Black Gold

Our precious olive crop is bursting to be harvested. A huge, ancient double-trunked tree is the central exhibit in our shared garden and is dripping with heavy fruit like black baubles on a Christmas Fir. Olives have been dropping haphazardly for weeks, exploding over the patio and staining the paths. Our neighbours, Beril and Vadim have been collecting the debris, presumably for preparation and processing. I looked up the method online. It seems like a right faff to me. Our olives come in handy little jars from the supermarket. I intend to keep it that way.

A second olive tree from a neighbouring house overhangs our single storey kitchen. We were rudely awoken this morning by a heavy, thick-set covered lady in clashing florals and crocheted twinset (no pearls) who had climbed on top of the kitchen roof to beat the bounty out of the heavily laden tree. Olives rained down and danced around the tiles for a couple of hours. She went at it with great gusto, grunting like an East German shot putter until the entire crop had surrendered to her considerable force. I won’t be messing with her.

Marriage Equality – Much I Do About Nothing

Marriage equality for same sex couples is a hot topic in the States and many other parts of Christendom right now. As the pendulum of liberal public opinion swings towards reform, the religious reactionaries advance ever more bizarre notions for opposing the right of consenting adults to choose whom they wish to marry. It’s in the Land of the Free where the debate (if debate is the word) is at its most venal. An unholy axis is scaring the horses and the old folk with talk of a disintegrating society and the fall of America. The do as I say and not as I do Catholic Church is wielding its considerable power and marshalling its congregation; right-wing American politicians seeking the highest office in the land talk of paganism and a vomiting God; and crazy pastors across the Bible belt warn of Old Testament fire and brimstone and the End of Days. These strange bedfellows all agree that it’s the thin end of the satanic wedge. What next? Pet-wedding perverts? Marriage is between one man and one woman, they say, sanctified by God for the purposes of procreation. How do they know? Because it says so in the Bible, stupid. Actually, the Bible says a lot about marriage – about forced wedlock, polygamy and concubines. It supports all of them. Bible-bashers have selective memories.

Rather than take a trip on the merry-go-round of fables and myths, it might be more illuminating to take a look at history and absorb some hard facts. Until relatively recently, marriage was primarily a property contract. In most societies, girls were the chattels of their fathers; wedlock simply transferred ownership from father to husband. There’s a clue in the word ‘lock’. Often, the contract was transacted within the extended family in order to consolidate assets or preserve clan cohesion. It was generally best to keep it within the family. At the top of the social heap, marriage was a political device to forge alliances, strengthen authority and maintain dynastic power. The rich would oil the marital wheels with generous dowries and the poor might secure a slave bride through war. Women were booty. Like goats. The consent of the unfortunate (and often underage) girl was not required. The wife could get a raw deal; the goats might be treated better. If a woman failed in her primary role to provide male progeny, she could be replaced, supplemented or worse. None of this sounds particularly honourable or pious to me. Nor has this depressing state of marital affairs been consigned to the history books. It’s alive and thriving in many primitive corners of the modern world.

The spawning argument hardly holds water either. It’s an obvious biological fact that marriage is not required to have children. People don’t suddenly become fertile because they’ve been blessed by the shaman. Breeding is like falling off a log and we’ve been at it like proverbial rabbits since our distant ancestors crawled out of the primordial soup at the dawn of time. When Fred Flintstone first clubbed Wilma over the head and dragged her by the hair into his cave to make Pebbles, he didn’t need a holier-than-thou clergyman to stick his oar in.

Just recently, on my side of the pond, a top dog collar in the Church of England jumped on the wedding bandwagon. The Archbishop of York claims that the democratically elected Parliament of Britain has no right to change the definition of marriage. I think His Grace will find that the British Parliament has the right to do as it pleases. England got rid of meddling priests when they pissed off Henry the Eighth. Hell hath no fury like a tyrant scorned. Despite what the Archbishop may think, the meaning and interpretation of abstract concepts often evolve over time through intellectual inquisition and discourse. There was a time when the Church taught us with absolute God-given certainty that the Earth was flat and sat at the centre of the Universe. Woe betide anyone who disagreed. Stoke the bonfire and burn the heretics, they used to say. Fortunately, we now know differently. We discover and we evolve. Our religious establishments would do better to concentrate their energies on addressing the problem of empty pews and unheard sermons. Ironically, the Church of England would find it far more difficult to operate without the growing number of gay vicars in its ranks.

