A riot of 80s music and fashion

For a couple of 80s fashion and music fans, the new Sky Max series A Town Called Malice went down very well in the Music Therapy studio.

The pre-publicity would have you believe it’s Dallas meets Pulp Fiction soundtracked by Duran Duran. Neil described it as Eldorado with effing and jeffing. 

It ticked a lot of my boxes because it was basically a high camp crime thriller set in the early 1980s in the Costa del Sol.

Obviously the name is a giveaway - named after the Jam classic tune - and there’s a Weller cameo early on, but music plays a massive part of A Town Called Malice.

In a bit of a hat-tip to films like LaLa Land the characters break into song and dance routines and every episode ends with a classic '80s music video.

Talking about the soundtrack, creator Nick Love said: "There’s nothing better to give you memories.

"Part of it, obviously, is just me getting my rocks off by using the music that I love. But it is more than that. It’s really evocative for people. We’ve tried to do more than just turn it into a jukebox soundtrack."

Love added: "The prerequisite for me was always: it’s not about the lyrics, it’s about the feeling, it’s about the mood. The Clash’s 'I Fought the Law' obviously speaks to that moment in the series in particular. But you’ve also got to remember that while people of my generation know The Clash, anyone who’s under 40 won’t.

"You have to emotionally earn the moment to make it resonate. As the show develops, it gets more and more emotional, and we use more ballads. So it’s not just about putting a song out for the song’s sake. It’s always about earning it."

Love also did a great job dripping some reggae into the soundtrack to accentuate one storyline.

Director Jamie Donoughue, who has a background in music videos, added: "From the beginning, Nick and I talked about this being a music show.

"Everything is driven by the beat of the music. So the camera moves on the beat, the cuts move on the beat and everything feels like we’re on a journey."

The series follows the Lords - a family of South London gangsters who've fallen to the bottom of the criminal food chain.

After fleeing to the Costa del Sol, the family believes this is a golden opportunity to re-invent themselves and recapture their former glory. It has a bit of a crossover with The Business, a feature film directed by the writer and producer Nick Love.

"It was a small film that punched above its weight," said Love.

"Once people started migrating from film to television, I thought to myself, 'I can imagine a TV show based on a similar world to The Business'.

"If you could make a show about the same sort of heady world, then I could see that connecting with an audience because that film was made on a shoestring budget and performed really well.

"There was also the fact that the film was made when I was younger and my storytelling prowess wasn’t quite as elegant as it is now. And so there was a sense of wanting to go back and do a better job."

Molly Emma Rowe was the costume designer on the series and she worked with specialists such as Neil Primette from '80s Casual Classics and sportswear collectors to capture the look.

Rowe got the "Holy Trio of Fila, Sergio Tacchini and Ellese", incredible Adidas pieces from our mate

Gary Aspden, a fellow Blackburn Rovers fan and a curator of the street fashion look, and I even spotted a couple of Cerrutti 1881, one of the 80s labels that I wore at the time. 

All told, it’s not going to win many awards for its writing, but for the music and styling A Town Called Malice had me watching all the way through to its dramatic end.

Quality telly in busier times

Me afer watching too much telly (Fauda)

One of the things I've missed the most in the time this blog has been neglected has been writing about telly. At the same time, while life has got busy, I've probably been a bit more picky about what I watch.

In the last telly round up almost a year ago, I promised to wean myself off zombies and British gangsters. I can update a partial success on that goal. Blissfully I've completely stayed away from The Walking Dead, which I am really pleased about. I'm not even curious.

I thought the second season of Gangs of London (Sky Atlantic) was absurd. Even more so than the first one, which wasn't subtle but had a slightly more magnificent and stylish touch about it. I'm not sure I'd invest the time in a third series, there's no loyalty to any of the characters and it's all a bit confusing as to who's who.

Elsewhere, there's a bit of return to familiar themes that I keep leaning back onto.

My penchant for Australian outback drama was satiated by the very well crafted Mystery Road Origin (BBC), with a young aboriginal detective Jay Swan returning to the dark secrets and hidden tensions of his home community of Jardine in rural Western Australia. As with the present day version, all the most interesting characters are the women, notably the younger version of his wife Mary and how they met. It has it's flaws. but it doesn't hold back from decent social observation and commentary.  

Spies are usually a safe bet and one of the discoveries of the last year has been Slow Horses (AppleTV) with Gary Oldman as the boss of a renegade group of MI5 agents. Much as I liked the portrayals of the dogs (MI5 thugs), the incompetance of the toffs and Kristin Scott Thomas as the jaded boss, the whole show belongs to Oldman as Jackson Lamb. On balance I liked the first season more than the second, the diversion to the cosy Cotsworlds and the flying club was borderline silly.  

On a spy theme, but lurching further east to the DDR was Kleo (Netflix). It felt like a blend of Killing Eve and Deutschland 83/86/89 without ever being as good as either. Though to be fair we completely gave up on Killing Eve. No, Kleo was decent, stylish and eccentric, but the further you get away from the DDR the harder it is to rinse any more character out of that source pool of chaos. 

By contrast the terrible, horrible truth of Isreali series Fauda (Netflix), meaning chaos, is the tense conflict remains the dramatic gift that keeps on giving. Fauda isn't for the feint of heart. It's violent, tense and takes you on an emotional roller coaster. It doesn't pull its punches in depicting the Isreali anti-terrorist unit as a flawed bunch of driven psychopaths. It also leans in to the plight of the Arab opponents as having crap lives and therefore bad choices to make. But there is absolutely no doubt where your sympathies are driven towards. On the whole the Arab characters are wholly unromantic, though brave, but quite often absolute dickheads. It seems to be a way of tilting your sentiment. But none of that emotional manipulation takes anything away from the incredible acting. We've now watched all four series and have been absolutely stunned. At a time when Netflix is chucking out some substandard mush, this is top top class.

Capture (BBC) was futuristic smart geo political drama, but too strung out. It could have been two episodes lighter and more impactful. The twists were predictable and the panto villains two one dimensional. 

The Walk In (ITV) had everything going for it, largely in the shape of the life force that is Stephen Graham. The quality of acting from the whole cast was outstanding, but I felt it came up short. Partly this is because I read Nick Lowles unsettling book on which the depressing tale is based, which didn't feel as redemptive as the screen version. TV never seem to get far right maniacs quite right. All in all, it was compelling enough but hard work. 

Midlife without the crisis

One Friday night back in 1991 I came back from the pub near to the house I was illegally sub-renting with two mates in London, to watch Channel 4’s The Word. I was so appalled by what I was watching, I called the duty log at Channel 4 and called it the worst programme in the history of television.

On Monday evening I returned home to an answer machine message from Channel 4 saying they’d enjoyed my rant and wondered if I’d like to come on television to make the same points on a show called Right To Reply, where viewers have their say.

