I like to think I know the way to somewhere. Even when I don’t know, I like to pretend that I do. And dare I admit that I’m reluctant to take advice on directions?There is a solution to this quandary. A map!
Wherever I go on holiday I feel the need to have a map. I think it’s to do with being secure, getting my bearings, establishing where I am. Perhaps it’s an ancient call from the hunter-protector within, to ensure that the way ahead avoids points of potential ambush while passing through places of peaceful refuge. I have a whole box full of maps from a lifetime of going places.
Maps are great! They can help you identify remote beaches, rugged coastlines and off-shore islands. Maps are really useful for working out the quickest route to anywhere from somewhere. You can trace the meanderings of rivers, streams and footpaths. You can pinpoint post offices and other timeless features. Most importantly, you can find your way when you are lost.
These days, many of us make use of digital maps and Satnav. But as clever as these things are to get you from A to B, a man with a massive concertina of a physical map in his hand is clearly an explorer, a pioneer, a master of all his eye can see.
Until, of course, it’s foggy. Then, it’s a different story. Suddenly there’s an insecurity, an inability to intuitively know the way; a reluctance to bluff or speculate; a lostness; a longing perhaps for home and safety. A torch might be helpful but we didn’t think to bring that, and anyway, it’s not that much use in fog because there’s too much reflection. What we need at that moment is not a map or a torch, but a compass, to enable us to press on in the right direction.
It’s a relief when the curtain of fog is raised and the sun pierces through. Everything is clearly visible. We know exactly where we are again and we can see where we’re going. No more need to guess or pretend everything’s okay. In the aftermath it’s a small story to tell in the midst of a bigger story of life’s adventure.
For me, God’s word works a bit like a compass, helping me to find my way back home through the fog. Psalm 119:105 in The Message says: By your words I can see where I’m going. They throw a beam of light on my dark path.
Converting a spare space into a home gym? Cooper Mitchell from Garage Gym Reviews has these tips:
1. Flooring
Put your flooring down before your equipment. Equipment is heavy, so you want to make sure you assemble your space first before bringing in your new equipment. There are many different flooring options available for home gyms, but for most, we suggest horse stall mats.
2. Proper storage
You’re working with finite space in a home gym. To maximize the area, we suggest storing as much equipment on the wall as possible. This means buying things like barbell gun racks, plate storage that is screwed into wooden studs, resistance bands and chain holders etc.
3. Buy inexpensive equipment and do your research
Make sure to research what equipment you need and what is best for the goal you have. There are lots of articles online to read through and find the right equipment for you. You don’t need expensive equipment for your home gym. Check second hand marketplaces for the best deals near you. Many people have built their gyms by scouring Facebook Marketplace, Craigslist or even Ebay. You can also try out different equipment and sell the items that don’t work for you, so you are never out of pocket.
4. Get a good sound system
This may seem like a minor detail, but it makes a big difference when it comes to exercising, it motivates you and gets you pumped to work out harder and better.
5. Invest in a mini fridge
Have a refrigerator in your gym so that cold protein shakes and drinks are always available, especially water! Mini fridges do not have to be expensive, and they are the perfect size to have placed in your home gym. Again, you could check second hand marketplaces near you to find inexpensive deals on mini fridges.
Creating space in your garden has become extremely popular, from sheds, to garages to modern garden rooms. They are all structures which you can build in your garden and can be used for outdoor space, offices or a home gym. They give you extra space and are not expensive or difficult to install.
2. Permissions
The construction of the new gym room/structure would need to comply with permitted development or planning permissions. The structure would also need to be building regulations compliant. Most installers of garden offices/studios will complete these tasks, however some don’t, so it’s worth checking. This can add delay and cost to the install.
3. The Party Wall Act 1996
When creating a new structure, you must take notice of the Party Wall Act 1966. If any new sheds, gym spaces or structures are within six meters of any neighbouring structures, Party Wall Notices will need to be served. This will also occur if the walls of the new structures are built up to the neighbouring boundary lines.
4. Insulating
Garden structures can get cold in the winter, due to their outdoor setting, so if you intend to have a warm gym, storage heaters and electric radiators can be used. However, it is important to keep these on a low setting so as not to result in expensive electricity bills.
