Not visibly black any more, he had become extremely white.
Not overtly masculine, his sexuality was ambivalent.

He was never adult but he was no longer a child. He never had a childhood.

He was worth a fortune but had no money.

Jackson although always surrounded by people, was alone.

Michael Jackson was the great in-betweener.

Jackson was a terrific dancer who perfected the spin, the moon walk and the groin clutch. His was a perfect pop voice. On stage no one was more electric. But it was the combination of these gifts that made him a genius. No one else could reach the same levels of performance across this spectrum of ability.

His was a life that reminded me of an old folk saying that my grand parents often repeated, “you can’t have it all!’ Blessed with extraordinary talent to entertain, Michael Jackson was clearly miserable except when he was on stage. His life and memory are soiled by his dangerous addictions and many problems, both physical and mental. He was a prescription drug addict, and he couldn’t leave little boys alone. I am not in a position to know what he did or wanted to do with those boys, and now isn’t the time to further sully his reputation when he isn’t here to defend himself.

Last night there was a black music award ceremony in Los Angeles at which his sister, Janet paid Michael a moving tribute. Prior to the show, which turned into a tribute to the life of Michael, there was a revealing interview with Joe Jackson, Michael’s father. It was more like a gimlet eyed strategic business opportunity review. Although he mentioned his grief and was clearly stunned, he talked more about his son as a huge commercial proposition than how he loved him. For, above all, Michael Jackson was a meal ticket and has been so since he was a tiny boy and remains so now that he’s dead. I will remember him not for his genius, although he was a truly great entertainer, but as a poor lost boy.

I took the decision to do so, after carefully considering the alternatives. I could wait for others to review my book, but then I have no way of knowing what they might write as I don’t know them, nor do I know if they’ve even bothered to read the book. I have the advantage of knowing the material and the author with great intimacy.

First the obvious blurb which reads as follows;

The Who were at their peak in the 1970s. Few other bands in the world could touch them. But time was running out for the classic line-up and by 1979 drummer Keith Moon was dead of a prescription drug overdose. The documentary film The Kids Are Alright captured the band in their glory and producer Tony Klinger followed them in their last days of that amazing first line-up and recorded every moment in his diary. Now he tells the dramatic story in The Twilight of the Gods.

The movie showed the band as they had never been seen before, uncovering archive footage and live performances that many had thought lost. The band also played exclusively for the movie, but Keith Moon didn’t even live to see the completion of the project. Tony Klinger recounts the gripping story of filming the last ever concert the band played with Moon, plus the realities of making a film with the most unpredictable and incendiary live act on the planet.

The Who redefined rock music and have continued to inspire their fans right up to the present day. Yet these last, dramatic days with Keith Moon remain a fascinating focus to understand exactly what made the band so powerful and Tony Klinger was there for each incredible shot.

About the Author

Tony was born in London. At school he won prizes for his writing and with some friends ran a successful underground school magazine. By 18 Tony was making films that received wide public distribution. Tony lectures at universities, makes films and writes. Over a distinguished career Tony headed several media companies both in the UK and USA. He has made more than 500 media productions of all types. He ran film production courses at the Northern and Bournemouth Film Schools and was director of the Media Production Centre at the University of East London.

Perhaps I should simply leave it at that but that wouldn’t add anything much to what this book feels like nor why I wrote it.

So, some questions and answers.

Q. Why write this book now?

A. I wrote the first draft pretty much straight after it happened but I didn’t want it to feel like it was written in anger or to seek a quick profit. So I waited an entire generation so that the story would be objective as well as rich with anecdotes and laughs and sober reflection.

Q. Why did you publish with John Blake Publishing?

A. They were the only people I showed the book to. John was familiar with the background and the Who. He was a journalist who knew about rock and roll. He also knew my film and, of course, he publishes some great titles in this kind of area.

Q. Are you happy with the way Twilight of the Gods turned out?

A. Thrilled!

Q. No reservations?

A. Well nothing is perfect and no amount of drafting and re-drafting will ever get it to that state. I have told the truth and where I thought a fact was too hurtful I have edited myself. Maybe I have been a bit too kind with some of that, but then again, I want to be a human being and if that means not taking the easy shot at a vulnerable target I’ll live with that.

Q. Are you a fan of the Who?

A. Of their music, yes.

Q. Not the people themselves?

A. Well, like everyone else, they have good and not so good parts to them. Overall I am so grateful to have made the film and worked with them, but I can’t pretend that everything was wonderful all the time between us.

Q. Like what?

A. You’ll have to read the book.

Prior to the recent economic collapse the UK’s creative sector was growing at twice the pace of the rest of the economy. Most likely, certain sections of this part of the economy, both in the UK and USA will continue to enjoy disproportionate success. The reason for this long held belief is simple, when we, as a people are miserable we turn to entertainment to keep us happy.

