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 Four
and a half years on from Netribution's Big Sleep
and a good six
years since we quit Tony Grisoni's screenwriting class at
Westminster to run Netribution full time, Tom Fogg, one
of the three co-founders of this site, with myself and Wendy Bevan-Mogg
(the Sarah Radcliffe of the operation)
has finally made a post. And as the
world's longest film festival gets into its second week (I will post
soon!) - it marks a good point to
stop and say hello. It's been a long time. We started work on
Netribution: The Return (sometimes they come back) early this year, and
it's been close to six moonths of slow building and redevelopment.
Editorial guidelines have been evened out. Some mistakes have
undoubtedly been
made, to which i apologise to any so affected by tech gremlins or my
own fumbling as getting to grips with this all.
But the point is it's up, and
tho it's gone better, cost less money (ie none) and been more popular
than I could have imagined (44,000 people visited us
last month - looking at 500,000 pages; more than screendaily
by a long shot), it hasn't quite felt right.
I haven't quite felt ready to go, the confidence I suppose to be
myself, in this whole thing. Netribution was a personal odyssey for me
and
Tom as we lived in each others pockets through the best and worst times
in our lives, in film and in our love lives. And the great beast spat
us out the
other side like idealistic
fools to live in the angry marching world of London after the brief
mirage of giddy Silicon Valley investment that had appeared over the
city was burst. And so starting this thing without him just seemed a
little wrong. Of
course the same was true when Wendy left, it shifted in a way that I
probably didn't acknowledge at the time. Before then we idolised
Martha Lane Fox and planned to have full staff icecream eating days for
making decisions.But it was his encouragement last
year that really set me off again after three years of talking about
it. During long talks last autumn we started to picture it as a kind
of online Granta, publishing four issues a year, if that - the very
antitheses of the webs instant 24 hour news on the second style. There
would be guest editors, who each would collect content for a period of
time, before collating it together into some kind of narrative.
So maybe now he's back, writing something in some form at least, then
perhaps it is worth publishing issue 1. We'll see how the week pans
out. But for now, enough of me, over to Tom.
it's only been a month but it feels like another life, something to do
with not setting a return date. I fear though that I may have to
return sooner rather than later. My luck on this trip has been
´particular´and I have not managed my funds well. What´s more, I do not
trust my sickly motorbike to take me any further than I am now
(Granada) for it has already cost me a lot of time, money and grey
hair. Still, that´s why I bought the damn thing, to cause me trouble,
enough that I may begin to accept, even enjoy it.
Needless to mention, I have learnt a great deal about mi moto,
in greasy detail and in Spanish. But when I return it will be in the
sweet luxury of economy class. Mi moto will remain here until I can
afford (and learn to ask) to have it serviced here, at which point I
shall fly back and carry on with this ludicrous excursion to nowhere in
particular.
It has been travel for travel´s sake and I dare not
attempt to look further than my daily routine of eating, drinking,
writing, reading and sleeping. It is enough (is it though, Tom?) to
deprive myself of a common tongue, friends at hand and, obscurely,
electricity. This last has been a quirk of fate that has persisted
since driving into el pais basco over three weeks ago. It seems
to be a fateful, necessary privation, or so I tell myself, and learning
how to manage without has been fun. It has. I promise.
Learning.... Hm.
I
have learnt (apart from Spanish moto jargon) a fair amount of spanish,
a little arabic (more later) how to sew, live without hashish... what
else? Mainly, how I handle fear.... oh dear, I was always going to end
up on this point. I spend a lot of time in fear, (I am a fearful
person) but I enjoy the little battles in this great war. I have learnt
a lot about the Englishman in me, what petty issues annoy me.
Understand that I am not (whoah! not nearly!) as English or even as
foreign as many of my fellow tourists here. I blend quite well and if
it wasn´t for my blue eyes and blond hair (yup, all blond again, esp
eyebrows and forearms) I think I might evn blend in absolutely. But no,
generally they gawp at me (in the small towns and villages this is
constant), like one would gawp at a 300 pound bespectacled orang utan
playing solitaire, in the master´s own pipe and slippers, at ones
kitchen table in the nightime. How they gawp! I am used to it now and
simply stick out my tongue, perhaps only to express comprehension....
