BBC to spend 6 figure sum on ‘talent’ show from Iran?

Yes, it’s quite almost true.  The maths is right… just a little off with my geography.  The show will actually be broadcast from just north of the Iranian border….in Baku, Azerbaijan.   It’s guaranteed an audience of around 300 million before a single mic is switched on and it goes by the name of Concours Eurovision de la Chanson. You and I know it better as the Eurovision Song Contest.  OK, well at least I kept you this far, but hold on…this post is not about Eurovision.

(Pictured above: The Baku Crystal Hall, venue for Eurovision 2012)

Embarrassed friends of mine know that over the years I’ve been a huge fan of the contest.  I’m not as much nowadays and in fact I was not intending to watch it this year until the BBC revealed that dear old Engelbert Humperdink will sing the UK’s entry and so the whole thing took on ‘car crash’ appeal.

Next week the contest will be beamed to the whole of Europe and to  Australia, the US, Canada, Argentina, Japan, South Korea, India, Taiwan, the Philippines…..from  Baku, the capital of the former Soviet republic of Azerbaijan.  It’s a place I know nothing about so I thought I’d investigate.

On the map, Azerbailan looks to be slap bang on in the Middle East, bordering Russia to the north and Iran to the south. Azerbaijanis (sometimes called Azeris) are closely related to the Turks and the country is predominantly Muslim, though like Turkey with a secular government.  Also like Turkey, there is greater freedom of dress code for women, a more liberal society and Western aspirations. The local currency is the Manat.

With 86,600 square KM, Azerbaijan is the largest country in the Caucasus region, the area from which white people derive their racial tag Caucasian. The Caucasus Mountains were traditionally the ancient boundary between Europe and Asia and the fact that a small part of Azerbaijan sits north of those mountains qualifies its European credentials – just. There are just over 8 million Azeris according to the CIA World Fact Book (9 million, says Wikipedia). Baku, the capital, is the largest city on the shores of the Caspian Sea and home to around a quarter of the national population. ‘Baku’ is a derivative of the Persian name for the city Bad-Kube meaning ‘wind-pounded city’. The city is prone to strong winds all year round which has a cooling effect on what would otherwise be hot sub-tropical summers but it also suffers from fierce and sometimes snowy winter storms.

Though it has only existed as an independent state again since the break-up of the Soviet Union in 1991, it is a very ancient nation and culture, claiming to be one of the lands where humanity originated. In ancient days it would have been at the heart of civilisation bordering the empires of the Medes, Persians, Assyrians and the Greeks.

It’s an oil-rich nation. Two thirds of the country sits on vast energy reserves and as a result its favour is courted around the world. If you watch the show next week, expect to see lots of references to fire. The theme and emblem of this year’s show is called ‘Light Your Fire’.   In ancient days, Azerbaijan was called Atropatene  after a Governor set in place by Alexander the Great. The current name of Azerbaijan is a derivative of this and means ‘Land of Fire’. It was said to be a land of ’burning hillsides’ as first recorded in the first century AD that were actually caused by ignited fissures of natural gas set alight by the heat of the sun.   The country became home to the ancient Zoroastrian religion – one of the world’s oldest monotheistic faiths –  for whom fire was a sacred symbol and many temples were built around the natural burning fissures.  The country was subjugated under Tsarist Russian expansionism ans remained part of the Soviet Union until the close of the Twentieth Century.

If you tune in to the opening credits of Eurovision next week, prepare to be surprised by what you see as I have been by some of the videos I’ve dug out on YouTube.

Of course the national tourist office will only be putting the best on display but I must admit from what I’ve seen and read it looks like an extraordinarily beautiful country. Baku, the capital is highly developed.  The country is heavily dependent on its oil revenues and its fortune rises and falls depending on the global price of oil, hence why hosting Eurovision is a hoped for kick-start to an under-developed tourist industry.

