Captain Mark Roland was a test pilot and astronaut whose name has mysteriously disappeared from the space archives. He was the only man aboard the ill-fated Jupiter flight which took place during the 'space race' of the Cold War when the world's major powers battled for supremacy in space flight capability. The mission ran into difficulties soon after the rocket ship left the Earth's atmosphere and hurtled into deep space. Because of the political importance of such a major disaster and the embarrassment it would cause to the space program, the incident was kept secret and never made public. It is difficult to contemplate now, but at this time technological superiority was considered the main criteria of national security. It is a travesty that the pilot was never credited with the full honours he deserved, It is also an eerie thought that after all this time, the lost spaceship could still be continuing on it's unknown course today. <Watch video>
Camille Dubois was a star of the European underground cabaret scene for many years. Her performances were beautiful but daring and, consequently, very shocking to the conservative, buttoned-up generation of her day. She had an incredible rags-to-riches life story. Abandoned as a small child in the 1920's, she managed to survive a life on the streets in the bohemian quarters of Paris to become a hugely popular cabaret performer, albeit in the type of establishments that her elite, high society admirers would never admit to frequenting.
Don't you just love boogie woogie piano? That constant left hand grinding out the rhythm. I've had a fascination for this music ever since I was a kid and heard my Uncle Cliff play. He was a welder at Swan Hunter shipyards in Wallsend during the day, but also played piano at local pubs in the evenings. In fact, he was very popular and used to joke that he was "world famous in Byker". Some weekends he'd visit and I'd hear him hammering out boogie woogie and rock and roll on a battered old piano we had in the living room. I can't profess to be a great boogie woogie piano player, but I love to try. The left hand pattern on this song is actually a riff my Uncle Cliff taught me. There's a bit of controversy over where the phrase 'boogie woogie' came from. Some say it's a euphemism for another rhythmic activity we all like to do. In that case, if you like a boogie woogie piano, you'll love a boogie woogie woman. <Watch video>
More than a billion people are homeless or live in slums in the world today. The figure is continually rising as around 50 million people migrate to the major cities every year. Slum dwellings have poor structural quality, insufficient living areas, overcrowding, lack of any secure tenure and limited access to water and sanitation. In fact, contaminated water supplies, bad hygiene and a lack of decent toilets and sewerage claim the lives of millions of slum dwellers every year through the increase and spread of deadly diseases.
Slums built on marginal land are prone to disasters like flooding and pose a high risk for residents. Those living beside busy city roads and railways, on shorelines, river banks and on and around rubbish dumps feel the constant dangers of these unsafe environments. With no legal rights to land, trespassers face the threat of eviction and find it impossible to secure a job or obtain credit and finance. Not having a formal, legal address also prevents people from accessing services like healthcare, education, water and electricity.
In these times of extreme greed and corruption, being poor and homeless is a crime and many vagrants end up in prison. The problem is not limited to third world countries. It occurs in every rich society where the poor are made 'invisible' so as not to upset the well off. The situation is accepted as a necessary evil. It is a simple mathematical equation - if someone is rich, then many more must be desperately poor. It's an economic balancing act. We must face the fact that in this heap of humanity, there must be people at the bottom of the pile. It can never be any different. Not until every nation has a fair and equal economic, social and cultural policy. That's never going to happen. No point in dreaming. <Watch video>
Street prostitution is an evil trade and make no mistake, prostitutes are victims. They are forced to sell sexual services by their controllers or pimps. These guys are the criminals. They manipulate their girls and coerce them into providing sexual acts through abuse, threats, forced dependence on drugs and physical violence. This often takes the form of repeated rapes by one or more people to create submission. They also restrict the victims movements and prevent communication with family and friends. Girls are expected to earn nightly quotas and this money is all confiscated by the pimp. This is big business and the chances of the real offenders being brought to justice are minimal. Pimps are well organised but much less visible and almost impossible for police to investigate. Individuals victimised by this sort of organised network will lie to police about the existence of a pimp and will present themselves as acting completely independently. Policing strategies are totally ineffective. They typically arrest prostitutes and not their clients. The prostitute will receive a heavy fine and then have to work even harder to meet their quotas and pay the fine. Add to this the fact that there are many corrupt officers taking bribes to turn a blind eye to prostitution and it is indeed a very murky world for the real victims of this sordid crime. <Watch video>
