Many years ago, I used to rant. Before this blog, and a few years before my stint on LiveJournal, I used to write rants. In fact, that was all I would write, for some reason. I don’t remember being a particularly angst-ridden teenager; I think it was more about being smart. ‘Ooh, he has such passionate and informed opinions!’ — who cares if I swore a lot and used viscerally-tinged analogy like a foamingly rabid dog, eh?

Somewhere along the line, probably at university, I learnt how to vocalize my thoughts in a more intelligent fashion. I think it’s because I was suddenly surrounded by thousands of people that I’d never argued with. That’s not to say I was particularly challenged at university, but after 16 years of same-old-same-old it was refreshing. The main thing, for me, is differing view points and opinions. Part of me (the scientist) hopes that ‘absolute knowledge’ is attainable; but the realist knows that there is just the world – and myriad interpretations thereof. We all see the world differently, and machines and measuring devices see the world in yet other unfathomable ways.

It has become my job (or purpose) to gather up all of those views and opinions to create a valid representation or model of the world we live in. After all, what good is science if human nature doesn’t agree with it? There might be some joyous, divine apotheosis of science and the amalgamation of views in the future — but that’s the future. For now, I will try to understand humankind’s interpretation of the universe we occupy. It’ll take a while, and it’ll involve a lot of travel, but fortunately I’m a patient man that likes taking photos — that’s three birds with one stone!

But back to the topic at hand. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, I lost my anger. I have buckets of aggression, but no anger. Unbridled passion, but no anger. I haven’t a clue where it’s gone. Most of you have never experienced me when I ‘get going’ in real life — it’s pretty odd, I get louder, I speak faster and with more intent… but I smile as I do it! Get this: I can’t grimace or frown. I’ve tried to frown many times, but it just doesn’t work. I don’t actually have the muscles for it.

I wonder if this is what the Buddhist idea of Nirvana feels like. (I’m not going to flesh that idea out any further… at least not today…)

I don’t know where this is going. It was meant to be something about why I’m so calm, and seemingly rather wise. I think this post stems from the fact that someone recently misconstrued my aggression for anger, which irked me because they’re very different emotions. I’ve never hit anyone, for example; nor have I ever been in a fight. You only need to look at the differing derivations: anger comes from Ancient Greek ‘to choke or squeeze’; aggression comes from Latin ‘to approach, address, attack’. Anger is all about sadness, sorrow and a rage that doesn’t abate. Aggression is about meeting the world head on, sometimes with a resounding clash.

Why strangle someone when you can just address the situation instead?

That makes me sound rather boring and sensible.

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Healthcare (or health care if you’re a colonial) means different things to different people. Depending on where you live, your background and your income, it might be synonymous with either insurance or the treatment of illness — and in some cases, it can even mean the public health of a nation or zone.

It’s important to think about these three things as separate entities: despite prevailing culture, you can’t mix up health insurance with the actual treatment of illness — they can both exist, but must be independent of each other. Health insurance, in countries without publicly-funded systems, is simply the way health care is paid for. In countries with ‘universal coverage’ like the UK, health insurance is used to pay for private care, or ‘complementary medicine’ (i.e. new/weird science). Public health is the overarching effort to improve health through improved knowledge and awareness, such as eating five portions of vegetables a day, ‘got milk?’, and so on.

Now, with that out of the way, let’s tuck in.

Healthcare is vital in the most true sense of the word. Without it we would die, immediately in a blaze of flame, or in a laboriously drawn-out fashion — it doesn’t matter: health care stops us from dying. Healthcare is so vital (there’s that word again) that about 10% of a Western nation’s GDP — 10% of its entire income — is spent on it. Some would argue that’s a small price to pay, for longevity of life. By comparison, most nations spend between 2 and 4% of their GDP on military/defence, and education comes in at about 5-7% of a nation’s GDP. So, as you can see, and have no doubt heard from Obama, health care is the biggest human issue.