I thought I might be recording a video piece to camera about how rubbish Michelle Collins and Terry Christian were. Instead, I was required to deliver the same accusations of unprofessionalism directly to the producer of the programme, Charlie Parsons, and to Michelle Collins herself. Alongside me was another viewer called Miranda who also had to join in this brutal character assassination.

Bizarrely, I can remember I was wearing a yellow Paul Smith button-down shirt and a Levis denim jacket. I recall saying that Michelle was ridiculous to ask Kylie Minogue if she was trying to reinvent herself as the new Madonna.

Thankfully, I don’t have the VHS tape of it, and I haven’t been able to find it on YouTube.

Afterwards, we both got slated for not declaring, drum roll, that we were journalists. I was a staff writer at Television Week, an industry newspaper, and Miranda wrote for Smash Hits. Quite why that rendered our views any less relevant was a mystery, but given how rude we’d been to Charlie Parsons, a genuine big hitter in telly, he was well within his rights to defend himself as he saw fit.

What I do know is that of all the people on that programme the only one who never made a career of appearing on TV after it was me.

I’ve done the odd bit of punditry, usually on business or politics, but Miranda Sawyer, for it was she, has interviewed actual legends, as well as being one of those people who turn up on talking head pieces on the 90s, Britpop, and (probably) why Kylie Minogue successfully reinvented herself as the new Madonna. 

She also wrote for Select, The Face, the Daily Mirror, and still has a column in the Observer. She went on to write a very entertaining and wise book about growing up in Wilmslow called Park and Ride. 

Through a good chunk of the 90s and the decade after, I felt very jaded that I wasn’t doing things like that. I felt opportunities in life hadn’t gone to plan and that I wish I had either the connections or the smarts, to not just write about people who made television shows, but actually appear on them.

The reason I didn’t was a Northern chip on my shoulder, a lack of confidence, and a massive sense of imposter syndrome. To counter it I have always sought a comfort zone, just a little below where in my heart I feel I should be, which keeps me going but feeds a deepening sense of disappointment and a feeling that I basically never really fit in.

I’m just reading another book by Miranda this week, after seeing her do a brilliant interview on stage at Kite Festival with the actor Minnie Driver. See, she even gets to interview Hollywood stars at Festivals. Her book is called Out of Time - Midlife If You Still Think You Are Young. And of course, you can’t use the word midlife without the inevitable follow-up word, crisis. Not hers, specifically, but the idea of it and how our generation experience the triggers for it, career insecurity, diminishing health, regret, and envy.

The very fact that I bought the book at my very first music festival - a few years after it was published - speaks volumes, and that it is absolutely for people my age, for people like me. I do still think I’m young, despite being a father to actual adults. Me and my mate Neil love music, we both love discovering new stuff and interrogating old. We wear expensive technical jackets and call each other to show off a new pair of trainers or cords. 

We’re part of an easy demographic to make fun of: Acid Dads, old punks, boomers, whatever. Our parents weren’t like this. We’re a generation that seems to be steadfastly refusing to grow up. Festivals are actually designed for people like us.

Miranda’s very honest account of her progression through life is sobering. It is brilliantly written, and quite sad at times. There’s this haunting account of a dream where you are surrounded by people who think you are wonderful, you start a chess game, you leave the room, return and things are a bit more hostile. You look at the chess board and you’ve lost a knight, a bishop, and some pawns and you ask to start again. No, comes a voice (God, maybe), that’s the game.

There’s an incredible and lucid chapter on music, which sums up the feeling of being forever young and growing old. “In the middle of my life, I feel as though I might be young and old and the age I am today all at the same time, and music is one of the ways I sense this.” Beautiful. 

In the closing sections of her book, which she insists isn’t a self-help book, she does offer some advice on what might work for midlifers, extrapolating on what has worked for her. Running (slowly), is one, and music is another. But here’s the one I loved; think back to what you loved doing when you were young, and do more of it. That got me thinking. It’s why me and Neil do our radio show. It’s why I am obsessive about climbing fells and mountains. It’s why I’m working in politics again. It’s why I have a chart on my wall with the football grounds I must go to in order to complete the 92.

It has taken me a lifetime to reach any kind of contentment, and though I feel it now, it doesn’t take much to knock me off course. In the wreckage behind me lie various confused therapists, lost friends, failed relationships, and an inability to bank what I have achieved. Rachel is nothing like this. I have no idea how she puts up with me. Even when my frail, dying Great Grandma looked at me through milky eyes and said to me when I was still in my early twenties ‘you’ve had a good life haven’t you?’ I still couldn’t quite accept that I’ve done enough. Fast forward thirty years, despite the brag pack shelf I constructed to give me a high five every morning, I can't shake the voice that says I'm out of time. 

I’ve also been through a few career changes over the last decade. My industry has been decimated - as has the consumer and cultural media that Miranda operates in - and I’ve tried other worlds where I had a limited impact and screwed up. It isn’t an excuse, but the business model for what I really wanted to do was hard to deliver when everyone was working from home. 

That’s the chess game of life again. Imposter syndrome is comparing yourself to others and thinking of yourself as inadequate next to the version you see, rather than the reality below the surface. But to confront it successfully also requires real self-knowledge and awareness. That's the bit that's been falling into place recently. Two older friends who know me well have both independently offered the observation that I'm resilient, a survivor.

For so many reasons, I was really pleased that we went to Kite Festival. Picking up this smart, funny, and beautifully written book by someone whom I briefly, fleetingly crossed on a path to Channel 4’s studio in 1991, and who I have occasionally compared myself unfavourably to ever since was one. The other was feeling really pleased to see her do such a great job hosting an interview (with no notes, NO NOTES) and me not feeling a single pang of envy. 

Miranda Sawyer's Out of Time is still available, buy it from Blackwells here, they are lovely.

Autism acceptance - something for us all

This paper lands on your doormat in the middle of Autism Acceptance Week, as promoted by the charity the National Autistic Society, writes Michael Taylor.

(Tameside Reporter column, 1 April 2022).

Without going into details, I think I’m fairly aware of autism and what it means for how someone with that diagnosis lives their life, battles the education system and locates support.

The mission statement of the charity points out that there are currently around 700,000 autistic people in the UK. Their work seeks to create and contribute to a more inclusive world: a world where autistic people are accepted in society and able to live a life of choice and opportunity. During the week the charity has been sharing lots of information and ideas on how everyone can play their part in making this happen.

Crudely, we are all on a spectrum of how our brains are wired and how our senses interpret, communicate and signal to us how we respond. People on the autism spectrum find many of these processes challenging.

When it comes to encouraging acceptance, TV can play a huge part in doing the heavy lifting for us all. 

There’s a great video on the NAS website by Alan Garner who presents a series called The Autistic Gardner on Channel 4. He makes the point not just that people on the autism spectrum face their own challenges, but that they are so frequently misunderstood and therefore unable to live a life where they reach their full potential.

One of the best TV drama series I have seen is the BBC’s The A Word. It brings to life the complexities of a family challenged by the sinking realism that their beautiful son Joe has autism. His Dad encourages Joe’s love of great music which forms a vital part of the soundtrack, but for me the best part of the series was the rest of the annoying and complex characters around him. Life is like that, and if these lot can accept Joe and all his differences, then so can you.

