In Memory of Three Fictional Spivs

James Beck in character as Joe Walker in Dad's Army (1973) 

George Cole as Flash Harry in The Belle's of St. Trinians (1954)

Arthur English as the Prince of the Wide Boys (1950) 

 

 

I. 

 

As a child, like millions of other people, I used to enjoy watching the TV sitcom Dad's Army (BBC, 1968-1977). Admittedly, some of the characters I found irritating - Clive Dunn's Lance Corporal Jones, for example - but most I thought amusing; particularly John Laurie's Private Frazer. 

 

The character who most intrigued me, however, was Private Joe Walker, played by James Beck, a flashy petty criminal dealing in black market goods with a cheeky Cockney persona; i.e., what is known by British English speakers as a spiv.  

 

If Private Godfrey (Arnold Ridley) might have made a kind grandad, Joe Walker would've been a fun uncle and generous I'm sure when it came to birthday gifts and Christmas presents (even if they had fallen off the back of a lorry).  

 

 

II.  

 

The origin of the word spiv is obscure, although, perhaps significantly, it was the nickname of a small-time London crook and con artist, Henry Bagster, who was frequently arrested for illicit street trading during the early years of the 20th century and whose court appearances often attracted press coverage.  

 

Whatever its origin, the word wasn't popularised until the Second World War and post-War period, when many goods were rationed in the UK and spivs really came into their own as a distinct class of traders, with a distinctive look and way of dressing; hair slicked back with Brylcreem; a Clark Gable style pencil moustache; a trilby or other wide-brimmed hat worn rakishly at an angle; a long drape jacket with padded shoulders; a wide brightly patterned tie, etc. 

 

All these things were de rigeur for someone who wanted to advertise their entrepreneurial spirit at the time and look the business. One of the reason the general public not only tolerated but seemed to admire these worldly-wise and larger-than-life characters - apart from the fact they could get you what you wanted - was that they looked so chipper and at odds with the austerity of the times [1].   

  

 

III.

 

The look was perfected by comedian and actor Arthur English, who, during his early professional career as a stand-up comic, adopted the persona of a stereotypical spiv and became known as the Prince of the Wide Boys (Jimmy Perry and David Croft, the writers of Dad's Army, were happy to admit that Private Walker was in part based on English's stage character) [2].

 

But the look was perhaps most memorably pushed to its comical extreme by George Cole, as Flash Harry, in The Belles of St. Trinians (dir. Frank Launder, 1954); one of the greatest and most popular of British films [3].

 

Whether Harry might regard himself as a spiv is debatable and he tends to describe himself as a fixer and go-between; the man whom the girls trust to bottle and sell their gin, distilled in the school's chemistry lab and place bets on the horses for them. 

 

But he looks like a spiv and acts like a spiv, so I think we can use this term in good faith (although the fact that he helps the sixth form girls find wealthy lovers and potential husbands doesn't quite make him a pimp). 

 

Let's just say that Harry's a shady character and a well-dodgy geezer; a ducker and diver who certainly has connections with the criminal community, even if he's not quite one of their own [4]. 

 

Notes

 

[1] The fact is, the British working class have long had a soft-spot for loveable rogues and dashing outlaws. Thus, as Stephen Baker and Paddy Hoey note, "although in both official discourse and the cinema of the period" spivs tended to be presented as "'dangerous, unpatriotic and un-British'", there was public ambivalence about them and even "a degree of sympathy for such glamorous, anti-authority figures" who, after all, helped alleviate the misery of wartime conditions. 

      See Stephen Baker and Paddy Hoey, 'The Picaro and the Prole, the Spiv and the Honest Tommy in Leon Griffiths's Minder', in the Journal of British Cinema and Television, 15 (4), (Edinburgh University Press, 2018), pp. 513-531. The lines quoted are on p. 519. To read this essay as an online pdf, click here. 

 

[2] As Denis Gifford reminds us in an obituary for Arthur English published in the Independent (19 April 1995): "English was not the first to caricature the spiv on stage. That honour belongs to the great Sid Field, whose West End wide boy, Slasher Green, is immortalised for all time in the film London Town (1946)." But English's spiv act - "which he wrote himself and delivered at top speed in full motion" - was undoubtedly a thing of comic genius. 

      English signed off his first radio broadcast with the following rather lovely lines:  

      "This is Arthur English shoving orf to the tune of 'The Windmill's Turning'. Shove on the coal, blow the expense,  just keep the 'ome fires burning. Perhaps I've made you larf a lot, I 'ope I've brought yer joy.  So 'ere's mud in yer eye from the end of me tie, good night - and watch the boy!'

      To read Gifford's obituary for Arthur English in full by clicking here.   

 

[3] Such was its success with critics and moviegoers alike, that The Belles of St. Trinians gave rise to three sequels: Blue Murder at St Trinian's (1957); The Pure Hell of St Trinian's (1960); and The Great St Trinian's Train Robbery (1966), all directed by Frank Launder.

 

[4] In this he's very much like George Cole's other iconic character, Arthur Daley, in the long-running TV comedy-drama Minder (ITV, 1979-1994). They are, of course, distinct characters created by different writers and operating in different eras, but whenever I watch the Crombie-coated, trilby-hatted, cigar-smoking Arthur Daley, it's hard not to have thoughts of Flash Harry. 