But it’s all a damn mess; a horrible void of misunderstanding and overspending. And it all derives from a ‘knowledge gap’, between the doctor and the patient. The same can be said for most professions, but with healthcare the distance is most significant. Even if you don’t know the basic fundamentals of household plumbing, or how data traverses the Internet, you can still sleep soundly at night. But what if you’ve just been told you have cancer? Or that you’re being treated with Interferon beta-1a? You get a little jumpy, a little nervous — because you might die.

If we’ve learnt anything about the human body in the last 100 years, it’s that we should fear the inevitable onrush of death. Somewhere along the line we made the switch from ‘the most rugged and tenacious mammal on the planet’ to ‘wuss’. We used to live — and die. Now there are many more steps on the meter: alive, stressed, ill, broken, comatose, dead — and thousands more slotted in between.

Something doesn’t make sense. Why are we more afraid of our health now than 100 years ago? I’m not saying no one cared about death back then — people certainly put a lot of effort into making sure things were left tidy, and that the relevant gods would receive them into the afterlife — but it was just part of living. I think it has something to do with knowledge, and thus certainty and confidence. If you’re brought up with the knowledge that you will die by the age of 60 and you will die if you mistreat your body, that’s some stable knowledge that you can operate with. You can go out and live life.

What do we know about life and death today? Do you know how long you will live for, or if the quality of your life is assured? If I eat this burger, will it shorten my life — does that even matter? Should I be worried about senility, or will biotechnology/biopharmacy save me from that feckless fate?

It’s pretty weird to be confused about your own mortality, eh? A long, healthy life is the single most desirable wish — yet it is the one thing we are most uncertain about! I want to tie this in to the downfall of faith/belief and the rescinded promise of eternal (after)life, but I’m not sure I can yet — but it would make sense that, up until the last century, death was just been a temporary setback… but now it’s personal. (I kid, I kid, but you get the idea.)

To fix this problem, we need to close the gap between bleeding-edge research, the doctors, and us. We have to know more about our bodies and what they’re capable of; education obviously ties in at this point. I think we’re regularly reminded, and amazed, by what humans are capable of and how resilient we are — but at the same time, we have never been more aware of just how defenceless we ultimately are. Back then, we just died. No one knew why, we just died.

Now we die of cancer, heart disease, sclerosis, embolism — all invisible, all able to pounce at any time with little or no warning. But they’ve always been there, just like gravity or hydrogen. If we want to live long and healthy lives, we must teach about healthcare in schools. We must learn more about the body than the knee bone’s connection to the thigh bone, more than veins and arteries — like ancient Rome and Athens, education must be contemporary and hot on the heels of research.

This is my house, just before we moved into it. The photo was probably taken in 1995.

I’ve almost forgotten what grass looks like. What the sun looks like. What frickin’ daylight looks like. Europe is currently the land of eternal twilight. Admittedly, I wake up around 2pm so I’m not doing myself any favours, but the cloud coverage is so thick, so ever-present, so OPPRESSIVE that it just stays DARK. The only patch of sunlight was a few days ago — you saw the photo of me and my sister right? — and the photos I’m sharing with you today are a few hours after that, just before sunset (though when isn’t it sunset in the Arctic Circle of England…?)

These photos are from all around my estate. I don’t think I’ve really showed you where I live before, other than my immediate garden. I live in the coach house of a Victorian estate. The estate itself totals about 300 acres (150 hectares?) — small fry by American standards I guess, but quite big here in the UK. There’s a manor (photo below), and a farmhouse (no photos, but it’s not as pretty as the manor anyway), and a bunch of smaller lodges and ancillary buildings.

[So, this is where I had a power cut yesterday... now I'm going to continue!]

If you look at the photo above, that middle section is ‘new’. Originally there would’ve just been an arch there. The brown/red bit is cobbles — they extend behind the house too. Lords and ladies would’ve left their coach and horses behind the house (there are iron hoops on the wall to tie horses to), and then walked up to the manor, probably through the orchard (which is on the corner of our land). I live on the left side, in the oldest part of the house (the right side is extended and modified).

Behind the camera is the swimming pool (which I think I’ve shown you?), and way off to the left is the formal garden (which I recently used for 52 weeks).

