The 4x4 Conflict Scale

I’ve previously suggested that the service a 4x4 is being pressed into is a fairly good indication of the level of conflict, or lack thereof, in a particular location.

It’s a theory I’m developing (as I drink/write this) and I’m fairly sure it’s just a refined version of a wider picture.  If the most sophisticated vehicle in your village is the bicycle that the district nurse uses for her visits, then there is probably going to be little to distract you from your everyday life of goat herding and plotting how to get the fuck out of this place.  If your experience of automobiles is a Morris Minor Traveller then either you live in Halcyon, are a Vicar, or restore classic cars, or all three.  If, like some in the Commonwealth when the Queen used to cruise her dominion on Britannia, your first experience of a car was a Rolls Royce with a lady wearing a crown sitting in the back then yes, everything after this is going to be a disappointment.

4x4s.  If you live in the country, they are a good idea.  If you live in the city, you are obviously worried (some would say unnecessarily) about being charged by a rhino in the Waitrose car park.

Half tracks and tanks.  Remember the days when all we had to worry about was being charged by a rhino in the Waitrose car park?

It occurs to me though that 4x4s are actually a pretty good indication of how peaceful or otherwise a location might be.

The 4x4 Conflict scale

1.  Pristine Landie in a Waitrose car park.  All is well, owner will hesitate to move it for fear of having to find such a good parking space ever again.

2.  Filthy ancient Defender used as all purpose farm vehicle.  All is well.

3.  Ancient pickup with half an inch of loam, some building supplies and two dogs in the back.  All is well.  Also, fishing invite imminent.

4.  4x4 on school run, double parked, morning.  Could be trouble if mummy gets stressed.

5.  4x4 on school run, afternoon.  Could be big trouble if mummy has been drinking at lunch, or if that bitch Jointy parps her horn one more time and I think Simon is fucking his secretary and it’s all so fucking, fucking intolerable.

6.  Pristine Land Rover on a shoot.  Trouble for the other guns, owner may not know what he is doing and possibly got his money, and his invite, because of his proficiency with a shotgun in other circumstances.

7.  Filthy Land Rover on a shoot, back of Landie looks like two working gundogs live there.  They do.  No trouble at all, unless you are a game bird.

8.  BMW 4x4.  Drug dealer.  Beware.

9.  Convoy of 4x4s heading towards the airport at speed.  The President-For-Life is fleeing the country.  So is the contents of the Treasury.  Beware rebels/freedom fighters/glorious liberators.

10.  Pickup with two hound dogs in the back and a bumper sticker expressing forthright opinions about race/religion/abortion or showing support for FOX news.  Fuck!

11.  White 4x4 with UN written on side.  Fuck!  Fuck!  Also, alien invasion!

12.  Red pickup with a heavy machine gun welded into position in the back, manned by teenage boys not in uniform, one sporting a Manchester United shirt, parked near a Land Rover with BBC on the side, both taking fire from an abandoned cement factory nearby.  There goes the neighbourhood, and probably the country.  Bloody Civil War.

Finally.

13.  Like 12, but the kid’s wearing a Chelsea shirt.  Worse.  Failed State.

Some attach importance to what they drive.  Back in the day if you said ‘penis extension’ to somebody they would think you were making a comment about a man owning a sports car, whereas now the internet has ruined the ability for us to feel superior to a man who own a Porche.

Certainly we have the proliferation of metal boxes with wheels to thank for ‘Top Gear’, a show that started out reviewing cars but ended up as, essentially, a 60 minute long aftershave commercial, if every episode had concluded with Clarkson shoving a bottle into the camera and shouting ‘Bloke!  For men!’.

Typewriter 2.0

I am once again in a hotel, and I am once again thinking about journalism in general and war correspondents in particular.

It’s a rather pleasant hotel.  It’s in the centre of London, with a view out over the docks to the city (and there is almost everything you need to know about London, if you wrote that on the back of a postcard from the past anywhere else in the world, you would have the mental image of a place of transit smelling of desperation and mackerel, populated by wanton types with earrings, and that’s just the sailors.  The only boats bobbing in the dock here are Sunseekers and the city is the City, proud to leave all the lights on in their huge office blocks to create the impression that everyone is still hard at it after dark, shouting into telephones, Like In The Movies).

The air conditioning is hidden and efficient, there is no lazily rotating ceiling fan that can cross fade to become the rotating blades of a helicopter.  Maybe it’s stealth?

Nevertheless, there’s something about being in a hotel and not being on holiday that makes me think about journalism in general and war correspondents in particular.  I’d like to say it’s the mutual incompatibility of pool toys and AK47s that make any holiday hotel a haven, but sadly that’s no longer true.

So on the strength of my previous post about ambient soundtracks, I should probably be putting together the faux war correspondent soundtrack, era by era.  Let’s start with the 1970s.  Busy traffic, foreign murmuring, farting scooters, the occasional mooing of an ox, the whup whup whup of a Huey passing overhead and the clackity clack (‘don’t talk back!’) of the typewriter.

Vietnam was, I have read, the first televised war.

There have been plenty since.  I remember ITV reporting Afghanistan.  Film reports of Sandy Gall sitting in a cave somewhere in Afgan, breaking (unleavened) bread with the Taliban, who were off to beat back the Russians. 