Several notes of caution here. While Azerbaijan has a liberal and progressive society, it’s leadership is considered heavily authoritarian and corruption is rife. There has been recent rumblings of social unrest and civil protests have been harshly dealt with.  It also sits on one of the worlds most deadly geo-political fault lines bordering the Middle East and the power struggle between the two branches of Islam that I covered in a previous blog.  Oddly, that while sharing the same side as its southern neighbour Iran in the inter-Islamic faith struggle between Shias and Sunnis,  Azerbaijan and Iran have frosty relations.  Azerbaijan has up to now had positive relations with Iran’s arch-enemy, Israel. The Iranians have accused the Azeris of harbouring Israeli spies, which the Azeris deny. The country was also at war until fairly recently with its western neighbour, Armenia, over the disputed region of Nagorno-Karabakh which is internationally recognised as part of  Azerbaijan but broke away in 1991. That region sits outside the borders of Azerbaijan with a mostly Armenian population. Sovereignty over it was ceded to Azerbaijan by Russia in the 1920′s and today it is a self-proclaimed though unrecognised independent state. An uneasy truce is now in place but the conflict remains unresolved and is a serious impediment to the stability of the entire Caucasus. Armenia has chosen not to participate in Eurovision this year due to this dispute.  There are also territorial tensions between all the countries bordering the Caspian Sea due to the vast oil reserves believed to be beneath the lake.

Azerbaijan also has a very dark side in that it is a source, transit and destination country for sex industry trafficking of women and children and for forced slavery.

The country has around 9 weather zones ranging from sub-tropical in the south to moderate in the uplands, sizzling heat in the Summer and bitter cold in the Winter.

While we in the UK think of Eurovision as a trivial farce, other countries view it as a huge potential boost to national kudos and for tourism as the host nation is profiled to millions of eyes across the world.  The Azeris are taking the contest very seriously indeed. It’s the biggest and first truly global event they have hosted and it is reported that they are spending a colossal £80 million on the event making it the most expensive show in the Contest’s history.  The national tourist office has been busy filming the little ‘postcards’ that will be screened next week giving us a taster of this extraordinary country as you will see from this short clip:

Azerbaijan – the land of magic colours

As for my predictions on a winner for Eurovision?   Well, it won’t be the UK and not because everyone hates us or the song is rubbish. In fact it’s not bad at all.  We were drawn as the opening song in the Grand Final – a position from which no one has ever won, so we can save ourselves from the trauma of the public voting results.   For me, the best songs this year come from Italy, Romania, Ireland, Ukraine, Spain, France and the Netherlands.  However all the hot money is on this one:

“Euphoria” – Sweden 2012

(That said, watch out for a surprise attack on the top spot from 6 Russian grannies…)

 

 

I think I’m prejudiced.

Actually I know I am.   In a couple of weeks I’m going to be flying to some poxy, bombed out dump of a rain-sodden ‘city’ populated by bigots wanting to kill each other who can’t pronounce very basic english words like ‘how’ and ‘now’.

See what I mean?

I’ve never ever even been there before but the city in question is…Belfast, Northern Ireland.   Not a place I ever thought I would choose to visit and that remains the case as I’m not visiting it by choice this time.  Well, OK…it is sort of my fault.  You see I really should stop being such a brilliant son. Well it’s true. For Mother’s Day this year my dear Mum never got any flowers or a pressie.  She just got a card with a picture on the front of an old sack and a pre-printed message inside saying ‘Cheer up You Old Bag’.  OK, I am well aware that my Mum has discovered this blog site and keeps an eye on my shenanigans on here.  Thankfully she has not yet discovered ian-lukethepervert.com yet.  No doubt one of my friends will dob me in when I can no longer afford to pay them.  It’s OK, I’ll just steer clear of any food she makes me for the next 12 months until she’s calmed down. Readers who know my Mum – and me - will hopefully tolerate my humour here.    Suckers.

So where was I? Ah yes…bitching about Dumpsville Northern Ireland and my imminent date with it. So, I forgot Mothers Day and so decided to cover my failure to remember I needed to get a pressie blah blah with a cunning plan. I go and get a card…..a big fat juicy one (still with the old sack on it) from the local Greengrocer.   Here’s the cleaver bit.  In it…I stick 3 smaller cards (plain ones as I only had a fiver on me).   I write on the cards: ‘Option 1′.   ‘Option 2′.  ‘Option 3′. See what I did there?   You see, with women – all women - “it’s the thought that counts”. And mine just did.