Anyway, have a look through these photos. I’ve made a few notes where necessary! Incidentally, it’s finally starting to thaw. And it’s only one and a half months until Spring!! .. ..

I’m not sure if this is my new favourite landscape… or if the next one is…

This is the one I ‘leaked’ exclusively to Facebook. It’s a lot prettier here on the blog without Facebook’s shitty JPEG compression though. Look at the PINKS.

If you’re trying to get your bearings, my house is to the left of this frame, and the farm is to the right (a long way away)

I do hope that suffixing things with ‘gasm’ doesn’t become my catchphrase. I can just see it now… thirty years in the future, sitting on a couch, doing an interview for some crappy daytime TV show… ‘Go on, say it.’ — ‘But I’m here to drum up interest for-’ – ‘Say it! We’re not here to hear about your new book!’ — ‘OK OK… gasm. Gasm, gasm, gasm. There, I said it.’

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

I wonder what kind of phrases/quotes will be remembered when I die. I wonder if I’ve already said my greatest words of wisdom (what a sad thought…) The phrases you find online, one spoken or written by influential and important people, were they great at the time? Will something I’ve written in the past year come back in 50 years, without context, and sound far more pertinent or awesome than I ever intended?

I’m ranting, sorry. My eyes hurt because I’ve been either under or oversleeping — why do my eyes hurt when I oversleep? God knows. Also, my eyesight is failing again which means I need to get new lenses. I wish I knew for sure if this was just genetic (both my parents have poor eyesight) or if it’s the continued, excessive computer-use. Or maybe it’s both. How bad can it get…? I’m only -4 at the moment, and apparently I shouldn’t worry until I’m at -8 or so… but still…

This week’s photos come from New Year’s Eve. Just a few minutes before New Year’s Day actually. It’s been incredibly cold for the last couple of weeks and conditions haven’t been great for photography (and I’ve been sleeping at odd hours, which doesn’t help).  I think I alluded to a previous love of low-light photography — it was basically all I did at college, when I first started taking photos.

I’ve been out the last few nights trying to take some more photos, but so far nothing else has worked. It’s pretty hit and miss, pointing your camera at puddles (like yesterday’s 52), or into misty windows. If there’s any kind of photography that actually lies, it’s photos of night-time or low-light scenes. Photography is all about drawing with light (literally), so when there is no light it’s no surprise that the results are a little weird.

As always, you can hover over photos for my notes. Not much this week, but with Christmas and New Year celebrations, I think you can forgive me. I’m going to try and do some more night-time photography in the next few days, while the moon is still quite full.

(This actually looks really cool when cropped to just the end of the road… there’s some fogginess and some nice light… but I’m showing you the whole thing because of the MOON! There’s a couple of stars in there too, if you look closely…)

(This week’s 52 wasn’t a crop of this — they are different photos, from different angles. I love the light in the puddle in this version though!)

* * *

And we’re done for another week! The last photo was actually going to be this week’s ‘19 of 52′, but I went with the ‘puddle of ink’ at the last moment. I still haven’t got my driving license… did you know that? I really should get it this year…

As I write this, bear in mind two things: a) our heating is broken. It’s currently about 5 degrees (40F) in my room; my breath is condensing and I can’t feel my nose, fingers or anything below the waist, and b) I haven’t had sex in a while now. So I am cold and frustrated and the owner of a penis. [If this is all 'too much information' and you find yourself reeling, you certainly shouldn't visit Lilu's blog.]

Now, most people often refer to penis-wielders as ‘fortunate’ or penises themselves as ‘useful’. Even in a worst-case scenario, a penis is functional. But you (girls) are all glossing over the most important feature of the penis: it’s external.

You know how, when you go outside in the cold, you slowly lose sensation in your ears? Or your nose? Or your toes? The same happens to men with penises (ambiguity intentional and necessary in today’s politically correct world).

I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that very few of you have ever seen a shrivelled-up penis. You’ve probably not even seen many flaccid penises: it’s the kind of thing that most men keep wrapped up in their underwear — for a reason. The non-erect penis is really not all that great. You see, popular culture has portrayed man — and the mighty penis — as an object of utility and dominance. But only when it’s erect.

