Tired...

Car travelling along the road - flat tyre but still going. Driver and passengers are unaware of the tyre's condition, and the car continues to drive along. An ironical example of my experience of the UK - still travelling along, once a great empire but tired, weary, worn out, less than fresh. But it still cruises along, unaware of the tiny, subtle changes that an outsider sees clearly, that only an external position can identify. Just like the car, once pristine, still operates, the UK still operating, has gone under a thousand changes, so small as to be indistinguishable from the inside in isolation... but cumulatively the changes alter the social, political and economic landscape of a nation, and effect psychological change upon individuals making up the nation.

Well, the UK (or at least my perception of the UK) has changed from once influential, go-getting, aggressive, colonial power that it once was.... The riches of the colonies have come back to the mother-land, but so have the ideas. The British social and cultural landscape is now a multiplicity of different cultures, ideas and norms. Everything is accepted, which has in my opinion, plants the seeds for its own demise. It's citizens, once fuelled by passion, enthusiasm and a sense of adventure, now are afflicted by an overpowering sense of indifference. Unaware of the tired, worn out appearance of their social and cultural vehicle, they cruise down the highway of the world, clutching tightly to a cacophony of customs, traditions and time-honoured practices, all the while not realising that these are the nails in their coffin, the flat tyres which have slowed, and continue to slow them, the downward spiral they find themselves dipping deeper and deeper into... The "Great" Britain of yesterday has gone, replaced by indifference, monotony, and boredom. The trellis of custom and bureaucracy, originally designed to make things efficient, now stunts the nation, and the excitement of the early years disappears into the mist of tedium.

As we travel from Bath to London on the bus, we stop at specific places for a specific time to pick up passengers. As we take off from a designated stop in Chippenham, some prospective passengers who are running a bit late chase the bus. The diver, checking the time, keeps driving, even thought he could pull over if he wanted to.

If I pull over at anywhere other than a bus stop, I can be dismissed' explains the driver, as we continue up the road to the anger and dismay of irate passengers. If I cause an accident, he continues, the company and I will be sued for stopping incorrectly. Trapped by strict regulations, suffocating deadlines and pushed by fear, the driver abdicates his choice, and is unable to transcend the situation, the rules or the society in which he lives.

Is it right? This absolute control over citizens, the feeling of powerlessness, the abdication of any personal belief or idea to a so-called common consensus. Who do you complain to if its wrong? Do I scream to the world to be labelled a sociopath because I am unhappy with the powerlessness of my position in this society? What does my complaint achieve? Will it make any difference to register my repulsion of generations of submission, calcification and stagnation? It is easier to tow the line, to join with the crowd than to break free from the accepted norms and ways of thinking, to challenge what people think and push them to defend their actions, their accepted norms, their comfort zones, their safe palaces.

Michael Franti says: 'I raise my voice before I lose my soul'. Does it matter that no-one takes notice, that people laugh when I voice unhappiness, distaste, repulsion. No, to stand up is to live, anything else would be false and untrue. But on the tube, eye contact is forbidden and incursions are socially repulsive. Looking at the ads again and again, I find security in total concentration, but said advertisements magnify my insecurities further: the coveted white smile, the big muscles and even bigger cock and bank account balance, the new car, the investment property in Europe, the mortgage, the credit card and the university degree. The treasures of Western civilisation, paraded and marketed, the bar always set that little bit higher, the desire to accumulate, to get ever more present, ever manipulated and stimulated, forwarded as medicine, a cure for the insecurities...

Ironic that the cure stimulates the ailment - the definition of a vicious circle. Like the promise of never ending growth, sooner or later, the chickens will have to come home to roost.

Everything is better in the summertime....

Well, we have seen the worst of the winter...I hope. Seems like just when it decides to get warm, the weather turns on its head and hey presto, its cold and overcast again.

Now when I travel to a place, its often interesting to see what things I bring to the place and what things I take away....so when I arrived to the UK I brought with me enthusiasm, hope and passion, but I also carried with me the standard Australian perception about the sun - because shining is what the sun does most of the time in my native Oz, I did not appreciate it...

I have definitely increased in my appreciation of the sun, my big orange friend always in the Australian sky and not nearly as much in the sky in the UK. Having travelled extensively in South East Asia, I was always surprised when European travellers removed their clothes and baked at the first sign of sun... Having experienced the UK and the distinct lask of sun, I would be one of the sunbakers removing my clothes.

New job...

The new job brings with it new challenges and complications. I have not been on this mental level since Brisbane, but it feels more intense because of the 6 months of extreme leisure preceeding it. Taking a while to get into the groove, and I'm not quite sure its a groove I want to be in. Still, the pounds are coming in, and the back account is looking healthier by the week - all the more to travel with...

London....still

Well it had to happen. The road less travelled has crossed a major highway, and for a while, we follow its route. Pretty big highway by my standards, too.

4 months from our illustrious arrival, and the town of London is beginning to show its cracks. Or maybe I am beginning to crack.

'The tube', as the rail transport system is called, still mystifies me with its alternative culture and accepted norms. The man with his head in my armpit should not attempt to acknowledge me, and it is too crowded to change his position. He consequently suffers in silence. A long day at work ends with a ride home on the tube, and I sigh....and a nasal particle breaks free and attaches itself to the man's hand next to me reading his paper. He looks at it and then continues to read his paper...... I stifle a chuckle and am too embarrassed to comment- what would I say anyway? So we pretend to ignore each other and he travels with a new passenger - my mucus on his hand.