The creative sector is no longer a poor relation of bigger, more responsible, senior sectors of industry. We are it! We have arrived. We are bigger than cars, steel and almost any other sector. We are now the big boys of future growth in the UK.

In London, one of the world cities, we are over 10% of the entire economic scene, with a worth measured in billions, and employ several hundred thousand people. Even companies like BT consider themselves part of this phenomenon. I met their Chief Executive and he told me that he feels he is the head of an entertainment company and that communications were what he would one day soon have to provide for free.

It’s only natural that young people want to join this vibrant sector, want to learn about it, and then inhabit it for the rest of their careers. Culture informs our lives, and feeds into every aspect of them. Virtually every young person in the developed economies owns a mobile phone, an MP3 player, a games console, a TV a DVD player and, of course, a computer. Through all of them pours interactive creative output in an unending stream. Today’s task is not to discuss the reason for this personalized electronic infusion but to understand the young consumers.

I am a passionate devotee of the creative arts. We are all the better for the creation, viewing and appreciation of them in all their forms. I am of the view that people blessed with creative abilities, drive, appreciation and instinct are a force for good in our world. I have spent my life writing and making films of all types and teaching others how best to do so themselves.

I want to debate how we can best share the creative instinct within an academic context reinforced within a religious or moral construct. Of course all rules are best exemplified by a story to demonstrate the point, and it is said that Adolf Hitler was appreciative of the arts. As the zany Nazi German New York character in Mel Brooks “The Producers” describes the difference between Hitler and Churchill and their artistic abilities thus, “Churchill, you call him a painter, Hitler he was a painter, he could paint an entire room, two coats, one afternoon!”

Two years ago I was walking through the campus of an FE College, which I then served as a part time lecturer. My academic background to that point was exclusively within Higher Education. I have also been a film- maker and writer and toiled in the corporate world. I have worked occasionally with the OUVS (Open University Validation Service) in various guises and traveled the world extensively as a filmmaker, writer and educator.

I was now going to lecture to various FE (Further Education) media classes. I had just agreed to do some work with the OCR (Oxford and Cambridge Review Board) and I thought it would benefit me to learn from teaching at younger levels, between Year 11 GCSE groups on through BTEC’s, National Awards, National Diplomas and Foundation Degrees.

I also thought it might be fun but I soon realized that previously I had been spoiled, having led the film production courses at the Bournemouth and Northern Film Schools. There we had our pick of the best and the brightest, amongst the most motivated and able film and media production students in the world. Thereafter I directed the behemoth Media Production Centre at the University of East London, servicing the media needs of thousands from within my beautiful air conditioned office where I could muse on the finer points of media and creative teaching whilst looking on the changing moods of the River Thames. Now I trudged across a very different vista, the mud-splattered college, more of a building site than a cloistered hall of academe.

The FE students looked more bovine than eager. They dripped social worker from their knuckles, which dragged alarmingly close to the floor. They smoked even though this was prohibited, they swore, even though this was not permitted, they spat on the floor, despite this being both foul and a health hazard. They had very little to recommend them. To paraphrase a Winston Churchill quote, “They have all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.”

There is a difference between right and wrong. One of the places these values must now be taught is our place of learning. This is considered controversial, but one wonders why. I imagine it wouldn’t even be a subject for discussion if families had succeeded in inculcating a responsible attitude into the young.

I come from an interventionist, muscular Judeo Christian left of centre background. I use my heart and brain to combat ignorance since otherwise it grows and morphs into hate, prejudice and victimization.

In education you must seek to teach the whole person, not just the subject on the curriculum. You should try and create a moral geography for them to explore. We might well not always do what’s right, the Lord alone knows how very weak I am, but at least we should try and understand the differences between right and wrong. This belief system dictates that you don’t walk past the unacceptable but make your objection known. I stopped a young man who spat on the ground and told him that this was a disgusting and unacceptable way to behave, as it was both unhealthy to others and made him look silly. There was a moment when he considered doing something nasty to me but then he relented, smiled and apologized, his friends took note. A very small victory, but nevertheless I was reinforced in the view that you stop aberrant behavior immediately or not at all.

I was not shocked, or even moderately surprised that the attendance at my first lecture was low, and many students rolled in late, listening to their MP3 players, talking on their mobile phones or to each other. I was disappointed, and frankly quite insulted. In the armed services you salute the badge, not the man. Your position as a teacher warrants common courtesy. But how do you set about achieving this?

I formed the view that before one can coherently teach such a group you have to create a moral topography, setting out the parameters, the borders of acceptable behavior. I talked to my peers. Most of them were bowed by the weight of trying and failing over a long period, to work within systems that creaked with inadequacies.

I come from a film making background where punctuality, attendance, honesty and top performance are demanded all the time. These would be my building blocks. My message being that if you didn’t meet these simple media demands you were not worthy to study these subjects. Luckily for me, there were two other lecturers with similar views, one a born again Christian; although our observances were different our values are similar. The other person who joined our informal, ad hoc group of like-minded souls was a Moslem young woman. A strange team indeed, heard the one about the Jewish middle-aged man, the young Greek Cypriot born again Christian woman and the Islamic girl whose family came from Sri Lanka. But we shared a desire for “old fashioned” or core values.