5. Height
Finally, it is important to note the height of your gym equipment. An average treadmill is anywhere from nine inches upwards from floor level; this can be expected to increase after an incline setting change, so ensure your ceiling is high enough to accommodate your equipment.
Leprosy Mission teams are shocked to discover the tea gardens of Bangladesh are home to the highest leprosy rate they have seen.
The Leprosy Mission has worked in the slums of the Bangladeshi capital Dhaka for many years. The overcrowded living conditions and poor sanitation are not only distressing but ripe for disease.
Just a few hours’ drive Northeast of Dhaka, the fresh air and the vibrant foliage of the tea gardens are the perfect antidote to the city slums.
But appearances can be deceptive. While the tea crop flourishes, leprosy is choking the life out of its workforce.
There are 600,000 people living and working on the tea estates of Sylhet with the leprosy rate 20-30 times the global average. This equates to thousands of people living with untreated leprosy. Almost no family remains unscathed and even children are showing the early signs.
Leprosy Mission doctors and health workers are staggered by the number of new cases they have found. Since going into tea estates in 2017, they have found and cured more than 1,600 new cases of leprosy. The more they look, the more they find.
The discovery has culminated in the launch of the Flourish campaign on Sunday 29 January, World Leprosy Day 2023. Flourish seeks to find and cure tea workers and their families of leprosy, protect livelihoods and create a future where the whole community can flourish.
Chief Executive, Peter Waddup, says there is a real urgency to find and cure new cases of leprosy. This is before disability sets in and the tea workers lose everything they know and love.
Peter said: “The situation in the tea gardens is very unusual. This is not just because of the extraordinary high rate of leprosy but the lack of stigma surrounding the disease.
“I’ve had the privilege of visiting our projects across Asia and Africa and one thing is constant. That is the terrible prejudice surrounding leprosy. People are, understandably, reluctant to come forward for treatment because of this prejudice. They live in fear of being seen as cursed and cast out of their families and communities.
“But what is unusual within the tea estates of Bangladesh is there doesn’t seem to be a huge amount of stigma surrounding the disease.
“This is likely to be because the workforce is made up of ethnic and religious minorities who are, sadly, already marginalised from society.
“When the workers are fit and well, they form a tight-knit community with friendships between the tea pickers often going back decades.
“The trouble comes when nerve damage caused by leprosy causes fingers to curl.
“As the tea pickers are paid by the kilogram of tea picked, speed and efficiency are everything.
“There is a very real worry among the tea pickers that they will lose their home and community. This is because employees are provided with a basic family home which they must leave should they become too sick or disabled to work.
“My colleagues in Bangladesh are already running pop-up clinics in a third of the tea gardens in Sylhet, finding and curing new leprosy cases.
“Knowing the full extent of the problem, we desperately need the resources to scale up this work.
“There is a real urgency to find and cure people before leprosy leaves them too disabled to work and they lose everything.
“The aim is always to cure people of leprosy at the earliest opportunity.
“As well as preventing transmission, prompt treatment stops leprosy from causing life-long disabilities.
“The fact that there doesn’t appear to be too much stigma surrounding taking the cure for leprosy in the tea gardens is a good thing. It means people are open to treatment.
“Tragically it is when they are forced to leave the tea gardens because of leprosy that they are exposed to extreme prejudice.”
Have you seen the popular sit-com Dad’s Army? It’s based on the activities of the Home Guard during the Second World War. I readily identify, either in my own life or in what I’ve observed in others, with the strengths, weaknesses and tendencies in many of the characters. As with most sit-coms there’s an element of truth in the ridiculous scenarios which are painted. I love the variety of personalities portrayed, and the almost impossible task that Captain Mainwaring had of shaping that disparate bunch of volunteers into an effective platoon.
It’s my namesake, Fraser, who dramatically delivers the wide-eyed catch phrase “We’re all doomed”. The circumstances of life can come against us and immobilise us. Strong and bitter winds can blow us off course, producing a feeling of lostness. Storms can arise and shipwreck our hopes and dreams, leaving us with a sense of failure and confusion, wondering where we go from here.
