Merry Bleeding Chrimbo

The idea of celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ always strikes me as a good thing. Depending on who you speak to the man could well have been a freedom fighter that spoke about love and peace, the John Lennon of his times, or a rebel that upset the Jewish faith. Some people don't even think someone special existed but its a hell of a construct to insert a fictional character into history with ideas that have spread around the world and are, in many instances, not so far from some of the other major religions including the social responsibility stuff from Islam and most of the eight major precepts of Buddhism.

I'm rereading Bulgakov's The Master and the Margarita at the moment (thanks Sasha) and I'm still blown away by that scene where Pontius Pilate has a splitting headache and fundamentally doesn't want to crucify Jesus but is under enormous pressure from the president of the Sanhedrin, the high priest of Judaea to crucify this awkward vagrant philosopher and let the common criminal Barabbas go free instead, as was the custom during the Passover to commute a sentence for one individual. Its so vivid that it might well be one of my most favourite chapters in any book ever. It brings to life, a life and death decision that possibly changed the world.

Why am I talking about this? Well as I've pointed out elsewhere if you try and bring up politics and religion in general discourse today people think you're nuts. They really think you've lost the plot. Yet is it just me that looks at the insane Christmas consumption frenzy (as the planet heats up) and thinks that the rest of the world has gone nuts? Don't get me wrong I think its a great time for children along with an opportunity to talk about some the ideas that were shared a couple of millennium ago. But what we have now, is so far removed from the idea that started it all I now have no time at all for the whole Shitmas gig.

Just last night I took a scout around Beijing's Nan Jiu Ba Jie in the SanLiTun area to see if I could find any decent DJ's and sure enough I did, although I had to work my way through the usual expat dribble of crap hip hop, drunk for life anthems and low-so discourse. But on leaving one place I saw this poster and as much as I think too few women know how important top quality lingerie really is I couldn't help concluding that this poster captures the essence of Christmas in the 21st century. A self indulgent piss up with the chance for an office party leg over followed by mince pies, Christmas pudding, liquor galore and gifts all round without a hint of what the gift of giving is really all about.

History of Blogging

From Rinaz

Virgin Ata - lantic ; We salute you

I like the randomness of different travel modes and rarely do much thinking about what form of travel will be best. I like variety. I've taken fourth class trains to Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand, heaving with noisy chickens and snoring rice farmers in intense heat, or more memorably one dangerous 26 hour coach journey from Rangoon to Ngapali beach on the Bay of Bengal in Burma (easily the most beautiful and tranquil beach in the world I've come across). The driver on that particular trip used vocal instructions to a "co-driver" pulling a piece of string which led out the window and underneath the bus to control the breaks. I was OK with that (I had no choice actually) but late into the darkest of nights towards the end of the journey I was compelled to use some ferociously strong language as the driver started nodding off and careering across the road until he was jolted awake by some innate ability to save his and our lives.

I was the only one witness to notice we were facing impending death as my co-passengers were asleep, so despite having only a few words of Burmese I made it clear I would personally throttle him if he fell asleep again by roaring at him in language that would have made mid 80's Millwall fans proud, and gesturing wildly like I was wringing a chicken's neck. This worked a treat and he woke up permanently at this although the snoring passengers were none the wiser.

So it was with some surprise that I received a text from Virgin Atlantic the night before my flight asking for my passport number. We were all having a few cleansing departure ales the night before and eating my red rose that darling Sasha gave me, so I couldn't oblige at the time.


I called first thing the next morning and to my surprise was confirmed as having a chauffeur to Heathrow which kind of made me feel a bit spesh. But once you've flown Bangladeshi/Ethiopian Airlines or Air India its all Bisto after that as Ricky B would say. I was however highly impressed with the whole experience because once inside, the very pleasant driver checked me in with his mobile phone, and within no time at all I was driven into the new Virgin Atlantic 'Upper Class' entrance and passed through the whole shebang within minutes. Without even time to conclude that I wasn't going to have my socks X rayed by a surly Heathrow security attendant, I sashayed into the Upper Class lounge. Virgin have got it going on and I wont even go into the massage treatment on board the plane or the bar that allows travelers to socialise and mingle a little.

Here's a brief 'squirt' as they say in the TV trade, of the lounge. I was most impressed with the food selection which included brilliant breads, roll mop herrings, fresh anchovies and lots of yummy salty things that only the Scandinavians know how to do best. All in all, Virgin Atlantic have got it going on. We salute you.