For an unreconstructed liberal and an unabashed secularist like me, this is a fundamental equalities issue. It’s also a love thing; and love, above all other things, is at the core of the Christian message, is it not? As far as I’m aware, no religious organisation will be forced to conduct religious ceremonies for same sex couples if they object. So, let’s just calm down and grow up.

Read all about Jack and Liam‘s life in a Muslim country

Perking the Pansies Book Trailer

It’s done and dusted. My World Book Tour across four continents has finally come to an end. The stage lights have dimmed and the sequins have been packed away for another day. I’m knackered even though I’ve not shifted from the sofa. Was it a sell out? No idea. Have I sold copies of the book? Certainly. To celebrate the end of the tour, I’m releasing my very first book trailer. BAFTAs here we come. Grab yourself some popcorn and a fizzy drink, sit back and watch:

Now to my acceptance speech…

Please extend a massive hand to the talented and generous supporting cast, stars in their own right, who took a back seat and let me take centre stage to strut my stuff.

Fittingly, the tour kicked off in my foster land with Soldier, Solder at a place in the country with rustic old sapper Archers of Okçular.

Next stop was a flying visit to the motherland for our London gig at cosmopolitan Aussie Gidday from the UK with Gidday from Turkay.

The third show, AussieBum was presented Down Under at A Life Less Ordinary with the far from ordinary Russell.

A long virtual night flight took me across the Pacific to the Eureka State – California – for Perking Across the Pond on Lick the Fridge courtesy of gifted wordsmith and family man, Jared.

My second Californian date was a camp inquisition on the pink sofa with the absolutely fabulous Impossibly Glamorous.

No time to dawdle. It was back on the virtual trail to Old Constantinople for a gig on the sharp and witty Istanbul Stranger telling my Yankee Tales, continuing the American theme.

Daft planning took my back Stateside to Provincetown in New England to be entertained by M’lady and the puppets review Perking the Pansies at cross-cultural Slowly-by-Slowly, no strings attached.

I flew the virtual transatlantic red eye for the Continental European leg of my tour. First stop, a chat of the This Morning sofa with my inspirational publisher, Jo Parfitt in the Low Countries.

Next up a trek across the Pyrenees to a campsite somewhere in southern Spain for my Trailer Trash show with the impossibly healthy Helen from Helen’s European Journey.

This was followed by another Dutch gig at Adventures in Expatland with the blogger with the big heart. She entertained us with Pansies Oh So Successfully Perked.

Safe on home soil saw me facing the questions again from the lovely Natalie at the top notch Turkish Travel Blog.

Last and certainly not least, my final interrogation was by Roving Jay on the Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide. Jay pins me down with questions about Bodrum.

Thank you to one and all, for letting me loose on your blogs, for the Facebook posts and likes, stumbles, tweets, retweets and mentions. Your support is heart-warming. Thank you also to those who followed me around my virtual world. Now the fun really starts…

By the way, would you like to buy my book?

Jail Bait

In December 2010, Perking the Pansies was blocked by the Turkish internet police. I threw a hissy fit at the prospect of a firm hand on my door knob, a frisk by a frisky conscript and instant deportation. It all turned out to be a storm in a çay cup. Tens of thousands of Google blogs were instantly blacked out because they all shared the same IP address with a couple of Turkish websites that were infringing copyright law (laughable when you think that Turkey is flooded with counterfeit goods). As a result, my inconsequential ramblings were simply caught up in lazy censorship – the scatter gun approach punished the innocent and the guilty alike. My blog became, as the Americans say, ‘collateral damage‘. I had to shut up shop at Google and move lock, stock and barrel to new premises at Word Press.

