If we can achieve half as many things as these men have, we'll have done well...

I've been meaning to post this for a while, but somehow in the hugely hectic bubble of unemployment, I've not had a chance.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend an event that featured the great Tony Benn, as well as Paul Stephenson OBE, as part of the Bristol's first Festival of Literature.  I'm almost ashamed to say that I wasn't aware of Paul Stephenson before hearing about the festival; a further reminder that my knowledge of Bristol's history is atrocious.  In 1963, as Martin Luther King inspired black people across America to fight for equality, Stephenson campaigned tirelessly against racism in Bristol, targeting Bristols' biggest company, the Bristol Omnibus company.  Although it's not considered an academic source, his Wikipedia page probably provides the most comprehensive overview of Stephenson's achievements in Bristol.  His work was supported by the great Tony Benn, who is somewhat of a hero to, I think, many Bristolians, and eventually by people of all races in Bristol.

The talk was to promote Stephenson's book Memoirs of a Black Englishman, which is introduced by Benn.  As well as looking at his great achievements, the book apparently paints a picture of Stephenson's upbringing and a gives a lighthearted look at other aspects of his life.  It's on my birthday/Christmas list (should anyone request one!) and I'm really looking forward to reading it.  

We were shown this excellent BBC short film about the Bristol Bus Boycott:

Both Paul Stephenson (aged 74) and Tony Benn (86) spoke so well: they were coherant, sharp and funny, with some fantastic anecdotes.  What really struck me, as well as how wonderful these men are, was that they had so many great stories to tell.  Their actions directly contributed to making Bristol (and by extension the UK) a better, fairer place.  It truly was a time of heroes.  I wondered whether we -my contemporaries and me- will be able to claim the same.  We are incredibly lucky to live in a world that, despite the many, many political, social and economic issues, is more of an equal, fair place.  There's still a long way to go of course and that is one of the reasons why I think it's very important we continue to tell these stories.  I'm looking forward to reading the book and I'm very excited to see what next year's Festival of Literature brings.

Interestingly, as I was writing this, this fantastic song came on.  It's a very fitting way to close.

There's no reason why you should be the person who reads my observations

I've just discovered the song 'Nervous Breakdown' by Black Flag.  Loving Frank Turner has its benefits when it comes to uncovering great (often older) bands: bands he covers, who I feel I really should know if I wanted to be any kind of music fan.

I've never considered myself a huge music 'fan'.  When I said that to someone at Glastonbury this year, he said: 'So, why are you at a music festival?'.  I love music. I love hearing new things and sharing it with others.  But I've never considered music as my 'life', like some people do.  I don't spend all my money and time on it and I can't relay hundreds of facts about a band or specific album or immediately recall the name of an artist's cat/mother/guitar.  I think I've never had the time, money or perhaps inclination to spend hours discovering new bands.  Perhaps it's partly because I didn't do so when lots of people seem to - as teenagers.  Sharing a room with two sisters and having one CD-Radio-Cassette player meant time alone was fairly rare and chances to dominate our playlist scarce.   We didn't tend to listen to John Peel late at night; the internet was shared too (and, let's face it, I spent much of my time typing to pointless [and a few less pointless] people on MSN Messenger).  Money was perhaps a factor.  Some people seem to have spent all their earnings and/or allowance on fashion or music.  I'm not sure what I spent mine on.  Possibly trying to keep up with some set of Joneses, possibly trying to discover what I am and what I wanted.  Why is that something the majority of humans seem to agonise over?

One of the aspects of music I love is being able to share it.  Strangely enough, I talk about it rarely -if ever- with my female friends.  We cover a plethora of subjects from books to people we know to people we don't (normally historical or literary figures) to fashion to, naturally, food.  It's siblings and male friends I seem to share music with more.  And when I find myself spending time with someone who talks about a subject with real passion, it's fantastic.   Until it (and they) seem to, inevitably, disappear.

Possibly the greatest thing about a Frank Turner gig is singing along with hundreds (nay, thousands now!) of other fans, who all know every single word too.  He plays intimate gigs beautifully (so I've heard... I've not had the privilege of being truly 'intimate' with FT!), but I'm optimistic that next years' gig at Wembley will be just as uplifting.

Intimacy seems to be something I associate with music to some extent.  I think it's like passion.  It's the idea of sharing something great with someone else; someone who, like me, loves it, despite the fact we're so different.  As someone who spends so much time alone, and who finds it difficult to express myself; to open up or to be understood, it's always brilliant to find someone with whom I can share something real.  These people are few and far between and, although those that disappear are probably not worthy of time or thought, it's always sad when they go.  'Exuent Friend'.

Tomorrow, my friend Joe is very kindly taking me to see Dananananaykroyd on their final tour date in Bristol.  He was adamant that I see them before they split up and, despite my 'I'm unemployed!' protests, he bought me a ticket as a birthday present.  Thank you, Joe!  If I get very sweaty and crushed and smothered by bearded men in the famous 'wall of cuddles', I shan't mind, because I know it'll lift me and make me want to throw rum over myself in excitement.  Actually, that's probably pretty inevitable...