There is no one broadcasting on British radio at the moment who is quite as asinine as Richard Madeley. I will try not to listen to him today (Friday January 6th, 2012), but the fact remains that one has to wake up to something, and these days my something is Radio 2. In the distant past it was the Today programme on Radio 4, but the great days of John Timpson and Brian Redhead, with their wit and acid commentary on all things pompous have gone. For many years John Humphrys ruled the Today airwaves, then Brian Naughtie, but the programme, when last I listened to it consisted of grumpy interchanges with politicians who were schooled in evasive answers of platitudinous plausibility. Then came the Radio 2 era of ‘Tel’, Terry, latterly Sir Terry Wogan. Now Wogan is a man of far greater intelligence than one would give him credit for. Together with his sidekick, straight man, and producer, Paul ‘Pauly’ Walters, who had near immaculate taste in quality music, Tel had the brains to realise that the cleverest people involved with the programme were the listeners. Collectively they became known as the Togs, or ‘Terry’s Old Geezers’. Writing from improbably named places such as ‘Atlantic View, Norwich’, with epithets such as Mahatma Coat, Lucy Lastic, Tansy Whitebytts, and Crooked Old Man of Bangor Town aka Crookey, the Togs displayed a wit and wisdom that allowed Terry to just bumble a little, between music and contributions from the listeners, and with occasional interjections from Lynn Bowles (the traffic totty) and Fran Godfrey, the newsreader, the programme virtually ran itself.
Subsequently, the programme changed dramatically, with the arrival of the frenetic Chris Evans, an extremely astute and clever presenter, who, once one has got used to him, is a brilliant broadcaster, with a great eye for the interesting stories of the day. There is only one rather toe curling feature which Chris brought with him from his afternoon show, and that is the (mercifully) short sequence in which some child between the ages of 6 to 11 is interviewed by phone in order to let them tell the listeners what it was that they did for the first time the previous day. Very often the children do not understand what Chris is trying to ask them, and despite his new, repeat, parenthood, Chris is not great at asking the simple questions which would draw a response.
Passing over this however leads us on to Richard Madeley, who seems to have been the stand in for Chris’s holiday absences. Madeley had a successful morning TV programme with his wife Judy Finnigan. He is a man who takes himself so seriously that, in medical terminology, ‘there is activation of the Central Nervous System’s CTZ – chemoreceptor trigger zone’ – or put simply, he makes one want to puke. Allow me an example: Yesterday Madeley, in his unbelievably portentous and pompous way, pronounced that the record he was going to play was a magnificent way to sign off a magnificent career. It emerged that he was talking about Glen Campbell. ‘This is right up there with Wichita Lineman’ asserted Madeley. He then played a somewhat trite and underwhelming ballad, which is probably Campbell’s last recording because he is suffering from Alzheimer’s. Richard Madeley is uniquely able to have us believe that without his imprimatur, poor old Glen would be sunk without trace. The reason that this ridiculous preamble to my blog exists at all however is that I want to tell you about an experience which gave me goosebumps. But first, let me allow Richard Madeley to tell you in his own words, about his experience. Please note that this programme was being broadcast on about the 4th of January 2012:
‘Now somebody has rung in, and this is really strange, in fact this gives me goosebumps. Can anybody explain this, this is really weird? (Voice of female sidekick). Now just listen a moment, wait: Take the last two numbers of your birth year, OK? Now, are you ready? Add your age. Right. You’ll find that no matter when you were born, it adds up to one hundred and eleven. Right , now my birth year is ...1956, so 56, and my age is – 57, OK – one hundred and eleven. Isn’t that amazing? If there’s anyone out there who can write in and explain it, would you please get in touch?’ Shortly after this exposure of the woeful lack of understanding of simple mathematics, the newspaper reviewer, Fiona Phillips, born 1-1-61 discovered jointly with Madeley that this rule didn’t work for her. Sadly, even this little prompting didn’t appear to enlighten Madeley.
So, unfortunately, it seems that complete ignorance of conceptual mathematics is enough to give you goosebumps. I had been thinking of goosebumps prior to this, because I wanted to try to explain the effect of walking into the tombs of the Egyptian pharaohs, and standing in front of the paintings on the walls. These were done nearly three and half thousand years ago, but it looks as though they were only completed last week. There is a descriptive sequence in Somerset Maugham’s ‘The moon and sixpence’, where Dr Coutras makes his final journey to the cabin of Charles Strickland in Tahiti. Strickland is the name Maugham gives to his character who is in all but name, Paul Gauguin. Inside the ramshackle hut are Strickland’s last works:
‘His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and now he was seized by an overwhelming sensation as he stared at the painted walls. He knew nothing of pictures, but there was something about these that extraordinarily affected him. From floor to ceiling the walls were covered with a strange and elaborate composition. It was indescribably wonderful and mysterious. It took his breath away. It filled him with an emotion which he could not understand or analyse. He felt the awe and the delight which a man might feel who watched the beginning of a world.’ In the following chapter, in Maugham’s wonderful prose, he describes the paintings in more detail. When I read Somerset Maugham I feel that I should never write another word. The level of skill on which he operates is so far above me that I cannot conceive of how anybody would want to read a single word of what I have written. Never mind.
