HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2002-03-06, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 6, 2002. PAGE 5.
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our hero the Fencemaster Introducin
It is easy to fly into a passion - anybody can
do that - but to be angry with the right person
to the right extent at the right time in the right
way - that is not easy, and it is not everyone
who can do it.
— Aristotle
A
ri the Greek knew what he was talking
about. I speak as a man who has a
crushed computer mouse mounted on
his office wall; a near-citation for contempt
from a traffic court judge; and a legion of
adversaries from my past who would pass on
the opportunity to micturate in my ear if my
brain was on fire.
I never planned on having a temper. I
actually dreamed of becoming one of those
suave, laid-back European types, all hooded
eyes and Gallic shrugs, devastating my
opponents with withering, monosyllabic
whispered asides. — ,
Instead I matured (I use the word loosely) as
a human Krakatoa with a short fuse and a hair-
trigger lip.
I'd so much rather be Cary Grant.
Or better still - The Fencemaster.
That's not his real name, but that's what he
calls himself.
Here is what I know about The Fencemaster:
He's a Brit who lives in London, in his late 30s,
an office worker who cycles to work each
day. That's because he got tired of London's
notorious traffic jams, not to mention road
rage eruptions and frantic ' hunts for parking
spaces.
He discovered, as many urban cyclists have,
that pedaling to work each day spared him all
that grief and added a patina of serenity to his
F4
verybody who has driven a car has
encountered some stupid or
irresponsible driving on the part of
other people.
I suspect, too, that there are people out there
who could say the same about us.
I sometimes think that one of our greatest
accomplishments is to survive our outings on
highways, not to mention within the city limits.
After having driven all over Europe for
decades where the tempo on the highways is
somewhat greater than it is here, I am
convinced that surviving is a great
achievement.
There has been a number of studies done to
determine the quality of driving in various
countries and the results do not really surprise
me to any great degree, although there were a
few unexpected findings. I would have thought
that Germany would be right up among the top
in dangerous driving since there are no speed
limits on the famous' Autobahnen and one has
to drive on, one of them to realize just how fast
some drivers go (200+ kph in case you were
wondering).
But apparently not! The Germans are far
down the list and, on thinking about it, I realize
that while Germans are fast drivers, they are
also relatively good drivers by European
standards.
The vorst are apparently the Albanians but
that, too, iS•unclerstandable. A few years ago
very few of therit drove a car let alone own one
and, as I discovered in the Czech Republic
where there was a similar phenomenon, it takes
a number of years for newly-licenced drivers,
middle-aged or otherwise, to get their
proficiency up to a decent level.
Far behind the Albanians are the Russians
and far behind them are the Greeks who are the
worst drivers in Western Europe in terms of the.
daily grind.
Thus it was a shock for him to dismount one
day in front of the iron fence to which he
customarily chained his bike and be confronted
by a sign that read:
HOWARD DE WALDEN ESTATES
LIMITED.
BICYCLES FOUND PARKED AGAINST
OR CHAINED TO THESE RAILINGS WILL
BE REMOVED WITHOUT FURTHER
NOTICE.
It is important to know three things here.
First, the De Walden family is one of the U.K.'s
wealthiest landowners. Secondly, the fence in
question is in front of a vacant lot. Thirdly, the
message was clearly aimed at our hero - he was
the only person who ever chained his bike to
the fence.
Our hero was surprised, then miffed. Here he
was, braving the elements on a bicycle to make
his city of 8.5 million citizens somewhat less
car-clogged and air-polluted - being told to
move on like some kind of vagrant.
The smouldering resentment turned to
outrage — but quiet outrage, quintessentially
British outrage. He dutifully chained his bike
elsewhere, muttering to himself: "bicycles will
be removed, eh? Nothing about oh, say,
kettles..."
Raymond
Canon
The
International
Scene
number of deaths per million vehicles. -
Some time ago the Belgians occupied this
unenviable standing since their would-be
drivers did not even have to take a test. The
introductions of the necessary testing has
driven their, rank down to the middle of the
pack, but still considerably ahead of their
neighbours, the Dutch, who, in my estimation,
are the shiest in all of Europe.
The only time I am somewhat apprehensive
about a Dutch driver was when he/she is
driving through the Swiss mountain 'passes,
towing a trailer.
Given the flatness of Holland, I can
understand why their drivers do not consider
the Alps as Valhalla. The scenery is wonderful;
the roads are the opposite.
Switzerland, which is great at exhorting its
citizens to improve themselves, is always after
their drivers to show, among other things, more
courtesy on the roads. Other countries try to
cut down on the carnage.
The Portuguese, who count among the worst
drivers in Europe, have been harangued by
their government to practise safe driving. Now
it is the turn of their neighbours.
The Spaniards, who have seen their death toll
climb to close to that of Portugal, have found
their government enforcing existing rules of
the road more diligently.
Nothing, however, in Europe will match my
experiences in Baghdad. I was told before I
He went home, calmly drilled two
holes in the bottom of a tea kettle, brought
it to work next day and padlocked it to the
fence.