      Interestingly, there was initialy resistance to the idea of casting George Cole in the role of Arthur Daley as he was seen as a bit too refined: "It was only when Euston Pictures's executive producer Verity Lambert intervened, noting that Cole had made a name for himself playing Flash Harry, the spiv in the St Trinian's films, that the deal was sealed ..." 

      See the excellent essay by Stephen Baker and Paddy Hoey cited in note 1 above, p. 518.  

 

 

Bonus: Flash Harry making an entrance in The Belles of St. Trinian's (1954): click here.    

 

 

Who Was That Young American Press Lady?

Lee Ellen Newman: Press Goddess 

Charisma Records (c.1983)

I.

 

As Paul Gorman reminds us in his excellent biography, when Malcolm McLaren presented his groundbreaking new record 'Buffalo Gals' to the executives at Charisma Records in the autum of 1982, excitedly telling them how kids "'danced on their heads to this beat in the middle of the streets of New York'" [1], he may have anticipated a little bemusement, but not such angry incomprehension and resistance. 

 

Unfortunately, however, that the track was "a stylistic aural collage to rival McLaren's work in fashion, interiors and design was entirely lost on the record company ..." [2]   

 

The head of promotions declared that it was not music and refused to take it to the radio stations; poor old Tony Stratton-Smith wondered how he was going to recuperate at least some of the monies paid out in advance; and, according to McLaren, the only person who stood up for him was "'the press lady: a young American, new in her job'" [3].  

 

 

II. 

 

The question becomes: Who was that young American press lady?

 

And it's a question I'm happy to answer; not only because today happens to be her birthday, but because Lee Ellen Newman is one of the people I will always be grateful to.  

 

For she it was who advised me on the importance of building a wide network of contacts, of cultivating a likeable public image, and of remaining calm under pressure (even if, unfortunately, I never quite managed to accomplish these things to her high professional standard).  

 

And she it was who taught me how to write concisely and persuasively and to master the art of what is known in the PR world as strategic storytelling; i.e., the deployment of a cleverly structured (and seductive) narrative in order to appeal to a target audience and achieve a specific goal [4].  

 

So, thanks Lee Ellen for being an early mentor, a dear friend, as well as one of the few figures in the music business that Malcolm always had affection for. 

 

And happy birthday!

 

Notes

 

[1] Malcolm McLaren, quoted by Paul Gorman, in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 517.

 

[2] Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, p. 516.     

 

[3] Malcolm McLaren, quoted by Paul Gorman in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, p. 517.  

      As Gorman goes on to elucidate, Charisma seriously considered taking legal action against McLaren on the grounds that he had grossly overspent and that "he was in breach of the contractual obligation to deliver music of acceptable commercial value". 

      However, 'Buffalo Gals' became a top ten hit in the UK and other countries and this "proved sufficient for Charisma to back off from its legal posturing" and press on with release of McLaren's debut album Duck Rock (1983) and other singles taken from it, including McLaren's biggest selling and highest charting hit, 'Double Dutch'.

      Relations between the artist and the record label failed to recover, however, even though Charisma would release two further McLaren albums: Fans (1984), which fused opera with R&B; and Swamp Thing (1985), composed of out-takes recorded between 1982 and 1984, which I like, but everyone else hates; McLaren's version of 'Swingin' the Alphabet' ('B. I. Bikki') is even more hilarious than that given us by the Three Stooges in their 1938 short film Violent is the Word for Curly (dir. Charley Chase): click here.     

 

[4] It may sound a bit cynical and manipulative and some might view strategic storytelling as a form of what is called by our political friends spin. In my experience, however, it's more a game whereby you give a journalist, for example, what they want for a good feature and they give you what you need in order create excitement around the artist you are representing and boost sales of whatever it is they're promoting. In other words, strategic storytelling is an exercise in backscratching rather than backstabbing and the wilful deception of others.  

 

 

Readers who wish to know more about Buffalo Gals should see the post entitled 'And They Dance by the Light of the Moon ...' (19 Feb 2019): click here.

 

Readers who think they might enjoy a post in which I reminisce about my time with Lee Ellen at Charisma Records should see the post entitled 'Memories of Summer '84: Charisma' (17 July 2024): click here.  

 

 

On Answering the Call of the Void

Can You Resist the Call of the Void? (SA/2025)

Based on Ernst Stückelberg's painting of Sappho (1897) [1]

 

 

I. 

 

Apparently, the urge to jump when atop a high building, such as the Eiffel Tower, is not limited to rock 'n' roll puppets in a band called Bow Wow Wow [2], but is a fairly common phenomenon known (rather poetically) as the call of the void ...

 

 

II.

 

Usually, it's a violently intrusive thought that passes as quickly as it comes and is not regarded as a sign of any underlying suicidal tendencies. In fact, it may be the brain's way of telling you not to jump; to recognise the danger of your situation and step back from the edge. 

 

 

III. 

 

Philosophers, of course - particularly those who have taken seriously Nietzsche's injunction to live dangerously - don't always care what their brain tells them. 

