Billiards and life

Editorial
Den Tenksomme Vraslosken

I went out people watching yesterday. At a family pub I took notice of a father and a son, the boy was playing billiards with his dad coaching him. The boy couldn‘t have been more than ten years old, but clearly had a special talent. He won every single game, playing grown men who couldn`t hide their embarrassment having to shake hands and admit defeat. He struck the balls down one after the other as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

His dad was left proud and somewhat loud, as parents seem to be in that situation. Occasionally the boy looked towards his dad for advice; his dad would nod and offer directions.

Billiards is a fascinating game, and very much like life. Most of us miss the obvious shot now and again, shrugging our heads unable to understand how we managed to miscue the ball. Then we tell ourselves we are simply subject to laws of physics. But now and again something truly amazing happens, and we pocket a ball on a shot we didn‘t really believe in. I like it that way.

On my way home I told myself I might have seen the next Stephen Hendry, Ken Doherty or John Higgins, all of them legendary snooker players. Maybe I have. Maybe I haven`t. Either way, I‘m glad I went.

The boy done good

Feature
Den Tenksomme Vraslosken

The difference between the tourist and the traveller is that while the tourist wants to move his home to a different location, the traveller seeks to understand his surroundings. At least that`s what a wise man told me once.

Having spent a lot of time traveling, I know where many people want to go is somewhere off the main road. The side road is usually the most interesting direction; this is where you are likely to find the kind of experiences you gain memories and perspectives from.

That is what I‘ve been telling myself. By meeting a fellow traveller at The City of Wolverhampton College, I might have changed my mind.

Anthony Pyne came all the way from Balbriggan, a coast town inside the Dublin area, to study Journalism and Editorial Design in the Midlands. We meet over a cup of coffee for a talk over nothing less than who we are and where we‘re coming from. “Balbriggan is a dead end town”, the 21-year old tells me. “Had I stayed there I really don‘t know what course my life might have taken.”

Anthony is quiet but well spoken. When talking about his Irish roots he becomes serious and subtle, seeking eye contact and understanding. I ask him what future he could see for himself in his home town, what he would have made for himself had he stayed behind in Balbriggan.

It‘s a question that would take the breath out of anyone, I know. Anthony leans back in his chair and adjusts his baseball cap, choosing his words with care. “I would have tried to find a job”, he says. “I would have tried to find work in a newspaper or at a radio station, but these days you need a University degree to do that, and that‘s the reason I came here.” We should be glad you‘re here then, I‘m thinking, drinking my coffee.

So you are telling me Balbriggan is not the place to be when pursuing a career in the media world, then? Anthony laughs. “No, it most definitely is not. It is a typical Dublin area town, expanding every month through new housing projects, supermarkets and pubs. The people living there commute to Dublin, those who actually have jobs, that is.” Anthony becomes quiet, swirling his spoon in his coffee. I have always thought people either love the town they are from or they absolutely hate the place. There is no in between. Or is there? Looking at Anthony I really don‘t know.

I put my theory to the test by telling him my experience, that lack of work goes hand in hand with social problems, and he nods. “Yes, that is the case. Balbriggan is pestered by drug dealing and alcohol related problems.” Anthony leans back and folds his arms, thinking through what he just told me. “But make no mistake, the majority of the people living there are decent and hard working, it‘s not all crime, problems and poverty.” He suddenly leans forward, eager to get his point across: “You see, fact of the matter is the Irish history is one of oppression and hurt, and the English don‘t understand this”, he says while looking into the depth of his cup of coffee. “Don‘t get me wrong, there is no hatred, but there definitely is a feeling of resentment.”

He pauses, considering his words carefully. “This feeling won‘t go away, but the wound is mending. The Irish economy is booming, and my Irish generation has the same opportunities as anybody else within the UK. I am going to do my very best to achieve my goals. There are no excuses not to make anything of myself, if there ever were any.”

Anthony becomes aware of his own voice, raises his eyebrows and leans back into his chair again. The speech is over, and I am left nodding slowly.