The flaccid penis is useless. It hangs there, exposed, sensitive, wrinkled. I don’t think women appreciate just how safe it is to have internal bits. Do women have to coax their genitals into a satisfactory position for urination? Do women have to reach into their boxers with ice-cold hands and dredge out their dilapidated dong?

Let’s not forget we also have testicles. They’re odd things, nuts; I think you’d be hard-put to find many people that actually dig balls. If you ask 1000 random guys for their favourite part of their anatomy, I doubt any of them would say ‘my balls’. That’s because they too are external and highly sensitive. They also get in the way. We can’t cross our legs properly, and if we jump and land badly, we can crush them. Again, when it’s cold, they also shrivel up until we look almost pre-pubescent. They suck themselves right up into our pelvis, which is an experience unlike any other I assure you — it is only topped by the experience of them, for want of a better term, descending again.

The whole ice-cold hands thing also applies to nuts, by the way. At least with your penis you have thick skin protecting you from the immediate, freezing sensation of cold, fumbling hands — not so with testicles. They’re all thin and soft and very sensitive to heat (they’re designed to radiate heat, to keep the little spermatozoa cool, y’see).

I think I should spend a little more time illustrating the pitfalls of the penis: if you’ve seen a flaccid penis, you’ll know that they are generally small. Some are larger than others, but generally we’re talking 2 or 3 inches — 5-8cm. Do you want to know how small it gets when it’s cold? Well, I measured this morning, as I climbed out of bed (alas, morning glory would be a fine and fortunate thing): 3cm! THREE CENTIMETERS! 1 inch!

Once that tasty tidbit has settled in, now imagine trying to manipulate that perky pecker with frigid fingers. You can’t simply pee au naturale because it sticks out horizontally — you gotta angle it. It’s even worse if you have a foreskin, incidentally, as you have to try and roll it back — seriously, it’s just HORRIBLE.

So next time, when you audaciously (and ignorantly) claim that men in general and penises in specific are ‘cool’ or ‘much more functional than my darn vagina’, think again, missy.

It is with a heavy heart that I bring you such ill news: Wednesday blog entries have now begun their solemn, shuffling gait towards the Great Blog Graveyard in the Sky.

That brings us down to just Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, with occasional posts on Friday and Saturday (but Dollhouse was axed, so I’ll have to find some other pretty girl to canvas the pages of my blog with…)

But all is not lost. This gives me more time to spend on photography and the preparation of travel plans. I have some big, longer-than-a-month-abroad ideas that I need to put serious effort into. It also gives me a little time to work on non-bloggy writing like short stories and novels. I’ve been looking at writing a novel for a while now, but with my commitments both here and over on Download Squad, there simply aren’t enough hours in the day or strength in my fingers.

Thing is… I’ve written a lot this year. It was actually my New Year’s resolution, to write every day. Originally that was ‘a blog post every day’, but obviously with commitments and jobs ever-changing, I’ve had to spread the love a little.

Did you know that I’ve written 422 blog entries this year? At an average of 800 words per entry, that’s 337,600 words. In the last 6 weeks I’ve written 40,000 words at Download Squad.

Throw in a few thousand email, comments on other blogs and forum discussions… and I think I’ve written over 500,000 words this year. Maybe more. That’s five big novels or ten crappy female novellas.

No wonder my fingers ache…

So this is me retiring Wednesday from my blogging schedule. I’ve intended to for a while — the plan was always to have a big blog post on Monday followed by photos, news commentary or random bits of wacky stuff throughout the week.

And hey, instead of writing, I’ve spent today updating the various indexes on the site. If you’re new here, it’s well worth giving the Index of Topics a look-see, or my collected Travel Stories if you prefer thrilling tales of excitement, woe and adventure. The sidebar has also been updated, which is your quick index to all things juicy. Oh, I’ve also got a bonus photo for you, because it’s now December, the festive season of giving and sharing and all that stuff.