If you see Monique, give her my regards and tell her I'm doing well. Tell her that I realise she was right about everything and I've taken her advice and settled down. I know she's happy now. She doesn't need me around and I don't want to spoil things for her. Don't tell her where I am and what a mess I've made of my life. Cooped up in a cell 24 hours a day with just her photograph to talk to. But it's no more than I deserve for being a stubborn fool. You do a lot of thinking in solitary and at least I can take comfort from the fact that she's finally found the happiness she deserves. No thanks to me. All I ever did was let her down. So if you see Monique, wish her luck from me. Don't tell her I still love her and would do anything to turn back the clock. <Watch video>
Do you believe in vampires? I thought they were all in the minds of Hollywood film producers until I visited Vamps night club in Manchester. It's frequented by a subculture of vamp fans who openly drink each others blood. I spoke to club regular Carla who told me she has had a fascination with blood since she was a young girl. It started during her first kiss as a teenager when she had the compulsion to bite her boyfriend's lips, with disastrous results. She explained, "It was my natural instinct and I liked the taste. I just got an urge and can't really explain it. It's never gone away." She claims to be a real-life vampire and drinks a few litres of blood a month from willing human donors. In all other respects, her life is normal. She is married with two young children and has a regular job as a Careworker. In the drinking sessions at the club, consenting partners cut each other with sterilised knives and guzzle down the blood. They claim it keeps them feeling young, beautiful and vigorous. Just like in the movies.
Mr. Clean was the Training Officer in charge when we worked as apprentices at a large engineering works on Tyneside. We had a few run-ins with Mr. Clean, but he wasn't a bad bloke really. He was renowned for being a real perfectionist and always demanded the best, though nothing ever seemed to be good enough. He wanted us to learn to think for ourselves and not do things 'parrot fashion'. He was a real company man. Loyal to the firm. He was also very clean and tidy. Clean by name and clean by nature. Very meticulous and precise. Today he would be considered to have an obsessive-compulsive disorder, but that's an expression you never heard in those days. Unfortunately, his symptoms got worse. He started imagining germs creeping all over him and penetrating his body. These thoughts caused him enormous anxiety and he would wash his hands over and over. He would only use paper towels to dry them because he thought that cloth towels were 'full of germs'. He wouldn't use the washroom hand dryer because it required you to push a button to turn it on. More germs. Then he started taking showers three or four times a day because he didn't feel thoroughly clean if he didn't scrub every part of his body. He obviously became a figure of ridicule amongst all the young apprentices who were totally insensitive to his problem. Eventually he just couldn't do his job anymore and was forced to leave. It was a shame really. I liked Mr. Clean. I even wrote this daft song about him. <Watch video>
Why do things seem to be getting more and more difficult? No matter which way you turn, there's always some awkward bastard standing in your way. Unfortunately, it just seems to be how it is today. Nothing ever goes smoothly and you're bound to come across a couple of nails as you slide down the banister of life. It can be very painful. So here's some advice for those moments when appealing to reason just doesn't seem to have any effect. When you next find yourself in one of those frustrating situations, try this approach. It might not be subtle, but it works every time.
Amy is rich. She inherited her late father's Northumberland estate, although she spends most of her time in London where she lives the privileged life of a modern day socialite. She has rich friends. She has rich connections. She has rich admirers. And she has a rich husband. She also follows an age old tradition that has fascinated many upper class ladies for centuries, from Marie Antoinette to Paris Hilton. She loves slumming it. Mixing with those poor and inferior mortals way below her high stature in society. It makes her feel good. She finds it exciting to visit those low life clubs and bars patronised by people at the bottom of the socio-economic scale, It's entertaining. It's dangerous. It's an adventure. But that's all it is. Although she has had many lovers, she feels nothing for these people other than a morbid curiosity. At the end of the night she hurries home to the safety and opulence of her expensive penthouse apartment in Knightsbridge. Many of her young men have dared to believe that she actually cares something for them. My advice to anyone with such aspirations is 'Forget her'. She's not for you.