A policy statement on controlled crying issued by the Australian Association of Infant Mental Health (AAIMHI) advises, “Controlled crying is not consistent with what infants need for their optimal emotional and psychological health, and may have unintended negative consequences.” According to AAIMHI, “There have been no studies, such as sleep laboratory studies, to our knowledge, that assess the physiological stress levels of infants who undergo controlled crying, or its emotional or psychological impact on the developing child.”

It was 5 years ago today that I made the pilgrimage to Stonehenge with my family. At the time we had been home schooling our two daughters, then 5 and 8. The stone circle had become a topic for us because of quite fantastic episode of Doctor Who. At the time many of those Matt Smith episodes were historically themed and provided excellent jump-off points for learning. Van Gogh was another one with rich avenues to be explored.

What I had intended to be a momentous and inspirational visit turned out to be quite something else. Within minutes of arriving on site and passing the tool booth I stuffed my camera in to my wife’s hand, stepped over the little red rope and took ten paces towards the stone circle. I reached up in awe at the unexpected scale and pressed my hand on to what felt like craggy moss, similar to the barnacles you find on a sea-break — hairy and green. The stone was cold. I turned with a grin to have my photo snapped.

The tourists mulled slowly around the set track and I stepped back over the rope to join them. Moments later I was approached by a young bearded man with a walkie talkie who said:

“I want you to leave”

I should have responded:

“I want you to do the same — and take your fences and gift shop with you.”.

I did leave and my devastated children followed behind streaming with tears. My wife was furious. You are not allowed to step over the rope. You are not allowed to touch the stones.

I was quoted an ancient law regarding the protection of historical monuments or some such which on reflection was not enough to eject me from the premises — but it was the attitude and authority with which the men with walkie talkies an luminous jackets spoke with that intimidated us to such that we submitted to their request without protest. They could see my children were heartbroken, they didn’t care. It was my fault. After all, I had broken the rules.

Except you can. If you know the right people and you pay the right price.

Whilst my wife was rightfully lambasting me in the car we witnessed a group of teenage girls clambering over the fallen stones, dancing with gay abandon within the circle and way beyond that red rope.

A man with an luminous jacket and walkie talkie flanked them. They had ‘after hours’ access. They knew something we didn’t know. And for just a moment the hypocrisy caused my wife to pause her tear strewn tirade.

They have never forgiven me. My children. The idea of returning to Stonehenge fills them with dread. It is laden with painful memories. But it was a potent experience for me. It reflects my thinking about ‘the rules’.

“Reality is negotiable” ~ Timothy Ferriss

Those made up bits of nonsense separate ‘us’ from ‘them’. The men with walkie talkies that convince you to beleive what you can and can’t do.

The irony of the date of our visit has not been lost on me. Had we ventured out 1 day later we would have milled amongst the drummers, druids and revellers and walked freely round the stones. June 21st. A day when the Sun reaches its highest point relative to the equator.

For this 1 day of the year they remove the rope.

We went on the wrong day.

For the past couple of years I have attempted to sway my family to re-visit Stonehenge. On that day when the rope is put away and the people that ignore the men with walkie talkies turn up. There are of course far more people without walkie talkies. On the day when there is an exception to the rules. That’s the day I want to take them. My girls. One day I can take them and maybe they will forgive me for jumping over the rope.

That evening in the campsite when everyone was asleep in the tent, with their little whimpering breaths from too much crying. I stepped out in to the night and was hit by the breathtaking beauty of the sky. Scratched with hundreds of shooting stars and awash with starlight. I walked around in awe, pulled out some device from my pocket and tapped away the following words:

The closer we approached the henge the more my contempt grew for the present guardians of the site.

The tour bus, the cafe, the rock cakes and ticket barriers and insincere spotty pubescent staff and audio tours and snapping tourists. And the terrible barbed wire fence and the ultimate insult — a scar on the landscape. A busy a road scorching it’s way through the area bringing with it the coke drinking all you can eat buffet of tourists hungry for their photos and sunglass tinted view of some stones. The National Heritage disgrace cuts through the site which is so much more than a circle of stones, it is a network of burial mounds and stones scattered far around.

The irony of touching the stones and literally stepping over the line during office hours is that we hung around the site after hours to witness the privileged hot pant wearing girls cartwheeling and clambering on the stones. This brought home to Susannah the lunacy of the rules and their enforcers. They made the rules up and they will break them apart as and when they choose too. They can do that.

There are many theories of why the henge was built, it’s quite possible they already know the reason but if they publish an answer there goes the mystery. Who will pay to see a bunch of rocks in a field? One thing of which I am certain is that the architects intention had nothing to do with selling ice creams or branded erasers made in China.

