Riots in London

London’s Burning

London’s burning and the rising anger felt by most about the three nights of viral riots that escalated across the Capital and other major British cities is understandable. It’s easy to take a lock ‘em up and throw away the key attitude to those stupid people binging on recreational looting and casual arson. Even a bleeding heart pinko liberal like me feels a sense of revulsion when witnessing inner city hoodies in designer trainers, wielding iron bars and Blackberries and rampaging through the streets. I’ve read calls for social networks like Twitter and Facebook to be closed down as if this was the problem. It isn’t. I’ve heard people ask ‘Where are the water cannons?’ There aren’t any. I’ve read calls for the army to clear the streets. I’ve even heard calls for the imposition of martial law. Britain isn’t Syria. However, Britain is France and these riots bear an uncanny resemblance to those that engulfed Paris and other French cities in 2005. Let’s try and keep a sense of proportion. Of course, law and order must be firmly restored but then we need to examine the why. Is this a case of sub-class, out of control feral kids with little care for their families or communities? Or is it a case of a lost-generation, disenfranchised youth with few prospects and a bleak future? Like most things the truth lies somewhere in between.

Also:

Their Daily Bread

Defiant Blighty

How Do You Solve a Problem like Marie?

I don’t normally do the cute dog thing. I leave that to the legion of emigreys who frantically fret about the welfare of street animals. The trouble is that my friend and fellow semigrey Marie is in a bit of a pickle. Marie has a dog called Harry. Allegedly, happy Harry’s an ardent Arsenal fan. He’s got the dog collar to prove it. I say allegedly because I’ve seen plenty of dogs watching the footie but not one from the canine variety. However, I’m content to be challenged on this point since I could write everything I know about the beautiful game on the back of an envelope. I digress. Harry’s not why Marie’s in a pickle.

Help me

One of the street dogs Marie occasionally feeds turned up at her door up the duff and she’s been left holding the babies, all eight of them. To add insult to injury their mother hasn’t the strength to nurse her pups and Marie has resorted to hand-rearing and intensive care. Some hard-hearted idiots have suggested she should just let them die, particularly the two little bitches as it will cost to have them spayed. Girls will be sluts and they’ll bring more trouble to your door. Marie won’t do this. ‘This isn’t India,’ she says. However, Marie’s in imminent danger of becoming a crazy dog lady, surrounded by poo and a pack of pups that’s turning her fine Gümüslük pile into makeshift kennels. She needs help and needs it fast. Can you solve a problem like Marie?

If you can please email Marie on mtcoggin@prospermarketing.co.uk

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Baby, It’s Hot Inside

What is the greatest invention of all time, I wonder? Might it be the steam engine that drove the industrial revolution and the age of mass transportation or the printing press that spread the word to the people? Perhaps it’s the pill that liberated woman from the servitude of incessant child-bearing or the chance discovery of antibiotics that began the age of health and longevity (in the West, that is)? Lee Kuan Yew, the man who ruled Singapore for three decades, is reported to have claimed it was air-conditioning. Without it, he said, body-sapping Singapore could never have developed into the modern, dynamic, thriving city state it is today. Given our recent exposure to a life in sweat pants, I tend to agree.

 

The Good Samaritan

Liam had popped out to the cashpoint to withdraw the rent money. While he was gone Beril, our neighbour, ran into our shared garden shouting for help. I leapt from the radiating sofa, slipped on my flip flops, followed her out of the gate and along the narrow lane that runs along the side of our cottage. Beril led me through the large ornamental gate that lead to Sofiya’s courtyard. I found pedigreed Sofiya heaped in a flower bed. Her knees were blackened and bloodied, her white delicate cotton dress crumpled and muddied. Her grimaced face gave the pain away. I examined her wounds. Fortunately, they seemed no more than a graze and she was able to move her legs.

I galloped back down the lane, through our gate and back into the house. I nearly tripped myself on my wobbly, flopping footwear. I quickly washed my hands then returned with antiseptic cream, kitchen towel, large plaster dressings, paracetamol and water. I gently washed Sofiya’s wounds with the towel soaked in bottled water, unscrewed the cap of the cream and dabbed the ointment onto the cuts. She winced a little but otherwise seemed calmed by my attention. We gently lifted her from the bedding and Beril helped place Sofiya’s arm over my shoulder. I held her firmly round the waist as she hobbled across the garden to the ramshackle conservatory. I gently lowered onto a floral sofa and went in search of the kitchen. Beril followed behind. I located the fridge, opened up the freezer compartment and removed a tray of ice. Beril immediately understood my intention and hunted around the busy kitchen for a plastic bag. She found one wedged at the back of a deep pan drawer. We filled the bag with ice and returned to the patient. Beril placed the cold press against Sofiya’s knees.

‘You must be careful. One fall might carry you off,’ I said.

‘Me, darling? No, I’m invincible.’

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It’s a Bug’s Life

Now we’ve moved to the gaudy lights of Bodrum Town we no longer hear the rhythmic call of crickets that rocked us gently to sleep but are mercifully spared the worst ravages of the squadrons of ravenous mosquitos that disturbed our slumber. Mother Nature’s splendid beasts are a wonder to behold, even the bug variety (except cockroaches which are an abomination).

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I should add I don’t extend my wonderment to the glory of nature to the army of tiny brown ants that I found marching across our kitchen work surface. Dousing them in bleach soon dealt with that little problem.

