scotm

Off to Flanders for the weekend (

2014-04-11T13:52:40Z

Well, that was an interesting weekend...

Second-to-last Friday, I get home. Bit tired, needing to wring myself out before a weekend's campaigning. Check Facebook and Twitter. The ever alert Connor Beaton (zcbeaton) highlighted this tweet from Natalie McGarry - a recent SNP parliamentary candidate and activist within Women for Independence (give 'em a couple of quid here):

Anyone want to join us in Brussels. Free trip! Free accommodation. Let me know ASAP. Bus leaves at 8 from Glasgow, picking up in Edinb too.
— Natalie McGarry (@nataliemcgarry) March 28, 2014

I rarely take trips abroad - I prefer just jumping on a train and abusing the kind hospitality of friends and family across Scotland. Mostly a matter of being skint a lot. But, one quick search for my passport later, an even more hastily stuffed bag of belongings, three days growth on my face, and I'm on Waterloo Place at 9pm, nursing a slight head-rush and sleep-deprivation with a double expresso and a strawberry ice-cream cone. Waiting, waiting, waiting. What is my purpose there? I come up with the reasonable answer - to be a living exhibit of democratic process, dialogue and consensus. And it's in this spirit that I answered the call - and that I have around a hundred EUR for food and booze spare this month.

I see a chronologically-more-gifted-than-I couple emerging from a nearby pub, both wearing Yes badges. I smile in recognition, and they smile back.

"Are you here for the Brussels trip?"
"Aye, son. Are you Scott?"

Quick hugs exchanged. They're Alice and Brian McGarry - Natalie's mum and dad. Alice is an Inverkeithing councillor for the SNP, Brian is retired. We head into the Waterloo bar together. I'm not quite sure what's just happened, but we take our seats - shake hands with another couple - Tam and Joan - and order a quick glass of Laphroaig 10 year old for the road. There's a musician playing the banjo (complete with a Vote Yes for Scottish Independence sticker covering much of it), belting out an addictive ditty or six, which rolls around in our heads for hours, but I can't for the life of me tell you what the words are now.

At this point, I had barely considered how we're actually getting to Brussels, whether it'll be boat or train. An email from Natalie pings from my phone - a 14 hour coach and ferry trip. Ouch. At this time, I'm wishing I'd brought sleeping tablets. Still, if these auld yins can do it, so can I. We'll see how it goes.

The minibus rolls up nearby. Out pours another handful of engaging and friendly people and the young musicians (drummer Arran - from Northern Ireland - and piper Craig - also a pipemaker and fledgling businessman in his own right), welcoming all of us and piling on luggage. We jump in and find a seat. There's bottles of vodka, and enough Irn-Bru to float HMS Victory. A brief oh-crap moment: is everyone going to be pissed and incorrigible? Should I have brought my own boozahol for sharing? It's not a big deal. Dinnae sweat the small stuff, Scottie-boy!

Our long-suffering driver, Gareth - with his head perpetually screwed on, no matter what's happening, our other driver, Shug - a fellow Leither, studying psychology and a volunteer for the Samaritans and Craig's girlfriend whose name regretfully escapes me. Also along for the ride, the irrepressible Sarah Hamlin, a young New Zealander, studying in Scotland, separated from her husband by unjust and frankly daft UK immigration law. She wrote her own account of the trip.

The first part of the trip was a blast. We chatted, we debated, we sang Scottish songs (I finally got to sing the recently learned For A' That in full - I'm quite good), we talked of New Zealand politics, what independence meant to each of us and what brought us to Yes. It was quite wonderful. Each of us, complete strangers who could not be more different to one another, united in a common cause of national and personal empowerment. I made it clear that I was a relatively new party hack in the Scottish Socialist Party, so party business was off the agenda for discussion - although politics and campaigning was ripe for rich blether.

It's very much a microcosm of the Yes campaign in general. Disparate and wildly different people, brought together united. I have made more friends in the past 2 years in this campaign than I have in 20 years of outside life. One of these days, I'm going to ask myself why that is.

The latter half was less nice. Everyone was knackered and grumpy. The musicians were pissed and singing loudly in their slumber. With legs and buttocks uncomfortably falling asleep, I knew I wasn't going to get much in the way of rest. I manage some, and am told that I kept quite a few awake due to snoring. We get to Dover, passing misty and grey buildings on the way, ghost buildings reminding me a little of Pripyat photographs, desperately in need of regeneration and tourism attractions.

An affably quick trip through French border control, and the B&O ferry affords us time to stretch our legs and maybe swig some more coffees. We do so and go for a walk on deck. No-one's in a particularly chatty mood, I take the hint. The sun threatens to rise for about 10 minutes, creating a gorgeous golden-red aura of cloud, mist and cold. On the deck, braced and awakened with the cold, I read Tony Benn's diaries - about the time of 9/11, engage with a simple sweet humanity of a life well-examined - and resolve to write more often. Probably won't happen, but I'll continue to manage the guilt.

Off the ferry and into Calais. The heat is beginning to take hold, and it does so as we drift through north east France and into Belgium. The scenery is flat as a billiard table. I listen to French lessons podcasts on the trip, trying to brush up briefly on my terrible French vocabulary and grammar.

After an hour of fighting with spelling mistakes and the sat-nav, we arrive at a house above a pharmacy, owned by a member of the Nieuwe Vlaamse Alliantie (NVA) - a conservative political party seeking Flemish independence. We meet up with various other SNP party hacks and campaigners, almost all of whom I've met through social media, Yes Scotland and social events. I like Shona McAlpine - a gallus gob from Govan - almost immediately. The group tuck into a quick feed on salad, bread, cheese, mayonnaise, olives and fruit.

It turns out that the brewery that was to be our home for the night is unavailable. The "pissup in a brewery" joke aside, accommodation is quickly found near the small town of Sint-Niklaas. It's basic, and smells of newly-assembled furniture and horses. We leave our bags and quickly depart for a short tour of Sint-Niklaas. Our guides speak decent English, while occasionally falling to a mixture of Dutch and French when the vocabulary isn't all there. It's all quite amicable and fun. The pipers play a quick set in front of the massive town hall, directly in front of the Grote Markt - the largest market square in Belgium, which recently celebrated 500 years in existence, and convenes every Thursday.

Noting the sheer number of bicycles in wide use - I strike up a conversation with a town councillor who is also a teacher, discussing the nature of local government in Flanders. We're given a tour of the town centre, and brought to a tobacco museum, featuring a mighty collection of all things baccy - including the world's biggest cigar, historical records of tobacco trading documents and surprisingly intricate and beautiful pipes and holders. To cement the idea that is is a hobbit's paradise, we were drawn upstairs for a half-pint of our choosing. The room was coated in a perfumed fug of pipe smoke, Borkum Riff Cherry. As I get older, I could totally get into this kind of simple luxury.

Now - the Belgians don't fuck about with beer. Best of the lot was Tripel Klok - manufactured by Boelens brewery, a very local brewing company founded around the 1850s in Church Street. Sweet, rich, creamy and incredibly refreshing.

As we drank, unwound and generally chit-chatted with interesting and interested strangers, the young daughter of one of the councillors played Flemish pipes. There's a lingering melancholy to the tune and the pipes themselves; a sad, serene gentleness - compared to the raucous skirling of the Scots bagpipe. The young lady was then joined by Craig, our own piper. There was a curious joy, and an ecstacy of fumbling as the people in the room connected, in talk, drink and music. In that moment, it was laid abundantly clear, national self-determination and cross-border kinship are quite simply not, and should never be considered, mutually exclusive concepts.

That's not to say there aren't serious, difficult political ramifications that won't be wished away.

After the tobacco and beer, we went to a local pub. A bit of broken French and pointing at beers later, the little differences came to light. Each glass was washed and the beer poured in front of my eyes. The bartender then took a straight-edged implement, and wiped off the top of the head immediately and plopped it on the counter, cold froth still dribbling down. It was then I discovered Duvel - a very quaffable but rather strong Belgian beer. Downed a bottle. I ordered another two, for myself and the councillor. Alas, we were quickly hurried off - so now, I've got two open bottles of powerful beer to drink myself, and heading across town for dinner. And the alcohol from the previous drinks was beginning to take effect.

Across town for our dinner - most of us got the local Flemish stew, delicious tender beef, soaked in thick savoury gravy; mopped up with undercooked chips. During the meal, I got to know Craig quite well, his business aspirations and his growing family.