So, I ( rashly, as it turns out) think of 3 things Ma likes. The Queen. Yep….that’s a safe bet.  Titanic the movie…(hmm…already got the Blu Ray but maybe there’s another spin).  Quaint, cute and pretty she also likes.  OK job done. I’ll stick 3 ideas of weekends away in 3 envelopes that Mum has to choose from to go on (but will never actually keep me to it) and so Edinburgh (to visit the Royal Yacht Britannia), Belfast (to visit the brand new Titanic ‘experience’) and Cork, in the Irish Republic, to visit….well, the fairies I guess (though a Tube ride to Piccadilly Circus would have been cheaper and achieved the same results but might take some explaining).

The long and short of it (for anyone who has read this far and is not at this moment ‘un-friending’ me on Facebook) is that Mum took 3 whole days to think about it and then called my bluff:  “Belfast, please.”

So I consulted my latest Mayan Calendar of Global Cataclysmic Events in the hope of finding anything remotely close to predictions of giant meteor showers slamming into Northern Ireland that I could use as a get-out clause.  No such luck.  The only slight glimmer of good news the Mayans had was the possibility of Paris falling into its own drainage system.  See – there’s always light at the end of the tunnel.

So I now face the cold hard facts that in less than 2 weeks I and Ma will be one of the last people to fly with the soon to disappear BMI (British Midland Airways) and head to where people don’t know how to say ‘now’ without sounding like flatulent cattle to spend 3 hours remembering a big ship sinking and dodging the rain, bombs and silly marching mobs trying to rake up old scores again and beat the living crap out of each other.

Here, at last, is where I get a little serious.  You see, I’m actually really looking forward to my first ever visit to the only one of the 4 ‘home’ nations that make up the UK I’ve never been to.  But all I have ever known of it – and Belfast in particular – is trauma, trouble, inter-communal hatred, bombs, shooting, murder and death.  It’s all I’ve ever got to see about Northern Ireland on the TV for most of my life.

To my shame, though, I, more than some, should be more understanding and open-minded.  As anyone who knows me knows…I am a frequent visitor to Israel and the city of Jerusalem is one of my most favourite places to be on Earth. I happily go there on my own for a few days just to be and to ponder and, yes, to pray.  I know myself, knowing Israel and what it’s like to be there – that that small piece of global real estate with a disproportionate level of media focus on strife, war, bombs, inter-communal violence, shootings and biggotry…is not the full picture.

I still get puzzled at why people get puzzled at me when I tell them I’m off to Israel, but I understand because if all you ever know or see of the place is what you see on the news then you will not know what a fascinating place it can be. I’m guessing the same is true of Belfast.

I am totally looking forward to experiencing Belfast and not just ‘Titanic’. I am mostly looking forward to it slapping my preconceptions and prejudice out of me. There’s a huge limit to how much of that can be done in 4 days but I’m just open to learn what I can learn even in that time.  I love the people of the island of Ireland. They have a warmth and a way and manner that draws me every time. I am generally drawn to the Celtic peoples and have always been.

The only thing I can see really pissing me off when I get there is if there is no photo opportunity for me to be seen holding an inflatable Dolphin while standing on the reconstructed bow of RMS Titanic screeching….

“I’m the king of the world woohoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!” 

 

 

Oi! Stop nicking our name!

The tag line on this Blog site is ‘Rant-free and just me’. This might be the closest I’ve come to a rant so far but I claim two contributing factors.  One is that as I write I’m off sick on a weekday enjoying an unusually lengthy and calm period since the last time I heaved my guts up or ‘opened my bowels’ (as I used to say back when I was in Nursing).  The other contributory factor to my current mood is down to being subjected to an hour of British day time TV.  And so I turn to blogging… 

So what am I belly aching about?   Not about anything I saw on TV but actually something read in my latest ‘Airliner World’ magazine.   Bugger…hit the ‘publish’ button before I thought about the repercussions of publicly admitting to reading that.    Anyway, I read a small article on the new facilities at ‘Oxford-London’ Airport.  Sorry my mistake: LONDON Oxford Airport.

Excuse me?

