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What an amazing world we live in...to watch an audio slideshow introducing my website, please click here.
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Like many writers and photographers, I have often hoped to see my work published in top publications like Nat Geo and the BBC. Got into Nat 'Geo some years ago and now have my first story in BBC Travel. Come and savour the delights of slow-life tourism on a tiny island in the Gulf of Thailand. https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20250220-koh-mak-the-tiny-island-thats-redefining-travel-to-thailand 
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A tribute to Colin Moore  Colin on the Jurassic Coast Path One of the most rewarding experiences that life has in store for us is when we meet someone with whom we feel an instant connection, then get to know each other better and develop a relationship that enriches our time on this planet. The flipside occurs when that person is gone, leaving a big hole in your life. So it was for me with Colin Moore. I met Colin in Caracas, Venezuela, in 1978 when I arrived to work as an English teacher at the British Institute. Colin worked there in an administrative position, and I was instantly impressed by this affable Scotsman who spoke fluent Spanish (or should I say Venezuelan, which is a bit different) without a trace of a Scottish accent.  A classic Colin Moore creation I soon found out that he was also a very accomplished guitarist, innovative artist and gifted photographer. I still remember a set of black-and-white portraits he took (and developed himself) of the weather-beaten faces of people in an Andean village where he went to live for a while. Colin was one of those rare people – a polymath. Venezuela was a very different place in those days compared to the sorry state it is in today, and although life in Caracas was speedy and sometimes stressful, the city had an ace up its sleeve in its proximity to some fabulous Caribbean beaches. Colin and I and other friends would spend each week deciding which beach to go to at the weekend, then as early as possible on Friday afternoon we would pack our cars (or jeep in Colin’s case) with ice boxes, tents, hammocks, beach games and samples of substances from neighbouring Colombia, then head out for destinations like Choroni, Morrocoy, or La Sabana for a weekend of pure fun, finally heading back to the city on Sunday evening, pouting all the way, usually in a traffic jam.  Colin's studio in Highgate Eventually we both moved on but met up again in London in the mid-1980s when I lived in Kentish Town and Colin bought an artist’s studio in nearby Highgate. He was earning pots of money as a “rebrander” with a top design company, flitting off to God-knows-where to convince the locals that his sketch for their new logo was the way to go. I taught English in a school near Piccadilly Circus, but as with many English teachers, the travel bug was too strong for me to resist so I got a teaching job in Thailand, where I’ve been ever since. Colin came to visit once when his company was vying for a design contract for the new Skytrain in Bangkok, and I crashed out on his sofabed in Highgate several times while teaching summer school at University College London.  Besides being an all-round great guy, Colin produced a memorable book, Propaganda Prints – the History of Art in the Service of Social and Political Change. He also provided mural artwork for Guys Hospital in London and for the Hilton Hotel in Bournemouth, as well as paintings and prints for cabins and public spaces on the SAGA cruise ship Spirit of Adventure. His website, colinmoore.uk.com, stands as testimony to his prodigious talent.  Col's colours The last few times I saw Col was at his cosy hideaway in Chaldon Herring, a picture-postcard village in Dorset just a stone’s throw from the Jurassic Coast Path, a World Heritage Site. We would go for bracing walks along the windy clifftops, then return to his snug abode for scrumptious meals and scintillating conversation. I will go there once more next week, along with a small army of others who came under Colin’s spell, to pay my respects and give thanks to whoever runs this show for allowing our paths to cross.  Jurassic Coast abstract  My first self-published book was Searching for Shangri-La, a collection of a dozen travelogues that are more about myself than the locations they describe. Occasionally I have changed the story that features on my website, and now it’s time for another change. Since we’re deep into the smog season in Chiang Mai, when the city frequently ranks as the most polluted on Earth, I thought it would be a good time to share the title story. There’s an audio version too, so to read about or listen to a lifetime of Searching for Shangri-La in just 15 minutes, just go here.
 R.I.P. Sir Bobby Charlton (1937–2023) Having spent much of my life outside my home country, I don’t feel I’m a typical Englishman. Yet there’s one English passion that I share, which is a love of football.