Half of us wanted to retire for the evening, the other half wanted to continue on a pub crawl. Being the delirious fool, I was delighted to do so. It became a blur after a while: we crawled, we drank some more, we shared Yes Scotland campaign gossip, we chain-smoked, we collected interesting local people, we hugged and shared our stories, we said our goodbyes to our gracious councillor hosts, we debated the nature of Yes Scotland's civic nationalist-green-and-socialist movement with right-wing Flemish nationalists, and left-wingers who want to remain part of Belgium. The left-right divide is just as powerful, and just as deeply felt - but it was odd to feel the shoe on the other foot.

A taxi-ride that I don't remember, a desperate hangover, a gob like an ashtray and scary levels of snoring, a couple of Danish sweet pastries, and we're piling back on the minibus to head to the self-determination rally in Brussels, in Cinquantenaire Park. We're there quite early, but thousands of Catalans are there already amid the glorious gardens. I feel like a fifth wheel, but engage anyway. An assembled bamboo-stick and Saltire later, and I'm flying the flag for my country, engaging in conversation with the assembled.

I'm reminded of arch-unionist Sir Walter Scott: "Breathes there the man, with soul so dead / Who never to himself hath said / This is my own, my native land!" - I start to miss Scotland, even though I'm going back in a mere five hours. An elderly Flemish gentleman stops me, and gives me a scarf. I don't have anything to return, other than a copy of the SSP's The Case For an Independent Socialist Scotland, a grateful hug and my thanks.

In addition to Catalans and Flemish, there were Sicilians, Basques, South Tyrolians (whose flag is identical to the St George's cross - I've seen enough of those on the opposing side of anti-racist marches!) and others. The crowd is nowhere near the size of Edinburgh's March and Rally for Scottish Independence - but it's considerable, nevertheless. I'd say around 4,500 people - although I'm briefed to say it was 25,000. Bollocks. There are little white lies and there are whoppers. :)

But each of them would give something truly precious to have the what we have in Scotland. To them, and myself - it is the opportunity of a lifetime. And voting Yes, we would change their fortunes, too. Given my political compass, I find it ironic as hell that by choosing independence to escape from a horrendous right-wing government, we could liberate and empower other right-wingers within Europe.

It's the price of self-determination. The freedom to choose to make bad decisions - but the power to correct them if the people decide.

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On writing implements

2014-04-11T08:54:20Z

I'm trying to recreate the writing implements of my youth. I'm browsing stationary stores, looking for pads of just the right kind of squared paper in which I learned the quadratic formula, proved the sine rule, came up with a rudimentary proof of Pythagoras, wrote simple algorithms to find perfect numbers, came to a crash course in physics, balanced chemistry equations, wrote film review notes, copied recipes from the TV.

Paper thickness matters. 80gsm is thin, lacking in heft, weight and moves too easily from resistance from my hand. I had an architect's pad, each page was headed by the company name - 0.5cm squared paper, thick enough to take a bit of abuse, quality paper that felt just a little bit slick, but you could still feel the fibres that made up the texture of the page.

Sod fountain pens, I feel like the Third Doctor when I use them. I need a solid pen that feels right. Balanced in my hand, with smooth straightforward movement across the page, does detail well, paper soaks up just the right required amount of ink, without having to go over twice or drown it in blots. A workman's pen. Good for anything from a quickly jotted essay, signing cheques and adding personal notes to a textbook. I had one of those - and I had no idea it was precious to me. A comfortable talisman for writing terrible poetry and songs.

I'm becoming a stationary nerd. Is this how it happens, searching for a bit of nostalgia?

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Letter for enshrining trans equality in marriage law

2013-11-21T16:48:13Z

Dear Mr Chisholm,

I wish to thank you very much for your vote in favour of the Marriage and Civil Partnership (Scotland) Bill. This ensures that Scotland continues its progression as a country equal for all its citizens in her laws. Sometimes, absent of party hackery and tribalism, I can be in awe of the maturity and respect in the Scottish Parliament. I was deeply moved and delighted by the turnout and generally very high quality of the debate.

But the process isn't over. I write to you today to ask you to consider the amendments to the bill submitted to the Scottish Equal Opportunities Committee, which will further improve it for transgender and intersex individuals.

The Equality Network, headquartered in our constituency and with wide-reaching contributors, has proposed five amendments.

1) To end the spousal veto on gender recognition. Uncooperative spouses can deny gender recognition - requiring a divorce for the trans person to be legally recognised as the gender they live as.
2) A reduction in the age required for gender recognition. Although trans people could easily satisfy all of the conditions required to receive gender recognition by the time they are 16, they are barred from applying because of their age. This is discriminatory and unfair.
3) Alternative evidence requirements for long term transitioned people. Given the difficulties in seeking a diagnosis for gender dysphoria in the first place, and if the patient has been out of the process for a period of time, it can be even more difficult. Seeking reassignment after marriage compounds this issue.
4) Allowing gender-neutral ceremonies. In truth, removing gender from our marriage laws sounds like a simple remedy.
5) To allow people with foreign civil partnerships to marry. Reasonably straightforward.

These amendments are discussed in detail in the Equality Network's pamphlet, which I link to a PDF copy below.

http://www.scottishtrans.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Equal-Marriage-Amendments-Briefing.pdf

I would also hope that support could further be raised for heterosexual couples to have a civil partnership ceremony should they so wish. That way, both straight and LGBTI couples can be said to be equal in relationship law.

I trust you will consider the amendments' remedies to each of these concerns. I'd like you to vote in favour of them.

With kind regards,

Scott Macdonald

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In which Scott thanks the leader of the Tories

2013-11-20T22:56:05Z

Dear Ms Davidson,

I wish to thank you, so very much for your proud, passionate contribution to tonight's equal marriage debate.

More than the many other fine contributors to the debate of this progressive bill, in your most personal speech, you spoke for me. You gave voice to enshrining the hope, truth and the forming of stable families which become confident able communities. More than this, you articulated the underlying need for this bill - to remove "that otherness" which need never permeate modern Scotland - and that young LGBTI people know that the their government has their back.

I'm not a constituent. I don't have any right to ask you to consider the many excellent and progressive committee amendments to the bill - which deal with a gender neutral marriage option, fixing the pensions issue, avoid any spousal veto nonsense and do away with the requirement for divorce for gender recognition. But be assured, I shall be lobbying locally to ensure my representatives consider them in full and vote accordingly.

Tonight, you were my comrade - so once again, I thank you very much. With all my best, and the hope that you will be able to marry your love,

Scott Macdonald

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Modern politicking

2013-10-03T13:24:58Z

I'm a newcomer to politics. Since jumping off the fence on the independence referendum in mid-April 2011; this year has been the most eventful of my political life. It had to be. Looking at the challenges facing Yes Scotland, and having came to the conclusion that Scotland would be to my mind better off: socially, democratically, internationally, environmentally, economically and culturally as an independent country, I knew that I had to get involved.

It took a whole year of seeing the wanton destruction of modern Britain under radical cheap-work conservatives, NHS privatisation, food banks, crushed real wages leading to decreased living standards, failing energy regulation leading to huge profits for corporates, disability support cuts, tax avoidance on an gargantuan scale, and trebled tuition fees to get me off my backside. For that, I apologise to all good active citizens in taking so long to get here. In speaking to people, and doing an awful lot of reading about modern British political history, it's like viewing the world clearly for the first time. And it's horrifying.

It took a little less time to fully grasp the fundamental thistle of the nationalist argument. I, and so many people I know, are frustrated by social democratic values being repeatedly thwarted by Tory governments Scotland did not elect and often despise. A Labour party becoming increasingly less relevant in Scotland is no substitute; lurching rightwards on immigration and "the deserving poor" to fend off bigoted UKIP knuckle-draggers and the Daily Mail crowd.

Seeing the diverging political aspirations within Scotland itself as expressed within its devolved parliament's elected representatives and the social democratic values it has demonstrated repeatedly has made it far clearer. This is most directly contrastable with with the UK's flip-flopping two-and-a-crutch party system, permanently enforced by its undemocratic first-past-the-post electoral system.

I see independence as fundamentally about building a better representative democracy. If I saw a route to a better politics for the UK through Westminster by the time I reach middle-age, I'd understand if others voted No.

Scotland has much to offer as an active global citizen. From a recent devolved past where we scrapped tuition fees (I see having a well-educated populace as an investment), prescription charges (we don't tax sick people just because they're sick), to one where we scrap the fiscally ignorant and ill-considered “bedroom tax” and keep public services best placed in public hands.

Furthermore, Scots are opposed to the renewal of the expensive and immoral Trident weapons system. Under the union, not only must we pay our share instead of spending that money on education, health and housing, we have to host these weapons of mass indiscriminate civilian incineration in Scotland’s waters, thirty miles from her largest city.

