The Colour of a Dog Running Away - Review

I seem to be getting people at this blog after searching for "The Colour of a Dog Running Away", a book recently I read by Richard Gwyn. No doubt they are rather confused as to why Yahoo has sent them to me so I thought I'd write a quick book review (WITHOUT giving away the ending!) for these people. Glad to see the book is attracting interest though, it's published by a small publisher and not written by a particularly well known author. I first read about the book in The Guardian Review, a small article about the fact that Waterstones was un-characteristically championing this book for the summer.

Try as I might to understand the title, I've not found anything further to explain its meaning than a brief reference to it being a idiom in the pro-log. The story is set in Spain and is split into two parts. The first deals with a meeting of a mysterious girl and subsequent abduction of the protagonist (and the girl) by a religious cult based upon the ancient Cathar religion. In the second part, the protagonist, something of an anti-hero throughout the book, attempts to piece together what happened to him. This is hindered somewhat by the drug binges he frequently goes on and the fact he has a tendency to start the day off with a brandy and a beer for breakfast and continue like that. No doubt everything becomes clear in the end, more out of luck than anything.

The book was interesting, gripping even at times, although the ending left me slightly unfulfilled.

Stratford

My road trip: - 
 

It started with dust. I got up early to give me time to wash my poor neglected car, to clean the dusty dirt from it's surface and to check that it's insides were up to a journey. As I would hope, having recently spent a couple of days at the garage after failing its MOT, oil; water and screen wash were all OK. There's not much else you can do under the bonnet of modern cars, so I set of for petrol and then on to collect V., L. and K.. 

Apparenlty a decision had been made to go to Stratford rather than Warwick as I'd suggested. Probably because K. and L. wanted to go to a market at an air field near Stratford, lured by the promise of cheap designer stuff. I didn't mind, I just wanted to go for a drive, but it would have been nice to have been consulted as this was the first V. and I had heard of the idea!  So we (I) drove to stratford.  Once we got there we tried to follow a map K.'s brother had drawn her and inevitablly couldnt find the place.  In the end K. rang her brother for some clafifications and he was actually on his way back from the market himself.  So we met up with him at a garage and he pointed at the right way to go.

 

We set off again and one brief wrong turn later we arrived at an outdoor market next to an airfield.  V. and I left K. and L. to slowly amble through the market while we quickly made our way though a repeating pattern of clothes stalls, in-car entertainment stalls, sweet stalls, pretend weapons stalls and burger vans.  When V. and I got to the end we had ice cream.  Despite the fact that I also had rasbery sauce with my "99 with a flake", mine cost £1 while V.'s cost £1.20.  Probably down to the fact that I was served by a cute blonde girl and he was served by an old bloke.  Either the cute girl took a liking to me and gave me a "special price", or was too blonde to work out the change propperly.  I guess I'll never know.  Eventually K. and L. caught up with us and we made our way back into Stratford for an over-priced lunch.

 

After lunch we walked around and attempted to find "Shakespears' Birthplace".  On the way we booked in for a "Ghost Tour" at 6pm through the "Oldest building in Stratford".  Then onto the Birthplace - a fenced off Tudor cottage.  It cost us over £6 to enter and was basically a museum of how the house has been a museum in the past.  There are weird guides in each room who, as L. put it, "either don't talk or talk and you don't want them to".  The guide in the acutual bedroom where old William was supposed to have been born was an old lady with only about two teeth in her mouth.

 

The ghost tour was slightly better value for money, at only £5.  It was also a tour of a an old house that's a museum, although for the tour they turn all the lights off and the guide takes you through with a lantern telling you stories about the various ghosts and strage goings-on at the place.  It was interesting and a bit spooky, but we didn't see any ghosts :o(

 

And then we went home, in an even more dusty car.

Something I said?

Anna has returned! Well, it was a while ago now but I've just gotten around to writing this entry into the blog. I was close to striking through her link, giving up hope of future posts, but she returned with a brif entry. Part explanation of her absence from the web-world, part declaration of her still slightly troubled state-of-mind. Struggling againsts wakefullness and no-doubt some deeper, more intangible trauma.

