This is a great summer for the musical revivals in London: An American in Paris, 42nd Street, Carousel, On the Town. They have all been wonderful productions. And Oklahoma still to come in August in the Proms. But off centre a bit, a marvellous new production of Working has opened at the Southwark Playhouse (…
A new article was published in November last year. I have just put a working version on line. See “Narrative Power, sexual stories and the politics of sexual story telling“
Everyday, for the past ten years, I have quietly celebrated the joy of a human life. When, on February 18th 2007, I was wheeled into the operating room at King’s Hospital for a liver transplant, my life was saved. Two years earlier I had been diagnosed with liver cirrhosis and had increasingly come…
When I started teaching at Essex in 1975, one of my main courses was Social Psychology. This year I am returning ti give four lectures on this course. 40 years on! And the subject has moved on You can find this by clicking here SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY SC213-5-FY 2017 SUPPLEMENTARY HANDOUT FOR WEEKS 17-20, LECTURES 12-15…
This year I start a new monthly series of quotes I like from my little humanist dictionary! January What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other? George Eliot, “Middlemarch” Progress is not an illusion; it happens but it is slow and invariably disappointing. George…
Thanks to all the good folk at Madrid, Here are some nice photos. My handout can be found at:Lectures in Madrid, November 2016
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)
The day Jo Cox was murdered, the Daily Mail ran a shrill front page story about migrants, stoking fear and hate in the referendum campaign. The story was plain wrong — but instead of remorsefully retracting it, the Mail just buried a tiny correction in the paper. Our democracy relies on media that tells the…