Funfare for the Common Man

A short story of near-misses, butterfly effects, and romantic/career what-ifs: a mini career and awful romance autobiography of sorts. And how a run of fortuitous events almost changed the course of [my] history. ‘It is a fact that when we make decisions in our life, we don’t necessarily know that we are making them correctly; we only think that we are doing the best we can – and that is what we should do.’  Richard Feynman We start our story in late September 2002: my arrival in Edinburgh for a Master’s in International Relations. A nearly 5-year relationship had ended just a couple months before. Late autumn/early winter: a new relationship. Just after we had met, my girlfriend was offered a job teaching at a university in Mongolia. She wanted me to go with her and a decision had to be made quickly. We barely knew each other. Mongolia? ‘What the hell would I do in Mongolia?’ I asked. ‘Teach English?’ she answered, unsure herself. Teach English?! Are you kidding me? I went to Edin...

русский корабль, иди нахуй!  'I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.’  ‘I can’t even imagine what it’s like.’ These sentences, or a variation of them, have featured in most of the emails I’ve sent and received in the past month or so. As clichéd as it is, it has to be said because it’s so true. I truly can’t imagine what some of my friends are going through. I truly can’t imagine the unspeakable horrors happening right now. My grandmother used to tell me stories about Belfast being bombed by the Germans during World War II. She was a teenager at the time, and the tales she told me about fleeing to bomb shelters in the middle of the night and the bombs exploding around her and the house just across the road that got bombed were simultaneously fascinating yet terrifying. I couldn’t even imagine the reality. From afar, with the passage of time, it was so distant that I could barely comprehend how shocking it must have been. It seemed like more of an epic adventure. Spend...

My daughter has reached that magical age where she constantly asks ‘why?’ to just about everything. Why can’t I stick my fingers in that electrical socket? Why do the birds sing every morning? Why does the Gruffalo have a wart on his nose? Why do you read books without pictures, daddy? Kids are insatiably curious. ‘Daddy, why are bad people trying to hurt people in Ukraine?’ How do I explain the concept of pure, unadulterated evil and cruelty and megalomania emanating from the most despicable person in the world and the most reviled, loathsome nation in the world, from inflicting untold misery and devastation on our beloved home?  How do I explain what’s going on right now and how we may not be able to return to our home, and to our new, long-awaited, finally-completed flat that we've only recently moved into, and how do I explain to her that she might not see her kindergarten friends again? Two weeks ago I made one of the most agonising and gut-wrenching decisions of my life. I to...

History really does repeat itself. It wasn’t funny then, it isn’t funny now, but has reached theatre-of-the-absurd proportions. For long-time loyal readers, this is all familiar ground, covered multiple times before. But let’s start from the beginning. Or rather, now: as most of you know, I am here in Ukraine. You might be aware that Ukraine is in the news rather a lot these days. Or rather, these hours. Let’s rewind: I spent much of my childhood, much of the 80s and early 90s in Europe, where a slowly simmering Cold War was fizzling out. I didn’t grow up with any type of existential fear, but there was always that looming concern that something might kick off between the US and the Soviets. I grew up in an American military household, and my old man’s mantra was ‘better dead than red’. The Soviet Union, and the lurking threat of communism on our doorstep, was the big enemy. In 1984, just before going on air to give his weekly radio address to the American people, Ronald Reagan said, i...