In order to distract from all this, some men take refuge in pursuits which are not helpful, playing computer games late into the night, flirting with addictive web sites, drowning sorrows with a few too many beers or finding a sense of relief in drugs. At best all these escapes can offer is temporary respite from life’s pressures. At worst, they increase the likelihood of relationship breakdown, deeper entrapment and yet more feelings of failure to deal with. Men are notorious for not wanting to face up to the reality of what they have become. They would rather run away into the bushes to hide or wear some kind of fig leaf to cover things up.
Life is not a precise science. It is not something we can easily control. There’s a strong likelihood that unforeseen things will crop up. As I write this, some are still recovering from the effects of the Covid pandemic, longing for a time when things get back to some sort of normal. But what if it doesn’t? What then?
I heard on the radio that former star of Tottenham Hotspur, Garry Mabutt, made over one thousand telephone calls to club supporters during the pandemic. It inspired me to make more effort to ring friends and keep connections alive. The alternative is to just hunker down and drift along, unwittingly opting to live my life with a high degree of unfulfilment and disappointment. Do I want to leave the planet regretting my lack of connection, my failures and under-achievements, or would it be better to leave a legacy in the lives of others? If I opt for the former, then maybe Fraser was right, and we are all doomed.
It’s early morning. I’m emerging from a deep sleep, drinking instant coffee and aimlessly scrolling through my Facebook feed. A post pops up which catches my eye. Someone is filming themselves breaking into a church. And it’s a church I know. Suddenly I’m wide awake. On red alert. Violated. Panicking. Should I phone someone? The police? The vicar?
This particular church is where my beloved Dad, and many years later, my son were confirmed. On that happy day, the enormous building was full to bursting with young people and their families. The clergy processed in all their finery and the church looked magnificent.
The 35-minute film begins with a dark street scene outside the derelict church. I watch aghast as the walking narrator calmly makes his announcement from behind the moving camera. In gravelly Salford tones, he tells me, without a hint of shame, that he is about to “infiltrate this old gaff”. For a moment I seriously consider jumping in my car and driving down there in my PJs. To do what exactly? Give him a piece of my mind? Clip him round the earhole? This video isn’t live, it was shot a few days ago, so all I can do is watch helplessly as the break-in unfolds.
The camera pans across the busy street to the church before zooming up to the top of the imposing church tower. The narrator continues: “You can see the windows up at the top man, it’s so cool. You can see the original gate there. And just look up top at the gargoyles looming over us in the night sky! So foreboding and so cool.” Cue spooky 1970s horror film music and a grainy red filter.
Once inside the building the narrator reduces the volume of his voice to a theatrical whisper. The piped background music takes on a more sinister tone and the light of the camera flashes randomly around in the pitch black of the cavernous basement. “I assumed there would have been a crypt down here,” he says with some disappointment.
Poor lighting, dark shadowy shots and a shaky handheld camera style are reminiscent of Ghost Hunters and the Blair Witch Project. At one point the narrator asks: “doesn’t it feel sinister?” The “infiltration” is punctuated by a series of unscripted mini-dramas which generate tension and “eerie vibes”. Unexplained voices. Footsteps. A blocked doorway. Holes in the floor.
Another man, “Mike”, is also filming the church. Ten minutes into the video Mike’s face comes clearly into view as he steps in front of a huge door to demonstrate its scale. He is a slim white man, perhaps in his early twenties, sporting a dark moustache and wearing a Cambridge University sweatshirt with the hood up.
Although they are clearly trespassing on private property, they don’t steal anything and take care not to cause any damage. At the end, Mike is filmed climbing out of the building and the location of the entry point is clearly visible. Upon leaving the premises they make a big show of thanking the homeless man who had earlier pointed them towards the gap in a boarded-up ground floor window.
Consecrated in 1839 and then rebuilt in the early twentieth century this church has been unused for the best part of a decade. Five years ago there was a closing ceremony and the local priest removed a few items for safe keeping. It had lain empty for two years and before that it was judged to be structurally unsound and requiring repairs estimated to cost £1.5 million. The Church Commissioners, the Diocese and the Parochial Church Council agreed that it should close.