Since signing the Yes declaration in May 2012 and volunteered my time and skills to the Yes Scotland campaign - it's had a curious side-effect in my personal life. I've written more letters, been on more marches and rallies for causes I believe in, been presented with arrest, met more passionate and wise people who agree and disagree with me and spoken to more disparate strangers in the past year than I've ever done in my prior adult life. They all have bit-by-bit changed me, as I may have bit-by-bit changed them.

I've joined a political party, the Scottish Socialist Party, attended their national conference, met hundreds of interesting people, joined the local branch and helped them spread their vision of creating a better society, where people and not profit matter most.

Getting more actively involved in grassroots politics has changed my day-to-day life.

It's tiring. I've been sleeping less, and working harder.

It's rewarding. Slowly convincing people of the causes and overcoming skepticism is immense. It's given me confidence in my abilities to openly discuss things that are important to me.

It's frustrating. Quite often in those I meet, I find apathy blended with ignorance, cultivated over a lifetime of marginalisation, disenfranchisement and disempowerment. I have yet to find consistently good means to engage them. Wit occasionally helps.

It's terrifying. What if we fail, or screw up, or over-think the negative possibilities? The only way to surely fail is to not try.

I've also found my personal communication habits changing: when on marches, leafleting, stopping people on the street, knocking doors, talking to friends, neighbours, family or extended social circles. I find that I'm rarely off-message; looking for an opportunity, a careful gambit to insert a point of interest, or a means to guide some thinking. It's an oddly mercenary approach.

I've found the trick to good political communication is listening carefully to what's being said, add an appropriate interjection, answer all the questions put to the best of your ability, then thank them for their time and leave them to chew on the information. It's for this reason, I'm pleased the referendum campaign has spent a year preparing the groundwork, amassing an army of volunteers (each with their own talents and time) to best spend the remaining 50 weeks. People need time and reinforcement of facts, not froth to make a similar journey to pull them towards Yes.

I'm loath to use the term "real change", when it's so flagrantly abused to distinguish between flavours and colours of Thatcherite in Westminster party-politics, but real change does happen - with equal marriage, the welfare state, the National Health Service, universal suffrage. It happens slowly, but speeds up when there's a mass movement and force behind it. And hard to cultivate directly, amidst an ill-representative democracy and a collective stew of back-and-forth oppositional bickering.

If you want to add your piece of real change to the world, then do the following: talk to people, turn up to a rally, write a letter or email to your representatives (they're human beings, too - so write openly and honestly: a genuine letter in your own words matters) or join political organisations and parties that share your values and beliefs. And no matter how proud you are, always, always, ALWAYS be ready to accept you might be wrong.

Are politics and politicians failing us, or are we failing them? It's a little of both, but we should never fall into apathy in our public discourse. Constant vigilance protects us all.

Add your voice to public life. Get active.

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Dirty Money: The Tory Millionaire Bankrolling Better Together

2013-04-10T13:41:13Z

This is a copy of an article posted by Michael Gray on April 7, 2013 on the website: National Collective. National Collective has been removed from the Internet. Some people just don't understand The Streisand Effect! Copy, print, and share.

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Today ‘Better Together’ disclosed £1.1 million of donations to its campaign. Almost half of that sum came from one man: Ian Taylor, a long-term Conservative Party donor and Chief Executive of oil-traders Vitol plc.

Today’s Sunday Herald described Taylor as “a Scots oil trader with a major stake in the Harris Tweed industry”. They also gave Taylor’s views – who is reportedly worth £155 million – print space to justify his funding decision.

This raises several concerns. Taylor, according to The Sunday Herald, is not registered to vote in Scotland. This breaks Electoral Commission guidelines for general elections, which Yes Scotland has promised to follow. Secondly, Ian Taylor has given £550,000 to the Conservative Party since 2006. This is a further case of Tory donors – and their political interests – bankrolling the ‘no’ campaign.

These general complaints, however, are minor in comparison to more serious incidents – unmentioned in the media today – linked to Ian Taylor’s business background.

While Chief Executive of Vitol plc, his company has been involved in shady-deals in Serbia, Iraq, Libya and Iran. Furthermore, Vitol avoided tax to the tune of millions of pounds through an offshore trading scheme. Douglas Alexander, Labour’s Shadow Foreign Secretary, described Vitol’s relationship with Westminster as “curious”, and said there were questions to answer.

As Chief Executive of Vitol since 1995, Ian Taylor has serious questions to answer in all of these cases. Better Together have serious questions to answer as to what they knew about Ian Taylor before they accepted half-a-million pounds from him. Alistair Darling – who recently met with Taylor prior to the funding deal – must also confirm what his position is on the following cases.

1) Vitol Admitted Paying $1 million to a Serbian Paramilitary Leader

In 1996 Vitol paid $1 million to the Serbian paramilitary leader Arkan to settle a score over a secret oil deal to supply Slobodan Milosevic’s Serbia with fuel. Ian Taylor’s director, Bob Finch, used Arkan as a ‘fixer’ after the oil deal in the former Yugoslavia collapsed. Arkan was assassinated in 2000.

Arkan was indicted by the UN war crimes tribunal in The Hague for crimes against humanity. According to The Obverver – which names Ian Taylor in its investigation into Arkan – “his brutality was well documented” when the meeting with Vitol’s representative took place. Arkan’s paramilitaries – ‘the tigers’ – were notorious for massacring 250 patients and staff in a hospital.

Ian Taylor was Chief Executive of Vitol when Bob Finch, as Vitol Director, went to Belgrade. Arkan was then indicted with 24 crimes against humanity.

What did Ian Taylor know about his company’s dealing in Serbia and their payment to Arkan? What is the position of Better Together in relation to this?

2) Vitol plc: Guilty of Bribing Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi Regime For Oil Contracts

While Ian Taylor was Chief Executive, Vitol paid $13 million in kickbacks to Iraqi officials under Saddam Hussein to win oil supply contracts. The company pled guilty in a U.S. court to grand larceny in November 2007 and paid $17.5 million in restitution as a result. This undercut the UN oil-for-food program – 1996-2003 – that sought to trade Iraqi energy resources for humanitarian supplies.

Was Ian Taylor aware of his company’s actions at the time? To what extent did his company profit from these deals in Iraq and to what extent did he profit personally from the company’s success? Is Better Together content to accept Mr Taylor as a major funder in these circumstances?

3) Ian Taylor’s Company Avoided Tax ‘for more than a decade’

Vitol plc employed the controversial tax avoidance scheme known as ‘Employee Benefit Trusts’. (EBTs) Such schemes allowed employees to avoid paying income tax and companies to avoid national insurance contributions. Vitol used the scheme ‘for more than a decade’.

Tax evasion and avoidance costs the UK Exchequer tens of billions of pounds a year. EBTs were banned in 2011. Vitol then entered negotiations with HMRC over claims that it still owed millions of pounds in unpaid taxes.

What did Ian Taylor know about the company’s tax avoidance scheme? Even if it met legal requirements, does he consider tax avoidance to be morally just? Is Better Together aware of these claims against the company of its major donor?

4) Ian Taylor has been accused of improper political donations to the Conservative Party.

According to today’s Sunday Herald, Ian Taylor has donated £550,000 to the Conservative Party since 2006. He was one of the 70 millionaires who paid the £50,000 privilege to join David Cameron’s Leaders Group. Leaders Group membership led, in many cases, to a private dinner with the Prime Minister, which Taylor attended in Downing Street on November 2nd 2011. This was part of the “cash for access scandal”.

Taylor’s political donations have also been criticised by Shadow Foreign Secretary Douglas Alexander. In 2011 questions were raised concerning Taylor’s relationship with Alan Duncan, the International Development Minister. Taylor and Duncan had worked together at Shell. Duncan lobbied for an ‘oil cell’ within the Foreign Office to control fuel supplies within Libya. For this the government received substantial support through Vitol plc. Civil service official were concerned that the behaviour was “encroaching too far on commercial purposes”. According to The Daily Mail, Ian Taylor “profited from the war in Libya” and his company received a $1 billion contract to supply oil to the Libyan rebels. This was described at the time as a “huge conflict of interest”.

Douglas Alexander, Labour’s Shadow Foreign Secretary said, “Given Alan Duncan’s reported links with Vitol this curious briefing from within government actually raises more questions than it answers,”

Did Ian Taylor gain influence within government for his £550,000? Why was Douglas Alexander concerned about Vitol’s relationship with the UK Government? Is Mr Alexander happy for Better Together to be receiving financial support from the same source?

5) Iran and current business practices

Vitol recently conceded, in September 2012, that it had broken sanctions on trading Iranian oil. According to Reuters, the company purchased 2 million barrels of fuel oil. This undercut Western efforts to isolate the Iranian regime, and brought further attention to Mr Taylor’s close relationship with the UK government.