And of course the Falklands.  ‘I counted them all out, I counted them all back’.  A Union Flag waving from the top of an aerial as a squaddie yomped to Port Stanley and Victory.

Gulf War I and Gulf War II.  Gulf War I was night vision cameras on tanks streaking across the desert.  Gulf War II took things to the next level, that next level being vertical as we were treated to footage of the nosecone cam of a bunker buster.  Not to mention the ‘shock and awe-shit there goes that little place that does great falafel’ of the opening night bombardment.

Gulf War II was the last television war.  Now, conflict plays out on snapchat and Twitter, barbarism on Youtube.

What the medium of the next Big One will be I’m not sure.  Possibly when the nukes start flying, the next war will be recorded by the cave paintings of the survivors but actually I think a more realistic prospect will be that the next major conflict will be reported by ABC when it’s a throw down between the Red and the Blue, rather than the Grey and the Blue.  I think Blue won last time?

Vietnam was certainly a reporters’ war.  It also produced memoirs and collections of reportage and, of course, a load of great movies (although the greatest war movie ever made is ‘Where Eagles Dare’, followed by ‘The Eagle Has Landed”, followed by ‘Heartbreak Ridge’.  Basically, if it has ‘Eagle or Clint, it’s all good).

As previously reported from the front line in Salisbury, I’m pretty sure that my ancient Powerbook could stop a .303 round that would take down a Decepticon, but I would rather like it if the keyboard sounds could be set to different themes.  Obviously ‘space’ and ‘rainforest’ or similar would be popular, but I’m attracted to the idea of ‘quill’ and, of course ‘Imperial typewriter’.

For the (written) record, I once owned an electric typewriter, a Brother, once plugged in and placed upon a table, typing generated a report like a fucking artillery barrage.  Hardly the sort of thing to write tender love poetry upon, that ladies could then read, and frot themselves senseless to.

I like the sound of that

Short version:  go here, it’s great!

http://www.ambient-mixer.com/

What environment do readers like to read in?  Well, apparently there are a few requirements.  Adequate lighting, obviously, because anyone who has a book that illuminates itself should properly be briefly illuminated themselves, during their incineration as a witch.  A comfy chair, and by this I mean chair in its wider sense, which is something roughly the size of a sofa, with a footstool for raising feet (essential to avoid DVT during prolonged reading bouts) and a couple of blankets.  That’s the basics and I think we can all agree that it’s a contravention of your human rights not to have at least that.  Further research though has revealed certain specific acoustic requirements which, perhaps surprisingly, are as far from ‘sussssshhhhhh’ and silence as can be.

A gentle background murmur appears to be desirable, composed of three elements and muted by very particular acoustic countermeasures.

Firstly, rain pattering against the window. Not necessarily full on ‘oh my Christ is the lighthouse going over I’ve not seen a storm like this since 1806?’ rain, just enough rain to make you glad that you are a) inside and b) not required to water the garden tonight, freeing up essential reading time.

Secondly, a crackling fire.  That means a log fire.  Log fires crackle in a pleasing way.  Ever had a log fire?  Wonderful, log fires are more Bloke than punching a bull to death to save a baby from being gored.  You build the log fire, you light the log fire, you blow on the log fire, you poke the log fire, a lot, and you feed it logs.  You end the evening smelling pleasingly of wood smoke, like an upmarket ham.  Log fires are also excellent for developing and passing on Bloke Lore. Here’s a tip, always dry out the wood.  You may think ‘G&P, you massive arsehole, the wood will dry out on the fire, that’s one of the things fire is really good for’.  And you are right, but it will also mean you don’t get so much a pleasing crackle, more a succession of loud cracks that sound like the conclusion of a drug deal gone bad.  Not relaxing.

Thirdly, murmur.  Want total silence when you’re reading?  You do?  OK.  Go away, read ‘Salem’s Lot and come back and tell me you like to read in total silence.

(Waits).

You fouled yourself at the first unexpected noise, didn’t you?  No disgrace, but a gentle background hum of voices will assure you that you are not going to be devoured by vampires.

So, why is this not distracting?  Because it’s muted by the acoustic baffles that are thick curtains over the windows and, oh I don’t know, some sort of primitive arrangement of sound dampening produced by softening the lines of the walls by installing paper along them.  Bookshelves?  Well I guess that would work.

So, a desirable acoustic environment would appear to be a Common Room at Hogwarts, rather than the bus, train (sleeper trains excepted) or even the loo (say it ain’t so!).

So how can you take all this with you?  The answer to this, like so many questions about reading, cooking and porn, is found on the internet.  It would appear that people mix their own ambient environments to listen to whist reading.  And having dipped into a few, I have to confess to finding the entire thing wholly enchanting.

Upon initial listen, there are three favourites.  The ‘Gryffindor Common Room’, because why the hell not, ‘Storm on the Hogwarts Express’ because steam train, rain and well, steam train, and finally ‘Sherlock’s apartment’.  Point of order on the last one, Chandler, Monica et al lived in an ‘apartment’, Sherlock and John live in a flat, Holmes and Watson lived in Rooms.  But it’s so good, who cares.

Ambient soundscapes, they’re a thing. They were what made ‘Marathon’ such an immersive game and now they are like a 700 foot tall ice wall against the Shite Talkers and others who would pollute the audible environment when decent people just want to crack on with their reading on the train, bus or at the dinner table with their family.