With what seems like genuine awe, the narrator pauses at intervals to film and describe the architecture. His reaction is raw and filled with emotion; at times he seems overwhelmed by the scale and beauty of the building. There are gasps and “Wow guys” at the leaded windows, brick arches, stonework, craftsmanship, an abandoned rusting safe, the old clock mechanism.
Even the creeping decay, the mould and a dead pigeon are given some appreciation. Like the character in a novel, he is conflicted, drawn by both light and dark. At twenty minutes into the film they both ascend a narrow stone staircase and gasp audibly when they are rewarded by the sight of the magnificent old church bell, still in its place. Their wonder becomes euphoria when they climb out onto the roof of the tower and see the city of Manchester illuminating the night sky.
Their enthusiasm and sense of discovery are infectious. They seem gripped by the absolute wonder of it all. I am morally conflicted about what I’m seeing but feel drawn in and feel compelled to watch until the end. The producers of this film have attracted over 3,000 subscribers to their YouTube Channel and over 7,000 Facebook followers, describing themselves as historical documentarians, filmmakers and photographers. Their stated aim is to “record history on film”.
Over one hundred of these “spooky” style videos have been produced and broadcast by these young men over the last two years. It’s an increasingly popular genre of video on YouTube and Facebook where people film themselves stalking through derelict stations or abandoned factories, places of worship, mills, pubs and farmhouses. On their social media accounts it’s implied that they aren’t technically “breaking and entering” but are in fact performing an important service for the public good.
The “reading” of the old building, though ill-informed and sometimes colourful, is confident and unflinching. The narrator is no Kevin McCloud, that’s for sure. There is some confusion about when the building was built but he confidently reassures his fans that “this is quite literally ancient history down here.” At another point, he says it is “gothic and creepy”. Clearly, he’s a creative and curious soul who is thoroughly fascinated by the structures and their functions.
Under the video on Facebook, the comments show peoples’ connection to the church. One man says he was a choirboy there in the 1970s. “My dad used to organise concerts in that cellar in the 60s,” says another. A woman who went to school next door remembers the church being used for school dinners. Someone remembers watching a Christian rock group there. A woman who says she was christened there in 1968 thanks the video makers for showing her around she writes: “I walk past here often and always wondered what the inside is like.”
The comments show how central churches used to be in community life. In many areas, they were a hub of social activity and had close links to the schools. Families who weren’t very religious might still feel they were part of the local church; attending its dances and sending their children off to play sports in its grounds. The comments under the video might prompt us to think about what has replaced these spaces in our increasingly atomised communities. How feasible would it be to put some of these beautiful buildings back into use?
As the pair slowly descend the narrow spiral staircase to make their escape, only the narrator’s legs and feet are in shot. Carefully placing one foot on each of the shallow stone steps, with great emotional intensity, he reflects on the experience of discovering the bell. “When you’re stood in front of it, in all its decaying glory, you realise the craftsmanship and the hardship that went into making such a thing, and putting such a thing into place, especially back in 1902,” he says. “Absolute gold dust.”
Main photo credit: Val Fraser
A longer version of this story was originally published by independent newspaper, The Manchester Mill.
It’s the time of year for fresh starts and new beginnings. Many of us make New Year’s resolutions to change aspects of our lives that aren’t working, or we want to improve.
It’s great to want to change but the four problems with resolutions are they:
Focus on what we don’t want, causing anxiety by activating the ‘worry chemicals’ in our bodies.
Rely on will power and motivation to achieve.
Have poorly specified criteria for success.
Have an end point with only two possible outcomes: either succeed or fail.
If I try even a straightforward resolution like getting fit, it will likely fail because:
I’m trying to fix something wrong with me I don’t want.
I currently have no fitness routine built into my life, so adopting one now without altering my environment, habits and mindset won’t work.
Success relies on will power.
I haven’t specified what I mean by fit, so I won’t know if I succeed.
Even if I do specify success criteria, the outcome is binary, with failure most likely.
Learning and growth are not built into the process.
I’ll eventually peter out and feel like a failure.
This all belongs to what I call the world of the Fixed Mindset: win/lose, succeed/fail, I either have what it takes, or I don’t. Can you see how that ramps up anxiety?
