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Sunday, May 21, 2006

Big Sleep

It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

The first paragraph of Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep is legendary in crime fiction. It has been a long time since I picked up a Philip Marlowe mystery, maybe even ten years since The Long Goodbye ('Alcohol is like love,' he said. 'The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you just take the girl's clothes off.').

Pulp fiction meets classic tragedy in Chandler's works and the reader hoovers up Marlowe's cynical drawls: "Neither of the two people in the room paid any attention to the way I came in, although only one of them was dead". But there is a quiet heroism that attracts from a time when honour, loyalty and truth were not loaded terms but terms loaded with meaning. And you just might find yourself quipping at the next mercenary merchant rip-off on the cold streets of 21st century urbanity: "Wrong play pal. Innocence will get you nowhere".

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Saturday, May 20, 2006

Sultan's Elephant

Sultan's Elephant in SW1, London

"Sometimes I lie awake worrying that we're trying to achieve the impossible by bringing something on this scale to London," says Helen Marriage, who masterminded the Sultan's Elephant project. "Then I think all we're doing is closing a few roads so that an elephant can trundle around, and that's not such a big deal - although a gigantic mechanical elephant does stretch the British imagination somewhat."

Fairytales are supposed to be placeless (castles or woods), timeless (once upon a time), and nameless (the youngest son or the fairest of them all). They are supposed to be folk stories filled with imaginary characters and magical events. So what happens when one comes to life?

The delightful and unexpected interactions that emerged from the elephant's path and wake from May 4-7 tell you more about London in a moment than a thousand Richard Branson commercials, Evening Standard headlines or Blairite Olympic bids. The 12m high elephant, time traveling sultan entourage, and gigantic little-girl-lost blend into the streets at a standstill. As unusual an event as this Jules Verne inspired French Royal de Luxe production appears, for those who attend it is the most natural thing in the world. The smiles on the faces of children and adults alike, the street heralds preceding his movements ("THE ELEPHANT IS COMING! THE ELEPHANT IS COMING!"), and the parades following them in a light drizzle tell a story too often muzzled by the spasms of neurotic dog-eat-dog (or is it doggie-dogg) London. After everything, it is a wonderful place to live. Just watch you don't get trampled by the big hoof of an elephant in search of love and compassion.

Click on the video below to see the final chapter in the Elephant's journey or visit the BBC's comprehensive coverage of the event, the official Sultan's Elephant site

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