 

They know that "the secret of harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment" [3] involves sending ships into unchartered seas, building cities on the slopes of a volcano, and daring to leap into the void when the moment to do so is right.

 

Empedocles knew this [4]. And Deleuze knew this [5] ...     

 

 

IV.

 

The void, of course, is another one of those ideas in philosophy that can be traced back to the ancient Greeks. But it's probably in the modern sense that most people think it today; i.e., in relation to existential nihilism. 

 

The key thing, however, is not take it too negatively: the void might even be seen as a space of potential; not just of nothingness. It's absence that makes the heart grow fonder and which allows for the emergence of new thoughts and feelings, the creation of new values and concepts. 

 

The void is also the space of forgotten possibilities, where abandoned paths can be rediscovered, allowing for different interpretations of the past (interpretations that might then be projected into the future, so that we might in this way live yesterday tomorrow). 

 

Our artist friends often insist on the importance of what they call negative space - something that is crucial for giving form and structure to what exists. 

 

And scientists too are increasingly persuaded of the importance of the quantum vacuum - a void filled with fluctuating energy and mad particles, from which the universe itself may have emerged.   

 

So, whilst I'm not encouraging any one to jump off a tall building, I think it's worth acknowledging that the call of the void is more than what psychologists say it is, i.e., a slightly odd phenomenon not linked to actual intentions, so not worth paying too much attention to.

  

The call of the void - like the call of the wild - is, in fact, a vital experiential reality.  

 

  

Notes

 

[1] The Ancient Greek poet Sappho is perhaps best known for her lyric poetry, written to be sung while accompanied by music. That, and her sexuality - although her lesbianism is much disputed amongst scholars and there is no documentary evidence to conclusively indicate her preference when it came to lovers. 

      (In classical Athenian comedy, she was often portrayed as promiscuoulsy heterosexual; the earliest surviving sources to explicitly identify Sappho's homoeroticism come from the Hellenistic period, although such modern terms, of course, would have been meaningless to the ancient Greeks and one does wonder whether projecting lesbianism on to a figure like Sappho is anything other than an ideological move motivated by queer-feminist politics.) 

       According to legend, Sappho killed herself by leaping from the Leucadian cliffs due to her unrequited love for the ferryman Phaon; a story related to a myth about the goddess Aphrodite and one that is regarded as ahistorical by modern scholars.

 

[2] I'm referring to Annabella Lwin, lead vocalist with Bow Wow Wow, and their track 'Sexy Eiffel Towers' on Your Cassette Pet (EMI, 1980), an eroticised tale of teen suicide involving a leap from the sexiest building left: click here to play. 

      

[3] Nietzsche, The Gay Science (1882), trans. Walter Kaufmann (Vintage Books, 1974), IV. 283, p. 228.

      

[4] The pre-Socratic philosopher Empedocles famously threw himself into the lava and flames of Mount Etna and his death has been mythologised by writers and artists ever-since. Whether he believed that this would guarantee his immortality or not, the fact is that his name lives on to this day. The Roman poet Horace refers to the death of Empedocles in his work Ars Poetica and suggests that great thinkers have not only the right, but almost a duty, to destroy themselves. 

 

[5] Deleuze committed suicide on 4 November 1995 by jumping from the window of his apartment in Paris. He was suffering from increasingly severe respiratory problems that made even simple tasks difficult (including writing, though I'm not sure we can describe that as a simple task). 

      Whether his surrendering to the call of the void marked a loss of desire on his part, however, is debatable; it could be that his decision to terminate his own individual existence was a way of affirming life and thus indicates a final resurgence of vitality. In other words, his suicide might be seen as a logical way for Deleuze to show fidelity to his own philosophy, rather than merely a wish to end his suffering. 

      See the post entitled 'Three French Suicides' (31 Jan 2024) in which I discuss Deleuze's death in relation to the deaths of Olga-Georges Picot and Christina Pascal (both of whom also answered the call of the void): click here.   

 

 

The Bats Have Left the Bell Tower: Notes on the Life and Death of Bela Lugosi

Bela Lugosi lying in his coffin at a Hollywood funeral home 

Photo by David Katzman

 

 

I. 

 

On this night in 1882, a star was born: the Hungarian-American actor Bela Lugosi, best remembered as Dracula in the 1931 horror classic of that title (dir. Tod Browning); the story of the strangest passion the world has ever known.   

 

It was a role that he had previously played on stage in a 1927 Broadway adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel and one that both defined him as an actor and limited his future opportunities; eventually giving us a comic turn as the Count in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (dir. Charles Barton, 1948). 

 

This pretty much signalled the end of his career as a serious actor and, addicted to morphine combined with worsening alcoholism, things quickly went from bad to worse and he ended up taking roles in the films of Ed Wood, a filmmaker famously described by critics as the worst director of all time. 

 

 

II. 

 

On August 16, 1956, the news was announced that Bela Lugosi had died, peacefully in his sleep, aged 73.

 

Amusingly, he was typecast to the very end; buried wearing his Dracula costume, including the cape. This was not at his prior request, but done on the instructions of an ex-wife, Lillian, and their son, Bela Lugosi Jr., believing that the old man would've liked it (I'm not entirely sure about that). 

