Slow Learner

Those good people at Apple TV sent me more than one message with regard to the new series of Slow Horses getting underway yesterday. Unfortunately when I tried to access the first episode of Series 6 I couldn't find it anywhere and settled instead for a re-run of a couple of episodes we'd watched already (from Series 5.) Funnily enough I found these very watchable, despite the fact I'd seen them before. I suppose that's a sign of being a fanboy.

Astonishingly I actually managed to find the new material earlier today, more by luck than by design. Not sure why most people find it easy to negotiate streaming services and the like, but I certainly don't. Show me an interface and I'll find a way not to be able to figure it out.

Now it just remains to start watching, but The Missus is deeply engaged in the production of her curry puffs and that must take priority. Patience is, of course, a virtue to cultivate, and even as a very slow learner I've taken that lesson on board.

Uncertainties

They managed to be thoroughly confused and still seize power because the Provisional Government simply vanished, just as the vaunted autocracy had vanished. Thus Kotkin makes a kind of sense of the events in Russia of October 1917 in his captivating biography of the young Stalin. The despot and monster to be isn't yet the Stalin we're all familiar with; indeed, in many ways he's very far from that figure in the year of the two revolutions. Not exactly likable, and obviously possessed of a drive that makes him far from ordinary, but not a man necessarily destined for power - and nor, as Kotkin makes clear from the quotation above, were the Bolsheviks. 

Previously in my encounters with the events of this period I've tended to read in the inevitability of it all. Not in Marxist terms, but just those of the common human experience of the betrayals of revolutionary energies. Now I'm thinking it was all a bit of a mess, a series of sometimes quite daft accidents & coincidences  - like all history. 

At one point Kotkin suggests that a couple of well-aimed bullets taking out Lenin & Trotsky would have changed everything, and that feels true somehow. How much suffering might have been avoided if someone with a gun and a bit of authority had listened to the British military attaché Alfred Knox? Mind you, things could have turned out even worse. You never really know, do you? 

Inside And Out

Have managed to get to the gym a couple of times since returning here from Malaysia. Happy to have done so, but didn't enjoy my time there one little bit. In contrast, running round the taman last week was a genuine pleasure. Am actively considering mixing my stints on the elliptical trainer with some running around the track outside. But aware this might be foolhardy, tempting as it is.

Still Jolly Good

Noi has been talking about going to watch Mansur & Liu again with some of her chums from these parts. It's not likely to happen, given the logistical constraints of her getting back up to KL again within a tight time frame to do so, but I'm delighted to see just how much enjoyment she's got out of the show. That's how theatre works. When you know there's something deeply special about your experience and feel you need to repeat it.

One thing that has taken me by surprise though has been the negativity she's told me about in the social media connected to the musical. It seems that the male lead is regarded as something of a bad boy in certain quarters of the Malay community and there's enough controversy about this to provoke some folk into suggesting boycotts of the production. The fact that the guy in question is pretty close to perfect in his role seems to escape these 'critics'.

I'm sort of reminded of how easy it now seems to be anywhere in the world to get 'cancelled' for not ticking all the boxes. Isn't it fairly obvious that anyone concerned with the arts - whether acting, writing, singing, painting, dancing, whatever - is likely to be at least a bit disreputable? So it's best to just get on and enjoy their talent for the good it brings to the world and turn a blind eye to their more questionable characteristics. 

Can't help but think of the delightfully succinct question put to Malvolio by the disreputable Sir Toby: Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? 

Mildly Glowing

Just successfully completed some mandatory training regarding the use of AI, Quite surprised myself by passing the quiz at the end, though I must say the information provided through the training (via a website for public servants entitled Glow) struck me as quite bland. But then I suppose it would be if mandated by the government here. Nothing related to the current scare stories associated with out of control, swarming AI agents, a la the Hugging Face attack. Or even the problematic ways in which kids are using AI platforms to fake the submission of authentic work.

Quite soothing really to deal with a comfortingly comfortable account of how easy AI will make life for all. Hope it's true!

On Being Provided For

Now back in our usual Far Place, happily feeding our faces back at Swensen's for their Unlimited Buffet this afternoon. This time the occasion was a wedding, as they host wedding dinners there, and we made good use of prior knowledge to scoff more of our now favourite dishes. And since our living quarters are piled high with the generous offerings of students from Teachers' Day we haven't needed to get in any further supplies for the weekend.