If you like bug tales, you’ll love Bugs

Welcome to Pansyland

I completed the Ultimate Blog Challenge which was to post every day during July. I blog daily anyway so it wasn’t much of a challenge to be honest. Well done to everyone who participated. A pat on the back from Jack to one and all. I came across a couple of interesting sites and may have picked up a few extra pansy fans along the way. It’s difficult to be certain about numbers as my posts on Amy Winehouse and Gay Marriage sent my hits through the roof – 4,500 for these two posts alone. The Amy Winehouse piece was so successful that I’m thinking of concentrating on obituaries from now on and will be scouring the pages of the London Times for the recently deceased. The posts also attracted some great comments. However, there was one that I didn’t publish. Some sicko wrote something truly vile about Ms Winehouse. I trashed it. I can do that. It’s my site. Hopefully one or two of these  pansy novices liked what they read and will come back for more. Not the sicko, though. He’s not welcome in Pansyland.

Rest in Peace

Amy Winehouse RIP

Gay Marriage

Gay Marriage in New York

Back, Sack and Crack

Fancy a Trim?

One advantage of living in hair dryer heat is rapidly dried laundry. Our smalls that are strung low so as to not offend our neighbours are dried in a flash, sheets flap gently to an instant arid crispness and towels desiccate in a jiffy. Direct sun is not required as a breezy Turkey in August is like an open air tumble dryer. Not that there is much washing to dry since we  wander round in only loose cotton shorts in a vain attempt to avoid a nasty rash in our sweaty nether regions. Perhaps we should emulate the locals by getting a back, sack and crack wax. I wonder if our local barber would oblige?

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Something for the Weekend, Sir?

Because I’m Worth It

Little Drummer Boy

August this year is the month of Ramazan, the Islamic month of fasting. Many Turkish visitors have returned home to be replaced by pallid-skinned north Europeans and their summer break sprogs. Pious Moslems are not meant to eat, drink or indulge their vices between sunrise and sunset.

Ramazan commemorates the time when the first verses of the Koran were revealed to Mohammed. This period of self-denial is intended to teach Muslims about patience, spirituality, humility and submissiveness to God. It’s not dissimilar to the Christian Lent which commemorates Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness and his temptation by Satan. The purpose of Lent is to prepare the believer, through prayer, repentance, alms giving and self-denial, for the annual rite of Easter and the ultimate sacrifice.

As with last year, I’ve noticed little obvious religious observance around us. However, that doesn’t stop our sleep being disrupted by the Ramazan drummer boy who performs throughout the old town each morning at 4am. This time honoured tradition is intended to wake the Faithful so that they can fill their bellies before daybreak. What a racket. Has nobody heard of alarm clocks in this day and age? Apparently the tradition is banned in much of Turkey but then so is the ritual slaughter of sheep by the untrained during Kurban Bayram (the feast of sacrifice), talking on mobile phones while driving and not paying staff until the end of the season.

Turkey’s Top Military Leaders Resign

I read that the Turkish top brass have resigned en-masse. Is this a sign that the days of military coups are over or an indication of trouble to come? In a mature democracy elected leaders appoint the military leaders not the other way round. The New York Times has published a piece on this unprecedented event. The article itself is well balanced as would be expected from a well respected newspaper. However, the comments from some of the readers show a staggering level of ignorance.

Also from across the pond, An American think tank, the University of New York Centre for Global Affairs, has just published a report of its predictions for Turkey’s political situation by 2020. They see three possible scenarios emerging:

Scenario One – Illiberal Islamism

The Justice and Development Party (AKP) consolidates its power by capitalizing on the weakness of the secularist opposition, responding to the demands of the conservative urban lower-middle class, and building an alliance with the Islamist Felicity Party (SP). By 2020, Sunni Islam is the most powerful force in domestic and foreign policy, to the exclusion of minority views.

Scenario Two – Illiberal Secularism

The AKP faces socio-economic challenges, increasing resistance to its Islamist tendencies, and a deteriorating security situation. This creates an opportunity for the Republican People’s Party (CHP) to come to power, with the support of the military and the National Movement Party (MHP). The new coalition espouses a strong, secure, and secular Turkey. In pursuing these goals, however, it tends toward authoritarianism.

Scenario Three – Political Pluralism

The AKP loses support when it fails to mitigate Turkey’s socio-economic problems. Dissatisfaction prompts civil society and political parties to begin coalescing around new approaches to the economy, corruption, regional development, and governance. Politics becomes more competitive, forcing parties to compromise in order to build governing coalitions, and the polarization between secularist and Islamist forces gives way to pragmatism.

Their analysis, it seems, is that Turkey may slide towards religious authoritarianism or secular repression or become more democratically progressive. Talk about covering all the bases. I’m no political pundit but really, I could have come up with this myself on the back of a fag packet. To think people pay good money for this. I’m in the wrong game. Should we be worried? Don’t ask me.

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Turkish Election Result

Be Care What You Wish For

Health and Efficiency

Our neighbours decided on a three week trip to Ankara to visit their families for Ramazan. Apparently, Beril’s mother has been rather ill of late and that’s what all the rows have been about. Despite the heated cabaret they are engaging neighbours and nothing is too much trouble. Though, I must confess I’m rather looking forward to taking sole possession of our shared garden for a while. We celebrated last night by playing music at full volume, walking around naked and indulging in a little al fresco fun reminiscent of my youthful dalliances along Putney Tow Path.