Like other kids worldwide, I spent hours as a boy kicking a ball around in the street and the park with my brothers. I was Bobby Charlton, older brother John was Bobby Moore, and younger brother Steve had to go in goal as Gordon Banks; so we were all stars of England’s 1966 World Cup victory. Many a volley I blasted over the bar in an attempt to replicate my hero’s trademark rocket goals. That’s an overused word – ‘hero’ – but I can’t think of anyone I’ve ever known that I idolised so. I was lucky enough to see Bobby Charlton play a few times for Manchester United, alongside George Best and Dennis Law, the ‘United Trinity’ as they’re dubbed. My best night ever was at Wembley in 1968 to watch United beat Benfica and become the first English team to win the European Cup (now known as the Champions League), Bobby scoring the first and last goals in the 4-1 win. I was hooked, and I’ve been a fan of Manchester United ever since. Maybe Sir Bobby chose a good time to bow out, as Man Utd are currently in the doldrums, floundering mid-table in the English Premier League, with insipid performances, uncaring owners, a famous old stadium that is apparently falling apart, and little sign of change. This really shouldn’t surprise me, as I’m a firm believer in the notion that all things must pass, but there’s something unflinchingly loyal in my support for the ‘Red Devils’ that makes me dream the return of glory days is just around the corner. Where is our new Bobby Charlton?  Reflections on Ian McEwan's novel, Lessons Way back in the 1970s, when I was in my 20s, I chanced upon a book that affected me profoundly. Here at last, I thought, is a writer who lives in my world, with all its weirdness and complexity, and can convey it beautifully in prose. The book was First Love, Last Rites, a collection of short stories by a guy called Ian McEwan, and I became an instant fan. Since then, I’ve read most, though not all, of his work – most recently his longest novel of all, Lessons. Lessons is basically a biography of Roland Baines, who has much in common with McEwan – same age, same upbringing, same boarding school education – though presumably McEwan was never tutored at the piano as is Roland, with a complete sex education thrown in. The wonder of Roland, a ‘serial monogamist’, is that he’s not a superhero, just an average guy who muddles his way through life, reacting to situations such as being abandoned by his wife and left with their tiny baby while she goes off to become a famous writer. In a way, Roland is summed up by his part-time professions – tennis coach for the elderly, greeting-card writer and piano player of ‘munch music’ in fancy London hotels; a jack of all trades but master of none. Yet Roland’s a likeable guy, and we tend to root for him as he tries to lose his virginity at the age of 14 before the Cuban missile crisis destroys the world because he doesn’t want to die a virgin. He also smuggles books and records into East Germany before the Wall comes down, avoids using the London Underground after terrorist bombs go off and sits out several lockdowns due to the Covid pandemic. It’s a strange feeling when you’re reading about a fictional character and suddenly think “The author’s writing about me!” So it was as I read about Roland near the end of Lessons: “He was plausible within the digital age, like a man in a cunning disguise, but he remained a citizen of the analogue world.” The epic scale of this novel brings to mind the marvellous Any Human Heart by William Boyd, which follows the life of a writer against a similar backdrop of world events during the 20th century. These references to shared problems of the past help us as readers to sympathize with the protagonist’s inability to steer a comfortable course through his existence. As for the ‘Lessons’ of the title, like the rest of us Roland doesn’t seem to learn from his experiences, whether they be joyful or painful, though he does revisit the most powerful emotional connections from his past, namely the piano tutor and his estranged wife, for poignant end-of-life reunions. On another level, I wonder whether McEwan is hinting that we humans should learn lessons from the tragic world events that chart the course of this book. Towards the end, his concerns are with the unchecked future of Artificial Intelligence and the fact that we are now beyond preventing a 1.5-degree temperature rise that many say will signal the end of our species. I can’t help but think that McEwan wanted to publish this work before it is too late and we are expelled from Planet Earth for not learning our lessons.  Photo by Paul Silvan on Unsplash I've been watching heated arguments recently in the UK Houses of Parliament that remind me of kids squabbling over sweets in a school playground, and I'm thinking "These are the people that run my country!"
I'm reminded of a passage in a novel I'm re-reading at the moment – News from Nowhere by William Morris. Written in 1890, it's about a man named William Guest who falls asleep and wakes up in the 21st century to find the grimy, stinky, noisy London of the Victorian era transformed into a peaceful, friendly, unpolluted utopia, where society is so enlightened and advanced that there is no need for money, policemen, prisons, or – get this – government! As Guest is walking around with Dick, his companion from the future, he says "Why, there are the Houses of Parliament! Do you still use them?" Dick answers, "Use them? Well, yes, they are used for a sort of subsidiary market, and a storage place for manure. " Let's hope that the recent antics in this hallowed building are an indicator that we're well on the way to Morris' utopia, and that eventually this building will serve its rightful purpose – for storing manure.  I’m sad to hear of the death of Keith Mundy, a long-time friend and colleague, from prostate cancer in Bangkok.