Though I knew I already knew the answer, I got out the map of the London Underground (Tube).  I scour it from north to south, east to west.   The only ‘Oxford’ I can find is Oxford Circus station, which I know very well is right in the heart of central London.   I can’t find ‘City of Oxford’ anywhere on the map.  Hmmm…..has there been an overnight merger that I don’t know about?  I know mergers are all the rage nowadays what with British Airways and Iberia joining up and Air France and KLM….(really must stop reading that mag). Maybe London and Oxford have merged and I missed it in the news?  Maybe…it was a cunning plan by Tory Boris Johnson to beat Red Ken Livingstone to win his recent re-election as London’s Mayor and scoop up Oxford’s overwhelmingly true blue voters?

I go on Google and discover that I’m not mad and that the City of Oxford still really is SIXTY TWO MILES (100km) from central London. LONDON bloody Oxford Airport?

Oxford is just the latest regional conurbation to attempt to steal the London brand in an attempt to give it some credibility in the travel trade that centers on London. Luton has been there before. LONDON Luton Airport is in the south Midlands ‘town’ of Luton 35 miles (56km) away from Piccadilly Circus.   Getting slightly nearer is LONDON Stansted Airport a mere 30 miles (48km) shy of the capital in the English county of Essex.   Latest in on the bandwagon has been LONDON Southend Airport also around 35 miles from Big Ben…but on the east coast of England.  I’ve lived in and travelled over many parts of London in my time but not once do I ever recall waking up anywhere, opening the curtains and catching sight of the sea.    Even Gatwick, universally considered as London’s 2nd airport after Heathrow, does not have a London post code but at least Gatwick….just calls itself Gatwick.

OK so here’s my beef. London is a physical place with people who live and work here and make the city what it is and pay huge amounts into the UK economy, much of which better darn cease to flow north of the border if Scotland votes for independence. While we have been a United Kingdom, ‘Scottish’ oil revenues have benefitted the whole UK economy and likewise London – an economy greater than a gathering of mid-sized European nations on its own – has ploughed money into the rest of the UK.  Yes it is an iconic asset that benefits the whole of the UK because of its history, seat of power, seat of Royalty, architecture, commerce, technology, cuisine, art, entertainment, media….the list goes on.    But Londoners pay a price for that among the highest in the world from the pockets of just ordinary folk mostly.  I can’t imagine it costs nearly £200 per month just to get to and from work within Oxford, Luton, Stansted or Southend-on-Sea as I have to pay.  While there are many from these places who pay far more than me to work in London, that’s because they are paying to travel to another city to work in that is miles from their municipal boundaries by their own choice.  All fine if they can afford that.

But if these places want to make an economic killing by stealing the London brand, then I think they need to pay Londoners for the use of our city’s name.

 

 

The Ghosts of Flight 401

When I used to live on the outskirts of Sheffield in the English county of South Yorkshire, I used to love driving my car.  It was the first car I ever owned – a white Ford Fiesta XR2, sports model complete with blue trim and rally racer front lights.   Living where I did, I was close to the wonderful countryside of Derbyshire and I could literally drive down the street outside my flat, turn left at the end and then next stop…the Derbyshire moors.   Friends say I have an in-built ‘satnav’ and I must admit that I do generally have a very good and reliable sense of direction.  Cocky in this belief, what I loved doing most was filling up the tank with petrol, jumping inside the car, rolling back the sun roof, turning the music on and then just pick a road…any road…..and drive.  Just venture off anywhere, picking any turn I fancied at any moment no matter how small or windy the road is.  OK, I did get in trouble a couple of times like the day I borrowed an estate car from work and got stuck in a pot hole half way up a hill or the time when just picking any road lead me to the heart of Telford – quite the most unremarkable town I’ve ever visited – near to the Welsh border.

So what’s all this got to do with ghosts and the mysterious ‘Flight 401′? Nothing, except that my same sense of adventure in the car also applies to some interesting journeys I make some times on the Internet – just browsing to see what’s out there.  And so one link leads to another and another and soon I’m following a trail that leads me to the true story of Eastern Air Lines Flight 401.   It’s not a pretty story, quite harrowing in fact and as a spoiler here for any readers about to fly and of a nervous disposition switch away now.  Why I stuck with the story was because I discovered that the aftermath of this particular air disaster created some sweeping changes that revolutionised airliner Cockpit safety and procedure right across the airline industry that remains in place today.  The other curious legacy of Flight 401 is not proven but well documented which took place months and years after the incident – that of ghostly goings on in the air.