Much better to focus on what we do want, the things that are most important to us, which I call living our values. It’s not an outcome or a goal, but rather bringing your values to life in your actions and speaking. It’s like jumping into a river that’s always flowing, and you’ve decided to swim along with it for a while.
This may sound like mental gymnastics but it’s actually a completely different mindset involving growth and learning. You’re bringing your values to life by trying out different things, experimenting to discover what works. There’s no winning or losing, only being in the game. And neurochemically it’s completely different because it’s about working towards positive aspiration that will always pull you forward. Values are by definition open ended concepts.
For example, maybe you value your health and well-being. You take stock and realise you have not been living consistently with that value for a while. You decide to take some actions and adopt regular practices to bring that value to life. Perhaps you try walking 5km three times a week, and your criteria for success is feeling full of energy all day. You play with it, experiment, and eventually try ramping it up to running 5km once a week, then twice then three times and see how that goes. Yes, it will take some will power but instead of force it’s about living true to your values!
What are your values? In what areas is your life not congruent with your values? What could you say and do to bring them to life?
Sorted writer, Ian Kirke, discovers the books of Peter May, then meets the man himself.
In 2014 The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt, won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction, although, according to research by e-bookseller Kobo, less than half of the purchasers actually finished it. If that wasn’t depressing enough, Solomon Northrop’s 19th century autobiography Twelve Years a Slave was read through to the end by only a fraction over 28% of readers.
These statistics are brutal, but to be fair, looking over my shoulder at my bookcase, there are books that I haven’t even opened. Most of the rest were shelved without compunction if they didn’t grip me by chapter three. However, nearly seven years ago something astonishing happened to me on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.
As I was a lone traveller, facing a rare week by the pool in Tenerife, my daughter Lucy had insisted that I take a holiday read with me. I had never heard of the author. At least the cover, with its eerie-looking lighthouse, was alluring. A few pages in, and I was hooked. As the drama unfolded in quick time, any suspicion that this would simply be another piece of unfinished business evaporated, and my curiosity was captured. I held Coffin Road, by Peter May, more firmly than my passport as I negotiated my entry into Tenerife South airport.
This mind-blowing experience led me swiftly on to the Lewis Trilogy, devoured soon after I returned home. These were barnstorming reads with captivating characters and a narrative that effortlessly satisfied the oft-quoted claim of ‘page-turner’.
Demolishing more – The Enzo files, The Man with No Face, Runaway, and the incredibly contemporary classic Lockdown – I began to experience a feeling of confusion. Why had this literature lassoed me when hitherto I had expressed a fidgety relationship with reading? What magic did Peter May hold, and what was the secret of his authoring alchemy? There was only one way to find out: an interview with the man himself in the place he now calls home ─ France.
Photo by kind permission of Peter May
What is your secret formula?
“I don’t have one! I suppose I’ve never thought of myself so much as a writer – more of a storyteller. Telling stories is one of those primal things.”
Peter’s earlier journalistic career introduced him to establishing instant engagement – a skill he honed when he moved into television. “I worked for eight years on a soap opera in Scotland and, with 140 episodes a year, keeping people engaged was vital. If you didn’t, your ratings would go down.” Peter proudly added, “It was the top-rated show in Scotland with six million viewers on the network during mid-afternoon.”
Where does your inspiration come from?
“I write about things that interest me. I wrote a series set in China engaging with GMOs (genetically modified organisms) and organ theft – things that fascinate me.”
“Stornoway was an unexpected place for me to land. During the 90s my wife – also a writer ─ and I were commissioned by Scottish TV to produce a long-running drama in Gaelic, although we didn’t speak the language. The Isle of Lewis was the natural setting.”
Photo by Pete Crockett on Unsplash
Spending five months annually for six years on location, Peter was fed up with the adverse weather conditions. A decade later he recalled a local story about the Guga hunters and returned to conduct the research for the eventual Lewis Trilogy. The Black House – the inaugural tale – was his breakthrough book, albeit in a bizarre way. “It was universally refused by publishers in Britain and lay in a drawer gathering dust for four years. My French publisher eventually read it, loved it, and wanted the world rights.” It became a global phenomenon, selling around three million copies in the UK.
What is the construction chronology of a Peter May novel?