KP, however, is still dissapeard. Maybe my comments have that affect on bloggers from the other side of the Atlantic, though I don't know why. All they really say is: you seem nice and interesting. Be my friend? The unspoken answer, from KP at least, seems to be "No! Go Away!". Although the nature of the delivery of this message is strange and intrigueing to say the least.

On my 3rd visit to the blog, scouting it out to possibly link it to mine, I left a comment. Well, two in fact. The first, on her most recent post, half jokingly requested further sordid details of something hinted at in her entry and offering support for a race she may already have run. The second informing her, in as least-pedantic way as I could manage, that the formatting of the blog had been messed up by something in that entry.

On my 4th visit I found that all entries down to but not including the entry of my second comment had disapeared - leaving her blog still disfigured and now neglected and un-loved. There have been no new entries since. The way I found her blog in the first instance was through a comment she made on Korren Zailkas's blog, now all comments have been cleared from the particular entry that she made a coment on. Strange.

Of course, maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe I should just stop putting comments on blogs I read!

My Silence

Thought I'd tell you about the 2 minutes silence yesterday, in memory of those killed last Thursday.

Unlike most silences, the Mayor of London (never sure if that's referring to the person or the office) said everyone should stand outside their offices for the 2 minutes, rather than just sit at their desk as is the custom. This made the whole event much more visible, no doubt a sign of defiance and solidarity for all to see; and a more shared experience than the usual remembrance silences. At about five-to 12 we all trouped downstairs and stood outside the front of the building. It was an unusual chance to see all of the cute girls that we never get a chance to meet from our building (and the other buildings around), although we didn't get to meet them as obviously we couldn't talk to them. We stood in silence in the sunshine, no one really telling us when 12pm exactly was so we all slowly merged into one silence. The whole of London seemed to be silent apart from a couple of cars that drove past. Apparently buses and taxis pulled over, aeroplanes stopped taking off and landing, I'd like to think even the city traders stopped trading.

During the Two Minutes I didn't really know what to think of. I guess I was supposed to be thinking of the Victims, but I found them hard to ponder in such an artificial and orchestrated way. I saw my participation in the silence more as a sign of respect than a chance to reflect. I'd done plenty of reflecting in the past week: travelling on the tube; slowly passing through Kings Cross at 5mph past the deserted platform, as if I were on a ghost train; walking though busy and not-so-busy railway stations wondering "what if"; wondering why train drivers insist we take all our belonging with us, when the murderers were happy enough to keep theirs with them at all times and share the fate of their victims.

During my two minutes I stole glances at girls across the street. I had my hands in my pockets until, remembering myself and the cause, I clasped them behind my back and bowed my head. But I was there, with everyone else and for the same reason.

And then it was over; the building security guard thanked us and people ambled back to their offices. We ambled off to lunch outside the Tate Modern.

Anyway, this weekend I'm trying to organise a road-trip somewhere. I think I need to give my car some TLC as it failed it's MOT last weekend. There was something wrong with the break shoes, so it wasn't too safe really from about Christmas (when I first noticed the symptoms) to now! It was all fixed on Monday. Hopefully I'll clean it tomorrow and maybe drive to Warwick or Stratford or somewhere nice with "the guys"; hopefully the breaks were fixed properly...

Sick

Just posted my last post below when I noticed I'd had a visitor. I looked into my stats to find that this person had arrived at my blog through a Yahoo search. The search term used shocked and disgusted me. There is no possible, morally acceptable reason for typing these 3 words into a search engine. None. IP user 207.41.124.26 you are sick and need help.

Children of Big Cabin, Oklahoma, USA, I hope that you are safe.