We shared some similar rules, and these were simple and straightforward. No lateness would be tolerated, no swearing, no MP3’s or mobile phones and no gossiping in class. Non-attendance without an accepted reason had to end. Work not handed in on time would fail that unit. We all felt that we needed to weed out those students who were simply in the wrong place studying the wrong course and remove others from the student number who saw media study as a soft option, and this was quickly achieved. The results for the vast bulk that remained with us were astonishing and positive. I shall cite some of these a bit later. Most interesting and rewarding for me was the fact that the 20% or so of my students who wanted media jobs when I started to teach them had grown to more than 80% by the time I left the college.

There are many ways in which we pass on knowledge. The British convention is that we generally break this down into two main areas, theory and practice, we label the latter, vocational, and there is a definite diminutive contained in the word, vocational. It is as if those who go on to practice are somehow the intellectual inferior of those that study and theorise on that practice; but we are left asking how there will be something to deconstruct if no one is there to facilitate the construct. There has also long been a separation of these so that they now form a divide, more like a chasm within our academic institutions. These are characterised by many as follows, if we are from the Russell Group or its devotees, we are more pure than the driven academic snow, and we, naturally assume the languid air of Oxbridge and try to turn the study of the arts into a purely theoretical, deconstructive construct. If we have our origins within the old Polytechnics the likelihood is that we are supposed to have swallowed the opposite view, we only teach button pushers so that they can go and get a job in media.

My contention is that we should be striving to do the exact opposite. We must seek to use the teaching of the creative arts to help students explore the possibilities and thinking this space allows them to study and understand, morally and within a social context, the complexities of humanity.

Those six months saw me striving to do this within the local FE College. I had, with some success, explored similar ideas at HE, in institutions known more for their practical abilities to teach the best young talent how to produce media rather than how to read that media.

I believe it is of even more importance to explore at all available levels, our place within the universal issues, such as racism and morality. It is not enough to teach how students can best produce creative media unless they have some understanding of why they should do so other than to purely entertain and how such creative output can be used to affect themselves and the society they inhabit.

This supposed divide between the how and the why has its equivalence in Germany. I had just returned from Berlin where one of my hosts from the Ministry of Culture was of mixed German and Jewish parentage. I asked her if she therefore had a terrific ability to tell jokes from her Jewish side but an inability to understand them being half German? I felt enabled to make this statement as my family is Jewish and had spent a great many years in Germany.

What does all traditional religion or reasonable humanist code of behaviour tell us? That there have to be moral parameters, there is a difference between right and wrong, and some form of deity or group ideology to judge our actions.

At the college these articles of faith had, or were all breaking down. It was accepted, for the sake of a quiet life, when a student swore in class, or spat on the floor outside, or smoked in a non-smoking area, or was not punctual, or simply did what they wanted to do. I had never seen anything like it and, I suspect, this is the underbelly that we all want to disappear, or sweep under the collective carpet.

There is a contradiction in the British FE and HE systems and how the funding systems work. The UK had not suffered from a lack of general funding for more than a decade. In fact it has been awash with certain types of money. It’s what kind of money, applied how, that has been, and remains the problem. I have visited, worked at or examined at many institutions in this country and there are new buildings going up, or recently constructed everywhere. These capital projects cost billions of pounds. We have seen waves of expenditure follow the growth of the HE sector from an historic 4% of the requisite population when I was a youth, to a figure more than ten times that number now. What doesn’t track is the revenue spending to go along with it. Therefore we have built a great many new buildings, fill them with fantastic hardware but are hard pushed to staff it strategically as we would like or use the correct software. This was exacerbated by rather too much focus on and value of Research and arcane, systems of evaluation that have not, sometimes delivered as they might.

This resulted in strange anomalies. My department in UEL was top rated for research. It also had a stellar publication record. Nevertheless many of its students were not vocationally taught to a sufficient level. We constructed a magnificent Docklands campus where we were great in certain disciplines, but lacked such excellence alarmingly in others. We could recruit from around the world but our retention rates were alarmingly poor. Of course, this is part of a bigger picture of many such institutions with similar problems and we’re not here to deal with those here other than to state that there is an obvious, urgent and long term need for universities to be dealing with these problems at a local and not national area.

The English higher education system in general rewards form filling, target achievement, throughput and exit velocity more than it does excellence. Some beacons of old fashioned teaching are still getting it right, about twenty of our universities is my estimate. These exemplify how the system could work in general for this country, if there were the will and standards. These institutions make certain that rigorous academic standards are maintained. I am convinced that their doing so has largely ensured that they continue to secure large amounts of additional funding, and the maintenance of this gold standard of quality has meant they all recruit well. That is at the macro level, whereas most of us spend the majority of our time working daily within the micro level.