Noi made a reference the other day to it not being long to Fasting Month (though, in truth, it's still a few months away) which put me in mind of the much-needed sense of balance the fast gives to a life of abundance.

Jolly Good Show

Gosh, no one could claim that yesterday's performance of Mansur & Liu at the Istana Budaya didn't provide value for money. I reckon that it ran for a full three hours on stage, with a fifteen minute interval to add to that, accounting for the fact that we left the theatre just shy of ten minutes to midnight. That meant we only arrived here at Mak's house in the very early hours of this morning, but it was worth it, if only for the fact that Noi clearly had a great time and chatted merrily about the show for most of the way back.

And rightly so. It looked great - beautiful sets, and quite a number of them, creating a range of enchanting stage pictures, nearly always lit to maximum effect. At one point, following a particularly romantic duet, Noi whispered I love the moon, and I understood exactly why. The costumes were also strikingly handsome, so the cast looked great, as well as sounding great vocally. Which handily matched the first-rate musicianship of the live band. The only criticism I'd tentatively put forward is that it was all a bit too over-amplified for me, and some subtlety got lost as a result. But then I don't think it was conceived as a subtle sort of show - rather being intended as a family-friendly, crowd-pleasing, spectacle. 

Most of all I thought M Nasir's music was a triumph. Lots of hummable immediacy, supported by clever arrangements throughout. It didn't get boring, and considering the sheer length of the proceedings that struck me as an achievement in itself. I suppose if I had a caveat to offer it would be that I thought a script doctor might have usefully cut some twenty to thirty minutes of the running time by tightening some of the lengthier sequences, but I must admit I didn't detect any signs of impatience from the very receptive first night audience. I'm guessing that the creators of the show were driven by the generosity of their imaginations, and more power to them for erring on the side of letting it all out on stage.

On The Go Again

Now packing our transferrable worldly goods here as we're making our way back to Alor Gajah this evening. This after attending a musical that Noi was keen to catch. We'll be stopping by the Istana Budaya to watch Mansur & Liu, the first performance of a short run of a show concocted by the redoubtable M. Nasir. Should be interesting.

It strikes me that over a lifetime I've got pretty good at coming & going. Standing still remains the tricky bit.

Gently On The Go

19.45

A very unpredictable day. Most of it spent without our usual supply of running water, though with enough of a flow from a couple of taps to make life livable. Noi has been making great efforts to get a plumber in, and finally succeeded, though he arrived well on into the late evening and is endeavouring to restore normality as I write this. Also now preparing for a call across the miles to Jeanette & John to catch up on their news. I haven't set foot outside the homestead all day, yet I feel as if I've been relentlessly on the go - probably because life hasn't let me be quite as lazy as I'd originally intended.

22.04

Our catching up with family affairs back in the UK was successfully accomplished despite a frozen screen or two. Much laughter on both sides and few complaints, if any. So an unstated but distinct sense that life is good.

On Still Being Alive

I've been nursing a mildly aching head all day and have achieved precious little as a result. Fortunately nephew Ashraf came around today and achieved a good deal more than I've managed, fixing an irritatingly errant light switch, verifying that that our security cameras are still in good order, and sorting out a major crisis we found ourselves in regarding two very empty water tanks upstairs. It looks like some important taps got switched off whilst we were not around - now rectified.

So, despite all, it's been a good day. As every day is, as long as you're around and compos mentis enough to enjoy the fact, a lesson I learnt the very hard way; but learnt deeply and abidingly. That lesson goes hand in hand with quietly mourning one's ghosts - the best way of doing so being to remember the happiness that came with them being a part of the simple pleasure of experiencing it all together. It was on the Tuesday of last year's September jaunt to KL Maison that we were made yet again keenly aware of the irreplaceability of those who help us negotiate this thing called life.

In The Neighbourhood

Not sure if it was a wise thing to do, but I got out for a run this morning, circumnavigating the taman, for the first time in quite a few years. Since running at West Coast Park earlier this year didn't do me any lasting damage I thought it worth taking the risk of trotting around the estate and getting a bit of exercise here. And it was certainly enjoyable. In distinct contrast to working out in the gym, I don't feel running in the open air to be any kind of imposition. Far from it, in fact; it feels something like freedom.