My
spanish is still poor. Stuck (as though in some nightmare) in the
present tense and without any understadning of reflexive verbs (DAMN
THEM!!) I cannot seem to escape the firm grip of Tener. In
conversation, mainly with Syrians and Maroccans in Granada (the spanish
youth here epitomise 21st century disenchantment... tattoes, hashish,
dreadlocks, dogs on ropes, anti everything clean -clothes, hair, nails,
teeth etc... in fact it is really depressing in a way, what will they
do when they´ve succeeded in dropping out? Where does one end up? Must
they drop back in? Is that allowed?) I have to let them talk and try to
grab a gist, then roll out a ´si´or ´verdad´ or, worse, hide behind the
parental leg (with thumb in mouth...is this working?) of Tener once
more. I am though to be found studying over coffee each morning. At
present it is the general structure of past and future tenses (esp
conoscer, decir, estar and yes, tener) in the hope of contributing more
than, for example, ´I work in restaurants in London, I like to write,
Granada is good, Another coffee please, I have a problem with my
motorbike.´
For those of you with little or no Spanish, it is
easy to hide behind Tener (to have) because it seems to apply to
everything, or can be made to, mas o menos.
Yes, no surprise that
I have befriended Arab speakers, Syrians and Jordanians mostly. I find
them cultured, conversational, generous and keen to learn. Only today I
met (with copious ´salam uleikums´ and ´wa uleikum salams´) yet another
Mohammed, introduced to me by Mohammed whilst in the company of Maharan
(meaning learned, kind etc) and Mohammed, nicknamed Jesus (?). In no
order whatsoever these young, handsome Damascenes are studying:
Orthodontics, Archeology, Chemical Engineering, Medicine. Among them,
welcome though I am and the object of some interest as a tourist with
accurate pronunciation and a lack of sandals, white socks, expensive
sunglasses etc, I feel slightly guilty that I squandered my once
promising intellect bowing and scraping before rich, cosmetically
rejuvinated American tourists. Especially given that they were always
going to order the chicken salad and a glass of impossibly oaked
chardonnay.
Not very good at relating what I have seen and done
am I? Well, I have written it all down so somehow, God Willing, it will
be free to view. However, those of you with tastes for Lonely Planets
and Rough Guides will be disappointed. No, my descriptions concern the
shitty side streets with their metallic tones of two-stroke fumes and
stale urine. I am a true flaneur (a la Proust, seulement Proust) of
cafe life, their petty dramas and photogenic proprietors. There are the
dusty misadventures on mi moto, various scattered (doubtless incorrect)
etimologies and some worthless but very personal meditations and
philosophies in the style, perhaps, of the late Hunter Thompson after
rehab.
No, when it comes to locales of historical importance,
indeed any thing or place with a debauched and/or violently Royal tale
attached I will be found facing the other way, taking a blurred
photograph of a ferral dog in a shaft of waning light. I have though
read Tales of the Alhambra by Washington Irving and have not only
enjoyed its sentimental myths but have even dreamt of a spell of rare
peace and utter obscurity in those exquisite palaces, once the verdant
jewel of the Moorish kingdom. But to contribute to their spiritual
decay, to bemerd those halls with the squeak of clean traning shoes, to
flash bulbs therein, and all for some exhorbitant tariff paid to some
swarthy crook among the drifiting hum of Chanel and hotdogs and the
comments of COULDN´T THEY HAVE MADE IT A BIT BIGGER? and THE ONE IN
VEGAS IS WAY BETTER!.... no, please stop that. I feel ill.
Can
you believe that I truly miss London? I do. After all that crap about
wanting to live elsewhere I miss being able to communicate freely. That
is huge, I suppose, and perhaps I needed and still need to deprive
myself of that very basic ability, to force myself to learn other
languages in order to accept that my feelings are mine and that,
actually, people don´t really want to know a lot of the time. This has
been a bit of a blow to be honest.
Yes, the learning is constant. I feel like I daydreamed through all the important lessons at school.
I love and miss you all very much. Good to love.
Tom
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It was a delight to read something of your voyage to the dark side, which will keep us nicely entertained, marvelled, amused, intrigued the while.
I look forward with relish to further instalments to come.
I quite like your new look which is very distinctive and not at all unfashionable these days. I hope though, you will accept some fatherly advice on companionship. Be very careful when in conversation with Damascenes not to be overheard being critical of American diners, particularly with your present outlook on the world. People of similar appearance have recently been know to suddenly disappear only to re-emerge for a long holiday at a bay resort in Cuba - without even having had to find the price of the economy class ticket! I am sure residence in Cuba could do wonders for your Spanish, and even your Arabic, as there are many Arabic speakers living in Cuba now, but I understand the menu is limited in scope with a tendency to the Macdonald rather then the haute-cuisine that I know you enjoy so much.
In the meantime, in your present penury, I can only suggest that you may just have to visit a lot of tampas bars. Make sure \"mi moto\" gets a slug of oil or two as well, just to settle the road dust.
Good luck mi amigo...
Until we meet again ... Slaintche!
Until we meet again ... Slaintche!