Ah, now this is a meaty one. I’m not going to name any names, and I ask you kindly to do the same. I’m going to speak in general terms and hope I don’t offend too many people. But if you’re a believer of some kind and I make you question your faith… don’t hurt me! It’s a good thing to re-evaluate your environment occasionally. Things change, don’t forget. Something that made sense a while ago might not make sense now. With that said, on with the show.

* * *

Religion is technology. Something — something new, some kind of data — is discovered. It’s then honed and refined. And then it becomes a religion. Religion is simply ‘high-tech’.

Along the way there are fads and cults but ultimately, if it passes through its trial by fire, it becomes a religion.

Big pill to swallow, and I need to provide an example. Let’s take Jesus (sorry Christians), as he’s as close to omnipresence as things get. Look at your surroundings right now: your computer, iPhone, TV, keyboard. Pretty awesome eh? Do you know how any of them work? Maybe. Mostly they just work, you don’t question it. You sure as hell don’t call your computer a ‘box of miracles’ — well you might, but most of you probably don’t.

But that’s what it is. The fact that we can send data from one side of the planet to the other in a fraction of a second is a frackin’ miracle. We have the knowledge and power to surgically replace faulty hearts and perform crazy experiments at a sub-atomic level — that’s a damned miracle.

Only it’s not. It’s just technology.

Do you really think Jesus was a miracle worker? The son of God?

Just because I control the flow of electrons and fly through space at the speed of sound… does that deify me? Do you prostrate yourself before me; am I the Messiah? No — at least I doubt it. I’m merely harnessing technology.

You see, all these fields, spheres of thought and belief are really, really closely entwined. I’m close to a resolution, an epiphany: I can just about put my finger on it but it’s… slippery. Magic is the key to belief — mystery, that is. You don’t believe in something tangible, something real — you don’t believe in your car. You believe in true love, God, UFOs.

But there’s no such thing as magic, beyond impressive use of technology or new inventions. It’s magic until you learn how it’s done… and then it becomes mundane.

Is religion the same thing? Was talking to God, receiving divine prophecy and turning water into wine what passed for ‘high-tech’ 2,000 years ago? Did Jesus have some sterilised bandages or knowledge of Eastern medicine that cured large swathes of sick people? Does that make him a work of wonder, or merely a nice guy with some great tools? Why don’t we drop to our knees and deify Sagan or Einstein, our modern-day masters of the universe?

Our understanding of the universe is so great and our critical analysis now so exacting that magic and mystery are finding it impossible to gain a foothold in today’s society. Fads will form, and cults will climb to power and become religions, but as technology improves and shines a light on their inherent fallacies, they will fall — as soon as the curtain is whisked back and the truth revealed, the mystery will melt away. The magic castle will crumble and the religion, cult or fad will perish.

Without magic, there is no no faith, no prayer, no belief. Without mystery — the single most powerful force in human nature – there is no no religion.

In 50 years our understanding of the universe and humanity will be so great that I’ll be able to zap your body and fix it of all maladies. No side-effects. No caveats. What will existing religions do then?

I can’t recall where I originally had this argument. It’s an interesting one with no real solution or conclusion, but it’s interesting. It’s the kind of thing that you can posit or postulate, but because it involves rewriting history, no one really knows what the ‘best’ answer is.

I am of course talking about socialism versus capitalism. I don’t describe myself as either a socialist or capitalist, or subscribe to one political party. My thoughts and beliefs tend to span the entire gamut — and if you read this blog regularly, you’ll probably know how I feel about most important issues.

I’m not going to tackle politics itself — I don’t think I’m educated enough to do so — but I want to cover one topic in particular. It’s an argument that’s cropped up a few times over the last few years, as technology has begun its (scarily) rapid consummation of the world and its day to day activities.

So, exposition first: I am capitalist/right-wing when it comes to matters of technology. The arguments I have are usually with socialist, left-wing types.

It goes something like this: ‘It’s sick that these large tech companies are so rich! And there are so many poor people in Africa without technology! Those CEOs on billion-dollar salaries make me SICK! …’ — you get the idea. Basically, spread the love. You see, technology is so damn all-encompassing. It affects healthcare, education, amenities, entertainment — the benefit of advanced technology is SO VAST that most of us can’t begin to imagine its impact on the world.