Help: Stop It Now | ATSA | sexcriminals.com | ACPO

The Number 8 Bus

The #8 bus drove past my house last night. This was odd to say the least, my road being what you might describe as "residential" with cars parked either side along it making much of it a bi-directional one-way street. So it was, to say the least, an odd sight to see the great big bus amongst the streams of other vehicles passing my window. Even though it was only a single-decker (the double-decker 8's being phased out some years ago due to the perils of traveling on the top-deck) it still looked incredibly out of place. Another indication that something not-quite-right was afoot.

I told S., who's in Panama at the moment. It was him that told me that Birmingham city centre had been evacuated. From the other side of the world came news of what was happening less than a mile away from me. Sure enough, there was a "real and credible threat" and a decision was "not made lightly" to evacuate 20,000 people from the city. Suspect packages were being blown up in a controlled manner, though the absence of any big bangs meant that the only explosives found in the area belonged to the bomb disposal squad. The last time I saw something like this I was in Cambridge: a bridge by my house was cordoned off the the police blew up a 'suspect' fish & chips supper.

It seems that terror is following me. I took a walk, being the inquisitive type, to see what was happening. As you might expect I saw traffic jams, police and helicopters. Just a normal Saturday night in Birmingham really. I decided not to go up to the cordon an annoy the police by asking stupid questions. The displaced people I passed (displaced from bars and clubs, rather than homes and loved ones) all seemed calm but lost. A group of "hens" were stood outside Subway wondering what to do, others were waiting for busses to make their way through the diversions and traffic to them. There seemed to be no terror in these people though. I don't suppose we'll know how close we came to seeing terror for the second time; the police are never keen on being too specific in these cases.

I let my sister know I was alive this time.

PS:
Found this just now, it's an interesting insight into the workings of Wikkipedia.

7/7

The first hint that something not-quite-right was afoot in London came as I passed London Bridge Underground station on my way into work. It was about ten past nine. I heard a snippet of a conversation between a woman and a man. The woman seemed to be asking directions. "Where's Kings Cross station?" she asked the man. His reply seemed strangely random yet specific to my naive ears: "Do you mean Liverpool Street?". Two police vehicles had just blurred past me towards the City.

Shortly after I arrived at y computer at work. For some reason, I don't remember why, I opened up IE and the BBC news page (my home page) told me it had "Breaking News": Apparenlty power surges on various tube lines had caused explosions and people were trapped in the Underground tunnels.

Evening Standard

Everyone seems to be reading the Evening Standard tonight. It seems to be wholey devoted to the "terror attacks" today; as you might expect. The attacks that have murdered at least 35 people who expected to see their wives, husbands, children, families again tonight. People whose wive, husbands, children and family will never see alive again.

My sister, naive as to my route to work, had thought perhaps the same fates had fallen to myself and herself respectively. I did not realise such confusion were possible - I was a spectator just as they were. Until their worried texts were eventually delivered to my phone I hadn't thought they would be envisiging me caught up in it all. I have no idea how long it took for the five texts, from the five people who no-doubt care about me the most, to come through. How long were they battling against thinking the worst? My mom told me later that my sister was in tears with worry because she'd not heard from me. I should have realised that to others my connection with "London" made me more than just the observer I saw myself as.

Shortly after my mom had phoned me at work to check my continuing well-being on this earth, the texts came through, in pairs, once the saturation of the network had subsided or the block was released.

Saturday

Last one that is, even though we're closer to the next one.

 

I went out for a few drinks with A and his girlfriend K.  Despite the fact I should have been getting over my cold that had caused me to not taste any of the Mexican meal I'd been out for the night before with work, I thought few whiskey's would do me some good.  Also, I wanted to hear K's tales of Glastonbury so I decided I would make the trek (1 train, 3 tubes) to Fullham Broadway.