I`m thinking it is time to change the subject. Do you recycle, Anthony? He looks surprised, and asks me to repeat the question. “Recycle? No. I live in a shared house in Walsall; we have two wheeled bins, all the rubbish ends up there.” I tell him the Japanese store their rubbish underneath the sea, and that in Belgium forty percent of the rubbish gets recycled.

He looks unimpressed, folding his arms again. “I don‘t think a lot about recycling, to be honest. I have stopped thinking about saving the world. I have to save myself first!” We laugh, and I tell him I agree with that chain of priorities. “In China they eat dogs”, Anthony says, and gets up from his chair. By doing so, he is telling me the interview is over. He left me thinking, Anthony. I wonder whether Balbriggan will be in the back of my mind when I eventually get to see those green Irish hills. Somehow I don‘t think so.

Chinese luck

Editorial
Den Tenksomme Vraslosken

A friend of mine sent me an e-mail a few days ago. It was a PowerPoint presentation offering me good fortune once I had sent it forward to twenty friends. It was done in the style of a Chinsese fortune letter, written by a Dutch missionary living in South Africa. I was told my good luck would change to bad luck if I didn‘t send the letter forward within 96 hours.

Being somewhat superstitious, I did forward it to a few of my friends. I didn‘t send it to the number of people advised, but some ten or twelve people, feeling somewhat stupid doing so.

The very next day things started happening. I slept in an awkward position resulting in back pain for the rest of the day, I spilled water over my favourite magazines, my mobile stopped working, my rucksack fell apart in the middle of the street and I ran out of vacuum cleaning bags, just to mention a bit of the bad luck I found myself subject to. I started thinking about that Chinese letter again.

Earlier today a friend of mine from University approached me at my work station asking me why I had sent him the Chinese letter. Being an Irish Catholic, he‘s far more superstitious than I am. I told him I thought he might need some good luck, but he didn`t buy that.

“OK, I have four hours left before the bad luck kicks in, and it‘s all your fault", he said. "Give me five addresses I can send that damned letter to.” I did send him the damned thing in the first place, so I found five addresses for him from my Hotmail. I could tell he was relieved.

On my way home from University I noticed a kid messing about on his own. He was five or six years old, kicking a street sign. He looked lost. As I walked past him, he looked up at me and said: “HEY, MISTER!” I looked down towards the little man. “Hey”, I said. “What‘s happening, my little friend?” He didn`t look very happy, rubbing his shoes against the pavement. “Do you know where Francis Street is?”, he asked me. I shrugged my head. “Are you lost? Do you know where your mum and dad are?” “I‘m living with my dad this week”, the little man said. “Ok, where is your dad, then?” “He‘s at the pub. I ran out, now I can‘t find my way back.”

I did the only thing a decent guy would do.

“Ok, no worries, we‘ll find him.” I looked around but there were no clues to be found, so I thought I should follow him to the nearest corner shop, they would probably know either him or his dad. But the kid wouldn‘t follow me anywhere, he ran down the street as fast as he could. I stood watching him for a while, considering what to do. I decided to run after him. “Stop!”, I shouted. “I just want to help!” He stopped, looking sceptically up at me. I told him he couldn`t mess about on his own, it was getting dark and he was getting hungry. He agreed to let me help him.

I brought him to the local Police station, where I was greeted as a good Samaritan. I hope everything turned out all right for the kid. I have to admit, I also hope my bad luck has run out. Maybe helping that kid was my good luck? I hope so.

Only a Ski Jumper truly knows

As Norwegians tonight will be celebrating the Olympic gold medal won by Lars Bystol in the normal hill Ski Jumping contest, Whitmore Reans Gazette would like to lead your attention towards our neighbour Finland and their rich Ski Jumping culture.

This is Matti Nykänen, arguably the best Ski Jumper of modern times. The Finn won five Olympic medals and fifteen world championship medals during a career stretching from 1978-1990.

Sadly, since the 1990s his status as a celebrity has mainly been fueled not by his sport achievements, but by his colourful personal relationships, his career as a singer and various incidents often related to heavy use of alcohol and violent behaviour. Mr. Nykänen has been in the headlines of tabloids more often than any other person in Finland.