I didn’t need a TV drama to know what effect a child with profound special educational and emotional needs has on a family. It's uncomfortable, the shock, the stages of comprehension and the allowances you make are all there.

I read somewhere that the series didn't speak a truth about one reviewer's autistic brother. Maybe so, but that's not the point. It didn't try to be the last word on autism any more than it is about the tensions of succession in family businesses.

It can be annoying telling people that autism doesn’t mean maths genius, card counter, or music obsessive. Each person is unique, but several core communications challenges require the rest of us to be more understanding.

Which brings me to the main thrust of this week, awareness, yes, but also acceptance and appreciation of people on the autism spectrum.

Having worked in a university, a media company and been part of social activities around music, football, politics and the outdoors and I can tell you firmly that I meet people all the time who have a way of communicating that others bristle at, because they don't understand the other person's wiring. 

I am not qualified to diagnose, and I don’t claim to have any kind of super power, but I find myself identifying behaviours that if that is a possibility that someone is on the autism spectrum then maybe those of us who are neuro typical have to meet others half way.

We say it at the end of each show, look after each other out there. 

Make your TV world a little bigger - Ozark, Walking Dead and those hopeless Australian cops

Maybe I've reached an age where I find my willingness to try new things tested. Yes, I say I want to find new films to watch, new books to read, films and TV series to bury myself in, ones that bust a genre and redefine culture. But let's face it, most stuff is made precisely because it has a guaranteed audience of people who liked one thing, and who will also like another. People like me.

I quite enjoyed the BBC's Australian outback romp, The Tourist, but as one reviewer said - "stick another cliche on the barbie, Bruce". It had elements of Mystery Road and of Wolf Creek, and the only two types of cops allowed in Aussie TV dramas, corrupt ones and the hopelessly incompetent variety. But it also had Jamie Dornan, who seems to have a strong appeal to a certain section of the population. By the way, I'm genuinely excited to hear that a third Wolf Creek film is in production, just in time to prepare my wife Rachel for our long-awaited holiday in WA.

Another slick Harlan Coben adaptation featuring seemingly unemployed wealthy people living in implausibly large houses in the North West of England, Stay Close was probably one too many. I can get over the location continuity - IT'S NOT MEANT TO BE REAL - but not the ludicrous introduction of Killing Eve inspired characters Barbie and Ken and the utterly implausible scenario of someone living in the next town and no one noticing she was missing, nor that twenty blokes were AWOL. Maybe the cops were trained in Australia.

So I do have a tendency to revert to what I know and like. British gangster films. And Zombies.

I'm going to have to say this now, but for slightly different reasons. I'm kicking the habit. Enough is enough.

I reached gangster/hooligan nadir with ID2: Shadwell Army. A truly awful film. Unless it has Craig Fairbrass in it, I'm out, maybe Rise of the Footsoldier Five will be just one last job.

With Season Six of Fear the Walking Dead, I've seen my last zombie fight. Erik Kain in Forbes - a peerless TV and games reviewer - said it was: "tepid, nonsensical and deeply silly". He's right, but I think it's actually even worse than that. I actually watched the last few episodes on shuttle, it takes about ten minutes, the dialogue is predictable drivel, the stand-offs tedious. But it is also now offensive because it is so reckless and negligent with the development of characters and the use of acting talent, notably Alicia Clark, played by Alycia Debnam Carey. I want it to end and refuse to have anything more to do with this franchise or any of its spin-offs.

So that's me also done with season 11 of The Walking Dead too, which involves a Disney subscription, and a bucket load of disbelief that this is still a thing. 

Redemption for the familiar has come in the form of Season 4, part one, of Ozark. As I wrote about season 3, which concluded in April 2020, I lauded the women of the Ozarks. How this is a show in which they provide all of the forward motion. Even Helen, spoiler alert, is the one corpse from the previous season that's unaccounted for and causing problems for everyone else in season 4.

But for all the nonchalant chat about the drugs trade and the outrageous behaviour of Wendy Byrde, Ozark is tense and challenging. The last two episodes were directed by Robin Wright, but unlike House of Cards (in which she starred as Claire), or Succession, which also has no characters with any redeeming features and none you can root for, you are gripped by Ozark because you care. We may not inhabit the world of media moguls or powerful politicians, so we probably can't place how we'd react. But while we also don't launder money for the Mexican drug cartels, or farm heroin, there are parenting choices and business decisions that indecisive middle-aged men everywhere can relate on a certain level to Marty. 

But, all day long, Team Ruth are we, right? 

It's only been up a few days and we've rinsed it already, I hope none of that has spoilt it. But it's set up for a storming return in a few months time.

New cure for cancer still not as good as Succession

A few years ago one of those super smart spoof news sites, The Daily Mash, did a story with such searing insight it stopped me in my tracks. "New cure for cancer is good, says The Guardian, but still not as good as The Wire."

It can be easily updated today for pretty much any discussion of Succession. 

It is so universally, critically and publicly applauded that I'm expecting the ferocious public backlash any day now.

I make absolutely no apologies for being one of those people who wax lyrical about it to people who haven't seen it. Since the day I acted on my mate Andy Westwood's very firm instruction to watch Succession, I've literally become that person.

Rachel was a later adopter and by the time we caught up with the beginning of series three it felt important to start all over again and familiarise ourselves with the subtleties of Waystar Royco, the cruise liners, cousin Greg, Stewie and Sandy, and other bits we might have missed due to the whip sharp dialogue. Trust me, if you haven't started season three yet, watch seasons one and two again. It is like watching a new series, there is so much you can't take on board or remember. 

I keep having theories about where the main story arc might go - Logan for President, Tom or Kendall committing suicide. But if you think about it, nothing much has really changed from the very beginning. Logan is healthier than he's ever been and sort of still married to Marsha. None of the four appalling Roy children have come closer to fulfilling their own ambitions. It's like a horrible game of snakes and ladders without, er, any ladders.

This is a long way round of saying that Succession has been the best TV I've seen all year. Honourable mentions to: The Landscapers, Fargo, A Very British Scandal, The Girl Before, Time, The Terror, Line of Duty, Baptiste, Modern Love, The Investigation, Deutschland 89, Occupied, The Rain and Lupin. 

September blog challenge

I need to get my mojo fired up and my writing head on. I've created a whole load of deadlines and expectations for the month, that will keep me motivated. However, I've also set myself the blog a day target as well. 

I've done this before in July 2019 and November 2020. I may even get around to covering some of the topics I promised to cover last time, but didn't. Like on our radio show, I do requests, but reserve the right to not do ones I don't like.