“I guess I probably borrow a lot of my approach to writing books from what I learned writing for television. In TV you always produce a draft of the script you are going to write. A synopsis – scene, by scene, by scene. Then you write the dialogue and flesh it all out. This is what I do in the books too.”
With the germ of an idea, Peter then engages in the research phase, developing the idea and framing the characters who will populate the story. “I write about 20-25,000 words very quickly. I’m not too bothered about the quality at this stage. I just want the story to work. I get up at 6am and write around 3,000 words a day. Normally a book will take about seven weeks to write.”
Are any of your characters autobiographical?
“It has often been claimed that I am Enzo Macleod! When I started to write this series, we were about the same age, and I had a ponytail too. We also dressed similarly and had a dysfunctional relationship with our daughters, but I am no forensic expert!”
“Runaway was semi-autobiographical. In the 60s me and three other fellas who played in a teenage band ran off to London, leaving notes for our parents on our pillows. In seeking fame and fortune we spent most of the time sleeping rough on the streets, stations, and parks. Busking, we wholly failed to achieve anything except a big pile of laundry, and eventually headed home with our tails between our legs!”
The forensic and detective details are impeccably described. How have you developed this professional knowledge?
“To be honest I only became a crime writer by accident. I didn’t set out to write about the subject, but once you embark on a genre your publisher and readers want you to do more of the same.”
Peter emphasised the importance of linking up with experts. “A character in series one of the Chinese thrillers was an American pathologist. Through a doctor friend of mine, I was introduced to a young guy who had recently graduated and was working as a pathologist at the Medical Examiner’s office in Sacramento.”
This relationship with Dr Steve Campman is now in its 25th year. “He instinctively knew what I was looking for in terms of pathology, autopsies, and various aspects of forensics.” The same strategy was employed with the Enzo Macleod stories, where Peter formed a close relationship with Mike Baxter, a top forensic specialist based in Scotland, using Mike’s career background for the lead character.
How often have you failed to finish reading a book? And why?
“When I was young and had the ambition to become a writer, I read voraciously, nonstop. I read everything and anything I could get my hands on from the first page to the last. Each time it was a journey of discovery for me.”
“Many moons later I’m much pickier in what I read. To be honest, a lot of what I’ve read in recent years is research material, so I don’t have a huge amount of time to read for pleasure. I do give up quite quickly on books if they don’t grab me in the first few pages. Some people say, ‘You should have kept going, as by page 100 it gets quite interesting’, but that’s a portion of my life I won’t ever get back!”
“I think it’s incumbent upon you as a writer to try and engage with the reader immediately. We live in an age where people’s attention span is shorter than it used to be because everything is instantaneous.”
How did A Winter Grave come about?
“I had basically retired. I had turned down a contract from my publishers for a three-book deal. I had spent the last 25 years writing – almost a book every year – travelling the world carrying out research and promoting. I was tired and wanted to spend some time with my music, which is one of my other great interests in life, and I wanted to read for pleasure too.”
That all changed following COP26 in Glasgow. “I followed that, and it made me mad! I got so angry about the lack of initiative and decision-making by politicians in the face of extreme warnings from the scientific climate community and thought, I need to know more about this.”
Peter spent the next three months researching the climate crisis in his desire to write about the subject. But this wasn’t as easy as it may have first appeared. “I’m a thriller/crime writer and I didn’t want to preach to my readers or bombard them with facts and figures.”
He solved this by not writing explicitly about the subject matter, but keeping to what he does best – writing A Winter Grave, a classic crime thriller. A new twist with publishers riverrun – partners in crime with, amongst others, Peter’s Hebrides and Enzo novels.
“It’s set in Scotland 30 years from now, in a world which has been fairly radically altered by climate change. The main protagonist is a serving cop in his 50s – and I had a great time writing it. I think it may be the best thing I’ve written in the last ten years!”
So what does the future hold?
“I have absolutely no idea of what I’m going to do – if anything at all!”
I’ve been having conversations with prisoners for many years; men who’ve gone off the rails and found themselves shut away from society and denied access to all that we might take for granted. Many of them can identify some reasons why they got caught up in a life of crime. Many make excuses for their behaviour and seek to justify their actions. Some, from a more professional background, may classify themselves differently to hardened criminals. They are nevertheless, ashamed of where they are now, given their background and upbringing.