So it is, that the experience of standing in the tombs of the Valley of the Kings of the West bank at Luxor, is really beyond my powers to convey in simple words. One cannot photograph the images. We did buy some cards, and here is a scan of just one of these.
Although these have now been deciphered, there is a sense of reading a book, the language of which one has not been able to learn. Something beyond… How far we have travelled from Richard Madeley. Please let us forget him.
Although these have now been deciphered, there is a sense of reading a book, the language of which one has not been able to learn. Something beyond… How far we have travelled from Richard Madeley. Please let us forget him.
Such a preamble is meant to explain, to some extent, the effect that Egypt has on the tourist. While we English were painting ourselves with woad and trapping a few animals to use their fur to keep warm, something remarkable existed here. Their sophisticated and symbolic language and scripts predated ancient British writing in Runes and Ogham by millennia.
While trying to engender a sense of awe, to return to the mundane, travelling, airports, hotels, seems out of place, so I will try to be brief. We went to Egypt somewhat nervously. The Arab Spring, and the revolt or demonstration in central Cairo which took place in January 2011 had subsided, and although the tourists had not really returned, it seemed a safe time to visit. Just before we went, the demonstrations and indeed deaths in Tahrir Square caused us concern. ‘You won’t be able to visit the Cairo Museum’ we were assured. But things on the ground are never quite as the BBC or CNN show you. Hoardings separate the business area of the square from the small road in front of the museum, and it is a simple matter for the taxis to approach the building from behind. Once inside, our guide Mona began to explain the course of Ancient Egyptian history and things became clearer. We began to understand the Old, the Middle, and the New Kingdoms, and the various dynasties which formed them. Naturally, the highlight is the complete hoard of treasure which comprised the tomb of Tutankhamun, the discovery of which is the most famous event in archaeological history. Like the doctor in Maugham’s novel, the very first exchange between Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon contains magical elements which produce goosebumps. The first rock step down to what proved to be the tomb was uncovered by Carter’s men on 4th November 1922. Further excavation led to a doorway covered with seals of a recumbent jackal over nine foreign captives. On the morning of 6th November, Carter sent his historic cable to Carnarvon: ‘At last have made wonderful discovery in the Valley; a magnificent tomb with seals intact; re-covered same for your arrival; congratulations.’ After the rubble had been removed, a second door was uncovered. Carter prised out some stones and inserted a candle through the hole. Here are the words of what followed, in Carter’s own account: ‘At first I could see nothing, the hot air escaping from the chamber causing the candle to flicker, but presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist, strange animals, statues, and gold – everywhere the glint of gold. For the moment – an eternity it must have seemed to the others standing by – I was struck dumb with amazement, and when Lord Carnarvon, unable to stand the suspense any longer, inquired anxiously, “Can you see anything?” it was all I could do to get out the words “Yes, wonderful things”.
I am sure it would bore you if I wrote at length of the pyramids, the Sphinx, the temples, the Aswan dam, and it would not be fair to inflict all of the adjectives which these sights merit upon you, when you can summon up the history and the images with a few clicks of a mouse. But there are some recommendations I would make. It is worth visiting the oldest pyramid, the step pyramid, and some of the ruins on that particular site. It is worth visiting the museum containing the pharaoh’s boat, just beside the pyramids at Giza. In some of the hotels, you may find some large glossy coffee table books of the ancient sites. Together with them you may find some of the engravings and paintings of David Roberts, RA, from his journeys in Egypt in the 1840s. I reproduce two below:
There are romantic moments. Gazing over the Nile from the enormous room in the Winter Palace in Luxor, knowing that Howard Carter stayed there. There are impressive moments – for instance it’s hard to take in the size of the Aswan High dam – through twelve turbines, the entire flow of the river Nile passes, and behind it the vast expanse of Lake Nasser. I thought that having seen and read so much about Abu Simbel our trip there might reveal a hackneyed monument. But as the plane glided in over Lake Nasser to reveal the cliff with the serene statues of Rameses II sitting facing Africa to the Southeast, it was a heart in mouth moment, the goosebumps felt on the back of my neck. To walk a few minutes later around the bluff to come face to face with those figures, which have been gazing impassively out into the distance for over 3000 years is something that I will never forget.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Here is a collage of the interiors of the Valley of the Kings Tombs:
And some further images:
The end.
No comments:
Post a Comment