We can only expect to overcome the bigger problems by starting at the ground floor and building on those foundations. The one thing the failed central command economies of the past century have taught us is that top down philosophies in big institutions like education simply does not work. An example of how wrong this is all going is that the system is simply dysfunctional. What is required is either not possible or cannot be achieved.

For example at the FE College the college expected me, like all their lecturers, to prepare a lesson plan broken down into twenty-minute sections, even if the lesson was three hours long, and this had to be validated, in detail for every student. There also had to be an Assignment Brief and this had to be validated, in detail. This had to fit within a Scheme of Work, and this had to be validated, in detail. I could go on but I think you get the picture. Added to this was when I was faced with a student with any learning difficulties I was to give up to half my lesson time to that student exclusively. I asked whether, if I had two such students I would then have no time for anyone else.

I will never forget my first lessons at the college. I set about trying to find out more about the students, their levels of knowledge and interests. I discovered a great divide between their ideas of what creative arts are, and what their place within them could be. There was an appreciation, an enjoyment of movies, music and some television, but not for much more than sheer visceral pleasure. There was no understanding of why they liked something, no deeper grasp of what an artist might be trying to say, or why. No inkling that they were participating in an ongoing creative interaction that affected every aspects of their lifestyles.

I set about my bridge building by giving the students a few simple tests on the subjects at hand and their scores averaged well below 40%, which was simply not an acceptable base level. I also asked them about themselves and what they thought was the purpose of the creative industries, most specifically with regards to TV, newspapers, radio and advertising. Their responses indicated that they had never been asked to seriously consider such subjects although all of these issues should have been at the core of their courses. Most disturbing to me, when I asked them about their take on conspiracy theories there was a general consensus that 9/11 was an American fabrication and the moon landings were faked. Conversely the same students believed there had been Alien abductions and UFO sightings were definitely real. I asked all of them for any proof of any of these statements and all pointed to me to the “net”. What they meant was that their had been videos posted on You Tube etc. which made such claims, and this being their source, it was believed. Not only was there no rigor, there was little self-discipline, no understanding of gathering evidence to support any argument. When I asked one of the students why she believed in the crop circles and not the existence of man’s landings on the moon she told me that her dad had told her about the former, and he knew about these things, and she’d seen a part of documentary on You Tube which said that the Americans fakes the landings, and you could tell by the fact that their flag was “mistakenly” taut, when, in fact there was no air to blow it in that direction on the moon. I pointed out that this was not a mistake and that NASA had prepared the flag to look good in zero atmospheres. Why would students of any level ignore the evidence provided by regular media but accept unknown sources, or electronic gossip, buzz marketing and simple anonymous malice. The reason is that people are unable to differentiate between the sheer proliferations of sources pouring toward them in an unending torrent. What looks good, panders to baser instincts, looks cool and entertains is often given greater credence than formal, forensic evidence, if the latter is perceived as boring.

My recent direct experience touches on various FE levels of study I was teaching. Elements in which these students were particularly weak were Key Skills, particularly writing ability, research and anything theoretical. Therefore whatever else we did regarding the moral questions had to include communication in writing that I would reinforce by creating a vigorous verbal debating group. It was essential that we used popular language rather than the language of film, media or communication, the subjects I was covering, to enable this process. We wanted to make complex thought processes as accessible as possible, as easily as we could.

Apart from all the reasons I have touched upon earlier I was very disturbed to witness various forms of overt and covert racism between the students. Therefore there were reasons beyond the theoretical for me to address these issues. I used very simple systems to explore these ideas in class and they centered on our classes watching films, which we then debated and they then wrote about. I picked films that examined important social issues and did so dramatically. The films were, “This is England” and “La Haine” about racism in England and France, “Pierpont” regarding capital punishment and “We Were Soldiers” touching on heroism of different types and patriotism. All touched on the human condition and dispensed with stereotypes. As each film was playing I would write headings for them to include in their essays. The idea being to stimulate thought regarding issues that touch all our lives and to make the students aware of themselves within the larger society. By picking films from three countries we were immediately able to dispense with racial stereotypes about the French, Americans, Arabs, Jews, Vietnamese and others. It opened the student eyes regarding violence, capital punishment, sexual politics and the differences between people being less important than that which they have in common.

Although I cannot claim to have created or discovered forensic evidence with regards to the impact that this and other initiatives had on these students we can at a base level inform you that the students themselves believe it has changed their perceptions. Our attendance, punctuality and achievement results all became exemplars. After shaking out some students, who perhaps, in retrospect should not have been there in the first place, we achieved near 100% attendance and punctuality and delivery of on-time work. The results were about 20% higher than those previously achieved. The students told me they had never been happier, and this, for me, was perhaps the biggest reward. They now clearly understood the purpose of their course of study and what they should be gaining from it.

It is past time for our educational authorities to realize that their responsibilities stretch beyond successful recruitment.