Is Vitol an ethical company and should Better Together accept support and funding from this source?

Better Together have serious questions to answer

This information raises serious questions – both for Ian Taylor and the ‘Better Together’ campaign.

There cannot be a fair referendum if money is solicited from outwith Scotland or from rich Tory donors who do not vote in Scotland.

There cannot be an open referendum if funding comes from unethical sources. Our politics is once again tarnish by ‘dirty money’ and vested corporate interests.

This information also raises serious questions for the Scottish and UK media, who have not raised any of these question in relation to today’s donation announcement.

There cannot be a fair or open referendum if the Scottish people are left in the dark. We need to have the facts. We need to know the truth.

I hope this makes the case for funding alternative media in Scotland even clearer on our path to building a more equal, prosperous and peaceful Scotland.

Michael Gray
grayinglasgow
National Collective

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Debtbusting in an independent Scotland

2013-03-23T23:39:51Z

I should qualify some of this. Kezia Dugdale MSP in the Scottish Labour Party has done a lot of excellent work as a regional MSP in her Debtbusters campaign against pay-day loan companies. She was also the No campaign's representative at a recent public debate.

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Dear Ms. Dugdale,

I'd like to state that I enjoy both our Twitter exchanges and keeping up to date with your activities and work. You came to my attention during your excellent regional work in Debtbusters. It is the complexities of this, as you highlighted in the Debating Scottish Independence public debate on 6th March, within the context of an independent Scotland, that I write to you today. I mentioned it to you on Twitter, and seek clarification now.

My interpretation is thus: The underlying regulation - rather than your outstanding campaign work for local amelioration - is unlikely to be faced until the Labour Party legislate UK-wide, or a Scottish Parliament can hold the full powers to do so. I was distraught to learn of the very poor debate in the Holyrood debating chamber, where independence was held up as *the* solution by MSPs within the government. You disagree that Scotland should be an independent country, and believe that as an independent country we would face other difficulties for dealing with this vile problem.

So, please can you outline the specific concerns and difficulties that would face an independent Scotland, with its full powers, to legislate against pay-day loans. If you have made speeches inside or outside the chamber, or had written correspondence with ministers which deal with this specific concern, I would like to read and consider them. Furthermore, I would appreciate your considered perspective in this matter should Scotland decide to become independent. I believe that social justice unites us regardless of party affiliation, or constitutional preference.

Thank you for your very welcome invitation to the Debtbusters public meeting in April. I shall be happy to attend, and will see if I can bring others. I support your regional campaign ameliorating as much as possible the reach of these predatory companies, and the deprivation and desperation they exploit and generate.

Yours gratefully,

Scott Macdonald

P.S. Your answer to my question about what should be enshrined in a written constitution of Scotland was the best answer of the night.

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Workfare vote

2013-03-19T09:15:53Z

Dear Mr. Lazarowicz,

I write to you today to express my concern at my understanding that the Labour Party will not oppose the government's retrospective legislation on workfare. The bill seeks to retrospectively excuse the DWP from reimbursing wrongly sanctioned claimants.

This, to put it mildly, is illiberal hogwash and sets a dangerous precedent. When citizens defeat the government in court, it can overturn the court ruling retrospectively with primary legislation – effectively making the government above the rule of law.

I would appreciate that you vote against, or provide a detailed explanation as to why you will not vote against it.

I hope this email finds you well.

Yours sincerely,

Scott Macdonald

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Voting at 16 in the independence referendum

2012-10-11T14:28:07Z

Dear Mr. Chisholm,

I write to you today to highlight a potential issue in what is likely to be an issue in the upcoming 2014 independence referendum. I note that the agreement has yet to be confirmed, but it has been widely reported in the media that 16 and 17 year olds will be eligible to vote.

Duncan Hothersall, a Scottish Labour activist in Edinburgh has astutely highlighted the difficulty in canvassing those 16 and 17 year olds. His opinions can be read here:

http://dhothersall.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/votes-at-16-and-critical-importance-of.html

I believe that his central tenet - that it shall be of utmost importance that next year's Valuation Joint Board must ask for the names and birthdays of 14 and 15 year olds in a household - is quite sound.

If you agree, then please can you clarify, or discuss this matter with those selecting the means by which voters are empowered in the constitutional future of Scotland? If it is to be an inclusive and fair ballot, Mr. Hothersall's points make sense.

Thank you for your time. I look forward to your reply, and wish you every continuing success in representing Edinburgh Northern and Leith in the Scottish Parliament.

Yours faithfully,

Scott Macdonald

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Reviewing movies

2012-06-18T20:56:45Z

It's Edinburgh Film Festival time again. Every year, I end up writing loads of reviews all the while wondering how *other people* review movies. I find it difficult, but not impossible to churn out 3 or 4 pieces a day. Here's how I cope.

When watching, I keep scribbling notes, to remind myself of people, places and interesting lines. I stop doing this around halfway, and simply keep watching the movie.

Once the movie is over I find a comfy seat, transcribe the notes I've made to computer, and add whatever detail I can to them while writing them up. During this detail-adding, I invariably start writing in complete sentences, and some of the structure of the review reveals itself. Re-reading the mass of detailed notes, I try to divine some kind of structure to the piece (finding connective links, amassing evidence for my views and to give the reader a flavour of the film), and then copying and pasting the notes to suit.

I then eliminate useless text, write some tissue to unify the piece, and have a fight with how to begin and end the review. A final re-read, to ameliorate the over-written and "chewy" (ones that are nearly impossible to speak aloud without getting into a knot) paragraphs, and I'm done.

Method. What do you all do?

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Enjoying Twitter 101

2012-05-13T17:57:15Z

There's little surprise that QI host Stephen Fry was one of the first major cheerleaders for tweeting. Twitter isn't in itself very interesting - but becomes interesting through being a source and user-driven broadcaster of interesting things from its users.

I hesitate to use the word recipe. Recipes involve doing things precisely and in order - Twitter is more like "just whack a bit of it in". It doesn't matter much as to the proportion, as long as you do them regularly and often.

Follow interesting people and engage with them.
Tweet things you find interesting, and you think others would find interesting. Don't be shy about it either.
Propagate current interesting news, witter or events. (Either tweet your own spin on it, or retweet it for others who follow you.)

Twitter's smartest move is the ease of following and unfollowing people. It's easy to take a punt on an unknown person; should they be dull outside of a few choice tweets you can unfollow them quickly and easily with a minimum of social baggage. Following people who are experts in your interests gives a rich tapestry of interesting stuff of the here and now. Engaging with them benefits everyone - since those who are interested can join in the conversation.

Journalists tend to do well - the providers of regular digested news, gossip, astute commentary, pithy back and forth chatter and links to some of the most interesting stuff on the Internet. 140 characters need not be a limitation. It is sufficient for a single, carefully-considered thought, point or counterpoint - any one of which can be the beginning of an interesting, multi-dimensional tapestry of chatter within or around the here and now.

Trending topics are little pieces of text about which a lot of people have taken a sudden interest. These are mostly inane, but occasionally provide interesting social data on current issues and interests.

One of the interesting hacks that emerged from Twitter early on was the concept of hashtagging, and using Twitter's search to find common chatter. They were adopted, and now are part of the common Twitter lexicon.

Hashtags unify disparate commentary on commonly discussed current affairs - using a common shibboleth which begins with a hash sign (#). Reading live updates, adding your own chatter, retweeting points for your followers - it all contributes to a rich source of interesting media.

They range from silly word-punning games [0], through current happenings across the globe, to live television commentary from some of the wittiest, most enthusiastic and passionate people. The #bbcqt hashtag is for BBC Question Time, a UK political discussion show which covers the issues of the week with politicians, commentators and its audience. Add the drinking game, and it's like having a busy pub discussion with thousands of people.

It's all Quite Interesting.

You can reach me at @scott_eff.

[0] - Recent example: #popleveson. Write a tweet in the style of Robert Jay QC - lead counsel to the Leveson Inquiry - to a pop-star using their songs as submitted evidence.

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Communications snooping proposals - letter to MP

2012-04-03T08:14:29Z

Dear Mr. Lazarowicz,

I am a university-educated IT professional living within your constituency. I write to you today to express my disgust at the announcements made yesterday regarding the massive expansion of the online and cellular surveillance programme - RIPA - which may be part of Her Majesty's speech in May. Leaked briefing notes suggest that the Liberal Democrats will support it, in spite of their coalition agreement - "We will end the storage of Internet and email records without good reason."