The kettle on the fence - surprise, surprise —
attracted the attention of passers-by. Tourists
started_ to have their pictures taken standing
next to it.
The Fencemaster wasn't through. Next he
attached a steam iron.
Then a refrigerator door.
Pretty soon other folks got into the act. An
ironing board was chained to the fence. A
Georgia license plate. Stuffed animals.
Champagne flutes.
To say that The Fencemaster has caught the
imagination of little people everywhere would
be an understatement. The fence in question
now can barely be seen for all the objects that
are attached to it. The Fencemaster has set up a
website (www.whatshouldiputonthefence.com)
At last count more than 3 million people had
visited the site.
The landlords (who must wish they'd
never put up that sign) have sicced the police
on The Fencemaster. He came home one
day to find three massive bobbies on his
doorstep waiting to have a word with
him. They turned out to be fans of the
website.
They suggested that "it might be a good idea
not to attach things to the fence anymore" but
added "we realize of course you can't stop
OTHER people from attaching things to the
fence".
The Fencemaster can't be certain, but he
thinks the bobbies winked.
went there not to lease a car; instead I should
arrange to have a taxi pick me up each day.
After a short time in that city, I could see
why. My taxi driver, Ali, was a likeable sort;
we got along famously but he insisted on
driving down the middle of the street and life
for me became a series of near misses.
In retrospect, I must admit that we never had
an accident but there were countless number of
close calls. I understood very quickly why I
was advised not to drive there myself.
I flew from Baghdad to Kuwait; the taxi
driver who took me from the airport to my
hotel must have anticipated my wish to go to
heaven when I died and made every effort to
grant it.
I preferred to have this happen at home, not
in a strange country so I suggested that he slow
down only to discover his English was next to
non-existent. "Slow" was not in his basic
vocabulary.
With experiences like that, even the Greeks
or the Portuguese seemed to me like the
proverbial little old lady driving her seldom
used car to the grocery store. Upon my return
to Canada, I found Canadian drivers almost
like angels in heaven. The operative word is
"almost."
Final Thought
We should be careful to get out of an
experience only the wisdom that is in it —
and stop there; lest we be like the car that
sits down on a hot stove lid. She will never
sit down on a hot stove lid again — and that
is well; but also she will never sit down on a
cold Ciftety more.
— Mark Twain
Bonnie
Gropp
The short of it
Don't discount artists
The Sears Festival came to Blyth again
last week. This annual event for
secondary school drama students was .,
last held here in 1998, hosted by F.E. Madill
Secondary School.
While that was not my first introduction to
the Festival, there was a greater involvement in
this due to the fact that our youngest two kids
were part of the Madill group. Serving as
billets, we opened our home to the comings
and goings of a number of young people. We
attended performances and I, through my work
for this newspaper, was able to take in some of
the workshops and activities.
This time, of course, I'm a little further
removed from the energy. My youngest are out
of school, long enough for that matter, that
from their time in the Drama Guild, few
familiar faces remain. -
However, work still mandates my presence
at least on some level. Thus it was with
pleasure that I sat in on a tech rehearsal and, as
usual, left feeling quite gocid.
Many people will have attended the end
result of these rehearsals. But, it's unfortunate
that more can't view the behind the scenes, the
preparatory activity that leads to the eventual
performance. Because it is there that you see
these young stars truly shine.
We are generally impressed by academic or
athletic performance. And these abilities, these
skills are often acknowledged publicly. There
is recognition of scholastic achievement
through honour rolls, scholarships and awards.
High academic grades get you into the best
schools and generally will lead to well-paid
careers.
The same- holds true for those mo -e
physically inclined. Jocks, even at a local
level, often enjoy a 'hero-like status, while
awards are also given to the strongest and best.
But for those whose love lies in the arts,
their achievements, unless they manage to be
the select few who find fame and fortune, are
often not as high profile as in other fields.
Even a bad doctor commands some respect
from mere mortals because of education.
But a good musician, a good director, a good
actor, can be a well-kept secret as so much of
their success may unfortunately depend as
much on the right place at the right time as
talent. Their numbers are more, than the
opportunities which exist.
Yet, when I watch young people involved in
artistic pursuits I am no less impressed than I
am with a perfect grade or score.
And events such as the Sears Festival, if you
really take a look beyond the obvious, remind
that there is more to the arts than art. While
actors and musicians develop poise and
confidence, the designers create. As you
watch the technicians setting up lights,
building sets, you are seeing mathematicians,
problem solvers, and craftspeople. Stage
managers and directors show leadership and
organizational skills, in addition to an ability
to see the big picture.
Perhaps most inspiring is that these kids at
Sears are excited by challenge, focused on
perfecting their craft and more importantly
enjoying the whole experience.
Most of The youths involved in this year's
Festival will probably not pursue a career in
the arts. There are among them academics and
athletes, and they are practical enough to
recognize the economic limitations. But I, for
one will never discount our future artists. They
are one more positive in our hopes for
tomorrow.
Let's talk about good and bad drivers