All these men have had to come to terms with what has happened and the consequences of their actions. For some, the experience of prison is enough to make them vow to never return. Others are stuck in a revolving door and find it hard to break entrenched patterns of behaviour or addiction, and, sooner or later, they wind up back inside. Many of them could have been spared from going off the rails if only there had been some accountability, some example to follow, someone to lead the way, or some positive influence in their lives.
Conversations with all these men (from widely differing backgrounds and faith viewpoints) have given me an insight into how easy it is to get on a downward spiral of thinking and behaviour, and end up lost. This applies equally whether we are ‘inside’ or ‘outside’. Few of us can say we haven’t regretted something we did or said. Many of us have had moments of madness when we did something totally out of character, but which had dire consequences. Some of us have made poor choices or had spectacular public failures. None of us could claim to be immune or unaffected by life’s twists and turns.
Like the rails of a train track, joy and pain run side by side. I’ve come to believe that experiences in life, whether good or bad, can teach us something. It is possible to find hope in the darkest of seasons, restoration after the greatest failure and wholeness beyond every heartache.
All of us, except possibly Mr Spock, regularly use and appreciate humour. So why do we need it? Ian Kirke has done some research, with a little help from the younger generation.
Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps, “My friend is dead! What can I do?” The operator says, “Calm down. I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.” There is a silence; then a gunshot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says, “OK, now what?”
This was ranked as the world’s funniest joke by Richard Wiseman, Professor of Psychology at the University of Hertfordshire, England in 2002 following extensive research. Submitted by Gurpal Gosal, it is derived from a 1951 Goon Show sketch by the legendary British comedian Spike Milligan. The basis of the academic study sought to determine the gag that had the best ability to activate the chuckle muscles across different cultures and territories.
I love a good laugh, although I fully accept that my delivery of a traditional gag lacks the requisite elegant technique that leads to the essential punchline. I have nonetheless become fascinated with the mechanics of laughter following the recent arrival of Arthur.
My partner’s grandson, now 18 months old, has captivated my heart and my sense of childhood in a delicious cocktail of innocence and unconditional laughter. Granted, he does cry, can be obstinate, regularly chucks his dinner on the floor and slaps my bald head with karate-chop precision, but for most of the rest of his waking hours he is a permanent giggle monster.
At this golden moment in Arthur’s development, I can only tickle his funny bones by exaggerated stupidity and rude noises, much to the annoyance of his Mum. Holding him in my arms and repeatedly pressing the smoke alarm button sends him into chortle meltdown, as does singing awful songs mimicking family members when we are alone in the car. Pushing him over whilst he stands proudly on the bed makes us both wet ourselves (we are both of a certain age).
My desire is to explore this transition from simply laughing at behaviour to the grasp of the classic joke. The play on words that can, if delivered successfully, promote a positive emotional response.
The beauty of humour is that it has stumped even the most eminent of psychologists, neuroscientists, and philosophers. Several notions exist, with some hypotheses having been mooted over time that engage with the tribulations of others and the ability to link with latent emotional concepts. Posting the line, “At least I don’t have to wear a mask for Halloween” got some traction on the laughter emojis, and personally I have found self-deprecation to be an important ally, not to be confused with defecation, which we Brits seem to reserve the heartiest laughs for.
The evolutionary theory of humour proposed by Gil Greengross, an anthropologist at the University of Mexico, engages with the notion that it is present in all societies, although allegedly some nations are funnier than others. In 2011, a global poll by Badoo.com crowned the United States as the funniest nation on the planet, with Germany at the bottom.
This study tends to support the thoughts of the famous author Mark Twain who, in 1880, advocated that a German joke is no laughing matter. He was of course American, so an element of bias may have been present, albeit humour should rarely be constrained by the truth. For the record, Russia and Turkey were down there too.
In more contemporary research, Matthew M. Hurley of Indiana University Bloomington and a few of his clever mates suggested, in the 2011 book, Inside Jokes: Using Humor to Reverse-Engineer the Mind, that wit was the edification of mistakes that would seemingly always have an individual as the butt of the gag. For example: “My new motor has gesture control. When I made a rude sign to a motorist who cut me up, my car actually phoned me.”