Stonehenge is man’s best attempt to create a monument to the permanence of The Universe. A little circle of stones surrounded by burial mounds to scratch a mark in the earth — and ‘I woz ere’ for later generations.

In the infinite space and time this monument to infinity is a grain of sand in comparison to the vast mountain of everything else in existence outside of the circle.

Stonehenge is not the attraction. The attraction is what is seen through its windows.

If they published that then there would be no point in making the journey and paying the entrance fee. You can see the magic and wonder from where you are standing right now. You are already at the centre of your own circle of wonder, the mystery of the why and how this was built are red-herrings. Simply the base of the mountain. You are standing at the summit of the answer. The journey of a thousand miles ends without a single step.

Stonehenge has mistakenly become a point of focus when its purpose is to be a point from which to focus from / an un-focusing point, to magnify the hugeness of the outside of the circle, the circular horizon, the dome of blue sky and ever-changing lava lamp of clouds and stars, the circle my eyes are carried on as my head travels around drinking in this panorama, green and blues and yellows. In to my spherical eyes.

Stonehenge is a lens to realise the real mystery and vastness and wonder of the universe.

I still want to go back. To join the party. When the drums are beating to my rhythm. To jump the invisible red rope and to wipe the tears from my children’s eyes so that they may clearly see the beauty all around.

And maybe even forgive me.

“We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
—World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.”
from ‘Ode’ by  Arthur O’Shaughnessy

I believe that the purpose of the teacher is to draw out the best in her pupil, it is in this unique exchange that both pupil and teacher  help reveal their true selves.

Every week for the past 3 years we took our daughter Ella to see Bella at the summit of Beacon Hill in Newark. Some weeks I would drive Ella but mostly my wife had the pleasure. The weekly dash from school to Newark could always  be a little stressful but you could always be sure of a welcoming sofa and a warm cat on your lap.

Bella had an extraordinary ability to connect with our daughter in a way that is very rare.

My family and I were all extremely sad to learn that Bella had passed away in March after a very brief but intense illness.

The magical thing about music is that it transcends our physical forms. It is sustained through the magic that travels between people. I know that Ella will carry some of the music Bella shared with her.

Although Ella will eventually find another teacher to help her learn to play the piano there will not be another person that could take her on the flights of fancy that Bella Conn took her.

I know Ella loved her, they were good friends in spite of the age difference.

Bella revealed some of Ella’s potential and for that I am grateful. Our youngest daughter Rosa was equally sad. Bella happily allowed Rosa to tinkle away on the piano each week and I know Rosa was looking forward to fun sessions learning to play with Bella as her teacher. Rosa remembers with delight the time we were sent outside to pilfer as many ripe plums as we could pick from the tree in the garden.

Music lives on…

Here is a recording I made on my phone one evening not long before Christmas last year. I had completely forgotten about it! It was one of those lovely impromptu moments at the end of a lesson where  they would ‘play’ in the proper sense, this time Bella asked to hear what Ella had been learning in singing lessons at school and off they went!

I am sorry about the poor quality of the recording, I had little idea at the time how significant this would be on so many levels. I think you also, will hear some of the magic I heard happening that evening, whilst that cat sat purring on my lap…

It was some time ago. I don’t remember the year but I was working at The Odeon in Camden Town whilst holding down a degree at London Guildhall University. The job was the best ever. Watching films and being paid. A strict diet of popcorn, washed down with coke followed by Haagen Dazs icecream was on the menu almost every night and when Wagamamas opened around the corner no appearance of James Lavelle or Jonathon Ross would tempt me away from the tub of Yaki Udon fat noodles for £5.65. For only a pound more than the local Chinese takeaway’s chow mein I soon spread this new habit amongst the rest of the staff.

But beyond the late night staff screenings, clocking-inout machines and high sugar low nutrition diet, I was attempting various forays in to the music scene. DJing, promoting, starting a radio station, writing for the university rag and College Music Update under the moniker D77. On reflection I don’t know where all the energy came from.

I’d befriended a handful of music-industry people through the relentless blagging and found myself one day outside the poster covered frontage of EMI records on Goldhawk Road. It was like some sort of magic doorway. The glass frontage was plastered with pictures promoting the next big thing. It seemed as though the only way to enter was if you wore rollerskates and sped blindly in to the wall. But I found the sliding glass pane and it opened for me.