In short order, and on the list are:

• Academic writing v journalism
• Refugees
• Magazines
• Debate and disagreement
• Networks, why we need them, and why we don't
• 24 Hour News vs Slow news
• Family
• Friends
• All Those Things That Seemed So Important
• Aesthetics
• Devolution and Democracy
• Living with medical conditions
• Welsh Nationalism
• Some book reviews
• The 143 (not a bus route, a music list)
• Folk horror
• Kinder Scout, my complex relationship 
• Cumberland

Just to be clear, I don't often suffer from writer's block, but I am old enough to recognise that I work best under pressure. I should also at this point link to the Big Issue in the North, which published my feature on the BBC. I'd love you to buy a copy from their digital archive, here.

I also do a weekly column on music (mainly) for the Weekender section of the Tameside Reporter and Glossop Chronicle. One of the recent ones is here.

I was also involved in the Inset Day at Aquinas College yesterday, which prompted this piece on LinkedIn. 

So, which me luck and I hope this works.

Spring summer telly review

Here's a bit of a round up of some TV drama series we've watched. I'll review a few docs and films shortly, but this is a bit of a mixed bag. 

Bloodlands (BBC) - terrible. I genuinely don't know how Ged Mercurio was involved in this. It once again showed one of the inherent weaknesses of BBC Drama, a childlike analysis of historic political issues, where good liberals revisit sins of bad bigots through a consistent and modern lens. 

Deutschland 89 (Channel 4) - every bit as good as I was expecting from the unlikely communist James Bond.

Disappearance (BBC) - really attractive French people eat steak and chips, pizza and ice cream, never get fat, and act really strangely when one of their daughters goes missing. Quite dark, but definitely very French.

Line of Duty (BBC) - I quite liked the ending. I thought it was neat and clever. That's sort of the point, there is no dark criminal mastermind. Everything else has been said. It's good at getting the suspense going, but the plot twists and red herrings are sometimes almost as comic as the needless jargon. 

Unforgotten (ITV) - ITV has got better at these kinds of dramas recently. Nicola Walker in particular really shone out in this well-told, well-acted, well-produced tear-jerker.

The Terror (BBC) - If you sold me the basic premise of a Victorian shipwreck drama I'd struggle to believe it would work, but there was something new and different about this impressively acted series.

Investigation (BBC) - true story, set in Denmark, relating to a disappearance of a girl on a submarine owned by an eccentric entrepreneur. Painstaking and soul-destroying work.

Occupied (Netflix) - Unfortunately this got worse with each series. What started out as a smart take on a futuristic geo-political drama (Russia annexes Norway with EU support) just got silly and too focused on a personal melodrama. 

Startup (Netflix, then season 3 on Amazon Prime) - The premise was good, and seeing Martin Freeman as a shady FBI agent was particularly pleasing, but the stand-out star was Edi Gathegi as Ronald. There are elements of Breaking Bad (ordinary people, organised crime, way over their heads) but overall it didn't reach those heights enough. That may be a high bar to have set, but on reflection there's enough to crave a fourth season. 

Colony (Netflix) - season 3 of this alien colonisation dystopia finally made it to the UK after 4 years. A bit of a mess, seemed to jump ahead and then around with very little context or explanation. 

Baptiste (BBC) - the return of the French detective to a new series set in Hungary was let down by some strange time shifting, but to be fair it picked up towards the end. Some of his policing techniques (compared to the master sleuth he was in The Missing) were as bizarre as they were hopeless. Interesting take on radicalisation in modern Europe.

The Pact (BBC) - alright, there was a cartoon bad guy, some hammy predictable writing, but loaded with really fine British actors. Also, nice to see a Christian character that has flaws, but isn't ultimately trashed as a total hypocrite and is prepared to act selflessly.

Lupin (Netflix) - the second season of this stylish and moral French caper was every bit as charming as the first. Again, a dastardly bad guy, unlikely coincidences and a certain wit made it an easy watch.

And finally, the best thing we've seen for ages - Time (BBC) where two of English acting's greatest talents convey the raw terror of life in our prison system. Obviously I've no direct experience of life behind bars (and Time is a reminder never to find out) but the constant terror and bullying and mental illness is genuinely disturbing. Most impressive of all was the sense of pointless, wasted disasters that have led to people ending up in jail.

SAS Who Dares Wins

 

My guilty pleasure on TV at the moment is SAS Who Dares Wins on Channel 4. I watch it on catch-up as it clashes with our radio show. 

The added ingredient this year is that we know one of the contestants. Sean Sherwood was a teacher at Harrytown when our lads went there and when I was a Governor. He was absolutely great with them and they all have very happy memories of their time with him. Max and Louis in particular were part of the team that won the Stockport Schools football cup in 2015 that Sean coached. It was, he has said, his greatest achievement in education and something all of the lads recognise was done against all the odds. I remember watching the game in abject disbelief, fully expecting a plucky defeat, but they found a sense of belief and courage that surprised everyone. That proved to me that their coach had a fundamental winning mentality. So to see him on this gruelling stage fills me with admiration and expectation. Obviously it's going to be hard to win, but we're four weeks in out of six and he's right in the mix. So yes, it won't surprise me in the slightest that he'll win.  

Review - 'Life of a Mountain: Helvellyn' by Terry Abraham

In fairly short order we were treated to the BBC showing all three of Terry Abraham's films in his series Life of a Mountain, the latest being A Year On Helvellyn. Although this is the most recent addition to his series of stunning films about the mountains of the Lake District we didn't watch them in strict order. First we watched the Scafell Pike film from 2014, then the latest one, and then last night finally completed  the trilogy with the return to BBC4 of A Year on Blencathra from 2017. I loved how all of the interviewees were so passionate and eloquent, how they seemed to be just in conversation, rather than being interviewed. That takes a particular skill. They are in no way tourist films, but are deeply respectful of the everyday lives of people in the Lake District and their relationship with all three mountains and their different characteristics. Terry has clearly got better and better as a film maker and developed a sense of what worked from the first two, so much so that I would almost militantly urge anyone who hasn't seen any of them to view them in the correct order - Scafell Pike, Blencathra, Helvellyn - and see how they reach a peak of their own. A spiritual dimension definitely populated the first two, but deeper historical and social context seeped into the Blencathra film (as well as more music), but Helvellyn had the right blend of everything (and less music).

My own relationship with the Lake District is lifelong and I love it deeply. My Mum is from there, my Grandma spent time in the sanatorium on Blencathra when she conducted TB, and I've probably had more holidays there than anywhere else. For all of that my run rate on its mountains isn't great - I've hiked up a dozen, no more. I went up Catbells and Skiddaw in October last year (not on the same day) and still feel quite emotional about how much I enjoyed doing so, and with the friends I did it with, at a time we now look back on as a false dawn, when we all felt lockdown was easing. These films have drawn me ever closer to these mountains as I'm sure they will for you too. And I think we'll do so more respectfully, more sensitively and with an enormous sense of gratitude that it is possible. Thank you Terry Abraham.