My opinion is thus: this scheme is a violation of our human right to privacy. Such measures are also easily defeated by anyone with sufficient knowledge of Internet and cellular communications technology - terrorists and criminals can avoid such surveillance with a little discipline; all the while the privacy of innocents is indexed and susceptible to data-mining. As for policing, an argument could easily be made that the current system of surveillance authorised by judges when there is reasonable suspicion works, and gives police the powers they need. Personally, I believe the illiberal RIPA should be repealed.

The proposal may also backfire spectacularly, as means to defeat surveillance become common knowledge and are used far more frequently. Journalists, other investigative personnel, protesters and privacy-conscious citizens who have broken no laws and use encryption, proxies and anonymising technologies will be under undue state suspicion. Furthermore we can ill afford to pay for another inevitable failed government IT white elephant, particularly while the Chancellor continues doing precious little to stimulate economic growth, jobs and borrows far more than projected.

I further expect this scheme to be tendered out to the private sector. Perhaps Rupert Murdoch might be interested in bankrolling it, since mass interception of private communications seems to be in his interests.

Thanks to the eternally useful website, The Public Whip, I note you overwhelmingly supported the identity cards charade, but rebelled against the Digital Economy Act after consulting with your constituents. I know not the politics of defying a three-line whip, but thank you. What links these matters is thus: civil liberties are real, and are matters which people care about. Nevertheless, I would like you to clarify your position on this matter, and as my representative, to take on board my opinion. Further information about how this scheme differs from prior efforts would be appreciated.

You may reach me on this email address, or via post if you wish to discuss it further.

Yours faithfully,

Scott Macdonald

--> snip address.

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Fitness wahoozery

2012-02-16T16:43:01Z

I was asked recently about how exercise is coming along. It went south over October and November, although I kept the PureGym membership and occasionally went to make heavy things move.

Over the past three months, I've improved. One of my co-workers is a personal trainer and martial artist, and with his help I've started kickboxing after a fifteen year hiatus - and I seem to have kept most of my earlier flexibility. It's utterly punishing stuff, with incredible emphasis on conditioning and cardiovascular work. By the end, I'm uncoordinated, tired and weak - and in pushing on, in spite of the dizziness and drenching in sweat I'm learning to enjoy it once more. It's weirdly rewarding. I keep walking out feeling like a million bucks; like I'm accomplishing something.

In early February, I hired my co-worker as personal trainer (at a considerably less expensive rate than I got from the gym) for an hour a week. In these sessions, I've been pushed for more conditioning, and learning how to handle kettlebells correctly. They're excellent for combining resistance training with gasping-for-breath cardio work. I seem to be blessed with buttocks of old mutton and iron. My lower back isn't thanking me, but it's the good kind of tired muscle pain, which is easily resolved with a good stretch. Not to be confused with the "AAAAARGHCANTGETOUTOFBED!" pain that requires Vicodin. I've gotten myself two steel kettlebells from left-over birthday money, do a short circuit every morning and I'm already looking for heavier ones.

In a moment of madness and their £29/month promotion, I've joined Edinburgh Leisure - mostly because I like Leith Victoria's swimming pool - and it's easy to sneak in a swim most days after work. Again, I've kept most of my skill from fifteen years ago, even if I don't have the puff to do much more than the occasional front crawl sprint.

Speaking of puff, in spite of several attempts (most of which annoy the shit out of my Twitter followers), the delicious fags remain. There is no excuse. I've been supplanting them with electronic cigarettes, the kind that make my mouth smell like a packet of blackcurrant Tunes. All hail helping me breathe less easily.

I pulled out the old pull-up bar from the closet (probably bought years ago on a dare), and combined it with a Pilates resistance band tied to the frame and using the band on my foot as assistance. This way, I'm training myself to handle the load, and I'll decrease the assistance from the band. Using a stool to assist in pull-ups requires me to split focus from the pull-up movement itself, whereas the bands are passive assistance.

So. Nothing much has changed. I'm still unfit; every session remains a challenge, but the real difficulties in keeping the routine remain. How do you all keep yourself motivated?

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Cleaning up Windows - no more

2011-09-12T11:35:48Z

I refuse to fix, descum or wipe computers for people who don't want to care about computer security - or just don't want to get to grips with a Windows install disc. Each time I copy off personal stuff, install Windows, patch Windows, install Windows anti-virus, install a secure browser and shore up the computer with the necessary extraneous gubbins, it's usually five-to-eight hours out of my life that I won't get back. It happens often enough (Half a dozen times a year, and mostly the same people, for the past ten years) to put my foot down in this way.

To this end, I state the following: Computer fixing jobs for those whom I am not already in a business relationship are henceforth £25 an hour, with a minimum time of two hours.[0]

It should filter out the low-hanging stuff. I do this for a living, and won't bring my work home with me any more. Occasional[1] or one-off advice remains free.

I have done this nearly a hundred times for people who don't understand that opening leettr0jan.exe, or following dodgy email/facebook/twitter messages probably won't result in a neat new screensaver? I am tempted to make a virus and call it i_am_a_fucking_moron_with_no_understanding_of_basic_computer_security.exe.

I wrote this post a while back as another New Year resolution, and chucked it since I come across as a knobend. If you're offended by this, imagine wasting six hundred hours of your time for no recompense other than avoiding guilt-tripping. Fuck guilt.

And of course: Cracked.com has summed it up perfectly.

[0] - unless you've got an interesting[1] problem, and/or an interesting conversational style - and you're willing to stick around throughout, in which the fee transmutes to two bottles of very decent[1] single malt whisky.
[1] - the meaning of "interesting", "decent" and "occasional", are such afforded at my sole discretion.

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Where the Scottie hires someone to make him fit

2011-08-06T14:44:15Z

I often cycle to work. The bicycle is one of our greatest transport inventions, transferring up to 98% of the energy from the rider to the wheels, this means I don't really need to put a very large amount of effort into it, and coasting - stop pedalling and letting momentum take you forward - is common. It's not really making me that much fitter, but quick for getting me from one side of Edinburgh to the other in an hour (which is about the time I'd take on the bus). It also makes me strangely happy. I turn up raring to go.

Anyway, I've been a lardy guy for the better part of 20 years, and I'm getting sick of it. The only people I know AFK who have successfully changed from being fat to slim have either exercised hard or had surgery to make it so they can only eat a few mouthfuls of food. Good food is a great pleasure, and should not be sacrificed. My mum has lost a lot of weight in the past two years, through eating a lot less, but she looks weak - losing both good muscle as well as fat. As it happens, I work with a guy who moonlights as a martial arts and personal trainer, and after picking his brains over a few "water-cooler" moments, he suggested hiring a personal trainer to go over my lifestyle and training regimen. Around the same time I got a raise, and decided I could afford it. It's also the first time I've ever face-to-face hired someone to do me a personal service.

So, after asking at my local gym I got a trainer. He's a rugby player, and looks it, built like a friendly brick shithouse. As it turns out, it was entirely (if initially) painless - a couple of questionnaires and a conversation about goals. Taking "I want to be healthy, fit and strong" - and breaking it down into "running 2 miles without an oxygen tank", "being able to do unassisted pull-ups" and "losing fat, without losing muscle". I despise the word "tone" as a verb - it's a marketing droid's word that disguises the very real effort required to get in shape. Instead of saying "tone" from now on, say "making heavy things move and yourself for good measure". It's hard work, and using soft words to disguise it is foolish. </rant>

On to the first session - a basic program of calisthenics and simple equipment exercises. The trainer devised a program that avoids resistance machines, largely because the body does not work in the simple way that these machines force you to work. Hooray for science! I regretted it, but almost certainly won't over time as I get better. Going through the programme, it was an interesting if downright weird experience - relearning how to do this stuff properly, and feeling the body work as a functional unit. I have so many annoying habits, and physical tics to undo.

Lesson #1 - Getting it right is more important than throwing weight around. So, it turns out I had to relearn how to do a squat: bend at the hips, keeping knees in line with toes, driving through the ground with your heels, and keeping the back straight. Keeping that stuff in your head, and feeling it work - it was strangely satisfying.

It's worth saying out loud that a knowledgeable, encouraging and correcting-where-necessary human being is an enormous help.

Towards the end, the programme required gritted teeth, involuntarily shaking. and a small monsoon of hard-won sweat. But... I *can* do this. In the changing room afterwards, pulling off a sopping-wet t-shirt with some difficulty, and feeling the soft, sweet endorphin rush amid deep, rich oxygen refilling my body; it felt like an accomplishment - a badge of pride.

Now to do it again...

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An appeal to the well-read.

2011-01-10T12:02:53Z

I am not very well-read. I know more about cinema than I do any other art form, and I suspect it's hampering my abilities to communicate - at least in appreciation of shared contextual comedy and avoiding general ignorance. Therefore my New Year Resolutions (yes, they're made to be broken - I'll try not to) include the following two.