On a dark 29th December night in 1972, EAL Flight 401 was approaching its destination city of Miami, Florida.  On board were 163 passengers mostly travelling to be with family for the New Year celebrations.   Taking care of them were 13 crew – Captain Bob Loft, First Officer Albert Stockstill and Flight Engineer Don Repo – and 10 flight attendants.

The Lockheed L1011 ’jumbo’ jet was a state-of-the-art airliner at the time.  401 had departed New York’s JFK airport earlier that evening and was preparing for landing in Miami, a route that took it deep over the famous Everglades swamplands.  While going through the procedures to prepare for landing, the flight crew lowered the undercarriage to deploy the wheels when they noticed that one of the lights on the instrument panel that should be lit indicating the nose wheel was deployed and locked – was off.  No nose wheel…no landing.   There was no other way to check the wheel had been deployed. Had it been daylight, Captain Loft could have requested a fly-by past Miami Control Tower so that the men on the ground could visually confirm the gear was in place.

At this point, all 3 of the flight crew became fixated and focussed on the stubbornly dark light switch.  While they tried to deal with the problem….even to try to pull the light out of the instrument panel to check the bulb was working, Captain Loft switched on the Auto-pilot and set it to fly the aircraft at a steady holding height of 2,000 feet.   Air crash investigators believe that it was at this point the key fatal mistakes were made that were subsequently addressed in the aftermath.   Nowadays and precisely because of what took place on board EAL 401, in a similar situation, the Captain’s first imperative is either to take control of the aircraft and secure its stability in the air or delegate it to his next in command.  Unbelievably, such very basic thinking was not part of airborne protocol and while it was absent, it allowed all 3 flight crew to focus on the smaller problem of the light panel….and miss a much bigger danger that would end in tragedy.   A second flaw in flight crew thinking right across the industry at the time was found to be pilots’ over confidence in the Auto-pilot.  What totally baffled the crash investigators was how an experienced flight crew of 3 had allowed the plane to drift from its preset holding height of 2,000 feet.  How could they not notice the plane was drifting downward when the Auto-pilot was meant to hold it in place?

When the Cockpit Voice Recorder (CVR) was eventually located and analysed, incredibly to the investigation team listening back to what took place in the final moments…an automated voice warning of the dangerously low height of the Tristar was clearly and repeatedly audible when the tape was played back.  Why had Loft, Stockstill and Repo not heard it and responded?  This mystery was possibly answered when it was discovered that Captain Loft had on two occasions sent Engineer Repo down into what was called the ‘Hell Hole’ – a small ‘room’ below the Fight Deck near the avionics to physically look through a small peephole made to visually check on the landing gear. In the dark night, for some reason Repo was unableto verify.   The speaker that the automated warning was audible through was located at Repo’s work station.   While he was away in the ‘Hell Hole’ it appears Captain Loft and First Officer Stockstill became oblivious to the warnings as they were fixated on the light and what they thought was the non-deployment of the nose wheel.

That still doesn’t explain why the aircraft started losing height without the crew noticing.  It was only in the months after the crash that other Eastern pilots who flew the Tristar reported odd behaviour with the Auto-pilot if the flight steering column is accidentally nudged when the Auto-pilot has been set. A nudge might deactivate the part of the Auto-pilot that maintains the height.  It is thought that at some point while Captain Loft was working to solve the problem of the light with Stockstill and with Repo below in the Hell Hole, he probably nudged the steering column deactivating the Auto-pilot.  Rather than a severe nose-dive, the aircraft just gradually lost height. With it being dark outside, there was no visual indicator to the pilots such as the ground drawing ever closer through the windows. The last words caught on the CVR indicate that right to the last seconds, the flight crew had no idea they had drifted out of preset altitude so perilously:

Stockstill: We did something to the altitude.

Loft: What?

Stockstill: We’re still at 2,000 feet, right?

Loft: Hey — what’s happening here?

After that there were what sounded like a desperate attempt to lift the plane but the recording ends about here.