Lockdown telly and why we're really missing Saga Noren

 

We tend to fall head over heels for some series. The Bridge (BBC4) was definitely one of them. Having arrived at it 9 years late, and seen the conclusion just three years after everyone else, I do feel slightly foolish for not having responded to a strong recommendation from my friend Martin Carr throughout that time. I know that an obvious question will be about my own take on the depiction of Saga Noren as a rare principal character with Asperger's (though it's never described as such). My own personal response is the same as it often is about anything related to the condition, and that Sofie Helin does an incredible job as the actor playing the very well written part of Saga. She's not a type, she's unique, she's both brittle and hard as nails; impenetrable and yet lovable; vulnerable yet impervious to others. There's still much to forgive with the series, unlikely plot twists and dramatic reveals, and often ludicrously complex themed killing sprees, but though it's gruesome at times it never feels exploitative or cruel. I've only been to Copenhagen once, and don't remember it being this gloomy either, or having so many disused industrial sites where ritual murders can take place, but it is portraying a grim world, and usually in winter. It has all been quite a ride with Saga, Martin, Henrik, Hans and Lillian, and all of the complicated, messy, normal, odd and quirky characters that have formed the 38 episodes. I feel I want more and I have genuinely felt loss over the last 24 hours that I will never again see that Porsche 911 ("ahem, 911S, actually," Saga Noren would say), or hear the words: "Saga Noren Lanskrim Malmo".

For the time being I'm immersed in The Bridge fandom, here, and here. A warning though, there are spoilers.

Modern Love (Prime) - slightly quirky, but brilliantly well acted crop of New York-based single act stories. The one with Anne Hathaway utterly broke me. But mostly they were beautifully packaged, wonderful immersions.

The Serpent (BBC) - there was something creepy and unsettling about the BBC’s drama based on the true story of Charles Sobhraj; and at times it was unbearably tense just waiting for him to kill another hapless victim lured into his lair of evil. But the BBC adaptation of the true story hangs together really well and manages to pull it off with enough panache without you still feeling anything but revulsion for him and his pathetic sidekicks. Going down the rabbit hole of research on Sobhraj was quite an eye opener, the consistently excellent Andrew Anthony, who has met him twice, is particularly good in GQ here. Good use of music in the series too. 

Lupin (Netflix) - really enjoyed this stylish and slick French thriller with a deeply moral core. 

Gary Lineker's brilliant, heartfelt tribute to Diego Maradona

I know he's the scourge of a certain section of the male population due to his stance on Brexit (and not being a dick) but this was a reminder of what a good broadcaster Gary Lineker is. I'm pleased he's not just a pundit, but he gets the respect of the other players because of all he achieved in the game. It's brought back home too what a player he was. My generation's greatest international tournaments were Mexico 86 and Italia 90. England's performances were totally enhanced by Lineker's input. He was a deadly striker and a superb ambassador for the game at the time. I adored him.

I haven't always though. In the days when my team was frequently last on Match of the Day, as opposed to next to last on the Football League Show on Channel 5, I thought they were phoning it in. I don't see as much of him now for obvious reasons, but I think he's got much better as a broadcaster, as you'd expect, and as the media age has changed. He bounces off Ian Wright Jermain Jenas and Alan Shearer far better than he ever did with the far too cosy Mark Lawrenson and Alan Hansen. I'm not a Danny Murphy fan.

I wanted to mark the passing of a legend this week. But plenty of others can have their say far better than I could on Diego Maradona, over the last few days. He was an absolute icon and one of the greatest players in my lifetime, I still think Cruyff was the greatest ever, but it's churlish to mention that. Sometimes it's hard to find the appropriate words too, but I'm glad that Gary Lineker did.

A bit of a lockdown telly catch up

Here are a few things we're watched on telly over the last few months, no spoilers.

I've already posted up reviews of The Crown, Somebody Feed Phil and the feature length documentary The Three Kings, which merited direct and immediate attention, but here's the rest in descending quality order.

Fargo (Netflix) - we're up to series two and three back to back and it was right up there amongst the best telly we've seen during lockdown. The whole Fargo universe is eccentric genius, brilliantly acted and with characters like you've never seen before, even if the one constant is a sympathetic and under resourced  police officer doing his or her best. I really enjoyed the whole brutal gang war in series two, with the outstanding character Hanzee Dent sporting a fantastic green combat jacket. Series three took things up another notch on the bad guy front, with the modern take on global crime in the persona of David Thewlis' enigmatic and verbose V.M. Varga. 

Mystery Road (BBC) - The second series of this Australian outback detective drama contained most of the boilerplate features of Down Under noir, corrupt cops and darkly cruel bad guys. It was a good story with a few surprises and twists. Lead actor Aaron Pedersen as Jay Swan does understated very well, but as with so many other Aussie series it's always the women that shine brightest, especially Tasma Walton as Jay's estranged wife Mary.

Hanna (Prime) - I enjoyed the first season where we saw the feral child assassin on a string of adventures, and searching for the sinister truth. Series two was a bit like High Street Musical mashed up with Jason Bourne, in rural England. Preposterous nonsense really, but strangely enjoyable.

Roadkill (BBC) - Much like The Crown, Roadkill was brilliantly acted - especially by Hugh Laurie - but was pretty dismal. I'm always a bit surprised at the cartoon portrayal of politicians, their officials and the deep state. I know we have new levels of venal reality to draw from, but they never seem to have anything other than dark motives. But my main problem with it was that nothing that happened to anyone seemed to have any meaning, and so many of the characters had no purpose, a very strange mix. 

iFollow is horrible, I can't be bothered with it

In the last two seasons the fixture I had my eye on more than any other was Luton Town away. Sad isn't it? To actually want to go to ickle racist Stephen's team. But I've never been to Kenilworth Road, the only stadium in the Championship I've not seen my Blackburn Rovers at. There's Brentford's new home, I suppose, but no-one's been there yet. I'm collecting my totals and once this lockdown ends, I'm going to swiftly complete the remaining 12 of the 92.

Just as I posted that I haven't been to a live event since the end of February, the last Rovers match was on the same day. I do miss everything about going to the match, but as followers of this blog will recall, it's a lot to do with spending time with the two of my lads who support Rovers. I really cherish it.

We're instead are offered the opportunity to watch the matches on TV. That means paying £10 per game for something called iFollow. In principle it's a good idea. But I'm going to be as tactful as I can when I say this: it's rubbish. Today's game at Luton was probably the worst of the lot, and in truth I'm not going to bother again. Bad production, terrible lighting, dreadful directing, the commentary I manage to zone out of, but it's not a patch on BBC local radio. The still picture at the top is the precise moment the screen froze for one fan.  The club guilt trip the fans with a message about pirate streams, but I'll say this now - what we saw today wasn't worth £10 for a headache and sea sickness. 

As for the game, it was there for the taking and I'm disappointed. Two shocking refereeing decisions at the end from Gavin Ward of Surrey, not the only person in Luton today stealing a living. Bitter? Grumpy? Fed up with football? You bet. 

 

The Crown - is it me, or is it now a sitcom?

I think most of the acting, set design and period setting in the Netflix series The Crown is as good as anything I've seen. Not only are really good actors cast perfectly, they carry off their roles with studied perfection and attention to detail. Most of the time.

