Happiness in the City.
(warning: may get excited an political towards the end) Sorry for Length.

These days I feel on top of the world, I act, I walk, I think with a clarity, a consciousness of myself that I have not often experienced: everything is under control, no uncertainties about the future seem threatening. I am happy. But I am aware that not everyone in this city is, despite it being spring, the sun shine and the unusual amount of birds chattering and singing in the parks on the way to uni, where all sorts of flowers bloom amidst the crumbling graves.

Just now, when I left my halls I overheard what probably was a bit of a confidential counselling session between a student and one of the staff. The chinese guy said: "I feel I cannot trust anybody." Moments before that, when I left my flat I ran into my flatmate who, still in her pyjamas, had gone to the toilet and went back into her room and locked the door behind her! I wondered: "you are in your own flat, this corridor, this kitchen, these toilet and these showers; all of them are also yours, and this flat AND this building both have a front door that automatically locks when it closes, why would you lock even your room door?" I pity this girl, it is the same as the one of Lily-fame: apparently she is affraid or something. Affraid of us, her flatmates and probably the rest of the world. Here she is far away from the USA, where everything is familiar. Or is that it? She has been here in London longer than any of the rest of us (she went to LSE before coming here) and she even has an English boyfriend. But somehow she locks herself up: she even told me at some point that she wouldn't cook anymore in our communal kitchen because she thought it was too filthy. For anyone that has ever lived through UCU kitchens this sounds ridiculous: every week a cleaner comes, the rubbish is taken out daily (and not by us, but by cleaning staff!), and we, the rest of the inhabitants, may not do our dishes immediately after our dinner but we certainly do not leave them to rot for weeks on end. Still, she tries to be nice and all that, but it is clearly what I would call that classic American facade. Or as my neighbour, who is also from the States, would say: she is fake. But I mainly see someone who is scared or something. I feel she would rather curl up in bed and cry rather than confront this big bad world that exists outside her door.

How the hell can I 'lok' (≈ to seduce, Dutch) somebody out of his/her shelter? These sort of feelings, I believe, are common. And what is worst: they lie at the basis of such horrible institutions as, in the USA, the 'Gated Community': a worse denial of the world I cannot conceive. Fear wants consolation, such as a only a strong figure, a Real Leader can give. And if enough people are affraid in a democracy they will elect the one who best exploits these fears. Such as George Bush in the USA, Pim Fortuyn in the NL, and -I am not ashamed to make these comparisons- Mussolini in Italy and Hitler in Germany.

People in these urban times are affraid of crime. The streets of the city - and London is a megalopolis - replaced the forest as the place where potential injury lies. Especially in the Anglo-Saxon countries, people are a fearful lot (cf. 'The Culture of Fear' by B. Glassner, which I read some years ago). One interesting thing I noticed about reporting on crimes in the UK is that, even in the so-callled quality 'broad-sheets', there is much more personal information about the victim(s) and the perpetrator: result both these people become so normal they could live around the corner! In fact: even your daughter / son / husband / wife / grandma / granspa / uncle / aunt / nephew / niece / cousin / some other distant relative could be a secret killer and/or fraud. But what I gather from such books as 'the Culture of Fear' and various other writers / columnists such as Naomi Klein, George Monbiot, and others, is that this information is usually never complete: in search of scandal, these papers want to sell. And scandal sells. they do not want to render crimes understandable, which they always are, in my opinon. Anything is understandable , but understanding ≠ condoning. There is no morality in these reports. Or rather a morality that clashes with mine and I am always right, so: meh. But this is not a conspiracy, this is simply how things work! But the result is fear.

Here is an inconsistency: when you fear crime: murder, robbery, fraud, and your response is to up the force with which you fight it. I.e. not to make an effort to understand what drives people who commit crimes, you will always fight the symptoms but not the roots of crime. And these are, again in my opinion, not in some sort of essentialised 'greed' of these 'Others', but in very real material conditions. Now you can call a marxist.