I tried to act cool, like this was normal but it was the first time i’d been there. I was slightly awestruck by the Beatles platinum discs and huge TV’s with MTV silently playing. But ultimately it was an office building. Housed inside was an office that my music business pal walked me to. He had established a safe haven for artists to develop, something of an independent label but a smart venture that would negate the need to buy out an indie label for the sake of one cash-cow and all the expensive and inconvenience that would go with that. He called it Regal Recordings. Not boasting, just businesslike he said he’d just come off the phone from T-Love’s manager, arranging flights to the UK. He wanted to sign her to the label. I’d heard a the female MC, T-Love track just a couple of days before at Mr Bongo on Poland Street and liked it enough to ask who it was.

As I sank down in to the big black leather chair and noticed the stacks of CD cases on the desk, floor and various other surfaces. I became aware of how the room was more of a lounge than office and the separates sound system and little monitors were the centre pieces.

“Take a listen to this”, he said as he pulled a silver disc with blue marker pen out of its crystal case with three words scribbled in capital letters ‘PUSH IT OUT’. “They just biked it over”. Then the swirling heavy rain started landing on the cymbal and the room began to hum. I was all ears and electrified by the moment that I was one of the very first people to hear The Beta Band’s newest song. What did the lyric mean? “push it out” over and over again. The words repeated and lost their meaning then wove amongst the piano, cymbal, drum, growing layer by layer building something fantastic. A timpani drum now. Swirling and building up to an acoustic melody and more layers of vocals. The volume seemed far too loud for an office but this was the music by business. Music is supposed to be played loudly. You have to feel it. And it ended. I didn’t understand it but I knew I liked it.

Ah. The energy came from the music.

About 4 years ago I volunteered at the Bath Festival of Children’s Literature. It was a wild 10 days and a massive amount of fun. I had the good fortune to survive an encounter with a very real child of Davros from the ever popular Doctor WHO mythos. In the short time I had speaking with the Dalek I was able to ask some questions, and in the dark dry-ice filled chamber I scribbled away the tin-covered monsters answers. 

For posterity and fun I recount the interview right here!

It was my privilege to do the reveal, and peel back the curtain to the thundering theme tune of Doctor Who – with thick dry ice, lightening strobe flights and screams of delight from the kids… THE DALEK. “Exterminate, exterminate, we are the Daleks” etc etc.

But before the rambunction I was confined to actors left, backstage with my captive audience – who surprisingly, for a Dalek was quite friendly.

Do you ever worry about being typecast?
Well it does look good on my CV and thankfully I don’t get stopped in the street.

What’s your motivation?
Well, the way I see it is that it’s a rather confined space and quite uncomfortable and hot I take it as an opportunity to take revenge on the world.

How do you audition for this type of role?
Well about 12 years ago a friend of mine was on the crew and they needed an actor. Years later my name was discovered on a sheet of paper when they were starting the series up again and I got a call.

By this time nerves of my big role started to bubble I thought I’d leave the Dalek to get in to character. “I’ll leave you to meditate then”, “nah, it’s okay – I’ll just send some text messages”.

Insomnia is my Kryptonite. For various reasons i’ve battled with insomnia for the past several years. Get sleep right and everything follows: discipline, energy, creativity, inspiration feedback loops, more energy and action to make things happen. Here are some of the actions and ideas i’ve experimented with to overcome insomnia and get a good nights kip.

1. Cold Baths
1 Hour before bed take a 10 minute (time it) ice bath or freezing cold bath. Immerse yourself gradually – its uncomfortable to begin with but really really effective! Apparently a brief warm shower afterwards (as the japanese do) also helps but as we haven’t got a shower (yet) I missed that part out. The science  explanation is that it tricks your body in to releasing the right brain narcotic to knock you out. The first time I tried this I slept like a brick for just 4 hours and awoke revitalised.

2. Recognise Night-time Wakefulness
Realise that night-time wakefulness is actually a normal phenomenonononon. Some scientist somewhere (possibly writing for a Sunday newspaper supplement) coined the misnomer that we need at least 8 hours sleep. Fact is that 8 hours continuous sleep will give you the false guilty wake-time in the early hours. There is nothing wrong with waking up in the night. Nothing at all. All mammals do it, there is a hypothesis that suggests that night-time wakefulness evolved as a defensive reflex to guard against predators.The minute you get over the guilt that you should be asleep, the minute you get over forcing it. Get up for an hour, walk about, read a little.

3. Avoid bright lights in the evening
Don’t look in to bright lights, don’t surf the internet. bedside lights should have 40w or lower bulbs in them. Ideally, avoid switching on the lights altogether. Don’t watch TV after dark, most TV is rubbish.