 

Even more amusing is the story of how, when standing by Lugosi's open coffin, Peter Lorre turned to fellow actor Vincent Price and said: 'Do you think we should drive a stake through his heart, just in case?'   

 

III.

  

To be perfectly honest, I can't say I'm a fan: Lugosi certainly had on screen presence as Dracula, but I always thought his performance lacked a little bite. In fact, he didn't even wear fangs for the film, this only becoming a cinematic convention in the 1950s; think Christopher Lee in the Hammer version of Dracula (dir. Terence Fisher, 1958). 

 

And, as a child, I was always more enthralled by other Universal monsters; Boris Karloff's Frankenstein and Lon Chaney Jr.'s Wolf Man, for example. Lugosi's Dracula seemed a little too hammy for my tastes; not that his performance was unskilled, just that it was a little too theatrical and reliant on exaggerated gestures and a heavy foreign accent. 

 

Still, it doesn't really matter what I think: Lugosi has his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame; Andy Warhol made a 1963 silkscreen print titled 'The Kiss (Bela Lugosi)', inspired by a scene from Dracula; and Bauhaus have immortalised the actor in their classic single 'Bela Lugosi's Dead' (Small Wonder Records, 1979): click here.  

On the Monstrous Nature of Philosophy

 Frankenstein's Monster x Ludwig Wittgenstein [1]

 

'Thinking has interests that do not coincide with those of the living ...' [2] 

 

I. 

 

Philosophers, like monsters, "are creatures that fail to meet prevailing measures and norms by radically exceeding or falling short of them ..." [3]. 

 

Their form of life - to use a term favoured by Wittgenstein in his later work - is unconventional to say the least; and some might even describe it as inhuman, although that is perhaps going a little too far, as even the most monstrous (and unintelligible) of philosophers share certain practices and customs with others and their thinking ultimately springs from the same bio-cultural reality [4].  

 

In sum: philosophers are not monsters per se; but their thinking is a monstrous form of life; i.e., both unnatural and prophetic [5]. And such a monstrous form of life "is not homogenous and smooth; its language is not a common and transparent one; it is not the unanimous and harmonious sound of angelic tongues" [6]. 

 

II.

 

According to the film theorist and philosopher Noël Carroll, the word monster is - rightly or wrongly - one that might easily be applied to philosophers. 

 

Why? 

 

Because monsters, like philosophers, "are unnatural relative to a culture's conceptual scheme of nature. They do not fit the scheme; they violate it. Thus, monsters are not only physically threatening; they are cognitively threatening. They are threats to common knowledge" [7].  

 

As David Birch notes: "There is an uncanny parallel here between the characterisation of monsters and the work of philosophers." [8] 

 

Indeed, we might even conclude that the best collective noun for a group or gathering of philosophers might not be a school, but a den of monsters.

 

Having said that, I repeat what I say at the end of section I: philosophers are not monsters per se; but their thinking is a monstrous form of life ... And, for me, the person who has developed this line of thought to its nihilistic limit, is Ray Brassier ...

 

 

III.  

 

In a book that I often return to and never tire of reading - Nihil Unbound (2007) - Brassier savages those philosophers who would attempt to stave off the threat (he would say promise) of nihilism by safeguarding the experience of meaning and everything else that humanity clings to and believes in. 

 

In brief, Brassier wishes to accelerate the process (or logic) of disenchantment that began with the Enlightenment and turn philosophical thinking into what he terms the organon of extinction:

 

"Philosophy would do well to desist from issuing any further injunctions about the need to re-establish the meaningfulness of existence, the purposefulness of life, or mend the shattered concord between man and nature. It should strive to be more than a sop to the pathetic twinge of human self-esteem. Nihilism is not an existential quandary but a speculative opportunity." [9]  

 

However else we might describe this speculative realism, it's certainly not thought as most people think it; it's thought in a monstrous form; "throwing us into a world we no longer recognise, and that does not recognise us" [10].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Obviously, by linking the names of Frankenstein and Wittgenstein I do not wish to imply that the latter was a fan of Mary Shelley's 19th century queer gothic novel. Indeed, as far as we know, he never read the book, nor did he refer to it in any of his writings. 

      And whereas Shelley was very much influenced by David Hume - her novel might even be read as an exploration of the tragic consequences of a skeptical worldview and the limitations of empiricism - the same cannot be said of Wittgenstein, who had a largely negative view of the 18th century philosopher. 

      Interestingly, as David Birch reminds us, there is an astonishing passage in A Treatise of Human Nature (1739-40) in which Hume confesses that philosophical solitude results in his feeling like 'some strange uncouth monster, who not being able to mingle and unite in society, has been expelled all human commerce, and left utterly abandoned and disconsolate' (Treatise, Book 1, Part 4, Section 7). 

      See David Birch, 'Are Philosophers Monsters?', The Philosophers' Magazine - click here. I shall return to this essay later in the post. 

 

[2] Ray Brassier, Preface, Nihil Unbound: Enlightenment and Extinction (Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), p. xi. 

 

[3] Jasmin Trächtler, 'Speaking in Monster Tongues: Wittgenstein and Haraway on Nature, Meaning and the "We" of Feminism', in Forma de Vida (2023): click here. 