The major film compositions of his career were the David Lean films he created the music for. Amongst his master works was the wonderful Lawrence of Arabia the poignant and unforgettable Doctor Zhivago, who can forget the haunting “Lara’s Theme?” and Passage to India. He went on to score films, such as “Ghost”, “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome”, “Fatal Attraction”, “The Longest Day” and many others.

He also wrote the music for more than 150 films, and included amongst these was a film I Line Produced, Shout at the Devil, which starred Lee Marvin and Roger Moore.

I remember the first days of the recording sessions at De Lane Lea studios in Wembley, London, for several good reasons. First amongst these was the strange behavior of the film director, the late Peter Hunt. As was customary on the first day of a new major film music recording the studio boss invited the film and music honchos to a set lunch in his very luxurious boardroom. Peter told me that he had a previous appointment and wouldn’t be able to attend and asked me to forward his apologies to the studio boss. I did so. It would be nearly 25 years before I saw Peter Hunt again. I later found out that he had gone to Rome to interview for a directing job for Carlo Ponti, the Italian producer husband of the wonderful Sophia Loren, and decided to never return.

Ponti then telephoned me for a private reference for Mister Hunt, and I refused to make any comment, to which Carlo said, “You have told me everything I need to know!” He never employed Peter.
Back to Maurice and that first day of our sessions. As usual our music fixer was the extremely experienced and knowledgeable Jack Fishman, and present was an entire symphony orchestra of British session musicians, amongst the best in the world. I looked from our glass booth down onto the hundred or so musicians and noticed that there were five grand pianos lined up next to one another. I couldn’t understand the need for any more than the normal complement of the single grand piano so asked Jack Fishman why there was a need, on this occasion, for more. He shrugged his expressive and world weary shoulders and told me; “Maurice feels he needs five, believe me, I had to talk him down from seven or eight!”

I had expressed what others were thinking, as I could see others nodding their heads in agreement. Taking my producer duties seriously I presumed there had to be some kind of mistake and went down to the studio to question the maestro himself. The scene the first piece of music was being recorded for was the approach of the mighty German First World War battleship, the Blucher. Maurice Jarre smiled at my approach, as he interrupted his preparation to conduct the huge orchestra. “There is a problem?” he asked, I told him of my concerns. He shrugged and explained to me that he needed all these pianos to play together, tightly synchronized with the action. He showed us all what he meant as the first music cue appeared on screen. All the pianists hit the same few notes in perfect time with one another. It did sound wonderful, but as I pointed out gently to Maurice, the same effect could easily, and much less expensively, have been achieved by our recording the notes on one piano and duplicating this as many times as he liked thereafter. “But” Maurice insisted, “It certainly would not have the same quality!”

Some times we producers just have to shake our head and withdraw, making sure we learn the lessons, and make sure they don’t happen again.

I hope Maurice has as big an orchestra as he wants, wherever he now resides.

The interviewer / author for the book about Ted is a young journalist from the North of the UK called Laurie Harvey. A charming fellow who asked all the right questions, Laurie made me think about some of those long gone days in Newcastle when that film was made.

I was supposedly passing though the town, at the invite of my dad, whilst making my own film, “Extremes”, with my then business and filmmaking partner, Mike Lytton. We decided we were having way too much fun in Newcastle to bother continuing to our original destination of Glasgow.

Ted Lewis was a very talented novelist, but I remember him as being a bit of a social black hole. He struck me at the time as more than a bit too aggressive, drunk and depressed. I was then a 19 year old and very cocky filmmaker, and was not known for my perception.

Ted seemed an accident waiting to happen. Strangely similar to Keith Moon, the rock band, The Who’s drummer, who I worked with on my later film, “The Kids are Alright”.

On the surface both men appeared to be funny, jolly even, but underneath the veneer were deeply sad and unfulfilled. Laurie Harvey told me that at the very peak of Jack’s success, when he attended the film premiere of “Get Carter” in Newcastle having banked his very large payment for the rights, he had the feeling that life would be downhill from that point onwards. Sadly this proved to be the case. Within just a few years Ted lost his home, family and financial security. By the time he was in his mid thirties he had to return home to live with his mother, bankrupt.

Relatively soon he found another partner and wrote some television scripts for the famous “Z Cars” series but his drinking haunted him and for the last couple of years of his short life he played the piano in pubs in exchange for free drinks.

How many people, rich in talent but poor in luck, have died in poverty or obscurity because of their demons be they drink, drugs or some other addiction most likely born from some insecurity. What a pity when we see so much less of these potentially towering talents.

Ted had that kind of ability and I well remember reading his other books and outlines in the hope that we might find other gems to make more films from, but it was not to be. Perhaps Ted’s best epitaph is the fact that there are two books currently being written about him and the title of the film I am making about my father, has as its working title, “The Man Who Got Carter.”

We shouldn’t forget that because of this decision a small child is forced to remain in an orphanage.