The mantra ‘laughter is the best medicine’ (believed to stem from a proverb in the Bible) is pretty accurate, since it has some tangible health benefits, including lowering blood pressure, and forms the basis of a technique known as laughter yoga, which I confess I haven’t tried since I’ve been known to follow a good belly laugh with a tad of flatulence, not ideal when cross-legged on the floor with others nearby.
According to other notable studies, laughter can also reduce anxiety, counter depression, bolster the immune system and help you breathe more easily afterwards. In the 14th century, a French surgeon by the glorious name of Henri de Mondeville used humour to distract patients from the pain of surgery.
A 2014 study published in the International Journal of Obesity showed that laughter can actually burn calories. Consequently, when I visit the gym, I remain inside the changing room and just look at myself in the mirror. I’ve lost over seven pounds this year. If that disclosure didn’t impress you, then maybe the knowledge that laughter increases your intake of oxygen, which stimulates your heart, lungs, and muscles, and increases the release of endorphins – that work in a similar fashion to opioids – may steer you away from other potential stimulants.
Our upbringing, place of birth and those we associate with has a tremendous bearing on our sense of humour. This has been the subject of extensive academic review which suggests that in the West humour is generally a positive experience, yet in the East the opposite can be true. In China, for example, Confucianism sought to position humour as a stick of disapproval. However, according to my Dad, “Confucius says that woman who cooks cabbage and peas in same pot is unsanitary.” It took me a few years to get that one!
Back to the other, and funnier, part of my favourite double act – Arthur. The Russian psychologist Lev Vygotsky suggested that humour improves a child’s cognitive development. Arthur’s infectious smile – and almost consistent giggling – lead me to the conclusion that little Arthur will grow up to be both an eminent brain surgeon and the star turn in Las Vegas with his unique stand-up routine. Of course, according to his Dad, these vocational choices will follow the conclusion of his footballing career as centre-forward for West Ham United. Now there is a joke if ever I heard one!
As December draws to an inevitable close I’m reflecting back on the year. 2022 has been a productive year for me and I’ve loved creating columns for Sorted Digital. I was especially happy when the inimitable Steve Legg invited me to step up to the role of Digital Editor and it’s been a lot of fun getting to know the team. It’s difficult to choose a favourite story but here are three offerings which I really enjoyed putting together earlier in the year.
James Macintyre was so gracious and kind when I approached him about writing this story. He spoke so honestly about his struggles with mental illness in the interview with Iain Dale on LBC’s All Talk Podcast. Here’s the story again Successful and psychotic – Sorted Magazine.
Stalking a Bishop on a street level pilgrimage around Greater Manchester was a remarkable experience, made all the more memorable by the Manchester Arena bombing which took place just a few days earlier. I shall never forget the intensity of that time, my recollections are here Lest we forget… – Sorted Magazine
Paul Merson’s powerful message reached me (via the medium of television) while safely snuggled on the sofa. Perhaps I’m drawn to authenticity and Paul delivered it in spades. I just had to write about it. Read the story again here Merson on a mission – Sorted Magazine.
During 2022 I’ve enjoyed reading Chris Kerr’s diary about his newborn daughter, Thea. In case you missed it here’s one of his earlier columns The weight is over – Sorted Magazine. By my reckoning his little girl will be walking by Easter, I shall look out for Chris’s adventures in 2023!
Did you know that Steve Legg is on the wireless? Yep, every Saturday on Konnect Radio. Here’s the run down of a recent Interview: “We would find drug dealers and rob them …” – Sorted Magazine. It’s gripping stuff. His show is about an hour long which is the perfect length to listen to on my early morning run. Just kidding, I listen while pottering in the kitchen 😉
In 2023, God willing, we’ll be delivering robust journalism, fun stuff, interviews, reviews, comment and opinion from all of the above plus inspirational writers such as Jeff Lucas, Tony Vino, J John, Candy O’Donovan, Peter Martin, Mark Ames, Rami, Andy Godfrey, Bob Fraser and more. See you online at Sorted Digital in 2023!