 

[4] Should AI systems ever achieve independent consciousness, we might not be able to say the same of them. For perhaps they'll reason in a way that is truly posthuman (or techno-monstrous) and we'll no more be able to understand than we would a speaking lion; see Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (Blackwell, 1953).   

 

[5] The word monstrous derives from the Latin mōnstruōsus (from monstrum), meaning unnatural. But it also etymologically relates to the Latin verbs mōnstrare and mōnēre, which mean to reveal and to warn.  

 

[6] Jasmin Trächtler ... op. cit. 

 

[7] Noël Carroll, 'The Nature of Horror', in The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism Vol. 46, No. 1 (Autumn, 1987), pp. 51-59. Click here to access on JSTOR. The lines quoted here can be found on page 56. They are also quoted by David Birch, in his article cited above. 

 

[8] David Birch, 'Are Philosophers Monsters?'

 

[9] Ray Brassier, Preface, Nihil Unbound ... p. xi. 

      This quote is not only pinned above the desk at which I write, but pretty much encapsulates what Torpedo the Ark is all about; i.e., that the disenchantment of the world "deserves to be celebrated as an achievement of intellectual maturity, not bewailed as a debilitating impoverishment" and nihilism is the "unavoidable corollary of the realist conviction that there is a mind-independent reality, which, despite the presumptions of human narcissism, is indifferent to our existence and oblivious to the 'values' and 'meanings' which we would drape over it in order to make it more hospitable" [xi]. 

 

[10] David Birch, 'Are Philosophers Monsters?' We should note that Birch is speaking of Hume here, not Brassier. 

 

 

On the Moral Recycling of Human Garbage (and the Rise of Christian Nationalism)

The Redeemed Christian Church of God [1]

 rccg.org

'God hath chosen the weak things of the world ... 

and the base things of the world - things which are despised - 

in order to negate the world' [2]

 

 

I. 

 

Some readers may recall a post from earlier this year in which I noted how one of the ironic consequences of mass migration from sub-Saharan Africa is that there are suddenly lots of evangelical Christians on the street corners of Harold Hill, preaching the gospel and reaching out as missionaries [3]. 

 

And so it came to pass that this morning I was handed another little leaflet by two (always very friendly) black women wearing brightly coloured clothes and blasting out gospel music on their boombox, which posed a series of questions, including: 

 

Are you a battered, broken, miserable member of society? Is your life empty and meaningless? [4]

 

Suspecting that I might be such and that the answer to the latter is almost certainly yes, I thought it would be instructive to read the leaflet and find out how God can, allegedly, not only save sinners, but also recycle those who find themselves on the human scrap heap; this includes not only those who are damaged and unhappy, but those who regard themselves as rejects and failures; those who are hated and abused by others.

 

 

II.    

 

Actually, I don't regard myself as a victim; and emptying life of meaning is part of my philosophical project as an existential nihilist.   

 

But what's amusingly ironic about the little leaflet I was given is how it confirms Nietzsche's view expressed in Der Antichrist (1895), that the church has always essentially recruited from amongst society's refuse; i.e., the weak and ill-constituted for whom sympathy is "more harmful than any vice" [5].

 

According to Herr Nietzsche, Christianity has always waged war on the higher type of human being; i.e., one who feels themselves strong and happy and develops virtù upon this feeling of wellbeing and superabundance [6] and it has always willed the triumph of precisely the opposite type of animal. 

   

As he is quick to point out: 

 

"That the strong races of northern Europe have not repudiated the Christian God certainly reflects no credit on their talent for religion - not to speak of their taste." [7]  

 

But what really makes one sigh with despair is that, today, in the UK, there's a resurgent Christian nationalism [8] to contend with and not just a couple of rather lovely middle-aged African women handing out leaflets on a street corner. 

 

We've got a bigger problem now, as Jello Biafra would say ... [9] 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The Redeemed Christian Church of God is a pentecostal megachurch denomination founded by Pa Josiah Akindayomi, in Nigeria, in 1952. With parishes in over 197 countries and more than nine million members worldwide, the RCCG affirms fundamental Christian doctrines, including the reality of evil, the Bible as God's inspired word, and salvation through Jesus Christ.

 

[2] Paul the Apostle, 1 Corinthians 1:27-28.  

 

[3] See the post entitled 'Heaven and How to Get There' (1 July 2025): click here. 

 

[4] From the RCCG leaflet pictured and discussed here. 

 

[5] Nietzsche, The Anti-Christ (§2), trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1990), p. 126. 

      For Nietzsche, the real danger is that sympathy soon becomes pity - and pity has a depressive effect; it is the means by which suffering becomes contagious (see §7).

      See also §51, where Nietzsche writes: "As a European movement, the Christian movement has been from the very first a collective movement of outcast and refuse elements of every kind ...", p. 178.     

 

[6] Nietzsche borrows this morality-free concept of virtue from Machiavelli, who thought it necessary for the achievement of great things and the maintenance of society. For both thinkers, manly virtù includes pride, bravery, skill, strength, and an ability to be ruthless (or even cruel) when necessary. 