And then there's the sense of genuinely getting up close to where we live. It engenders a feeling of something like belonging. There's so much detail to take in of the happy ordinariness of it all, of life just going on.

Second Childhood

Zonked out to an unusual depth just now listening to Debussy's ravishing La Boite a Joujoux, his ballet pour enfants of 1913. I'd rate this in my top five of impressionist pieces alongside Ravel's La mere L'Oye. I suspect the part of me that never grew up is calling the shots on this one, and I'm more than happy to let it.

The Quiet Life

Earlier today, with her usual perspicacity, Noi remarked on the dominating feature of life in our comfortably working abode in KL: It's very peaceful here. And it is, to the point you forget we've actually got neighbours here on the taman. Must say, this suits my present mood which is one more than ready to embrace the easy quietude of it all. Even my musical choices today have tended in the direction of the gentle and mellifluous. I'm now playing Dylan's magisterially sleepy-headed Shadows in the Night, a disk worth the admission fee just for Donny Herron's utterly beguilingly gorgeous pedal steel, rightly prominent on every cut. If this isn't the perfect choice for late-night listening when you're licking the wounds of the day I'd like to know what is.

The problem in all this is that it's just so easy to give oneself up to the ease of it all. I need to force myself to get stuff done. And I'm not just talking about work-related matters, which, funnily enough, I've had no problem getting on with for a couple of hours today simply because I'm accountable for it and it has to be done. It's the unaccountable that needs the willpower to get moving on.

To which end I've been persevering on Stephen Kotkin's Stalin: Paradoxes of Power 1878 - 1928. This is the first volume in the writer's acclaimed three volume bio of the Russian tyrant and it's easy to see where the acclaim comes from. The detail Kotkin provides is overwhelming in a good way - you know this is the real deal in terms of in-depth research and it feels (if that's the right word) insightful. The problem is that the reader has to provide enough energy to live-up to that of the writer and it's hard (but rewarding) work. 

In tandem with the bio I'm also starting out on yet another novel I really should have read years ago but somehow didn't. I'm ashamed to admit I've never read anything by Stendhal and I'm now rectifying the omission with The Red and the Black. It's about time.

Switching Gears

How good it felt after completing the Dawn Prayer at 6.30 am to get back into bed and nod off for another two hours and some minutes. And how good it felt to arrive here at Sungai Petai yesterday leaving enough time to iron out the creases before taking to our bed. And how good it felt to wander just now along the road side up to the little mosque for an unhurried Friday Prayers.

It even feels reasonably okay to get with some unhurried marking, listening to Dylan sing of paying dues just getting through, thinking that if this is how I need to pay my dues I'll settle for it.

And some time later, in the capital: How bad it felt stuck in a 1 hour, 20 minute jam, hardly moving, just beyond the Sungai Best toll into Kuala Lumpur. I suppose this sort of thing has a flavour of natural justice about it. In its way, balancing the day out.

Fullness

A full stomach is a blessing, but one that's a bit too full is a reminder of the need for moderation in all things. Fortunately the time for feasting is at an end, at least for the moment. And whilst I'm on the topic of filling up, unfortunately those good people running the exams for IB seem to enjoy filling my inbox with emails regarding scripts that require re-marking on appeal. Just when I thought it was all over...

Feeding Time

Now facing the not unwelcome prospect of consuming a great deal of grub over the next couple of days. This evening we're off on our annual Hall Outing, cunningly going back to the stellar buffet at Swensen's. (There's one just up the road now.) And tomorrow it's going to be the Teachers' Day lunch at some hotel or other.

This is in addition to the fact that the last few days have seen a proliferation of snacky items arriving at our place: some brought back by Noi from her Indonesian jaunt; other bits & pieces arriving as the advance guard of the goodies that come my way for Teachers' Day. Chances are that the numbers of such will increase tomorrow and it's likely we'll be taking a fair amount north of the border, assuming we get time to pack it away before setting off.

As I said, not unwelcome. But I'm keenly aware of the need to put the brakes on and not to give too much room to the gods of gluttony. Back in the long-ago days of my early manhood I certainly had that capacity, evidenced by a waist that demanded trousers a few sizes up from those I now fill out. I really don't want to need to have to move up a size or two in my dotage.