I'll write a blog post at least once a fortnight - including this one. Some may be friends locked, some may be private to me alone. All that psychological nonsense that clogs up my right hemisphere late at night when frantically trying to sleep will be dumped there. Apologies in advance if any of you should be exposed to it. I may also review films and Doctor Who.
I should become better-read. Fifty books over the course of the year should be manageable.

So, my appeal to the groupthink. Please suggest books that will not turn up in those terribly dry "*arbitrary number* of X to Y before you die" listspeak books. I'll be reading stuff from the "long established classics" nodegel too, and would appreciate some suggestions to randomise it a little.

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For Gallifrey! For VICTORY!

2011-01-06T13:10:17Z

For the least original blogpost in all history.

Someone pinch me, 2010 was the year that someone actually remembered that Doctor Who is supposed to be fun. When it's scary, it's fun. When it's light and funny, it's fun. Matt Smith is blessed with the kind of natural eccentricity and downright weirdness not seen in the Doctor since Tom Baker. Fourteen episodes down, and he is *my* Doctor, exposing the much beloved Tennant as a bit of a mopey git. In spite of budget cuts they shot in high-definition and had some very imaginative people manning the camera and production design - they really did make the most of what they had.

So, from best to worst:

1. The Eleventh Hour - A modern, retro and delightful fairytale. Gorgeous, efficient (watch how much information is crammed into this unfettered romp) direction from Adam Smith and a showcase for everyone else involved - just try not loving Eleven after a midnight feast of Fish Custard.
2. Vincent and the Doctor - The kind of thick, emotional richness that Russell T Davies was praised for, done right. If you don't at least swallow a massive lump in the throat, there's something blackened and dead where your heart is supposed to live. It was faultlessly acted to boot.
3. The Pandorica Opens / The Big Bang - The greatest cliffhanger in Doctor Who's history. And it So Was. *points finger and glares at the disbelievers* Double-helpings of Rory being awesome, mixed with a fun, zippy and wonderful resolution - flying plot device A into plot device B has never been so lovingly done. The very idea that telling a story has such an important plot element was a touch of genius - showing up the cack-handed Last of the Time Lords.
4. The Time of Angels / Flesh and Stone - Doctor Who does a terrific, cinematic thriller. Some of the best scares of the year accompany the return of the strongest New Who creatures we've yet seen, and a mid-season humdinger of the all-consuming Big Bad. Highlights include: A space-rescue spanning ten thousand years, some delicious body-horror, the Angels VDU adaptability, an easily missed bit of jacket timeywimey and a helping of sex comedy, just to royally fuck off the greybeards.
5. A Christmas Carol - Seen it twice, even better second time round. The Eleventh Doctor being simultaneously his most manipulative and hilariously blithe ("How do you do that?! Do you breathe out of your EARS or something!"). Like The Eleventh Hour, it delved headily into the vast scope of the modern fairy-tale, and the direction, photography and hissable nastiness sold the deal. The most Christmassy Christmas Special since The Crystal Maze brought the kids on board.
6. Amy's Choice - Imaginary worlds and alternate universes are no stranger to Doctor Who, and a terrific, quotable and funny script by Simon Nye deftly spices the inherent darkness. A ruddy marvellous new adversary in Toby Jones's Dream Lord - with a vicious revelatory sting for Eleven.
7. The Beast Below - Creepy, effective and off-kilter Tales of the Unexpected surreal and magical style storytelling. Loads of pulling the carpet from under us, with a light plot and some pretty full-on modern parallels. Hopefully this isn't the last of the British government commentary in Doctor Who - it's become more topical since our ConDem leaders sending underperforming children out of sight, out of mind or brain-damaging innocents by implements of the "Police State" for the supposed benefit of society.
8. The Lodger - Matt Smith does light, fluffy and charming so beautifully. And, yes - I identified with the unfunny, hopeless little man played by the unfunny, hopeless James Corden. It's a nice further refinement to the Love & Monsters idea of being touched tangentially by the Doctor inspires us to change and become that much more than we were before.
9. The End of Time Part 2 - Any time Tennant and Cribbins were talking was acting gold. They made up superbly for a mostly overindulgent, overserious, moronic and flabby script. The Total Bollocks Overdrive The End of Time Part 1 fell into the cracks - or was it pushed?
10. Victory of the Daleks - Cheerful fun - but with some care, it could have been more than a light pantomime, though. It's a strange misfire - clever and engaging for the first twenty minutes, then gets very silly very rapidly. I like the new Dalek Paradigm, chunky, substantial beasties, and the Doctor's stalemate with them was riveting stuff.

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I have ascended to the ranks of the gainfully employed.

2010-08-13T03:53:18Z

I'm terribly happy. Right now, even as I type, I've got a glowing ember of joy in my chest; the kind of simple bliss that we all had when we were eight and knew Christmas was a couple of days away, or that first visit to a pretty girl's bedroom. Even the simple act of breathing kindles it and spreads the warmth and the endorphins. It's filling me up with pleasure and hope.

Let me explain. I've just gotten a job offer, for a role I think I'd be brilliant at - a Web System Administrator. It's a vague title, encompassing a reasonably broad, if not terribly deep skill-set. It starts on 1st September. The money is perfectly acceptable, it's full-time, permanent and it should be an excellent bike-ride to and from the facility. And I've accepted it.

I've been out of full-time work for just over three years after leaving a property company (in hindsight, at the right time). I was having anxiety attacks at work, and didn't know how to deal with them. Since then I've been doing bit parts in retail, seasonal postal work, volunteer work to keep the CV fresh - and to feel useful! - business eBay selling and up until ten hours ago, a telephone interviewer for a market research company - a job I'd been doing for six days.

My biggest issues in doing this kind of call-centre work are as follows.

I am very easily replaceable - the stats are like a swinging scythe over everyone's head.
I have no sense of ownership of my work. I'm the square peg in a room of cylinders.
The entire job is structured so that I get zero decompression time after a call - no time to catch my breath, or lubricate my throat. I'm usually hoarse after an hour and a half.
There is no chance to get to know anyone while at work. You're perpetually on call, or waiting for the next one to pick up.
Most of my respondents are terribly, yet understandably, rude. Guys, don't be rude, or make excuses to pollsters - just ask them not to call you again, and do the TPS thing for sales calls. Simples!
The money is not good enough - not for the unpleasantness of the job.

Even so, I like money - it buys nice things and services - and so I was planning on sticking with the job until the new one begins. Unfortunately, after handing my notice in, they asked me to leave the premises there and then. Even so, I've gotten things from the job, other than money.

I've never been good on the telephone - I find I witter nervously, rather than sticking to the point. Over the last couple of jobs, I feel I have gotten a lot better and more confident in my professional telephone manner. It's still tough to speak slowly, concisely and clearly; but the experience gained from interviewing and negotiating on the phone should put me in good stead.

While delighted, I'm trying a little to temper my overall joy. I'm not sure if this is my unconscious mind trying to sabotage my happiness, with a nagging and unshakable feeling that "This is usually the point where the ground falls from under my feet." But then again, maybe it won't this time. Maybe this is the one piece that everything else can hang on to. I'm going to hang on to it, and make it flower through skill and will.

Things are good, and I'm happy. And I'm still breathing, it still feels good.

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The Karate Kid (2010)

2010-07-04T17:13:49Z

Dre Parker (Jaden Smith) is a thin, wiry and likeable 12 year old from Detroit. Leaving America with his mother, who is relocating to Beijing for work (his absent father is mentioned only once, in a memory-laden height chart) - he's got his work cut out. He can't speak Mandarin well at all, he's got next-to-no-friends, he's bullied by particularly violent kids schooled by Master Li (Rongguang Yu), a "No Weakness, No Pain, No Mercy" mantra-spouting kung fu instructor, and Dre has from his time in America is a skateboard from his best mate, and memories of Spongebob Squarepants dubbed in English.

Like the original, there's even a rather atypical love story with Meiying (Wenwen Han), a sweet English-speaking girl Dre's age. They have a fairly nice meeting, and evolving friendship. She is driven by her strict parents to practice the violin constantly - a not terribly subtle comment on the high expectations placed upon modern Chinese youth. It works well, forming a charming prepubescent romance. After Dre suffers a particularly brutal attack from his tormentors, the apartment maintenance man, Mr Han (Jackie Chan) steps in, and promises to teach him “real kung fu” and train him for a tournament where he will face the bullies.

