Welcome to my reader in Vietnam – joining my readers in China. Who would have thought it? To think, Argentina, Azerbaijan, Japan, the Philippines, to name but a few. Trish-Trash is nothing if not far-reaching. Anyway, if I’m honest, I’m sure I am just being monitored but it is quite exciting all the same.
I have just made a phone call I’ve been dreading for weeks. How pathetic! I was so angry at myself for being nervous about it but it’s that fear of saying the wrong thing and failing to achieve the desired conclusion – and I hate being sycophantic in order to succeed! You know, when someone has some thing, or the expertise one needs, and that person knows it – and that he/she has the upper hand? Hate it! More than that, I hate being scared. Don’t we all! For as long as I can remember, if I am ever scared or nervous about something – and, particularly, something I don’t have to do – I make myself do it. It becomes a challenge and I never shirk a challenge. Moreover, fear can only be conquered by facing it head on … Inner strength. Courage. That’s what counts, even if we fail. There is nothing worse than not trying; giving in to cowardice – well, in my book, anyway.
A podcast beckons! Every man and his dog has one now and that, truth be told, puts me off. All these ‘celebs’ are forever plugging themselves on Instagram, each with a concept conceived by their management or anyone but them. Blogs are consigned to dinosaurs. Well, let’s face it, they are for people who can read and who really does that anymore? Few can write or construct sentences, most leading life in the fast lane where quality is consigned to the bin – the blue one? Brown one? Green one?! God knows! Actually, God must either have his head in his hands in despair or be laughing hysterically at the demise of man; the headlong self-destruction courtesy of his own arrogance and greed. Everything must be accessible now, demanding minimum effort. Preferably no interaction with one’s fellow beings, it is all about signing out and plugging in. In go the cordless, radiation-charged earplugs and isolation is complete. Locked in a world of one’s own, one can listen while going through the motions of life – but that’s not living!
We ‘live’ in a world – certainly, in this country – in which contacts are everything. Nothing to do with merit, it is all about who one knows, no matter how remotely! So, every two-bit ‘celeb’ is an author; every zero ‘celeb’ has a podcast. Nothing more than a money-making pawn. Have the name, use it! I recall, not so long ago, seeing Carol Kirkwood – she of BBC weather – on the One Show to plug her first novel, supposedly approached by Harper Collins (I think), purely because she has a name. Appear on Strictly or some other reality show and next stop the moon … Again, back to life in the fast lane designed to make a fast buck, whatever. Can any of them write? Fergie has been all over the place promoting her Mills & Boon offering which she rattled off in collaboration with some ‘ghost’ writer. In collaboration with … I find it insulting; so, too, the fact that nobody ever asks these budding authors about their writing process. Of course, nobody does! However, whose to mock? People buy the name. Cha ching!
This is boring stuff. Let’s up the ante! What of the news that Bob Dylan is being sued by a woman who claims the singer-songwriter sexually abused her in 1965 when she was 12?! Legal documents were filed, last Friday, at the New York Supreme Court under the Child Victims’ Act – a day before the closure of a ‘look back window’, in the City, enabling the citing of historical allegations. Phew! Made it! The 56 years of ‘severe mental distress, anguish, humiliation and embarrassment, as well as economic losses’ (BBC News, Entertainment & Arts, 17 August, 2021) must have been devastating – but she struggled on! More than half a century later, time to make some money …
‘We live in a cynical world, a cynical world …’, Tom (as in Cruise in Jerry Maguire), but, thankfully, the £33million yacht, Triple Seven, helps transport you to another one. Apparently, taking a break from filming the seventh Mission Impossible blockbuster, he has been sailing around the East Coast of Scotland and scenic Leith was a given, obvs! Nowhere to be seen, though, methinks he threw himself overboard at St Andrews not wishing to miss the Lammas Fair, once more further enhancing the historic town … Honestly, one couldn’t write it! On second thoughts, don’t be silly, Sooty could!
At least, Tom can be thankful that he never has to travel on CrossCountry trains. Seemingly, promoting COVID, Becca’s recent journey back from visiting friends in Nottingham last weekend, is the stuff of horror stories. She had made it down, relatively unscathed, on the Friday, but, on her return – in the absence of the now obsolete ‘Quiet’ carriage – she might just as well have been at a packed rave! Safe until Newcastle – what a surprise – the ‘lads’ appeared, boasting they had been drinking since 9am. All staff – with the exception of the driver, apparently – appeared to have descended in Geordie land leaving passengers to a free-for-all. An elderly couple had to move, choosing to stand rather than be subjected to uncouth drunks, finally reaching Edinburgh Waverley. There had been an announcement to say that due to cancellations, there were large numbers waiting to embark at Edinburgh but the train was full and this would be prohibited. Not so. On they piled. No masks. Every seat filled and every aisle. No guard and definitely no social distancing. An absolute mockery of the last year and a half but, then, so much is …
The rain has been unrelenting today – Saturday, now – as I write. Weeeeeds popping up everywhere, as though jollying in their torment. Time for my political comment section? Seems I have adopted the habit of avoiding the news until the end. Probably a good idea. Just too darn depressing! So, in a week, understandably, dominated by the desperate situation in Afghanistan, at least one can take comfort in Biden’s self-destruction; the confirmation that Daniel Craig is exactly what he seems – a hard bastard (excuse the French but couldn’t find another more appropriate word) and that the ‘White Stiletto’ and her band of merry men are continuing true to form, unveiling dangerous plans to make their emergency COVID powers permanent. Meantime, worryingly, it seems I can see into the future! As, increasingly, healthy 12-year-olds are being lined up for vaccination against a virus which poses them miniscule threat, if any – not forgetting there can be no long-term data for said vaccine – there are questions as to the timescale of immunity procured making boosters inevitable and rendering COVID passports a waste of time. Who would have guessed? The chaos and confusion is unabating in a world fuelled by greed and ego … It is tiring as we remain prisoners, all. Well, aside from Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, Jack Savoretti, Ben Fogle, Ed Sheeran, Tom Odell etcetera, etcetera. ‘Take another shot of courage’ and join the dots.
Finally – grasping at sanity – thirty-two years ago, on 20th August 1989, a true hero of mine was shot dead in Kora, Kenya. Intelligent, brave, selfless and compassionate, George Adamson was completely devoid of man’s arrogance, believing animals his equal and equally deserving of their place on this earth. Shunning the material world, his vision was beyond most – and, thus, to many, incomprehensible. Devoting the latter part of his life to his lions – the ‘pride’ which began with the rehabilitation of three of the lions from Born Free, whose freedom he secured together with his friends, Bill Travers and Virginia McKenna – George Adamson opened the eyes of all who were willing to see …
‘If we open our eyes we shall see, for the first time, that we are sharing our world not with a dwindling menagerie of animals over whom we have dominion, but a galaxy of living creatures endowed with many of the same faculties as we are, and with others that we have lost or never possessed – all of which entitle them to freedoms and rights no different from our own.
Adrian House, The Great Safari.
He is buried at Kora, together with his brother, Terence, and alongside his beloved friend, Boy. His several incredible books – well-loved and long out of publication – adorn my book shelves, testament to a childhood well read. Aged six, I vowed to visit Elsa’s grave in Meru. Who knew I would be lucky enough. to do so in the company of Virginia McKenna in 2000? Kora remains on my bucket list, however – and I will make it there one day, I promise. Until then, my story is incomplete …
This is Trish, signing off.