And I am afraid too: my fear is that the Netherlands will become or has already become yet another fearful society. God verhoede!

Brainssss
While writing my papers I pause to bring you this, world's first ever pictures of MARK's BRAIN. No doubt you have all long been waiting for this!

The Cold, The Stonehenge, and The Future.
Not much news, except that I have declared myself officially ill for the day due to a nice cold that blocks about anything there is to block in my head. Donations of Oranges are welcome, just as warm cups of tea with lots of milk and sugar. Appropriately enough London is quite dreary today, and probably cold too, but I am not going out!

The hammer that drove the cold home must have been last Saturday's day trip to Stonehenge, which was great, but tiring and very, very windy. We saw the stones themselves and many of the other monuments in the surrounding area, about which my teacher for Landscape Anthropology had a lot of interesting stuff to say. As he is also an archeologist, he has studied the area and he is involved in a team that is completely reinterpreting the site. So, there was an excellent guide. But already most of last Sunday was spent in bed.

Monday I was a bit more active, but I spent most of the day at my computer drinking vast quantities of tea with milk and sugar to soothe my throat. Good thing I didn't really need to talk all that much. However, apart from the tea, I also wrote a tremendous amount of e-mails begging for references, asking enquiries, and annoucing visits. I finally booked my flight to Ireland, which I will visit in April, and yeah, the references mean I have decided upon a future. I am applying to Masters in Heritage / Museum Studies both in the UK and the Netherlands, possibly even in Amsterdam! *gasp*, *shock*. This will (hopefully) mean I will end up working at some point in my life, preferrably in the Heritage Industry (e.g. a Museum, something like Monumentenzorg, or some cultural institution like the famous 'Bureau' Meertens Instituut).

Vamos a Ver wat de toekomst brengt. Maar vandaag even niet veel, hopelijk.

Spring
"Spring is in the air," Winston Churchill once famously proclaimed. Even more famous is the response of the exiled Dutch Prime Minister whose name always escapes me. It is unimportant, this is anecdotal. This PM was of the opinion that Churchill himself should 'spring' (jump) in the air. It was the same man who opened a conversation with "good-bye Mr. Churchill". Churchill later confided these were the briefest conversations he ever had. Anyway. The famous walk in the park of Churchill and who I believe was Gerbrandy must have taken place in St. James' Park in the City of Westminster, on a day like last Sunday. The sun was shining, and after writing some e-mails I decided I should take advantage of the good weather so I packed some reading and walked to St. James's. These are the moments when you become a blase if proud Londoner: all the tourists walk around uncertainly not knowing where Buckingham Palace is, whereas I, native, go straight to my goal: a park bench in the sun. But I am an incomplete native, behind that facade is the same wonder as the tourist's.

Look! Look! There over those buildings! You can see the Big Ben tower! and Westminster Abbey!

I took my camera and secretly shot some photos of these buildings from St. James' Park before assuming the air of "I belong here, I live here" again.

Saving Money in London
Forgive my ignorance about matters of the world, but should I be bothered about the State-of-the-world in general when my flatmate informs me £5,= is a very reasonable price for a drink in a club where you'd have just paid £20,= to get in? Not that this ever happened to me, I now feel even safer saving money without going to over-hyped places with names like The Funky Buddha.

Yesterdaynight there was a boatparty for my Halls, so all the people living in this house got on a boat moored right next to the Big Ben and we went up and down the river Thames. So, now we can tick off from the to-do list: seeing London by night from a boat. However, after we passed the Green Line at Greenwich, the prime meridian which is projected into the night sky by a strong green laser, me and my flatmates got so bored we resorted to playing Hangman to pass the time. After we landed again (4 hours later), flatmate went off to see friends at said Funky Buddha, and I am now glad I didn't follow: music was supposedly bland, and her friends she couldn't find. Although drinks she considered cheap at £5,-, at some places £9,- is considered normal : what the fok is wrong with a bloddy pub??? Again, forgive my ignorance about the real world.

And on a final note: I bought a tin of Heinz Spotted Dick the other day.