4. Protect your senses
Wear an eyemask and  ear plugs. Noise and light stimulate the brain – protect against it.

5. Eating
A note on eating in the night. Don’t do it. The minute you start the habit, the minute to are setting your bodies alarm clock to wake the following day. I’ve read you can reset your body clock when travelling through fasting. This phenomena is called anticipatory waking. Some of us become alert 2-3 hours prior to eating. If you eat in the night your sabotaging your sleep. This was a big mistake for me as I find it hard to load up enough calories in the day time. Routine. Mealtimes at set times. Let the monkey brain know who’s boss.

6. Avoid stimulants & depressants
Speaking of calories. don’t eat/drink stimulants up to 6 hours before bed. Coffee addiction leads to withdrawal during nighttime fasting and twitchiness. Wine/Alcohol reduces the amount of REM sleep attainable so that rough feeling after a night on the town is also attributable to the low quality sleep even if you were comatose. This isn’t an issue for me because i don’t drink. And Im not telling you to become a monk. Just don’t binge out every night. Keep it down to less than 2 nights a week.

7. Waking up with a clear head
Have a small low glycemic index snack before bed. Some carrots or something. Not fruit, biscuits or sweets. Use an alarm clock to wake you in the morning. Go to bed when you feel sleepy at night – time may vary but listen to your body.

Your results may vary but please share anything else that works for you.

Sweet dreams….

According to the Big Bang Theory, everything that exists has been around in one form or another for about 13.7 billion years. Measuring the age of individual components within the Universe is a bit of a joke as technically we are all 13.7 billion years old.

This is a follow-up to a post I wrote 3 years ago entitled 7 Revelations of Being Caffeine Free.

Apparently it takes only 100mg per day of caffeine per day to become addicted (that’s about 1 cup of coffee or 3 bars of chocolate). Unfortunately I returned to the slippery black slope about 5 weeks ago in order to overcome a productive slump and hit some ridiculous self-imposed deadlines.

It took me 2 weeks and 3-4 cups a day to realise I was once again totally hooked and further 2 weeks to realise that I could not beat coffee on the head by gradually weaning myself off. The ceremony of preparation, sensory stimulation and buzz were all too alluring to stop gradually. And I knew I was postponing the pain whilst stealing from the future and developing a bad habit.

I love the taste of good coffee but the effects are poisonously tempting. It helps me write, lets my brain work on overdrive hosing words on to the page but the ideas I produce are not lateral, it is creativity on stabilizers. Ideas are two dimensional. Cogent and sharp but linear.

Coffee is wonderfully evil because like the bookmakers wife, lady luck, it flirts with you then when you’re addicted it fucks you in the ass – you have to dose up, drink more to get the same effects. Then. Oh god. Then you’re truly shafted.

Make no mistake. Coffee is a drug, albeit one that is well disguised and integrated with culture, economics and the industrial machine. If you dispute any of these facts you’re deluded, that’s the drug messing with your sense of reason.

If you need a coffee at the start of the day before you can face the world, you’re an addict, a drug dependant junkie. If you queue up at Starbucks for an overpriced fix of black hot water you’re a junkie, same as the Heroin addict queueing up for his fix of Methadone. Junkie queueing for junk!

Caffeine is a bitter, white crystalline xanthine alkaloid that is a psychoactive stimulant drug. Look this shit up.

Some lessons learned from this episode :

1. Deadlines are man made. If you can’t make them, reset them. Negotiate.

2. Taking stimulants is like having a credit card on your life. You pay it back with interest.

3. If you feel like you need a kick, take a nap. Drink water, look at your nutrition or perhaps get a full blood count done. You may be deficient in something.

4. Listen to your body. Sleep when you’re tired. Take naps.

5. When you choose food or drink don’t just look to feed your mouth or brain. Feed your body.

6. Chemicals are no substitute to pacing, sleep, exercise and healthy food.

7. Coffee will fuck you up in the end. Caffeine is naturally occurring in plants as an insecticide. Its a poison. Your bodies’ reactions are as if it was being mildly poisoned.

The bad shit will gradually overtake your mind and body like Spiderman’s Alien Costume.

Derek Sivers recently gave a talk at the SxSW music conference called Successful SxSW: the Tao of the Conference. He fielded the question to his contacts ‘what advice would you give people attending’ and asked people to submit short videos with their advice and presented 20 of these at the conference. In all there were 60 videos submitted which he presents on his site.

Whilst a Tao is often referred to as ‘the nameless’, because neither it nor its principles can ever be adequately expressed in words. The Tao that Derek is pointing to is woven amongst the useful networking tips and strategies.

Instead of seeing people as contacts and leads that you want to exploit you should see people as the treasure; each person you meet will literally change your life, even a small change of course now can take your life in a whole new direction.