Loft and Stockstill perished at the scene along with 2 of the 10 flight attendants. 69 of the 163 passengers survived. Flight Engineer Don Repo survived the initial crash being down in the ‘Hell Hole’ but later died of his injuries. It is thought more could have survived but for the crash site being virtually inaccessible in the heart of the Everglades.  A protracted and very difficult investigation eventually blamed the crash on pilot error at the hands of the flight crew.  Across the world, Cockpit procedures were tightened up to make sure it could never happen again that all the flight crew are diverted away from being in control of the aircraft at all times.  Auto-pilots everywhere were also reevaluated.    The lasting legacy from the fate of Flight 401 has been these changes to inflight procedures but there was another more eerie fall-out that catapulted the incident into aviation and urban legend.

Following the crash and the close of the investigation, Eastern Air Lines gathered up the parts from 401 that were salvageable and still in working order. These joined their spare parts inventory and soon made their way onto other Tristars in Eastern’s fleet.   It was shortly after this time that reports began to come in slowly at first but then ever increasingly from passengers and crew on-board Eastern Tristars of sightings of ghostly figures dressed wearing flight crew uniforms.  Crew who knew the men and saw the alleged apparitions claimed persistently that they recognised Loft and Repo in ghostly form. It was claimed that the aircraft on which these manifestations took place were found to be aircraft that were using spare parts from 401. It was also claimed at the time that the passengers and crew witnessing these sightings had no knowledge about what spare parts came from where on their flights.    As word of the sightings leaked into the media, the legend of the ‘Ghosts of Flight 401′ was born spawning books, movies, documentaries and heaps of speculation.  In an attempt to stem the rumours that were driving nervous potential customers away, Eastern issued an all-staff bulletin that any more reports of ghosts on their aircraft could be a sackable offence.

Interestingly that while doing this, the airline also decommissioned and destroyed all components from Flight 401 either in use or stockpiled.

In a final, cruel irony when the crash investigators combed through what remained of the Cockpit, they discovered the troublesome light that had so enrapt the flight crew. They found that the light bulb itself – a piece of equipment costing around $25 (£12) – was faulty. The nose wheel landing gear had in fact deployed and locked and Flight 401 had always been perfectly able to land.

 

By still waters…

Why is it that kids can never resist the urge to agitate still water? They come across a rain puddle in the street and they just can’t resist the urge to jump and splash. I think we still all have a bit of the kid in us when it comes to a fascination with water and an urge to create waves where there is peace and tranquility.

Yesterday I went for a stroll along a river bank deep in the lush Irish countryside. A cocktail of sunshine, birdsong and the burbling waters combined to create a powerful instant detox for this city boy. Away from my schedules and chores my mind began to drift.

The waters of the River Nore run fresh and crystal clear. In parts it rests smooth as glass. Along one such stretch I stumbled across a small broken off branch from a tree lying still and sun-bleached on the bank. The small child in me spontaneously reached for it, drew back my arm and hurled it into the liquid glass. Once the ripples of the collision died away and the waters became still again, the little branch slowly and gently started to ride the hidden rhythms of the river and head downstream.

Then as I walked on, I started to ponder about the journey ahead that faced the little branch. It had seemingly set out in quiet calm but having walked up to that point from further downstream, I knew that its path ahead was going to be far less smooth. Further downstream the river flows steadily faster with swirls and currents, rocks and eddies. The River Nore will become ever deeper and wider until it finally joins the sea by the city of Waterford.

Poor little branch. There it was minding its own business day by day, no doubt adjusting to life after no longer being a tree. Peaceful and still in the sunlight away from the tearing wind that had wrenched it to the ground. Then I come along and shunt it into a whole new world it was never prepared for…other than it was also made to float. I wondered what I would have prefered if I were the branch? To live out my life securely among what was familiar or to take on what ever adventure the river had in store?

In that famous Psalm 23, the writer asks God to ‘lead him beside still waters’. Still, not stagnant. Living still waters are only still for a time. They still have hidden rhythms that are ever drawn to deeper, wider waters…..and then on to the seas or oceans. In seeking the still waters, was the writer of the Psalm looking for a place of peace to just stop and stay at or seeking momentary respite and refreshment before tentatively contemplating a whole different journey? 

Audio Postcard (listen): River Nore, Abbeyleix, Ireland