The stories take some liberties. On balance I see how the writer takes a number of known established facts and builds a narrative around presenting them as they may have been discussed and talked about at the time. There probably was no letter from Lord Mountbatten to Charles telling him to stop carrying on with Camilla, but there is supposedly enough evidence to make it a plot device to carry through that tension. Some are inexcusable and exist to simplify, rather than amplify and exaggerate - plenty of critics have piled in on the chronic inconsistencies around Mark Thatcher going missing in the Sahara and the start of the Falklands War. 

There are two emotionally manipulative narratives underpinning the whole exercise. One is the moral collapse of the House of Windsor and the sense that a distracted, hapless but well meaning Queen holds together a rag bag of spoilt brats, bullies and spiteful egos. It's the Princess Diana vs the Windsors being played out and it's clear which side The Crown is on. Seeds are sewn too for what we now believe about Prince Andrew. It all feels like it's building up to a terrible reckoning. The future is not yet written, but then clearly the past isn't either.

The other underlying pitch through the 80s is what I can only describe as the Brassed Off view of life. Not even a Boys from the Blackstuff view, but a simplified and romantic paternalism. Maybe that's how we're supposed to see the world; through the Queen's eyes. Some of it though is so obviously geared to that version of truth that it's almost like a parody. It even reminded me of the Comic Strip Presents classic Strike, where Peter Richardson played Al Pacino playing Arthur Scargill.

So we're halfway through season 4 now and are cracking on with it. Season 5 though. Oooooh!

Somebody Feed Phil - a real gem

Are things feeling better already? I don't know. Trump's going, a vaccine for COVID might be nearing reality, maybe things *can* only get better. 

Given we're all staying in for a while longer, I had stacked up a boat load of folk horror films and some more post-apocalyptic mayhem in the ever growing Walking Dead universe to watch. 

But along came a delight I didn't see coming - Somebody Feed Phil on Netflix, recommended by partner in Music Therapy dispensation, Neil "long hot" Summers. I usually wait until I've finished a series before posting any kind of a review, but I've got the hang of the basic format after just five episodes and I'm calling it early.

I think it's the best thing I've seen all year. 

Here's how it works. Comedy actor Phil Rosenthal, from Everybody Loves Raymond, pitches up in a city and eats food. Oh, so it's a travel show? you say. No, not really, it's probably an anti-travel show travel show. There's no danger, or jeopardy, there's no real information, no travel tips, a teeny bit of historical context, but not much. The continuity is all over the place, so much so, it doesn't really try. At the end of each episode he call his parents in New York over Skype. And yet none of these are flaws, it's just a gloriously sensory experience. But I keep thinking I'm over thinking it. It's just fun, beautiful, warm, loving and funny.  

A new dawn has broken, has it not?

http://www.stanleychow.co.uk/

There's only one thing on all of our minds today. The election of decency back to the office of the President of the USA. Sorry for the headline (not sorry).

We've been glued to CNN all week, a change from our usual global 24 hour news channel of choice, France24. I could listen to John King all day long. 

It's hard to comprehend what an unpleasant and repugnant force Trump has been. The powerful reaction from CNN's Van Jones hit that home. ""Every day you're waking up and you're getting these tweets and you just don't know, and you are going to the store and the people who were once afraid to show their racism are getting nastier and nastier to you." That got me. Trump enabled all of that. In our country, we get a glimpse of it from the likes of Farage, but not from the leader of our country, aside from a few stupid old jokes, not at that scale, and frankly you can barely imagine it. In time we'll look back and be baffled not just at how he was elected but that how normalised his outrageous, ungraceful, rude style of governing became. Pundit Sam Harris described Trump's appeal and strategy as allowing people to feel OK about the worst version of themselves, someone incapable of casting moral judgement on people by default makes them feel fine about being hateful and racist.

I've been in a global echo chamber of like minded happy people today, which has made Twitter fun again (notably, John Niven has been immense). I have made a half hearted attempt to try and think of the opposite point of view. What has Trump done that's been good? Frankly, it's a short list. Taking out the Iranian General, maybe? Standing up to China, possibly? I do hear the cry that he's made a political cause of working people in left behind communities, but he harvested their votes and made them his base without any coherent economic plan, and did so on the premise of trade war with China, almost America's version of our false prospectus of Brexit.

Biden's election is also a headache for the Boris Johnson government, as if they didn't have enough problems. A US trade deal that rides roughshod over the Good Friday agreement won't wash. And if I was an official in the Biden team, the mealy mouthed comments of Dominic Raab, our Foreign Secretary, would push the interests of the UK a little further down the list of priorities. 

At some point quite soon, Biden and Harris will have to make really difficult decisions - the kind of test of character that Presidents have to make. The obvious first one being a proper response that takes COVID-19 seriously.

They'll also be asked to tack left by the Bernie Sanders crowd, and rising stars like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez of Congressional Progressive Caucus. The stoked up culture wars will be a further test. I had an immediate taste of it with a tweet about Iraq. But Biden has spent all of his political life negotiating and triangulating, finding a solution, working around the table, not just being righteous. He also has a strong Vice President, possibly the next President, at his side.

Many of us Brits are aware of Biden's shortcomings. Right now I'm very much looking forward to his acceptance speech. I just hope he starts it with - "We're ALRIGHT!" 

credits: illustration by Stanley Chow, punchline by Patrick Maguire.

A summer of Telly and Box Sets

It's been the best of times, the worst of times. Staying at home, home cooking, eating local, shopping local, trying to imagine another kind of world out there, beyond the news and the various phases of lockdown. And we've watched lots of telly series. At times I've obsessed, binge watched and barely been able to think of anything else, sometimes diving in and forgetting everything within days.

Here's what I've been watching, the good, the bad and the ugly. 

I'll start with the best thing I've seen and take you through the rest in no particular order, but leaving the absolute worst until last. 

Succession (HBO) managed to be even funnier and more shocking than series one.  A little bit of knowledge of the Murdoch family psycho drama really helps, especially watching the way the series grafts on the sacrifices demanded and the brutal boardroom politics of real life. All that was missing was a cream pie at a government committee hearing. But the acting and the whole way the lives of the worst people in the world are designed and captured was something else. 

The Secrets She Keeps (BBC iPlayer) - a plausible and shocking Australian drama with a predictable finger on the emotional manipulation button. It fairly crudely lathers on the class divide, but it was based on a real case and still has the potential for a follow up series. Also reinforced my firm conviction, gleaned from repeated Australian TV series that their cops are the worst in the world.

Giri Haji - (BBC iPlayer) was good, if a little strange at times. An Anglo-Japanese co-production that probably didn't need to keep reminding us of that. It was a brave attempt to lever in some remarkably off-type genre crossing, some worked, some really didn't. I liked the comic book style for the commentary and the set piece over stylised interactions between mob bosses, but the ballet scene for a showdown just felt odd. Played humour very well in what could have been relentlessly bleak and overly procedural.