Well, bugger me. It’s happened again. This time, the idiotic censors have targeted my personal website, jackscott.info, which I use to promote my book. I’d like to make some PR capital out of this by claiming anti-gay discrimination but, alas, I can’t. The circumstances are exactly as before. This time, it seems porn and gambling sites were targeted. I found one site sharing my IP address called Jail Bait; sounds like a particularly nasty little corner of the web. Ban illegal sites by all means but it can’t be beyond the wit of these petty bureaucrats to deal with offenders individually, instead of pulling the plug on thousands of innocent sites just because it’s easier.

I’m pleased to write that the problem has now been resolved by changing my IP address with my domain registrar. What a palavar.

9781904881643-Perking the Pansies COVER.inddThe good people at the Book Depository will now deliver Perking the Pansies free of charge to about 120 countries and territories across the world from Australia and Andorra to Vanuatu and Vietnam. Isn’t that nice of them? Ironically, the free deal doesn’t cover Turkey.

Far from the Madding Crowd

The whirlwind virtual world book tour has reached its final destination back in old Bodrum Town. The imaginary train has pulled into the non-existent station. I’m knackered. My final gig is at Roving Jay’s Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide.

Regular viewers will remember that Jay was an early reviewer of my book and called it:

A Post-coital Embrace that Lingers ’til Dawn.”

It’s a steamy critique and still my favourite.

Jay pumped me on the Roving Sofa with a quick fire round about Bodrum.

“My vision of hell is being squeezed onto a commercial party boat like the Victoria Line during the rush hour with a bunch of orange-faced holidaying strangers and brats in baseball caps. We select our boat trips carefully – usually with a handful of hand-picked gals and pals. My advice is get your own group together, find a smaller craft and talk to the captain about what floats your boat. Most owners are amenable to any reasonable request and open to negotiation on the price. We’ve cruised from Yalikavak, Bitez and Bodrum; another great way to get away from the madding crowd.” More…

Our Man in Ankara

The British Embassy has just issued an update about the new Turkish health insurance regulations in relation to British emigreys. Essentially, we don’t have to join the scheme if we don’t want to. A storm in a çay cup?

Greats of Great Britain

Old pal Philip and his partner David are cheesemongers in St Margarets, Southwest London, just across Old Father Thames from Richmond. Their pongy shop is called Yellowwedge Cheese and it’s weathering the recessionary storm remarkably well considering. If you’re in the area pop in and sample their smelly wares. Philip also writes an excellent food blog called What’s for Tea Tonight, Dear?

Yellowwedge was voted best new retailer at the British Cheese Awards 2008, named in The Times Top 10 cheese shops in Britain for 2010 and 2011, and listed in the top 5 cheese shops in Britain in 2011 by lovefood.com. Gongs are good. It’s a great way to raise the profile and earn a wedge. Now they’ve entered their cheese emporium into the Great Exhibition Awards with Greats of Great Britain. They need all the votes they can get so why not do them a small favour?

Need persuasion? Maybe this will convince you:

Health Warning

I’m happy to report that it seems our man in Ankara has stepped up to the plate about the mandatory health insurance scheme for expats. Candid conversations in the corridors of power have resulted in a postponement of the scheme for the time being. According to the Voices Newspaper, we can all expect an official letter in the post (my face is straight as I type) about the scheme after which we will have a month to register. Panic over.

There are still a few other issues to work though like what residents who aren’t really residents because they actually reside in Blighty are to do, whether people with private health insurance can opt out and whether those who are retired (according to their permits) are exempt. The last is the most interesting point as I suspect most emigreys here are registered as retired regardless of their age (I know we are). It’ll all come out in the wash in the end.

Lights, Camera, Action

The Pictures Just Got Smaller

I’ve been a big fan of the Turkish Travel Blog for quite a while. Natalie works bloody hard to bring her readers the best that the Aegean and Mediterranean coasts of Turkey have to offer. Natalie travels extensively to give a personal touch to her posts. Believe me, this isn’t true of some travel sites which can be based on (sometimes inaccurate) second and third hand experiences. Been there, done that? Natalie has. She bought the T-shirt.

Natalie interviewed me as part of the book tour. It’s my fourth interview and makes me feel like a renascent Hollywood star of yesteryear doing the studio rounds to promote my latest must-see comeback flick. I’m ready for my close up, Mr DeMille (the oft misquoted line from Sunset Boulevard).

Check out my chat with Nat.