I first met Keith in around 1975 when we were both living in hippy ‘squats’ in Sydenham, London – vast Victorian mansions adapted to a lifestyle radically different from their original intention, with their servants’ quarters, tennis court in the garden and so on. We were never really close (Keith was always something of a loner) and we might never have met again if we had not shared the dream of teaching English abroad as a way to an exciting life, which we then both followed.  oobookajoo team for game week 16 - will the arrows be green or red? It’s almost like a religious experience, because when you click the ‘confirm’ button, it’s a moment of profound import, which will largely determine whether the arrows beside your team’s name will be green or red after the next round of games, showing that you’ve gone up or down in the league. I’m talking about making fantasy football transfers, the most exciting aspect of playing this silly but fun game.
First, you have to keep an eye on all the games in an English Premier League gameweek. That’s 10 games, lasting around 2 hours each—20 hours. As you watch, you need to evaluate the performance of all players on the pitch—around 25 players per game, so that’s 250 players, and make a mental note of any players that impress you. Those of us who don’t have time to study things so carefully settle for an hour-long roundup of the gameweek’s highlights. Then, you have to decide which of your players you want to kick out of your team—those that are performing badly and those who are injured or suspended for whatever reason, as they are not going to win you any points. Next, you need to look at the upcoming fixtures and decide which of the players that you plan to transfer in have a good chance of scoring, keeping a clean sheet and so on. After that, you have to look at the value of those players you fancy drafting in to your team, as all fantasy managers have a limited budget of £100 million, though this figure can be increased by careful buying and selling. Finally, and perhaps most critically, you need to decide how many transfers you’ll make. Everyone is allowed one free transfer a week, and if you make more, you forfeit 4 points for each player brought in. If your hunch is correct and these newly transferred players perform well, it’s worth the risk, but if not, you end up cursing yourself for taking the chance. It may be a silly game, but it has around 6 million players who all spend the weekend cheering and swearing as they watch their players performing well or badly. And besides, it provides a welcome distraction from the constant stream of bad news from the so-called real world.  Windsor Castle seen from the Long Walk As the royal wedding approaches, our blogger offers a surprising tip to Prince Harry on how to spend his honeymoon.
When Henry Charles Albert David Mountbatten-Windsor, better known as Prince Harry, walks down the aisle of St George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle on 19 May 2018 to marry Meghan Markle, those of us who don’t have a personal invite will be watching weepy-eyed on TV. Though the concept of a monarchy may seem a bit outdated in the 21st century, there’s something irresistible about the pomp and pageantry that goes with a royal wedding, and Windsor does pomp very well indeed. Now, Harry (can I call you that?), I’m sure you are planning to zip off with Meg (can I call her that?) to the Caribbean or somewhere out of public sight as soon as the ceremonies are over, but let me suggest that you do something totally unexpected. Why not spend your honeymoon beside the River Thames in Windsor, and give Meg a taste of true British culture? Of course, first you should show her round the castle, but I shouldn’t bother with all the rooms, just enough to impress her. You might mention that it’s the oldest and largest inhabited castle in the world, and that it was originally built by William the Conqueror in 1070, because he deemed the site “a place appearing proper and convenient for royal retirement on account of the river and its nearness to the forest for hunting, and many other royal conveniences”. Perhaps you’d better not mention the fire of 1992, when thousands of irreplaceable treasures went up in smoke. It might give her bad dreams on the big night.  Thailand's 'Land of Smiles' tag is not a PR gimmick—it's true! Putting the world to rights in five minutes Our planet is in a mess—environmentally, economically, socially and politically. Hardly a day goes by without some horrific news about villages buried under landslides, politicians arrested for corruption or suicide bombers blowing themselves and everybody nearby to bits. Despite amazing advances in technology during the last century, we don’t seem to have learned anything about how to live together despite our differences. Even the modern sciences of psychology and sociology have no blueprint for improving relationships.
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Ron Emmonsis a British writer and photographer based in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Categories
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