Normal People (RTE on BBC iPlayer) really pleasantly surprised me. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, probably a bit of BBC Sunday night middle class right of passage romance, but it was far more than that. Not only was it beautifully shot, tenderly acted and well paced, and I really liked the short episodes, it needed the darker moments to make you properly yearn for the better possibilities. However, we had to shut the curtains in case anyone was shocked by what they might be seeing from the street.

Safe (Netflix) was compelling if a bit ridiculous. Very much like another Harlan Coben adaption The Stranger in both style and delivery (both made locally by Red Productions) and occasional use of locations. Both had the desired twists and turns, but too many red herrings and useless coppers tested my patience by the end. Does no-one in this middle class universe move away? 

The Salisbury Poisonings (BBC) was probably the most heart breaking of all TV dramas, not least because it was based entirely on real events, but never threatened to become an episode of Spooks. It was what happens to the real lives of people caught up in an act of terror. I was particularly cut up about the fate of poor Dawn Sturgess, who this series seemed to go out of its way to generously rescue in death from the grave indignities she suffered in her own short life. I do hope that Tracy Daszkiewicz, the director of public health, has been OK during the pandemic. I've no reason to doubt the portrayal of her as a modest and dedicated civil servant by Anne-Marie Duff. It reflects the hard working reality of thousands of public servants called upon to lead at times of crisis, unglamorous work delivered with bravery, heroism and self-doubt.

The Sinner (Netflix) - we did all three series of this Bill Pullman led "why-dunnit" set in upstate New York and I have to say the first was superb, the second was even better but the third lapsed into the absurd.

The A Word (BBC) did a great job of bringing life and laughter to everyday family life for a third series. I probably enjoyed this series the least of all of them as I grew impatient at the breathless ease with which scenes between the Langdale Valley and Manchester took place with barely a reference to the three hours it takes to get from one to the other. I also spent the whole series awaiting the imminent much hinted at demise of my favourite annoying character (of which there are many). But, overall, tender and messy.

Fear the Walking Dead season 5 (Amazon Prime) - I have waxed lyrical before on the desperate turns of the whole Walking Dead franchise and I'm probably overdue a piece on the whole comic book arc, the direction the main show is going with one delayed season finale to come soon. So while I was hugely sceptical of the potential for a spin off series set in California, I did actually quite like seasons 1-3 of Fear the Walking Dead. The characters of Madison, Nick, Alicia and Strand were an improvement on the nonsense playing out with Rick Grimes and his crew in Georgia around seasons 7 and 8. Daniel Salazar was also one of the best ambiguous good guy/ bad guy characters of the whole universe. Season 4 was all over the place, literally in where it was set, the time jumps which were hard to follow, and the lighting and locations. I don't blame the actors, none of them were unconvincing, it was the whole package. The way things happened with no context, continuity was all over the place, decisions were made with no logic and the whole 'help people' thing was just stupid by the end. Morgan, played by Lennie James, was just boring and annoying when he left The Walking Dead, and he got progressively worse through Season 4 and by season 5, which is by some margin the worst television series I have watched this year, or possibly any year, I actually wanted him to die. The only good thing I have to show for the whole torrid and laughably bad experience (much of which I shuttled forward through) is the sheer unadulterated joy of reading reviews on Fortune's website by the excellent Erik Kain.

 

The terror legends of the Australian outback

I've never been anywhere quite like the Australian outback. Even going back 30 years ago, before the phrase 'backpacker murders' was ever uttered, there was a fear, a mythology, a set of folk horror tales that tainted any trip through the great expanse. 

Over the last couple of weeks I've watched the Channel 4 True Crime documentary Murder in the Outback, the Peter Falconio mystery, and the questions over the guilt of Bradley Murdoch, the man who two trials have concluded was the murderer, of which more will follow. I've also watched two series of gory horror fest Wolf Creek, which claims to be based on the real story of Ivan Milat, and dangles the fact that 38,000 people go missing in Australia every year. They do, but all but a couple of hundred are found almost immediately, and of those missing, most are in cites. 

But first I wanted to capture something of the atmosphere and the relationship with the vast unknown expanse and what it does to you. 

Basically, you have this overwhelming feeling that you are in terrain so very different to anything you are familiar with. On each and every occasion, good or ill, I was always at the mercy of strangers to navigate me through even the relatively minor challenges that can befall you. And if that was to go wrong? You're stuffed basically.

In 1984 I spent time on a cattle ranch and settlement in central Queensland, where the address was "Old Gordon, via Dingo" and despite the basic amenities, the fact it was in the middle of nowhere, it was still 150 kilometres by road from the coastal town of Rockhampton, on the Tropic of Capricorn. Compared to what I later experienced in the red centre, it was practically a seaside town. Even the nearest actual town, Biloela (population 5000), had a bank, even if they lost my money for a few days. Life was so different and pretty sparse, because the houses were so isolated, runs for supplies were infrequent and you relied on tins and frozen food. More than anything though, the work was hard and it was always very hot. 

When I lived in Perth a few years later, some of the fondest memories are of weekend jaunts 'down south' to some glorious countryside, complete with gorgeous isolated beaches and stylish old hotels. It didn't take long before you were out of Perth on the road to Bunbury or Busselton and the sky stretched out in front of you, there was desert and scrub as far as the eye can see, and you had to keep a careful eye out for two hazards, kangaroos and road trains. Oh, and running out of petrol, which we'll come to later.

But if down south held an allure, up north was a different kettle of fish, or shark. Me and Samantha, an old girlfriend from Manchester who was passing through, rented a car and headed up towards a legendary spot called Monkey Mia. It's now a UN World Heritage Site, and the attraction is that dolphins come right up to the shallow shore and rub up to you. Being there was awesome, but getting there wasn't without it's trials. The first overnight spot was in possibly the grimmest town I've ever stayed in, Geraldton. It literally had nothing to commend it, except possibly that it wasn't as grim as Northampton, 80 miles north, where we stopped for fuel, and was the birthplace of murderer Bradley Murdoch. I'm sure now they've developed a heritage museum to follow the trail of Gerald, a pioneer of the outback, or they've discovered gold and cobalt somewhere. Anyway, we were 22 and didn't care to look back. We did however stop to look at Shell Beach, the world's only beach made of, well, shells. There wasn't a sign saying don't take your car on it, but there wasn't one marking a road either. We made it off the beach, but not much further. It wasn't long before a passing car pulled over and offered to give us a lift to the next town so we could complain to the hire company about our faulty car (*innocent face*). All I remember about the mechanics of the rescue was the overwhelming kindness from the local people, how we got a tow out to our ceased up rental, and that the hire firm brought us a new rental car up from Perth, and gave us a lift to our basic quarters near to the dolphins. And looking at the distances now, that's quite some service, to be fair. No, what I remember so vividly were the people who gave us a lift. Within five minutes of picking up two poms at the side of a deserted desolate road, these 1970s migrants from Essex wanted to know if Britain was "still really bad, you know, with the blacks and everything". I was shocked, even then racism was more of a polite thing amongst English people, but I was also a cowardly pragmatist and keen to get out of the midday sun. God love her though, Sam wasn't having it, turning the conversation towards the problem being racists who can't handle change. On telling the story back in Perth a few days later, you'd get a handle on a cultural divide and a social pecking order where "£10 poms" were mocked and sneered at for their lack of graces and general ignorance. 