 

[7] Nietzsche, The Anti-Christ (§18), p. 138.  

 

[8] See recent articles on the websites of the National Secular Society - click here - and Humanists UK: click here. 

      Obviously, the term Christian nationalism is an oxymoron and is essentially a far-right political identity disguised as a form of spirituality; i.e., a movement made up of those who like "masturbating with a flag and bible" (see note 9 below).   

 

[9] I'm referencing here the title of the Dead Kennedys track from their 1981 EP In God We Trust, Inc. (Alternative Tentacles) - a rewritten version of their earlier song (and first single release) 'California Über Alles' (1979). In note 8 above I am quoting from the lyrics to another track - 'Moral Majority' - on the same EP. As this song is as relevant now (if not more so) as when recorded over forty years ago, I invite readers to click here to watch the band playing it in the studio.   

 

 

Spiders & Snails Versus Starmer & Reeves

A distinguished jumping spider (Attulus distinguendus) 

A pair of whirlpool ramshorn snails (Anisus vorticulus)

Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves (Homo politicus) amused by the thought of habitat destruction 

and species extinction in the name of housing development and economic growth

 

 

I. 

 

There are many reasons to despise the present British government and - to echo the immortal words of Bernard Brook Partridge - one would like to see Starmer and his entire cabinet dropped down "a very, very large, exceedingly deep hole", in the belief that the UK would be "vastly improved by their total and utter non-existence" [1].

 

To give but one of these reasons - discussed at length in an article by George Monbiot in The Guardian [2] - the government's new planning bill is tearing down environmental protections to benefit developers, and that is something I vehemently disapprove of. 

 

 

II. 

 

Just to be clear: I am always and forever on the side of bats, newts, snails, and spiders; all creatures that have been blamed by successive governments (not just this one) for getting in the way of urban expansion and economic growth. 

 

Earlier this year, for example, Starmer called for the extermination of an extremely rare species of jumping spider [3] which, according to him, had prevented an entire new town being built in Kent, thereby denying the dream of home ownnership to thousands of families. 

 

This turned out to be a misleading oversimplification of a complex issue [4]: 

 

"What developers were seeking to build on the peninsula was not homes, but a theme park. But Starmer, making it up as he went along, had reduced the issue to spiders v people." [5]

 

Rather than apologise, however, a spokesperson for the prime minister simply repeated that the government was committed to going further and faster with its mad ambition to concrete over what remains of the UK's natural habitat.  

 

And just last week, the chancellor, Rachel Reeves, proudly informed an audience of corporate executives that she had given permission for a large housing development in Sussex that had previously been prevented by "'microscopic snails that you cannot even see'" [6].  

 

What Rachel from accounts doesn't seem to know or care about is the fact that this very rare little creature - known as the whirlpool ramshorn snail (Anisus vorticulus)- is "an indicator of fresh water not affected by sewage pollution" [7], so serves a vital role alerting us as to the state of our rivers and streams.  

 

And what the public have not been told is that a new housing development will lead to excessive water abstraction and that this could not only damage or destroy the highly protected wetlands in which the snails live, but threaten the future wellbeing of people in the south-east of England as groundwater supplies in the region become increasingly polluted and ever-depleted.       

 

 

III. 

Ultimately, as Monbiot says, the new planning and infrastructure bill is a full-scale assault on nature; one that will "enable developers to bulldoze precious wild places" [8] and see irreplaceble ecosystems sold for cash.   

 

And shockingly, "the big nature groups - the RSPB, the National Trust and the Wildlife Trusts - with their combined membership of 7.5 million, are mute. They accepted a series of government amendments in return for agreeing not to campaign against the bill" [9]. 

 

England, my England in 2025 ...  

 

Instead of raising the colours, those who call themselves patriots should be raising bloody hell against this government and protecting this green and pleasant land and the creatures that inhabit it. Rewilding, not flag waving, is what we urgently need to see; fewer people, fewer houses, fewer cars and more birds, beasts and flowers.  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Bernard Brook-Partridge was a high-profile Tory who served as chairman of the Greater London Council's arts committee (1977-79). He famously described punk rock as "disgusting, degrading, ghastly, sleazy, prurient, voyeuristic and generally nauseating". The words I use here with reference to the current Labour government were originally said with reference to the Sex Pistols, whom he found particularly ojectionable. 

      Click here to watch Brook-Partridge voicing his opinion on camera in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (dir. Julien Temple, 1980).

 

[2] George Monbiot, 'Wage war on nature to build new homes: that’s Labour's offer, but it's a con trick', The Guardian (16 Oct 2025): click here.  

 

[3] The distinguished jumping spider (Attulus distinguendus) is one of Britain's rarest spiders, found only in two locations in the south-east of England: Thurrock Marshes in Essex and Swanscombe Marshes in Kent. It is a tiny species, just a few millimeters in size, with excellent vision and leaping ability, which it uses to hunt rather than spin webs. The spider is considered a conservation priority due to its endangered status and the threat posed to its habitat by development.   

 

[4] See the report on the BBC news website by Helen Catt (14 March 20205): click here.  

 

[5] George Monbiot, op. cit.

 

[6] Reeves quoted by Monbiot. 

 

[7]  George Monbiot, op. cit.  