The judge denied Madonna’s bid to adopt the child on the basis that she has not lived in Malawi for the required period of residency, which would mean an 18-month stay. The pop diva will appeal the judge’s decision, but appeared to be shocked by the negative decision, as all the signs were that the adoption was purely a formality.

Judge Esme Chombo quoted G. K. Chesterton. “Don’t ever take a fence down until you know the reason it was put up.” She continued, “Residence denotes some degree of permanence. It does not necessarily mean the applicant has a settled headquarters in this country. It seems dangerous to try and define what is meant by residence. In the present case…Ms. Madonna may not be the only person interested in adopting the so-called poor children of Malawi. By removing the very safeguard that is supposed to protect our children, the courts by their pronouncements could actually facilitate trafficking of children by some unscrupulous individuals who would take advantage of the weakness of the law of the land. “

She concluded, “Anyone could come to Malawi and quickly arrange for an adoption that might have grave consequences on the very children the law seeks to protect.”

The judge has taken a legally correct but strict interpretation of her country’s laws, but there was precious little mention of the unfortunate little girl in the middle of this controversy. The same laws were treated very differently by the judge dealing with Madonna’s adoption of her son David, which took place in 2006.

I am not a fan of Madonna musically or an admirer of her strident, diva type character but she is clearly a far superior hope for the well being of Mercy than life in an orphanage.

In the end, Mercy, a lovely little girl will remain in care in Africa and a willing, rich and loving (if not lovable) mother in America are to be forced to live on separate paths. It’s a pity the courts in Malawi don’t show more mercy to this little girl.

An local man carried a sign outside the courthouse, it read, “Adopt me Madonna” which perfectly summed up the situation!

Don’t ask me how to pronounce the names of anywhere in our northern neighbor. Suffice it to say that the views in this mountainous area are so rich and textured that they fair take your breath away. There’s a softness to the light that you don’t find anywhere else and that complements the color and hue of the rocks, the heather and the bracken. I might live next to a country park but I suppose I’m a suburbanite by upbringing, not having lived in a truly rural setting, but even I can appreciate the luscious settings nature has provided in this gorgeously endowed part of the West Highlands.

From my door to the destination is just about 500 miles, the first four fifths of which I used the motorway system. The drive was easy and without incident, and until you reach England’s Lake District, pretty monotonous. Once there you are reminded of just how pretty the sweep of this part of England is, and how elegantly it juxtaposes itself between England’s northern industrial heartland and the more pastoral lowlands of Scotland. There isn’t, despite devolution, much to indicate you have entered Scotland via Gretna Green after passing Carlisle. There is a simple sign, and the only other indicator is that there seems to be less traffic almost at once.

The road roars through the lowlands past some small towns until you hit places like Hamilton which are effectively part of the metropolitan area surrounding Glasgow. I found this part of the drive very easy in both directions and suffered no hold ups at all as the traffic wasn’t too bad and the roads are good. Very shortly thereafter and you are out the other side of the cityscape and passing the airports on your way north. Very soon you find yourself hard by Loch Lomond, and a prettier scenic road it would be hard to find anywhere in the United Kingdom.

Eventually you leave the highways behind as you enter smaller, even more scenic routes right next to the Loch. This is a drive to savor and appreciate as the views are magnificent and, from a Southern English perspective, they remain strangely unspoilt. There is nothing like the amount of development on the shore line that you would find in any remotely comparable location in England. The buildings are not very attractive and they become less so the further north you travel. Perversely the more historic the building the better the design, with the more recent architecture being, by and large, appalling. I can’t understand how the designers and builders were not inspired to do better by the magnificent natural surroundings.

I had been warned by many friends not to expect too friendly a welcome from the Highland people but everyone we met were warm, hospitable and helpful. In fact it reminded me of how people used to be when I grew up in the more friendly  and caring London of my youth. The food everywhere was fair to good but the prices were very steep. For example, three sandwiches and two cups of tea for £23 (approx. $33) seemed way too much. Every meal was at London prices, and that’s too high when the amenities are not as good and overheads are much lower.

The historic town of Fort William is a major disaster area. I would rate it as Three Crossed Coffins in the Tony Klinger Guide of places to give a wide berth. Parking is not easy, located as it is at the end of the town, and not clearly signposted until you are on top of it. The recession has bitten hard here and many of the shops  operate as charitable concerns. I visited on a Sunday and almost the entire place was closed for business. What does remain open is for the lower end of the market and despite being a willing customer there was absolutely nothing available for me to purchase. I couldn’t even locate a cup of tea and a piece of cake at tea time!

One of the only places open was the Scotland Tourist Office which afforded us the opportunity to find out something about the local attractions in a well appointed environment. The local museum was closed otherwise I would be able to share more of the town’s fascinating history.

Even worse than this is the town of Oban. This was so unattractive a place I drove straight through it and went back in the other direction. Nothing can prepare  you for the sheer unattractiveness of this unsightly place which truly deserves the title, a blot on the landscape.