In retrospect it was a lucky escape that we only had Essex man and his racist missus. The bloke at the garage was keen to tell us how fortunate we were to have been rescued by such nice people, and that a much worse fate could have befallen us. The peril of meeting a real outback folk devil was genuinely rooted in supposed friend-of-a-friend tales of robbery, rape and violence. 

That fear probably motivated me to pick a relatively deluxe backpacker option to explore the wilds of the Northern Territory, some months later. I paid up front for a bargain $33 for three nights for a single room (not a dorm) in the Backpackers hostel next to Darwin coach station for the week and decided to embrace all that the capital of the rural north had to offer. I took a bi-plane to Bathurst Island, a raw and fascinating jungle island off the coast, and a pretty harsh place to live if you were a native Australian. I was determined to learn more about their lives, to spend time seeing their country as much as the one that was pretty familiar to me. That said, I checked out of my breeze block cell after just a night, as Jarvis Cocker later said - "watching roaches climb the walls" - wasn't much fun. In so doing I nearly missed my coach tour to Kakadu National Park the next day, because they literally round up the bus passengers from where you said you were when we booked and needed to set off early because of a rain forecast. This is when I encountered, for the second time, the ludicrously generous extent to which rural Australians would go out of their way to make sure you have a good experience (the first was the mechanic in Shark Bay). A bloke from the tour company radioed the coach and chased after it in his Ute. Magic. Another evening I went to the cinema to see the "Territory Premiere" of Mississippi Burning, and chatting to locals (white, obviously) drew plenty of historical parallels with life in the Territory.

I had a published travel piece in a magazine about my enjoyable climb up Uluru (Ayers Rock, as it was then), something in retrospect I really shouldn't have done and would have been better placed understanding its cultural significance from afar. But they were different times. Alice Springs, deep in the red centre, was a sleepy, hot old town, with not much going on. But I was firmly inside a backpacker bubble, which almost as a mark of being in my own bubble within that bubble, I railed against it. I met nice people, including a character actor who had a small role in Silence of the Lambs, but the guided tour made me feel pampered and inadequate, defeated by the fear of the land, which of course I was. Maybe I'd been spoiled by more authentic encounters and felt distant from the real Australia, but I still absorbed the vast, glorious red centre, the endless landscapes and the sense of magic in the air. 

It was such a sharp contrast to city life, even in an isolated and relatively comfortable city like Perth, which I never experienced as an edgy and urban environment at all. I worked at weekends, as my jobs were either in journalism or club promotion, and I was into the club scene, so these were a treat, a contrast and a release. They were also an unfamiliar challenge. One weekend three of us jumped into our mate Bruce's old car and headed out on a whim to Nick's parents weekend bolt hole somewhere near Margaret River, a beautiful town surrounded by vineyards, I'm pretty sure our directions were no more precise than that. It wasn't until we were a couple of hours down the Kwinana Freeway towards the Forrest Freeway and Busselton when we realised we'd need petrol for the next leg of the journey. It was a quirk of licensing and regulation that we couldn't find a petrol station that was open on a Friday night, so we had to stay overnight in a truckers motel (an A frame) with fold down beds and not really designed for three. We certainly didn't risk going in the pubs and trucker bars of the south west, not quite fitting in with our fancy city ways, and feeling slightly out of place, even with our checked shirts. It was the first time I experienced the raw hostility of country folk to city types, as opposed to just flat out dislike of poms (my pals were proper Aussies). By the time we got to our destination the next day we also realised we didn't really have much in the way of food, drink or any means to find any. In the house all I found to pass the time was a Jeffrey Archer novel, but we scavenged for wood and lit up a stove, another use for Archer. It was the closest I've had to Withnail's immortal lamentation that we had 'gone on holiday by mistake'. Somehow though, that weekend gave me some fond memories and great photos.

The experiences of going south and north in WA convinced me I'd seen enough without a pressing need to head east across the Nullaboor plain along the Eyre Highway. There's nothing much there except a vastness, between mining towns like Coolgardie, which didn't get the best PR from a recent documentary, Coolgardie Hotel, about the tough time two Finnish girls had there. None of my friends recommended it, and it existed like a barrier to fly over, rather than a land to explore.

So, to the Peter Falconio mystery. I thought the Channel 4 documentary, frankly, was a pretty crude hatchet job on Joanne Lees. For me, the basic premise was that she became a media property, precisely because she didn't react the way the media, especially the British media, expect people to react. It reminded me of another desperately tragic murder, that of Meredith Kercher, and how the eccentric behaviour of her flatmate, Amanda Knox, led to her wrongful conviction and trial by media. In his new book, Talking to Strangers, Malcolm Gladwell talks about the way we fail to compute people and I thought that in the sequences where she faced the public, or made a reconstruction video, Joanne Lees behaved as she thought she should, faking tears. All their decisions were scrutinised, why were they on that road at that time? why did they leave Alice Springs in the late afternoon? It doesn't matter. You don't think logically, or like a country person out there, you put yourself at the mercy of the land.

Then there's Bradley Murdoch. It is the job of any defence lawyer to pick a hole in a prosecution, but I found the case mounted by his lawyer, a rum character called Andrew Fraser, unconvincing. Having now spent far too long reading all of the court documents from the dismissal of Murdoch's appeal, the TV show (steered by Fraser) was selective in how the flaws of the prosecution were presented. The other witnesses made claims wholly without substance. The wider mystery is why poor Peter's body was never found, or details of what he was doing in Sydney, prior to them travelling north in a VW camper van along a 3000 mile highway. But it got me thinking, the very character we had come to fear in the wilds of Australia fitted the type that Murdoch matched so well. Aside from the DNA, the CCTV, and some circumstantial evidence, he ticked all the archetypes too. And from that you have the fictional persona of, ahem, Mick Taylor in Wolf Creek, the most terrifying horror film character since Hannibal Lecter and himself based on Ivan Milat, the serial murderer who preyed on backpackers until he was convicted in 1996.

These encounters are remarkably tame in the greater scheme of things. There is nothing heroic or courageous about breaking down in the middle of nowhere and dying of thirst, but the added threat of a predatory killer provides the lurking alibi for that soft core fear. 

Would I go back? Yes, I'd love to travel the long distances, in something sturdier than a compact rental, and staying in the kind of places that I can now afford. I can't quite imagine getting on a plane again in current circumstances, but there is a lure of the wilds of deepest Australia, and of the glorious south west of WA and The Triffids' Wide Open Road playing loudly. You just have to prepare yourself and trust that most people are there to help you.