 

[8] Ibid. 

 

[9] Ibid.

 

 

Bloodstains on the Cobbles of Soho (Original Version)

Bloodstains on the Cobbles of Soho 

(SA/2025)

  

Where the streets are paved with blood / And American DNA - PW/SA

 

 

Although, technically, there isn't an upper and lower Wardour Street, nevertheless this famous half-mile thorough fare is cut in two by Shaftesbury Avenue; the lower half, heading south, will take you into Leicester Square via Chinatown; whilst the upper half, heading north, will take you into Oxford Street. 

 

The lower section, however, never meant much to me during the years I spent in Soho (1984-85), when Wardour Street was still home to the British film and popular music industries. 

 

As far as I was concerned, the Marquee Club, at number 90, was the epicentre not just of Soho but of all London and I still get excited when I'm on that stretch of Wardour Street between Old Compton Street and Broadwick Street, passing familiar establishments such as Bar Bruno and the Ship. 

 

Sadly, the Marquee - like the Vortex, at 203 Wardour Street - has long vanished. And many of the people who lived and worked and made Soho what it was in the 1980s have also passed away. 

 

Some continue to haunt the area; the so-called ghosts of Wardour Street. Others have left DNA evidence of their presence in the form of bloodstains on the cobblestones of Soho (although even this will degrade and disappear with time). 

 

 

To read the second (and I think superior, rather more poetic) version of this post published on 24 September 2025: click here. Usually, I delete first drafts and variants, but thought I'd make an exception in this case. 

 

 

Lest We Forget the Old Creature's Birthday

  The inside of this card reads:  

 

Sobald ein Mensch auf die Welt kommt, ist er schon alt genug zu sterben ... [1]

 

Tout ce qui existe naît sans raison, se prolonge par faiblesse et meurt par hasard ... [2]

 

 

This Wednesday, lest we forget, is Nietzsche's birthday: he was born in Röcken, Germany, on 15 October 1844 [3]. 

 

And whilst the village he was born in has now been absorbed into the expanding town of Lützen, a few miles southwest of Leipzig, the actual house he was born in still stands, next to the church where his father was a pastor, and is now part of a memorial site that includes his grave [4].  

 

Not that Nietzsche was one to make a huge fuss over his birthday; indeed, in 1880, he even forgot it entirely, explaining to his friend Franz Overbeck in a letter that his head was too full of other thoughts (thoughts that made him wonder why anything should matter to him). 

 

Having said that, however, there are Nietzsche scholars who argue that Nietzsche did very much like birthdays; not least because it was a time of gifts and of cake, but also because they signified the beginning of another year and the opportunity to make a fresh start. 

 

After his own mother apparently forgot his 44th birthday in 1888 - his last before his mental breakdown in January 1889 - he sent her a postcard humorously reprimanding her: The old mother has forgotten the old creature's birthday!  

 

This was that perfect day on which everything ripened and he told himself the story of his life ... [5] 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Heidegger doesn't do birthday greetings, but if he did, I'm sure he'd say something like this; it's a line from the late medieval text Der Ackermann aus Böhmen (c. 1400), by Johannes von Tepl, quoted in Sein und Zeit (1927).   

 

[2] And this equally amusing existential birthday greeting is by Jean-Paul Sartre, taken from his 1938 novel La Nausée.

 

[3] The same date as King Friedrich Wilhelm IV was born in 1795; a Prussian monarch very much admired by Nietzsche's father and after whom he was named. As Nietzsche would later write in Ecce Homo, this had one main advantage; throughout his childhood it was a day of public rejoicing. See section 3 of  Ecce Homo, 'Why I Am So Wise'. 

      Lest we forget, Michel Foucault, was also born on 15 October (1926); a philosopher who, by his own admission, tried "as far as possible, on a certain number of issues, to see with the help of Nietzsche's texts ..." 

      See Michel Foucault, 'The Return of Morality', trans John Johnston in Foucault Live (Interviews, 1961-1984), ed. by Sylvère Lotringer (Semiotext(e), 1996), pp. 465-73. The line quoted from is on p. 471. 

      And see also my post on being simply a Nietzschean à la Foucault, published on 14 August 2020: click here.

 

[4] The Nietzsche-Gedenkstätte: click here for details (in English).  

      This should not be confused with the Nietzsche-Haus in Sils Maria, Switzerland, where Nietzsche spent seven summers in the 1880s, and which is also now a museum (opened in 1960 and overseen by the Nietzsche House Sils-Maria Foundation): click here.

 

[5] Ecce Homo is the last original book written by Nietzsche before his death in 1900. It was written in late 1888, but not published until 1908. The book offers Nietzsche's own (self-mocking) interpretation of his work and his significance as a thinker.  

 

 

In the Beginning Was the Word ... But Is That Word Graffiti?

canterburycathedral.org

 

I. 

 

Graffiti, in one form or other, has existed for as long as there have been walls to write upon. 

 

Arguably, even what we now laud as prehistoric cave art can be considered as a type of graffiti, despite some scholars insisting that to place these two distinct practices on some kind of continuum in this manner is a flawed and romantic assertion.  