I also visited the museum in the mountainous region near Glencoe and it was charming and well conceived. However with the rich history of the place they could do well to visit the museum at St. Albans in Hertfordshire, to learn how to improve their offering still further. Nevertheless it is still worth a visit even if the £11 (approx $15) entry fee per adult is too high for what the National Trust of Scotland is providing at this site.

But if you are a walker, naturalist, historian, mountaineer, photographer or simply a collector of beautiful landscapes to hold in your memories, the area around Ballachulish is a must.

When times were fat the studios had their old film libraries valued at huge multiples of the then considerable revenue streams and were consequently able to borrow huge sums of money using this asset as security. But now times are hard and the bankers who did the lending are checking the small print on the loan documents. As a consequence they are having another, closer look at these assets and coming up with very different and difficult conclusions. You see there were conditions attaching to these loans and the most important ones related to earning streams derived from the libraries. The fact is that piracy is taking a major toll now, and its a situation that will only get worse. Just as with the music industry the old days are gone forever and the new financial models are going to be very different. This is made worse by the generally terrible and uncertain economic world of which the media industry is just a small component.

The result of the downwards revaluation is that banks are calling either for the loans to be repaid or more likely for the studios concerned to sell assets to get the original loan back performing at the right rate of leverage. Hence there are elements of a major fire sale beginning in Hollywood. Once prized assets like video retail outlets are now on the block and this will filter down the line and affect all aspects of the media industries.

This has the makings of a very dangerous spiral because it is against a background where national TV broadcasters are also already having to cut back on all areas of production because advertising revenues are still plummeting  and look set to continue downwards.

These things have the habit of becoming a self fulfilling prophecy as job losses increase, salaries are capped or slashed and overheads minimized.

In the end all this blood letting must and will pass as the media machine eventually will realize it simply has to produce a quantity and quality of viewable material for audiences to be satisfied. Value and system re-adjustments occur quite regularly in the history of the media sector as the methodology , marketing and output levels are fine tuned to meet the demands of both the audience and finance. There have always been more reasons for the media industry to fail than there were to succeed, but despite this it always re-invents itself and prospers in its new form. The same will happen now even if we don’t know exactly what that form will be.

It is going to be uncomfortable for those working at the middle and upper echelons of the media sector but could prove to be more exciting for the industry’s new recruits since there will be new opportunities in a less centralized economic model as there might be more creative  control coming both from the bottom up and from new sources of finance emanating from new cultural centers.

This was followed on BBC 1 with a program entitled “Nature’s Great Events” in which, again on mainstream TV, at peak viewing time, we were shown the growth of phytoplankton along the coastal waters of Alaska and Canada’s British Columbia. This attracts whales, sea lions and dolphins who enjoy feasting on billions of herring.

Then programed against The Antiques Roadshow, on the BBC’s other main station, BBC2, there was yet another program of a similar nature, “Yellowstone” which showed us the changing seasons in that great park as the new born animals make their way into the light.

I am not seeking to criticize the scheduling of these programs which attests to the fact that the British are both quirky and still see the purpose of their main broadcaster as a force for the betterment of mankind. I had thought it was also to entertain people not seeking to become environmentalists or geographers.

There is something a bit too worthy, patronizing and lofty about this list of programs which tells you much more about the broadcasters than it does about the public. This is a clear example of “we’ll tell you what’s good for you.”

The evidence of this was ably if unintentionally demonstrated by the lovely Kate Humble who was the lead presenter of “The Hottest Place On Earth”. Now I stand behind no man in my admiration for the entirely lovely and bright Kate, who is not only cleverer than almost anyone on the planet, but who also manages to look great whatever her circumstance. Her enthusiasm and sheer Head Girl blond goodness fair oozes out of her every pore.

I am not an anthropologist myself, but like these scientists, and the officers and men of the Starship Enterprise I had always thought that the first rule when you came into contact with a primitive civilization was that you must not interfere with their way of life. The consequences can be horrific.

It was therefore very surprising to note that these rules of engagement were almost immediately broken by Kate and her colleagues. Kate was soon telling the local women that they shouldn’t be letting the men get away with sitting around whilst the women did all the work. No bra burning and a few centuries of women’s liberation via universal suffrage here. It’s straight from the stone age to emancipation in a single leap!

Naturally the local men were soon looking aghast and more than a bit threatening as they heard what Kate was stirring up for them. “Ignore her.” they were soon muttering as they sharpened up some implements of war mentally.

This is everything that is awful about British political correctness come to dreadful life. It is everything as bad as those terrible missionaries arriving a couple of hundred years back in Africa and telling the locals that their culture was wrong because it was different from ours. It appears as if we have not learned any lessons.

I would enjoy a show made by people from some distant land where they did the same in reverse and watch us squirm out of our comfort zone.

It is obvious that there is an audience to watch programs about the wider world from a British perspective, but they should be about the world that exists and not the world we wish to create in our own image.