All in all, so 1984 - and it's at this point, too that you stop caring that it's a remake. The film, directed by Harald Zwart, is a great step up from his previous efforts The Pink Panther 2 and Agent Cody Banks, and is illustriously photographed by Roger Pratt (the first two Harry Potter pictures). It is about as good as one can expect - a faithful update of the source story by Robert Mark Kamen, by newbie screenwriter Christopher Murphey.

Jaden Smith (The Pursuit of Happyness) is a terrific find, with no "cartoon black kid" nonsense clogging up the work. He's particularly good at the alienated, sensitive and easily hurt kid who's longing for the past; he instinctively knows how to act for the camera - and is evolving into one of the most natural child-performers I've seen in a very long time. He's Will and Jada-Pinkett Smith's son - so screen charisma may be in the family.

The fanservice Miyagisims from 1984 are present and correct - Mr Han finds a new, and considerably more practical way of catching a fly with chopsticks, and lovingly restores a very special car with doses of wax-on wax-off. The fight scenes are mostly over-edited and undershot, with lashings of shots to the sternum and wince-inducing thumps on the soundtrack. Mr Han's defense of Dre is the best fight scene by far. Watching Chan take on six 12 to 13 year olds to humiliate, but not injure them is very clever, but it's a real fight, not at all a weak-sauce effort. The 56-year old Chan has still got it.

The training montages are obvious, present and correct - but the update of "Pat" Moriga's training is strains credibility at first - but like the original, it kind of works. "Kung Fu is in everything we do!" exclaims Mr Han - as Dre grasps the significance of picking up, putting on and pulling his jacket off with perfect form.

The movie features Jackie Chan's best English language performance. There's pathos, depth and honest-to-goodness acting - and he truly sells the idea that student and teacher fit together like the yin-yang. It's corny, but they're good enough to give the movie its humanity and depth. He doesn't remind us of Noriyuki "Pat" Morita's Mr Miyagi, the little clipped man from the original whom noone pays attention to until it's too late. Chan and the script make a halfway decent effort to combine the post-Imperialist China backdrops with the innate sense of being more than just Postcard Exotic Locations. There's a really good story thread where Dre and Han visit the Great Wall, on an equally potent voyage of self-discovery - and refresh themselves with waters real, and metaphorical.

The Karate Kid is a good movie, with a pleasant and engaging story - but it's about half an hour too long; at 140 minutes it tests patience. It's not particularly great cinema, it does nothing at all that's fresh or invigorrating and doesn't replace or outdo the original. It's just different - and equally worthy. Also, it's infinitely better than this year's other 1984 remake, A Nightmare on Elm Street.

Oh, and there's no Karate. Perhaps that's for part II?

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Toy Story 3

2010-06-20T13:07:34Z

"When I became a man, I put away childish things."

Toy Story 3 is a dazzlingly confident and magical picture that recalls Paul of Tarsus's quote, but its makers have never forgotten what it feels like to be children. Pixar Animation Studios continue their near unbroken run of animation masterpieces with a colourful and emotional return to the best toy box in moviedom.

In the first emotional sting of the tale, the first scene delves into a loosely-tethered and spectacular imaginary recreation of the time where we all devised our own worlds and stories with toys. But Andy has finally grown up, and is preparing to go off to college. His toys (the gang's mostly here, though some have left, through age, breakage and yard sales) are devastated with his paucity of playing - going so far as to contrive elaborate schemes to remind Andy of playtime. It doesn't work. They're heartbroken, but pragmatic - "Every toy goes through this".

The week before college, Andy's mother asks Andy to separate the toys he wants to keep for the attic, those for the trash. In a mixup, Buzz Lightyear, Mr & Mrs Potato Head and the rest barely escape from heading to landfill (under the untouched recycling bin) and head to the local day-care centre. The fluffy teddy-bear Lotso, driven bitter and angry by his owner replacing him, spearheads a chilling and wholly corrupt totalitarian regime within the centre. Our heroes are stuffed into the Caterpillar Room for toddlers and barely escape with their lives, if not their dignity.

Lotso enforces discipline with an iron will, eventually reprogramming Buzz to serve him - the effort to get him back to normal leads to the most inspired animation gags of the movie. The rest of the film is basically a wonderful mashup of Toy Story and Prison Break in the most exciting U-rated action adventure I've seen since, well, Pixar's last. (Some moments may disturb very young children - the all-seeing monkey should be a monster on Doctor Who!)

The character animation has come on leaps and bounds since Toy Story 2. Humans are far less plasticy and better animated. And the performances of all the main characters are richer and more nuanced. This is essential for the drama that is to come. Barbie and Ken ("I'm not a girl's toy!", "You're a purse with legs!") have their own delightfully amusing strand, and the voicework remains as invisibly wonderful as always. A particular standout is the Fisher Price Classic Chatter Telephone, an old timer in the centre. Teddy Newton's work combines with magnificent animation (acting by eyebrow has never been so sublime!) to create an incredible world-weary performance.

Pixar have always delivered magnificent scripts, and this is no different - what a delight it would be to be a fly on the wall of their story meetings. The storytelling mixes huge laughs and rich pathos, seemingly without effort, and leads to a finale that will leave few with dry eyes. Pretty much perfect.

And stick around for the credits, the gang all get their closures - including Rex's 'dominant predator' status and videogame addiction.

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Blank City

2010-06-18T13:35:32Z

I'm a sucker for documentary films that show me an outlet for unadulterated and exuberant passion. In and among the poverty of Seventies and Eighties New York, Celene Danhier's remarkable film Blank City gives us a compelling and well worked out cinematic essay on the politics and artistry of the place and time. Ultimately, it is your basic talking heads documentary, interspersed with footage that redefines cinematic cool. The speakers are far too numerous to list - choice cuts include: Eric Mitchell, John Waters, John Lurie, Amos Poe, Steve Buscemi and Jim Jarmusch - and most of them are fascinating to hear.

The city was in massive debt, and without a government handout, most of the occupants of the Lower East Side were fearful to leave their urban dungeon homes. This melting pot of poor, struggling artists - christened "freaks and crazy people" - lead to a cultural revolution. "An explosive movement - a meeting of minds." A richly cut explosion of iconographic imagery opens the film, and we find it hard to argue with these "Iterian kings"; certainly with the raw, explosive and risk-taking results of their artistry.

These directors shot anywhere, borrowed their friends and jumped into abandoned houses for sets, scavenged for equipment and scrounged materials. Ultimately, their picobudget concerns did not stop them from obtaining the money and equipment - by any and all means necessary. They openly confess to committing "crimes to pay for films - that is what we did." Setting fire to their property and scamming for insurance money was a particularly popular hustle. Amos Poe is first up in the roughly chronological story. His anecdotes about the gestation of first Super8 picture Blank Generation are amusing and very much of the time, describing the editing process in the Maysles' Brothers suite while they were off their tits on amphetamines. Also, breaking and entering was not beyond these grunge poets - James Nares' hilariously high-camp Rome '78 was largely achieved by madmen in bedsheets, crafty camera angles, and sneaking inside buildings which look like architect's wet dreams.

Richly observed urban fairytales like Downtown 81, starring Jean-Michel Basquiat, are equally contemporaneous and take the breath away. Blank City also charts the rise of the musical revolution, and shows how it links with the downtown NY film scene; how filmmakers and musicians kept feeding off one another for their next creation. Almost anyone who was anyone was roped into being a punk rocker, the sound aptly described as "trying to make music as though no-one had ever made it".

Lizzie Borden is another participant who made politically radical films - most potently a strongly left-wing picture featuring the destruction of the World Trade Center, using large minatures and and glitter. Her films included G-Man and the audacious Black Box, sharp satires on the reactions to the threat of terrorism.

Many, many more anecdotes and wild stories await you. (I tried keeping notes, but was swiftly beaten down by the sheer volume.) And yet, Danhier's film feels organic in its construction, leading effortlessly from one story to the next with very little dead-time between them. It is an outstanding achievement - and for those of us not part of the movement, a deliriously fun ride.

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Evil In The Time Of Heroes

2010-06-18T13:33:49Z

Ancient Greeks and modern life meets zombies in a timeywimey action horror. Sounds like a laugh, right? Wrong.

An ancient evil is released (don't ask how - the movie doesn't say), and a handful of survivors must hole up against a gargantuan zombie horde. The streets are deserted, other than the pockets of very fast-on-their-feet zombies. It's like 28 Days Later, but with better gore effects and an even weaker story.

This is almost certainly the goriest film you will see this year. Each of our main characters is introduced by a swift dousing in stage blood - think Noel Edmonds and the gunge tank in slow-motion. Start as you mean to go on, I guess. The messiness doesn't stop at the ceaselessly inventive Savini-shaming effects - the script is shockingly incoherent.