As so many other great sport personalities, Mr. Nykänen's career inextricably combined sheer genius with temperamental outbursts. Once he gave up the sport, the genius remained a heroic memory in the minds of his countrymen, but his continuing and widely publicized follies made him something of a national disgrace. Stories of domestic violence, multiple marriages and divorces, a career as a musical performer (resulting in such compositions as "Hai Hai Hai, mä oon sun samurai", roughly translated as "Hai, Hai, Hai, I am your samurai", and "Vain mäkimies voi tietää sen", roughly "Only a Ski Jumper truly knows") guaranteed more ridicule than respect.

A movie about the life of Matti Nykänen was released in 2006, with Finnish actor Jasper Pääkkönen cast as Matti. The English version of his biography "Greetings from Hell" was published in January 2006.

Ski Jumping

The 20th Olympic Winter Games are held in Torino, Italy these days, Witmore Reans Gazette would like to lead your attention towards Ski Jumping, which clearly doesn`t get the coverage it deserves in the UK. The first Ski Jumping contest ever was held in Trysil, Norway in 1862, and has been part of the Olympic Games since 1924.

The sport is about skiing down a hill with a take-off ramp (the jump), attempting to go as far as possible. In addition to lenght, the referees give points for style, on a scale from 1 to 20. In terms of style, it is imperative to achieve the Telemark Landing, which is the correct way of landing - the skier must land with one foot in front of the other in style of the inventor of Telemark skiing and the man believed to be the first to ever Ski Jump, Sondre Norheim (1825-1897).

Ski Jumping is an old and dignified discipline norwegians have mastered for centuries. That is, until the day in 1991 when the swede Jan Boklov came up with a new technique called the V-technique, where the skis form a V in the air. This new style completely changed the aestethics of the sport, but also made the jumps longer than what had been achieved with the previous technique with parallel skis.

Modern Ski Jumpers make use of helmets and skintight jumpsuits in order to give as little air resistance as possible. The Skis used for Ski Jumping are wide and long.

While Norway are dominating the world of Ski Jumping, the only British athlete ever to have Ski Jumped is Eddie "the Eagle" Edwards, who took part in the 15th Winter Olympic Games (1988) held in Calgary, Canada. Edwards was handicapped by his weight, at about 82 kilos (180 pounds) he was more than 9 kilos (20 pounds) heavier than the next heaviest competitor. He finished last in both the 70 meters and 90 meters events. His poor results were probably due to his glasses, they fogged to such an extent that he could not see. Mr. Edwards was infamously described as a "Ski Dropper" by an italian journalist, but he is a legend in the world of Ski Jumping.

Whitmore Reans Gazette would like to take our norwegian and British readers down Memory Lane for this photo of Birger Ruud, who won an olympic medal in Lake Placid back in 1932.

It used to be such a beautiful sport, Ski Jumping.

50-year old meal

A Wolverhampton couple celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary by opening the tinned whole cooked chicken they received as a wedding present 50 years ago. Mr. Les Lailey, aged 73, said: "I had it with some boiled potatoes and vegetables and it went down a treat. I knew I would be fine afterwards. I have not felt funny at all.” His wife, Mrs. Beryl Lailey, was less willing to risk spoiling her golden wedding anniversary with an upset stomach, but admits to having a bite.

Although a tinned chicken now sounds a strange wedding gift, back in the day of post war rationing it was a fine delicacy – the perfect start to married life. Amazingly, the Buxted Whole Cooked Chicken in Jelly stood it`s test in time, without any added preservatives except salt and the vacuum packing.

“The chicken was tinned in 1956, and eaten yesterday. You can certainly say the can did it‘s job”, Mr. Lailey said.

Norwegian oil exploration at halt

“With the world struggling to find oil, one fracture of Norway‘s new left-wing coalition government is threatening to block or slow exploration of new areas that would replenish the falling reserves of the world‘s third-largest oil exporter”, The Wall Street Journal today reports.

As Whitmore Reans Gazette holds significant Norwegian interest and readership, we today spoke with Den Tenksomme Vraslosken, our expert on Norwegian politics, about the issue of Norwegian Oil exploration.