Energised

Made a conscious attempt to throw off yesterday's creeping lethargy. I was keenly aware from early on this morning how easy it would have been to surrender and allow for a gradual winding down of all systems ahead of the holiday break - which will kick-in when we take off to Alor Gajah this coming Thursday. I was powerfully tempted to abandon any kind of target for the marking of scripts for the day, especially when I suddenly realised just ahead of setting off for work that I'd forgotten about some checking of submissions for IB and would need a couple of hours just to get that done. In the event I did the checking and marked my quota of scripts and got a few minor but necessary tasks out of the way. And it's still relatively early in the day, so I can easily manage a session in the gym this evening. Must say, I'm unreasonably pleased with myself for my discovery of the energy needed to get it all done.

Funnily enough I'd been thinking of the virtues of energy over the weekend, after viewing Christopher Nolan's excellent film on Friday evening. It struck me that what I'd found so engaging about The Odyssey, above its obvious technical qualities, was its sheer oomph in terms of telling a good tale. The film-maker had somehow managed to string together all the great little bits into one pulsating whole, and had done so through a obvious determination to make it all cohere, even in its contradictions. The whole point of his Odysseus, it seems to me, was the lack of any consistency in the great hero - except for consistently being heroic in some broad sense in the many and varied situations he had no choice but to deal with. And I must say that I reckon this is true to Homer's original, a character possessed of the many-sidedness you'd expect in a figure dreamed up by the fertile imaginations of many and varied bards, fascinatingly coalesced into the 'official' version that maintains unity through the kind of imaginative generosity we allow ourselves when we know we're making it up as we go along.

Above all I thought that Nolan's re-telling of the discursive epic worked wonderfully well in the way he managed to jump - with relentless energy - from narrative to narrative: from Telemachus's tale, to the fall and sacking of the great city, to our hero canoodling with the lovely Calypso, to the monstrous Cyclops (and subsequent encounters of Odysseus and his crew in their peregrinations on whatever sea they are sailing), and back to the bloody reckoning in Ithaca. Maybe I had a bit of an advantage in having been soaked in the stories from being a kid, as I found it easy and enjoyable to follow, but from what a few of my students have said of the movie I get the feeling that contemporary film-goers have enjoyed the weaving of it all into a master design.

Oh, and one other thing. It struck me that the director had elicited great performances from pretty much everyone in his film, something that isn't the result of just sitting around to see what happens. If I ever have to cite an example of perfect casting, this would be it.

The End Of Something

The month reaches its close and I feel a bit like closing down myself. It's been one of those days when any effort has felt like an effort, if you know what I mean. I'm hoping that tomorrow's new month will feel like a refreshing new start; but I'm too wise, too old, too knowing to count on that.

Slow Reading

It took me just over a week to read Samantha Harvey's Orbital - which I completed this morning, having saved the final four pages for a leisurely read before getting on with my marking for the day. Since the whole novel (novella?) comprises just 136 pages I can't make up my mind whether I'm pleased or embarrassed that such a slight text took me so long. 

Pleased because: this is a work that in its sheer intensity cries out to be read slowly.

Embarrassed because: time was I would have read that number of pages in a day, or possibly two, and I'm really just making excuses for an old chap's lack of focus. 

Anyway, I reckon it's a brilliant book. In almost every way highly original. Gem-like in its beauty. And convincing in its often radiant picture of our poor planet in a similar light.

Found And Lost And Found

Noi has returned from her adventures in Surabaya and Malang, so life is returning to its usual satisfying routines here. I met her at the airport just now where she arrived happily on time after a smooth flight, but unhappily without her watch which she had taken off in the restroom at Terminal 2 before getting her luggage and left behind. When she tried to retrieve it, it had gone. I assumed for good, but we made a report at the info desk at Arrivals before grabbing a bite at the Cafe O upstairs at Departures.

Astonishingly we received a text there, telling us the timepiece had been found and handed in by the restroom attendant. And it was back on Noi's wrist by the time we set off back home.

Yet again the airport staff score maximum marks in this writer's unofficial title race for world's best staff at a great airport. Somebody here is definitely doing something right.