The path had simply not been properly maintained. Despite our living in an area being prepared for the 2012 Olympics kayak and canoe events the authorities seem to have overlooked the quality of some of their work. This is not a problem unknown elsewhere in this country as the general level of workmanship, previously so high is now lamentably low. There is an obvious solution that used to work in this country and still does in some others, like Germany. It is called an apprenticeship, if young men and women had a proper supervised experience whilst learning their trade the work they produce would be higher quality. It clearly still works in Germany where the general level of building and construction is far better.

Next for a big plus are the British people. We have all heard those awful stories of people walking by when someone is in trouble. That wasn’t our experience. As I tended to my wife several people signaled their readiness to assist. One couple came over. The lady, a teacher, provided water, glucose tablets and a helping hand. Another man came over with wet wipes and offered to run my wife, clearly a bit distressed and in pain, to hospital or wherever we needed to go.

I rushed back to our home to get a car so that Avril didn’t have to walk as she had a badly cut left knee and very bad pain in her right foot. Whilst I was on route another man offered to take her to hospital.

I picked her up and we went to the nearest Accident and Emergency Hospital Unit. Unbelievably it is now in Harlow, a 25 minute drive. I used to joke that if this government continued to rationalize the National Health service we would end up with two gigantic general hospitals just south and north of the middle of the country. It’s getting that way plus a myriad number of specialist hospitals that don’t cater for everyday problems.

Checking into the A&E unit is quite an experience. First, even though it was a Sunday, the parking had to be paid for. It cost us £3 for 6 hours and is, without a doubt a disgrace to the people who had originally created a health service which had as its ethos free at the point of delivery to everyone.

Entering the newly built and part refurbished department your eye is first deceived into believing that all the nightmare anecdotes are unfounded. It looks clean, calm and well ordered, but looks can be misleading. A man in a suit, who we understood to be a doctor saw us and took down some details without bothering to look us in the eye. We were then passed along the line to a receptionist, a perfectly friendly and smiling young lady, who took more details and cross checked these with the hospital data base. We were told to take a seat and we would be called to see a nurse within the hour, and after that, if necessary we would be called to see a doctor, within a further three hours!

There is nothing you can say or do to protest at any of this unless you want security staff to escort you from the place as was the case with a young chap outside who was shouting loudly down his mobile phone for someone from his unfortunate family to “bleeding come and get me!”

We sat down, now hungry, thirsty and fed up. There didn’t seem too many people waiting but perhaps there weren’t many staff on a Sunday. I sneaked a look and there seemed to be an abundance of doctors and nurses, most of them chatting with one another but hey, what do I know? I decided we could employ the time with some refreshment. There is no cafe in this part of the hospital but there are vending machines. We wanted some tea and I duly placed our coins in the machine which dispensed plain boiling water and nothing else. The selection of sandwiches made me think there must be food rationing in this part of Harlow as the choices were awful.

I decided to go and get nourishment from the local shops on foot and this was another mistake. Have you ever tried to walk from Harlow hospital to find a shop that sells food, it was a near impossibility on that Sunday. Two shops had broken freezers and therefore no fresh food and I was reduced to buying chocolate, pre-packed cheese and fizzy drinks.

The common experience with fellow patients and their companions bonded us into groups of disaffected complainers. Most of us were joking but the feeling soon became more depressed and angry as there was no further communication or indication of what was happening from the hospital staff.

After an hour or so a nurse did so my wife and cleaned up her cut and put her into X ray. There they discovered what appeared to be a chipped bone in her foot. She was sent back into a second, interior waiting area, where, with other fellow sufferers we waited for a further three hours. We were amongst many others who took a peek into the casualty treatment areas where the medical staff were clearly in no particular hurry to move through their list of patients. Many of these staff clearly had English as their second language which is fine if they can speak clearly in English. We had the unfortunate experience of nurses coming into the waiting area to call the name of the next patient and no one could understand a word they said.

Our turn came and treatment was dispensed. At the point of delivery the doctor was fine even if his staff were mostly unhelpful and lethargic. The experience was awful and I straw polled all the other people waiting around us and there was not a single person who thought the situation was satisfactory. However most British people are slow to complain and are too shy to do so in front of others.

That is why it was especially galling for a spokesman for the National Health Service to come on TV this morning to try and explain away various gross problems in various hospitals with the lame excuse, “you must understand that the NHS employs upwards of 1.5 million people and there are relatively few complaints when you consider the sheer scope and scale of the organization.” The truth is sir, that you don’t listen. Your service is a disgrace, particularly in light of the fact that billions of pounds of additional taxpayers has been poured into it. Of course there are noble exceptions of fantastic service from outstanding and well motivated staff. But the generality is terrible and if anyone doubts me let them try and get treatment in an average place on a regular day.

Today it is my wife’s fate to go back to the same hospital’s Fracture Clinic for her follow up visit. Her appointment was due nearly two hours ago and she is still not home!