“As our finance minister Kristin Halvorsen points out, it is more important to encourage alternative sources of economic growth than to try to boost declining oil output by opening up new resource areas. We have a lot of opportunities in the environmental field, such as renewable energy and carbon-dioxide technology. We also have great opportunities for tourism.

Den Tenksomme Vraslosken tells us he voted for Mrs. Halvorsen‘s party, The Socialist Left Party (SV), during the election last year and that he is pleased with the governments policy on this issue. SV want to stop all development in the Barents Sea and the areas around the Lofoten Islands in the Norwegian Sea, arguing that petroleum extraction would irrevocably damage the fragile eco-systems, which environmentalists call some of the last pristine waters in Europe. “I grew up in the Lofoten Islands area myself, I just won‘t have any oil exploration up there”, Den Tenksomme Vraslosken says.

25% of the state‘s revenue comes directly from the petroleum sector and is by far the most important revenue for the state budget, says Per Kristian Foss, former finance minister and a member of the Right opposition party. Confronted with Mr. Foss‘ statements, Den Tenksomme Vraslosken says “Well, we got rid of him. Now let us have a go!”

Light Box unveiled in Whitmore Reans

An anonymous Norwegian female artist today unveiled this Light Box model in a private house in Whitmore Reans. The model is made from resin (liquid plastic) and copper.

The artist tells us her model is designed for the Millennium Galleries in Sheffield, as a clue leading the spectator from ground floor towards the winter garden; it is intended to be mounted on square tiles on the walls and on the floor.

The model is part of a series of five, every piece having its own individual background colour which makes the light warmer as you approach the winter garden.

Whitmore Reans Gazette is excited about this new piece of art from Whitmore Reans own Norwegian artist, and promise to be back with more art in coming weeks and months.

Mayor gets in the Swing

The Mayor of Wolverhampton, Councillor Phil Batesman, today invited local golfers to swing at a Wolverhampton club. The Mayor‘s Charity Golf Day is expected to raise more than £1.300 for local charities. Photographed along with local investors Terry Reynolds and Martin Stokes, the Mayor said he loved to swing, and that he has been looking forward to this for months.

Mr. Dave Smith of Carter Road is surprised by the Mayor‘s comments. “A swinger, is he? Well, I guess I‘m glad he‘s taken it upon him to swing for us, God knows I‘m no swinger myself”, the 32-year old laughs. “If his swinging could benefit charities in Whitmore Reans I can‘t see anything wrong with that.”

No rubbish collection problems in Paris

A reporter team from Whitmore Reans Gazette recently returned from their City Break in Paris. Upon departure they promised a feature on the Parisians rubbish collection system, a comparison with the problems we are experiencing in Whitmore Reans - which possibly would interest regular readers.

They tell us the inner city areas of Paris are quite different from those of Wolverhampton,”it looks and smells completely different!” reporter Den Tenksomme Vraslosken urges. "Once I got there I realized I couldn`t write my feature. The situation is just too different to that of Whitmore Reans, it wouldn’t be right to compare our problems. I could clearly see the suburbs had some problems with their rubbish collection, I had a look at it on my way from Charles De Gaulle airport to Garde du Nord, but inner city Paris is a different story."

It seems our reporter team didn’t really care about rubbish once they got there, but they assure us Parisians don’t have many problems in that respect. We’re not quite content with the quality or length of their feature, but forgive them - they deserved a holiday.

Young goose leaves flock in West Park

This young goose wandered off and left the flock today, Whitmore Reans Gazette understands. It was spotted standing on its own in West Park, expressing outrage towards the flock of geese messing about in the water. The animal stamped its feet and shrugged its head repeatedly while mocking the other geese. It seemed a few individuals in the flock answered, equally upset, by splashing their wings into the water while making absurd and plain ugly sounds. It is not quite clear what the brawl was all about, as it was impossible to make any sense out of the angry and loud animals. The goose got itself together when approached by the Whitmore Reans Gazette reporter, and posed dignified for a photograph.