Book Review – “Le Freak: An Upside Down Story of Family, Disco and Destiny”
Devoured it in two sittings (now onto Grace Jones).
“Yesterday’s history, tomorrow’s a mystery, today’s a gift, that’s why they call it the present.” Sobriety mantra.
Nile Rodgers may be the most under-recognized talent of this generation. This is a humble, cathartic tale of disadvantage, talent, growth, excess, rejection, regret, hubris, regret, rebirth and ultimately, peace. The only criticisms are the hop, skip and jump about recovering from addiction and the abyss, and the omission/quick passage of the last 14 years. Clearly there was more to talk about, so why leave it out? Part 2? Hope so.
If you’re looking for artistic depth and Rodgers’ own “DHM” (you’ll need to read the book to decode the success-cypher), there isn’t one, so don’t buy this book. If you’re looking for sincere, engaging, fast-paced narrative, sprinkled with people and events you can identify with, you’ll love it. Buy it!
Day 18 – Terradillos de Templarios to El Burgo Raneros
I’ve got about two Scaramuccis left on this hike. Oh, sorry. For the unhip and uninformed, a Scaramucci (also called a Mooch) is a measurement of time: approximately 11 days… so I need to be in Nice 3 weeks tomorrow.
Tick tock. Time flies when you’re disconnected but don’t ask me where I’ve been or what I’ve done or when because it all blends into this one big fast-awake-sleepwalking blur. I can barely remember which day of the week it is, let alone where I’ve been or what I’ve seen. Kinda cool. Trippin’ without the expensive, fashionable pharmaceuticals or the employment risk that goes with those habits – so I’ve been told.
As today was almost a carbon copy of yesterday and the day before and the day before – long boring haul, arriving in butt-fuck-back-of-beyond with a big church and no other endearing features, I thought that I’d have little to say today, but au contraire.
It started badly as I endured the buzz-snore harmony that my five lady roommates were so kind as to provide throughout the entire night. It was a trans-Atlantic, Eurovision affair: 2x German (altos), 1x US (soprano) and 1x Irish (booming, basso profundo). Earplugs were no good. The harmony mercilessly pierced the barrier. Only deafness would have protected me.
However, despite the aural setbacks of the night, early on, I thought it could be an auspicious day because a bird crapped on my foot while I was changing socks and a fly flew straight into my piehole as I gulped for air. On that basis, I legged it about 31km, 7km longer than initially planned.
My first segment was 13km, which I enjoyed in the company of Nancy (English pronunciation, not French). Nancy is “Quebeçois” (DO NOT get that wrong, not French, not Canadian…), a former marathon runner who now only does halfs and 10ks (3 months preparation is too much trouble…), she has 15 and 17 year old kids and has been walking for 44 days with another 50 odd left to go. Her hubby joined her for the first week but had to return to work. She worked as a private wealth advisor but was made redundant so time is her friend. This woman could be mistaken for a twenty-something and moves like a Gazelle. She slowed down for me until after breakfast in Sahagun, and then, with compassion, suggested she move on ahead as she was a wee bit faster. Once again, my self-respect is dented, and my ego-damage somewhere between humbled and humiliated. I did catch up with her a short while after breakfast as she re-packed her pack. We walked and chatted a bit more until she put those legs into second gear, and off she went. Ciao.
The second segment was solo to Bercenios del Real Camino, as was the last segment to El Burgo Raneros. Those legs were 10.7km and 7.4km, respectively. Dirt. Scrub. More dirt. More scrub. Nothing to report. Move on.
I berthed for the night at Albergue La Laguna at about 1300. Pretty good going under the circumstances. 31km in 7.5 hours minus 2x 45 mins rest stops equates to about 5km/h. It became hot and sticky at 0900, not the usual 1000, and my new insoles are giving the 4th toe on each foot utter gip. I need to make some adjustments – either trim the insole or cut off the toes. Right now, I’m indifferent, I just need a solution.
Upon checking into La Laguna, I was greeted by a Jimmy Somerville, Pygmy-like, camp-as-a-row-of-tents, pants-hanging-down-his-bony-ass, demi-dwarf with a twisted smile and only one tooth (visible) in his mouth (lower left canine, I think). A couple of decades earlier, this type of appearance coupled with those mannerisms would have screamed “Gay-Plague”. Well, still the same today. That is one weird little man. Anyway, he took my money, gave me the “tour” and went back into his dark hole. I’ll be sleeping face up tonight and I don’t care if I snore…….