Evil In The Time Of Heroes feels like a manic storyteller who won't shut the hell up when he's whizzing off on a tangent, and knows nothing about storytelling ebbs and flows. Characterisation is minimal, the storytelling rushed and undercooked, dishing out (actual) Deus Ex Machinas - spouting "WTFs" when it should be inspiring "Woah!" There's a couple of good giggles - the before/after shots of a football stadium zombie attack have the rhythm of a well-told joke.

In definitely the coolest cameo of the year, Billy Zane does his best Time Lord meets warrior monk impression - "Like a Jedi? You know, Luke Skywalker". And admittedly, the filmmakers do their best to make him look awesomely cool. His scenes don't make a lick of sense, and often take on the appearance of a really bad LSD trip.

There's a dozen reasonable ideas, none of which are developed into fruition - especially the time-travel stuff. A bit of a waste, really. The script is a collection of a movie-loving fool's mad ravings. The movie is highly competent in the technical aspects, and is well-shot. It falls down towards the end, where shakycam upturned what was left of my stomach.

There's a strange lack of emotion in the affair. No fear, no big laughs, no social satire - if it had held on a couple of months, perhaps the story could have leached some timeliness from the economic situation in Greece's near-bankrupt government. You know, zombies being used for what they usually are - a satirical infection to be purged, preferably with fire.

A wasted chance, but hopefully it'll lead to more interesting and coherent things for all involved.

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The Last Rites of Ransom Pride

2010-06-18T13:31:10Z

"We killed every man, we killed every child, we killed every goddamn dog! And we rode all the women, and when they couldn't ride no more, we killed them!"

Set in Glory, Texas and the Mexican border - The Last Rites of Ransom Pride is a rather dull action Western. The story deals with prostitute Juliette Flowers (Lizzie Caplan) and her quest to claim the body of her murdered lover, the titular scoundrel Ransom Pride (Scott Speedman). However, the body is being held by Bruja (Cote de Pablo) a mysterious, disfigured leader of a town in Mexico with an axe to grind against Ransom. So, Flowers proposes a deal - she will bring Ransom's younger living brother, Champ (Jon Foster) and trade him for Ransom. Champ's father, Preacher (Dwight Yoakam) doesn't take this lying down - and sends bounty hunters after them. Each side gathers a somewhat bizarre motley crew, and the movie cues up the gunfights.

It sounds like a reasonably cool springboard for a plot. It could be, in the right hands. The cast of extended cameos are excellent, Kris Kristofferson as chief baddie, Peter Dinklage as a dual-doublebarrel wielding, and somewhat philosophical Dwarf. The cast acquit themselves nicely with the anorexic material, especially Caplan - obvious leading lady material. The characters and the story are thinly sketched, with precious little meat on their bones, the scripting is perfunctory - although it boasts a few nice one-liners and visual gags (3D Porn - What will they think of next...? Oh, wait). It interleaves the quest with a series of black and white flashback scenes, leading to a rather steamy - if lacking in skin - sex scene.

Technically, the film is good, the costume and set designs are sparse but effective - leading to a Deadwood-lite funky feel and a slick, well-realised pulp comic-book style, which is only partially ruined by a barrel of cinematographic and editorial tricks in an attempt to manufacture a raw and edgy energy. It doesn't quite work that way. First up is the strange and brief recaps, where each scene is summarised into a handful of its constituent frames, and blasted back at the audience. It's akin to writing using exclamation points for every sentence. It's tiresome, and not particularly clever.

Many off details - not limited to anachronistic petrol-powered vehicles and a semiautomatic pistol that looks decidedly modern, poorly staged action sequences and messy plotting stack up against the film. The stop-start repetitive road-movie feel and insipid script will likely consign this to the inhospitable direct to video market than as the cult favourite as was doubtlessly intended.

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Outcast

2010-06-18T13:29:28Z

Outcast is a strange concoction of occult fantasy and social drama - think Ken Loach meets Angel Heart and you're on the right track. An Irish woman, Mary (Kate Dickie) and her teenage son, Fergal (Niall Bruton) move to a lower-class council estate somewhere in "Bonnie Scotland, Lothian" and try to settle down. They are being chased by a pair of hunters, Cathal (James Nesbitt) and Liam (Ciarán McMenamin) - sworn to rid the world of a beast which is following Mary and Fergal. Their next door neighbour Petronella - a Scottish/Romanian girl saddled with a mentally-challenged tank of a brother and an alcoholic mother - catches Fergal off-guard and they start a too-good-to-be-true relationship. In the sidelines, very bad things are happening to innocent people (Doctor Who's current assistant - Karen Gillan turns up as Dead Teenager #1), and pain-in-the-backside social workers.

Performances in Outcast are almost uniformly very strong. The magnificent Kate Dickie is quite simply incapable of giving a bad performance and her Mary is a screen-commanding creation: an intense, stony and full-on sorceress, unrepentantly vicious when her back is in the corner. James Nesbitt as Cathal is a crawling, brutally insane nightmare of a man, both blessed and doubly drunk with booze and supernatural powers, sporting a "shiny new skin". Hanna Stanbridge as Petronella, is less impressive, the various fast and tough choices that she must make within the story are mishandled. It's a fine debut, however, and the camera loves her. The main cast make a marvellous ensemble - every quality performance illuminating a world beyond the one portrayed in the there and then. Sadly, most of the rest of the cast has been drawn from central casting, and let the side down - even if it's just for a few minutes.

Director Colm McCarthy knows his genre - and how to provide a fresh sting in the tale. The script astutely blends Celtic folklore, creepy occult sorcery and strong social drama into a strange, and rather original fusion. All of this clever worldbuilding nonsense is given good shift by the excellent - Sylvain Chomet (The Illusionist) knows how to make Edinburgh look achingly beautiful? McCarthy and his excellent director of photography Darran Tiernan make it look like a great gothic dungeon. Additionally, the sound design is superior and adds immeasurably to the atmosphere.

McCarthy divines his strongest suit in the movie early on, the unrepentant vein of voracious carnality that drives the chased and the hunters. Two of the film's best scenes are quite simply well-edited sequence of bodies. Fergal and Petronella's bodies are cross-cut, dreaming of one another in the dead of night, and in tender solo masturbation. The other is Mary and Cathal locked in a naked psychic conflict - heavy breathing and howling for enraged one-upmanship.

For much of its runtime, Outcast may be the best British horror film since The Descent, and keeps hearts in the right place - our throats. Occasional breaks in its verisimilitude (such as the aforementioned crummy side-cast) and a rather bog-standard monster movie finale keep it from top marks. That being said, it's a wonderful calling card for a feature debut, and I look forward to more in the future.

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SoulBoy

2010-06-18T13:26:39Z

Joe McCain (Martin Compston) is a young man in the slump of his life - not educated enough to escape from his rural village in Nowheresville up North, and has found nothing in his life to stir passion, other than girls. A gorgeous hairdresser, Jane (Nicola Burley) catches his eye, as does her collection of Northern Soul badges and records and in a weak attempt to impress her, attempts to bluff his way into the scene. Before long, Soul music becomes his life, with weekly trips to the Wigan Casino to manage. Drugs are a natural extension to this life style.

Compston is an affable, engaging actor, easily the most interesting performance in the movie - mixing swagger and vulnerability well. Initially dancing with the grace of a pig stuck with a cattle-prod, he convinces as a man who's just found his creative outlet. Felicity Jones as Mandy - Joe's art-school wannabe friend - is also impressive, with an affable mix of Zooey Deschanel cuteness and girl-next-door amiability. They are excellent at bouncing off one another.

The rest of the cast are a mixed bag: the record shop owner Dee Dee is a funny caricature of aging hippy and daft businessman. Nicola Burley as Jane is as cool and lifeless as an iceberg, with far less under the surface. The one-note pantomime villainy also disappoints, Joe's wifebeating customer is a sneering nitwit, and the chief preening peacock on the dancefloor has nothing going on, other than being a twat.

Ultimately, SoulBoy is a strange, lifeless work. Its script is crammed with cliche, stock characters, crummy gags and screenwriting formula (one can almost hear Robert McKee bellowing in the background!) to such an extent, not even an excellent lead performance can save it. If you think of the obvious stories of romance, coming of age, overcoming adversity, the usual stuff, and dress it into a script without the wit to back it up - you're on the right track.

It has a good go at getting the period right. The details are there, the costumes are just the right shade of cool and crap: the bright red tank top leading the girls to dub him "a right little Soul Boy" and the startlingly awful suits. The set-design is great, capturing the late 70s Northern Soul movement very well, and the Wigan Casino has been rejuvenated superbly.

The movie is competently made, but the script stifles and sinks the otherwise good work. Billy Elliot on uppers, this ain't.

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