BBC seemed more interested in curating Saville’s reputation than in listening to his victims.

The cancellation of Newsnight proved to be the tipping point. Within weeks the headstone had been taken up, crushed and “sent to landfill” (in the memorable phrase that came from Savile’s family), hundreds of people had come forward to say they had been raped or abused, and Savile’s reputation was in tatters. But he was never punished for his crimes; he got away with it. As Jimmy Savile warned many of his victims, “who are they going to believe, a young girl like you or a big star like me?”…

Carnforth station...


Saturday, 27 February 2016

Carnforth...

In Carnforth today, shooting pix in and around the station (where the movie, Brief Encounter, was filmed). There’s a heritage centre, with lots of stills from the film; you can even sit down in a tiny cinema and, if your train is late, watch the film in its entirety. There's a cosy little micropub; I was going to pop in for a beer, but it was packed (mostly with other bearded guys, who can think of few things better than drinking beer and looking at trains).

I saw another photographer, lying on the platform, seemingly photographing a battered old suitcase. His wife, a teacher, wanted a picture that might inspire her pupils to use their imaginations. What’s in the suitcase? Where are you going? What a great idea…

Half a tree...

Friday, 26 February 2016

At the cinema...

I went to see Sacha Baron Cohen in Grimsby, a couple of days ago. At least I think I did, though the 82 minutes I spent in the cinema seemed to come and go without leaving much of a trace. There were laughs… but not enough of them. The plot was paper thin, leaving room to crowbar in as many ‘gross-out' gags as possible. Nobby and his long-lost brother Sebastian (who plays it straight throughout, as a no-nonsense assassin for MI6) are being chased through a South African game reserve (can’t remember why), and are looking for a place to hide. Nobby spots a herd of elephants, and has an idea. Moments later the two of them are inside an elephant’s vagina. What could be worse than that? Oh, right, a lustful male elephant ejaculating in Sebastian’s face. The camera pulls back to show a dozen other male elephants queueing up to have their turn. And that’s what passes for a punchline in this farago of a film…

The slipway at Roa Island...




Wednesday, 24 February 2016

Sunlight...

The weather looks settled - and sunny - for a few days. Sunlight puts a spring in my step, makes my photos ‘sing’ and even effects the amount of time I can spend editing them. Over the winter months I have been getting a reduced power output, leaving me unsure whether that was due to low light levels or whether there was something wrong with my roof-mounted solar panel. Well, now I know. After a full day of bright sunshine yesterday, the needle on my electricity gauge was way over to the right, indicating plenty of usable power. So I’m reassured there’s nothing wrong with the solar panel. I have an article to write (and a laundrette to visit), then I’ll hope to get busy with the camera…

Beef encounter...

Monday, 22 February 2016

Europe...

Looks like Europe is going to be the main talking point, between now and June, along with the gossip and back-stabbings in the Westminster village. Yet when we come to vote in the referendum, will we remember any of the arguments and policies? Or will we default to something less intellectually challenging, like how we feel about paella or what the weather was like when we last went to Greece? And the water will get muddier still, when the politician’s personal ambitions are factored in. We’re going to hear a lot of ‘Boris for PM’ rhetoric over the next three months…

Fiery Fred, giving his all for Yorkshire and England (and always ready with a mildly offensive racist quip. Don't think he reckoned much to Europe. Home rule for Yorkshire, more like)...

Sunday, 21 February 2016

Trump...


I’ve decided: if Donald Trump wins the Republican nomination, I will relocate to Mars…

Wasdale...






Saturday, 20 February 2016

Grimsby...

I’m a bit agnostic about Sacha Baron Cohen; at best he’s brilliant, at worst he’s crass. But I enjoyed this article in today’s Guardian, about his forthcoming film, Grimsby.

The film is out in a few days, and I’ll try to catch it. In the meantime I enjoyed some of his jokes - delivered in character, as Nobby, from the film.

“Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived” is a handy way of remembering what happened to that pop band the Sugababes”…

Scotland is “a special country for ginger folk located 300 miles above England’s northern border. Its main exports are whisky, haggis and heart transplant patients”…

About the Bricklayers Arms, Grimsby… “I broke up a fight between my girlfriend and some junkie in the beer garden last year. Turns out it’s not only rottweilers you can stop biting by sticking a finger up their arse. I’m like the Malala of Grimsby. Where’s my Nobel prize?”…

The canal basin at Skipton...