….because my roommates are a bunch of noisy Spanish students from the previous crib. They checked in after me, en masse, and had I known of their intentions, I would not have made this accommodation choice. One in particular, is absolutely rank, like something died a week ago under his armpits or in his crotch. How do I tell him that stinking like rotten fish is NOT a PREREQUISITE for doing the Camino? It can, indeed, should, be done hygienically. The technology exists, and I would be more than happy to foot the bill, if necessary. I also need to speak to his mates: friends shouldn’t let friends get stinky. The (new) Pilgrim Code.
This shrimpy, beardy piker is in the bunk above me, so at least with hot air rising, I may be spared some of the olfactory offence he carries so well. Dear boy, stinky is NOT cool. Through which gutter were you dragged up? Just because you have a Haysoos-style beard and you’re carrying a guitar, doesn’t mean you don’t have to bath, daily, with soap and preferably Teatree Oil. I’m not sure bleach and a wire brush would get him clean, but it would be a start. I bought some lavender essential oil as part of my defence/revenge mechanism. Hope he gets used to it. This is going to be a long night…and definitely an early start tomorrow!
It’s now hotter than a Bedouin’s nut-sack (I’m reliably informed) and yet the Pilgrims continue to stream into town post 1600. The Albergues here are now full. I don’t know where they go, other than further. I think the next stop is Reliegos at about +13km. That’s 2.5 hours at my morning pace (not in the sun) and 4 hours’ pace per the guide book estimate. That’s a LONG way away, late in the day. It perplexes and worries when I see this. An early start has the advantage of lower heat and higher probability of accommodation. My personal rule is finish no later than 1400, preferably 1300. It’s easy to be critical from a comfy chair with a cold beer. I hope I don’t fuck up.
Manaña.
Day 19 Photo Gallery – El Burgo Raneros to Arcahueja
Day 19 – El Burgo Raneros to Arcahueja
BEDBUG Alert: Reported at Guacelmo Albergue in Rabanal del Camino and/or Miriam’s Albergue in Las Herrarias/Herreria Albergue near Acebo. STEER CLEAR.
The smelly-Spaniard will wake up surrounded by aromatic-Lavendar wanky-hankies as well as strategically placed daubs on the bed frame and at the foot of his bed. He was one of the few to air his towel out indoors as opposed to outdoors. I think that accounted for much of his lingering, musty aroma. Sunlight is the greatest disinfectant, a lesson our friend has yet to learn.
I left the Albergue at 0530 and arrived at destination at 1245 after a 45 minute and a 60 minute break – I was in no hurry as the crib in Arcahueja opened its doors at 1300 and I was going nowhere once I arrived.
My first lesson of the day was at about 0545. Darwinism categorically doesn’t work. DOES NOT. Disappointingly. I came across group of five middle-aged Italians who were walking across the entire left side of the road, in the pitch dark, with no reflective clothing and one head torch that had a beam as powerful as a dying fairy light. I heard their jibber-jabber ahead of me, rather than saw them. That bad. There was a path to their left (on which I strode with my conspicuous friend, Mr L.E.D. Petzl…) but before the path, there was a three foot deep ditch between road and path. The Eyeties were to all intents and purposes BLIND and almost INVISIBLE to oncoming traffic. Cars were few but they came at pace – driving in that third-world, cavalier/oblivious way, not anticipating dumb, ambulatory flesh strewn across the highway in the dark. At least these window-licking, knuckle-dragging pedestrians were on more towards left side of the road – so they could tumble into the ditch and snap their necks if they had to move quickly…. What possesses adults to do things they would vilify their children for doing? I remain baffled. Incidentally, I haven’t seen them, but then again, I heard no sirens…..
The landscape changed today. More green vegetation, less scrub. A lot of corn
and sprinklers, but still a straight shot paralleling the main road. I hiked alone the entire time, though I did see some familiar faces. Most of my comrades are bound for the big city, Léon. I chose a different approach.
It was another 31km today. A strategic decision. Léon would have been easy but I’m berthed about 8km outside, and it will be my next stop tomorrow. I did this so I would have a short day today, a very much shorter day tomorrow, so I can avoid what seems like a large influx into the City today and can enjoy Léon and rest my legs for what will be another two or three 30-35km days to harvest yet more time in Finisterre. If I do this, I’ll arrive at Santiago on the 17th, do the Compostela bells and smells blessing thing on that or the next day day (rude not to, despite not being of the Feinan dogma), then have a further 4 days of walking to Finisterre and Muxia. That hopefully gives me 2 days of downtime in either location or a reversal to Santiago. That’s the plan as it stands.
As I near Santiago (still a very long way off), I’ve been told that accommodation becomes more scarce because the aged, the wealthy, the pretentious, the pikers and the frauds all come and “do” the last 100km so they qualify for the blessing. “Doing” means getting someone to carry your pack, serial pre-booking of accommodation and arranging a sumptuous meal while the subject plods along the Camino and gets his Platinum Card out afterwards. Shame on you!! Money cant buy class, happiness or good taste, but it can buy convenience.