 

Jeffrey Ian Ross, for example, an American professor of criminology, concedes that although we may not know for certain why paleolithic peoples painted on walls, we might reasonably assume that it was a consensual act and a collective expression of those living in or around the caves, whilst graffiti, on the other hand, is usually done without permission and is seen as an illicit form of individual self-expression. 

 

Thus, according to Ross, to describe cave painting as graffiti is a failure to understand that the latter is essentially a form of vandalism, not art, in that it involves "the willful and unwarranted act of marking a surface" [1], thereby causing criminal damage. 

 

 

II. 

Of course, not all graffiti is done without permission: if you walk around Shoreditch you'll see plenty of examples of commercial graffiti (or aerosal advertising, as it is also known); i.e., work that has been commissioned by businesses to promote their products in a way that is intended to look edgy and appeal to an urban audience, but which is perfectly sanitised and above board.   

 

The Situationists would describe this as the recuperation of street art [2].

 

Amusingly, even the Church of England is now getting in on the act [3] - much to the horror of many worshippers, conservative commentators, and American Vice President, JD Vance - and it's the (some would say sacrilegious) graffiti installation entitled Hear Us, at Canterbury Cathedral, that I wish to discuss here ... 

 

 

III. 

 

The first thing that needs to be said is that Hear Us is neither graffiti in the criminal sense (though some insist on seeing it as an act of vandalism nevertheless), nor in the commercial sense (I don't think anything is being advertised here other than the desperation of the Anglican church to still seem in touch with the contemporary world).  

 

The spray painted images and texts - in the form of questions directed to God  - have been temporarily transferred on to the cathedral's ancient stone pillars, walls, and floors (not applied directly) with the full support of the church authorities, aiming at the kind of ugly and unimaginative aesthetic usually seen in an underground South London car park (as one critic put it).   

 

Apparently, the organisers, including David Monteith, the Dean of Canterbury, hope that the jarring contrast between the ancient architecture and the contemporary messaging will help spark conversations as well as giving voice to minority communities who often feel themselves excluded or marginalised by the church:  

 

'This exhibition intentionally builds bridges between cultures, styles and genres and in particular allows us to receive the gifts of younger people who have much to say and from whom we need to hear much.' 

 

Hmmm ... I have to confess, I'm not entirely convinced.

 

 

IV. 

 

There are two main figures behind the Hear Us project: 

 

Firstley, the award-winning British-Greek spoken word artist, producer, and playwright, Alex Vellis (who also identifies as a queer vegan).  

 

Secondly, the freelance visual arts advisor Jacquiline Creswell, who in 2024 was engaged as the Consultant Curator for the Association of English Cathedrals.  

 

I wouldn't go so far as to call them woke fanatics, but they do seem to be worryingly sincere and enthusiastic; the kind of people who really believe in what they're doing. The latter wrote of this project on her social media:    

 

"By collaborating with marginalized communities - including the Punjabi, black and brown diaspora, neurodivergent individuals, and the LGBTQIA+ population - the exhibition promotes inclusivity and representation. It transforms the cathedral into a space where diverse voices can be heard, validating their experiences and fostering a sense of belonging." [4]

 

Possibly ... But again, I'm not entirely convinced. Perhaps God isn't as cool as Vellis and Creswell think [5] and graffitiing on the walls of his house isn't the best idea. 

 

Indeed, I'm tempted to share JD Vance's tweet posted on X, which asks: 

 

'Don't these people see the irony of honoring 'marginalized communities' by making a beautiful historical building really ugly?' [6]    

 

 

Canterbury Cathedral is one of the oldest Christian structures in England 

and forms part of a World Heritage Site. 

  

 

Notes

 

[1] Jeffrey Ian Ross, 'Stop giving the Neanderthals so much credit. Why prehistoric cave painting is not graffiti' (12 August, 2021): click here. 

     Whilst conceding that we may not know for sure why paleolithic peoples painted on walls, Ross seems fairly certain that cave painting was a consensual act and a collective expression of those living in or around the caves; graffiti, by contrast, is usually done without permission and is seen as a form of individual self-expression.

 

[2] Recuperation is the process by which politically radical ideas and images are co-opted and commodified within corporate media culture; i.e., safely absorbed and packaged within bourgeois culture - everyone loves fucking Banksy, don't they?   

      The concept of recuperation was formulated by members of the Situationist International and was originally conceived as the opposite of their concept of détournement, in which images and other cultural artifacts are appropriated from mainstream sources and repurposed with radical intentions.

 

[3] It should be noted that the debate around graffiti in relation to the word of God is not a new one; see, for example, Fiona Burt's excellent article 'Using graffiti to spread the gospel', in Premier Christianity (September 2022): click here to read online.  

 

[4] See Creswell's Instagram post of 9 October 2025: click here. 

 

[5] Fans of The Simpsons might recall the tenth episode of season fourteen - 'Pray Anything' (2003) - in which Homer learns precisely this lesson, after incurring God's wrath (something that Marge foresaw, understanding as she does that God, actually, isn't all that chilled about those who desecrate a church and break his commandments): click here.

 

[6] I have slightly altered Vance's post on X, framing it as a question. The original post, dated Friday 10 October 2025, can be read by clicking here.