But would these socialists be quite so socialist if we weren’t living in some kind of utopian world? Are there socialists in sub-Saharan Africa? Do tribes share their deer with the clan next door? How about if they invent a new kind of spear — do you share that technology? Or do you look after your own first?

My argument goes something like this: capitalism drives invention. Capitalism is all about SELFISH NEED. But it is selfishness that inspires ingeniousness. If your kids are being bullied by some thugs with knives, do you report it to the State and trust it will get sorted out? Or do you make your kids body armour and teach them how to fight?

That’s perhaps a bad analogy, but you get the idea? Are you as likely to fight for someone on the other side of the world as you are for your friends and family?

How many inventions have been made with the Developing World in mind?

So the way this usually goes, in politics, is that a conservative party rules for a while, technology flourishes — and then ‘the people’ feel like change has to be made and a socialist government comes to power. I’m not suggesting it’s a bad thing that there’s a change of power. God knows it’s good to shake things up occasionally, lest things become stagnant — and you never want a country to become stagnant. (The robot workers vs. labour unions is a good example?)

I just hope there are no iPhone or BlackBerry owners that are also socialists. It’s incredibly hypocritical.

The counter-argument is obviously this: why are we so inherently selfish? Can we change that, or do we have as much chance of that happening as the deconstruction of racism?

But the sad truth, whether we like it or not, is that we are selfish. We’re never going to push the development of technology solely for other people.

The Developing World should be grateful for our inventive endeavours. And we should be proud of them, not ashamed.

… for this interruption in service.

[I am publishing this without proof reading. A first for me. Go easy on any mistakes I may have made.]

I made a promise at the start of the year that I would stick to a schedule. It was my New Year’s resolution!

And I lasted until the middle of November! For today, I have finally failed.

But in my defence, I haven’t slept. Not in 4 days. Last night we were in this big, plastic semi-permanent marquee thing (sorry, the words don’t come as easily at the moment). It sounded like a better idea than under my computer desk.

It wasn’t.

There were these huge air-conditioning units that hung from the rafters, and every time the wind blew, the plastic top-sheet would bounce up and down, bouncing the A/C units against the rafters. Cue vast, booming, oh-my-God-the-roof-is-falling noises.

Then there was the train. Newbury is right on a train station. Freight trains thundered past every hour. Through the plastic walls of the marquee it felt like they were less than 30 meters away.

Ah, and the drunk and noisy nerds. Screaming and snoring, bellowing and belching until the sun came up. And the floor was raised, so as people traipsed across it to their sleeping bags the whole room would shudder, and with my head to the ground I felt like a rabbit, predicting some kind of earthquake.

There were cars going by behind my head too. But they were small-fry compared to the trains and bouncing-AC-units-of-doom.

Anyway… the LAN ends in a few hours and I’ll be able to head home.

In the mean time, go and enjoy mine and Abi’s ‘12 of 52‘ — her, and her pretty pink (coral) lips. Me and my… serious gamer.

No, not some weak homoerotic phrasing there.

I literally mean… we’re meant to be camping, outside, at the mercy of the elements — but… we now lack a tent.

Because we’re in the middle of ‘the worst storm this year’.

We had a tent 24 hours ago. Then, about 12 hours ago, when I went to check on it,  there was no tent. There was evidence of where a tent might have once been — some pegs, some shattered rods from its exoskeleton… but not much else.

Obviously, at 4 in the morning, with driving, horizontal sleet-rain it’s fairly hard to get your bearings. So two of us ended up in the car, where I’m told it got very, very cold — and two of us slept inside, under our computer desks.

Sadly there are no photos… because I didn’t take my camera outside into the hurricane-force winds.

I currently look very dishevelled, and in the words of my cousin: ‘like some kind of 1980s sex machine’.

I’m not sure what we’re doing tonight… maybe I can just sneak into someone else’s tent and pretend I know them…

‘Alright mate! Yeah! Sorry, I’m a bit drunk… great game we had earlier eh? You totally owned those noobs. Anyway, we should get some sleep, yeah.’