My strategy so far, has been to go to the Albergue that is either above the lowest price point or is furthest out of town, so that the more slothful (or youthful and of more limited means) default to the easier/cheaper options. Viz yesterday, it seemed like half of Tokyo was sitting in the gutter at the very first Albergue off the Camino. They all barely had facial hair and an Adam’s Apple. Is judgment inversely related to age? Let’s see at the end of this. I wont pre-judge as I may fall flat on my face…
This whole preamble is a coy precursor to say that I am contemplating a couple of pre-emptive, strategic bookings to assure my creature comforts towards the conclusion of this hike. No need to act now, just thinking. No need for you to judge now either…
Lastly, I am currently sitting in as a cultural and intellectual minority within a little Lithuanian enclave in our rather peculiar Albergue. I’ve spent much of the afternoon discussing BF Skinner, Thorndike, Amos Tversky, Daniel Kahneman, cognitive/behavioral psychology, MK Ultra, compliance and persuasion techniques through aggressive body language and other tools. I’m completely out of my depth with these 25-30 year olds who have a much more diverse education than myself (and most people I know in the City/Wall Street, for that matter). The Lithuanians have by far the best English vocabulary and most neutral accents of any of the Europeans I have come across. Once again, humbling.
They also regret sacrificing their domestic currency for the €uro. Smarter yet, but bullied/Shanghai’d by the Bosch and Les Hexagones, so damage done. I maintain the view that Europe is still teetering on the brink of collapse, it’s just very well-concealed by an inner-cadre of unelected, self-interested Apparatchika and acolytes. Come on, Mr Erdogan, rescind your immigration agreement and let’s see what happens to the faux show of this love-in. Tick tock.
Later.
Day 20 Photo Gallery – Arcahueja to Léon
What I’m trying to make sense of today…
The Huffington Post printed a headline – “Sir Vince Cable attacks elderly ‘martyrs’ who have “shafted the young””. Vinnie was making the point that elderly voters thought that economic damage to the UK economy was a price worth paying for Brexit and that they were less sensitive as ‘few have jobs to lose’. This is stump-speak as Vinnie is standing for the vacant post of Lib-Dem leader as a septuagenarian, so he’s trying to energise his voter-base and broaden his appeal.
Vinnie, however, is a self-serving douche-bag and he misses the point. But he’s not alone.
Don’t blame the voters for the outcome. They voted. That’s what they do when asked. That’s democracy and we pride ourselves on it and on free speech. How dare you question the will of the people, you arrogant shit-heel? How dare you suggest an “old” vote has a lesser value than a “young” vote? They are pari passu. However, if you eat your own cooking, then you undermine your own position as a leader. If you’re looking to blame something, blame the voting apparatus because if you’re looking at the consequences of demographic imbalance (my words to try and describe your contention), every single politician in Parliament is responsible for this outcome – leavers or remainers. They are ALL culpable. But it’s easier to deflect blame than accept accountability, isn’t it?
Why? Because the system, the plumbing, the methodology to reflect the will of the people was unfit for purpose. No politician questioned it, yet they now happily or unhappily use the outcome to support whatever point of view they choose to adopt.
Firstly, the voting age should have been lowered to 16, for this and future voting purposes.
You can get a provisional moped licence at 16. You can legally have sex at 16. You can fight and die for your country at 16. You could receive the Victoria Cross at 16.
You can’t vote at 16 (although, the Scots did address this in the independence referendum, interestingly to no avail re: the final outcome…). It’s absurd.
Get off the stump, fess up and fix it, Vinnie.
Secondly, the terms of reference were too narrow, set by lazy-thinkers and irresponsible legislators i.e. the House of Commons AND the House of Lords. No one is beyond reproach.
Simply put, if this were a matter of corporate governance and the Brexit vote were equivalent to a vote by debenture or bond holders, it would be a “reserved matter”, a matter of higher importance than an “ordinary matter”.
The Brexit question was anything but ordinary.
Reserved matters typically have more stringent quorum terms to allow the vote to proceed in the first place, and the voting threshold thereafter typically requires a super-majority i.e. 2/3 or 3/4 instead of a simple majority. Brexit should have required a supermajority vote because it was of fundamental, long-term, existential significance to the country and to future generations. Don’t blame the voters; blame the structure of the voting system. YOUR system.
Get off the stump, fess up and fix it, Vinnie.
If you did that, then you would differentiate yourself and give people a real reason to vote for you and your Party. Until then, you’re just another vacuous, Westminster douche-bag, quietly poccling your expenses, milking privilege and looking for cheap, quick, easy scores. Please, please, STFU.