 

At one point, K went to the girls' room leaving A and mine's conversation to drift to the discussion of the other girls in the bar.  There were plenty of pretty and stylish girls there and they didn't seem to pretentious, which is rare or pretty and stylish girls in a London bar.  A pointed out one blonde girl in a blue top who was nice who I'd already noticed before.  Then, as if by magic; summoned by the power of our collective thought of her, she and her friend walked over towards our table.  Her friend had dark hair and was equally beautiful.  Upon reaching our table one of them, I forget which, asked if we minded if they came over and introduced themselves.  Now I don't mind admitting that beautiful women don't often make a habit of introducing themselves to me in bars.  Even when I used to go to bars with perhaps my most classically attractive of male friends, girls might come over to him but would typically practically ignore me.  Maybe these two had been more inspired to come over by A, who fills out his T-shirt sleeves more than I do, but still: there were two of them and two of us.

 

Once I regained my composure, after the shock of these two girls coming over to us while we were just talking about them, I said of course we didn't mind.  A said nothing.  They then asked us where we were from, I told them that I was from Croydon, or at least living there.  They seemed pleased at this and said they were from somewhere I'd never heard of, just south of Purley.  A said nothing.  I asked them what brought them to Fullham; apparently one of them was working there now.  They then talked amongst themselves for a short while, while A remained silent; he'd not even turned around to face them.  

 

Eventually one of them asked "do we smell, or something?" in an understandably slightly put-out tone.  No doubt such women were not accustomed to being ignored so rudely the way A was seemingly ignoring them now.  I told them that I thought A was worried what his girlfriend might think when she came back if he saw them talking to him, at which point he finally stirred and apologised, saying that K got jealous (not really true).  The girls walked away, off to the bar.   Later on they left alone, after turning down various advances on the dance floor.

 

No explanation was given to propperly justify such rude behaviour; perhaps A didn't want to risk the possible ironic justice of being caught when not-acually intent on cheating?

Coldplay! (part 2)

Where was I?  Oh yes...

 

So that's just one example of the bourgeois audience that was there.  It was a very middle class audience, though I'm not sure what I expected from Coldplay.  I left Supergrass just before they finished as I needed the little boys room.  The little boys room was also servicing several little girls who didn't want to queue for their own room.  After I fought my way back to where I'd left my sister, only to see catch sight of her leaving as I'd almost reached the spot we where.  She was about 5 meters ahead of me with what seemed like a million people in between.  I changed direction and gave chase after her, a seemingly impossible task amongst the masses between us.  Eventually we got onto the walkway where it was suitably easier to walk.  I reached out my arm over the shoulders of the few remaining people between us, missed tapping her shoulder by an inch and got some strange looks from those in between us.  My second attempt at making contact suceded though.

 

It was her turn to go to the loo.  While she waited in the queue for the real little girls room I hung around outside by an Oxfam Make Trade Fair stall.  They were getting people to sign up for the campaign in return for a key-ring and a skin transfer of the Make Trade Fair logo like what Chris Martin always has on his hand whenever he plays gigs.  Of course I didn't really want a key-ring, but the logo was too good to pass up.  Also brought back fond memories of when Kelly won a bath at Glasto last year (though she turned it down) when we all entered a raffle to raise money for the campaign.  I was just getting logo-ed by a cute posh girl, about to ask her about Glastonbury (she had a wrist-band on) when my sister came out the girls' room.

 

The next stage was to wait for my sister's boyfriend.  Eventually he got there, just after the very first Coldplay song had started.  We had no chance of getting to the great spot we'd had for Supergrass, so were stood further back and to the left.  After a while I was so absorbed in it all that it didn't matter too much.  I could see the stage and the little people dancing about on it (well, it's only really Chris Martin that moves around on stage).  It was really good, sometimes with a band as mellow as Coldplay you think seeing them live will be a bit boring, but it wasn't.  They has a small tribute to Richard Whitely - "We sure are gonna miss Countdown in the afternoon" inserted into one of their songs about clocks. 

 

Chris Martin's a bit cheesy though, always saying how great it is to be playing for everyone.  Said he though Supergrass were still the worlds greatest band, after which my sister's boyfriend pointed out that if that was the case they why aren't Coldplay supporting them, not the other way round?  Aside from that it was All Good.  And it didn't rain either, which was lucky as the following night's gig was accompanied by a thunderstorm!

 

The End