Thoughts on Narcissism and Psychopathy

I know that politics is a huge turn-off for many readers as it's coming at us every time we turn on the news, but I wanted to take a more psychological perspective here, regarding our expectations and what may drive those who seek our votes. As always I stress that my blog is an opinion and more of an exercise in juggling around a few thoughts than anything!

In my book of short stories 'Seven Dreams of Reality' I included a tale of somebody from elsewhere visiting earth to observe the behaviour of humans concluding that there are two types of human and that some exist in an altered state where the feelings of others don't really register. Ten years later it seems to me that what was just an idea in a story is actually not far off the mark.

For most of us listening to the news is just a catalogue of horrors – murder, torture, rape, abuse, violence, etc. and there is a sense of incredulity that human beings can do such things to one another. Do extreme circumstances where survival is threatened push human beings into primal behaviour? Or is it trauma / lack of love in childhood that pushes many relatively comfortable humans into a life of selfishness and disregard for others? Perhaps both.

With a general election on the horizon in the UK I often hear (and indeed experience) a sense of despair at politicians who promise the earth and seem to deliver very little. Once again, is this deception deliberate and what kind of person could live with themselves having got into a position of power by lying? Obviously I generalise and not all politicians are the same, but it does seem that those who are enticed by power and wealth the most are those who are more likely to compromise morality in order to achieve it. It is commonly known that there is a much higher proportion of psychopathy among bosses of corporations than among the general population for example. But of course in politics, showing this ruthless desire for power and influence would not achieve the necessary votes. Thus, a certain amount of deception is essential for those at the more narcissistic end of the spectrum to succeed.

I have heard that there are two sliding scales within personality; 'directive v friendly' and 'analytical v expressive.' Potential politicians have to appear to be friendly to get the votes but are more likely to be directive in order to be attracted to the role in the first place. I wonder if this may even come right down to the level where we might expect a pub landlord or landlady to sit chatting to us because he / she has to appear friendly to customers, but he / she may in fact be just thinking about the business and not really interested in what we have to say at all - directive thinking i.e. working towards a specific aim.

Moving up to the pathological level, it is often quoted that around 1% of the population are psychopaths and around 4% are narcissists. These are two significantly different things but a lack of empathy is consistent in both. Thus, 5% of people are not going to play by the accepted norms of society if they can get away with it.

Have you ever encountered somebody you just cannot reason with? No matter how hard you try to tailor your arguments to suit their outlook they simply will not give an inch or concede any common ground in a debate. For them a debate is not about thrashing things out and finding some kind of solution; it is merely about prolonging the debate and staying rock solid. Of course this doesn't achieve much, but once again we are assuming that they want to achieve something – a solution to the argument and peace. Perhaps prolonging the argument for entertainment value or attention could be the aim? I am not saying that every time this happens you are dealing with a narcissist, but as I said, not everybody sings from the same hymn sheet.

There is a huge resource of information on narcissism online so I won't explore the subject in depth here. I guess to most of the 95% it is important to what degree the person can control this awkward or ruthless behaviour or whether it is deliberate. As hinted above, it is believed that narcissism is caused by a lack of unconditional love in childhood resulting in a lack of object constancy, which means that people and things are viewed as 'all good' or 'all bad,' and they can alternate between the two within seconds, kind of like that optical illusion where you either see a candlestick or two faces but never both at once. So with this 'black or white' view of the world, I guess a minor comment can feel like a full blown verbal attack and the wounded narcissist reacts as they feel is appropriate. But at the same time does this excuse the disproportionate reaction? Well, this is a deep ethical rabbit hole to go down – to what extent can anybody control who they are?

With most psychopaths I think it could be different, insofar as they may actually enjoy seeing others suffer so there seems to be an element of choice here, but as always there are gradations within both conditions – how the 95% love those shades of grey!

Back to politics (ugh!), it seems that perhaps naively we expect our politicians to be the same as us. We expect their consciences to burn because they couldn't deliver a promise or because they decided to sacrifice the needs of the 'insignificant poor' to do a deal with the rich and influential (legal tax avoidance, anyone?). We expect the rich to realise that they are privileged and pay their taxes without complaint, getting a warm feeling because they are funding the NHS for us mere mortals. We expect leaders to find a compromise solution to the endless spiral of murder that goes on in the Middle East, or any other of the world's hot spots over contested territory. We even expect a solution to the Brexit deadlock!

I guess my conclusion here is a word of warning to us all. Are our fears being exploited in order to get us to vote a certain way that will benefit only the upper echelons of society? Are statistics being quoted correctly? (Please check any statements in my own blogs too – they are only a collection of thoughts based on what I've previously read after all.) Are politicians exploiting the fact that when many people hear terms like 'million' and 'billion' they just think 'large numbers' when the difference between the two is the difference between one day and nearly three years? And Brexit wasn't solved in a day after all. Until next time, happy voting!

UPDATE: My novel "Codename: Narcissus," a psychological tale about narcissism is now available physically on Amazon and digitally on other online stores. Alternatively email hamcopublishing@aol.com for details.

Ashford (Kent) to Deal and Dover - a Cycling Perambulation

Spring is coming but winter wasn't really so bad. February presented us with the hottest winter temperature ever recorded in the UK. Whilst this was very pleasant, it worried me a little because I do wonder what extremes of weather we are unleashing for our descendants. Well, not mine as I don't have any, but you get the point!

Whilst any weather incident is just a single event at a single location, folk on both sides of the climate change debate (perhaps including me) often claim it as evidence for their view. The best way to get an objective view must surely be to be to consult the scientists, and I would recommend a book called 'Our Future Earth' (which was written by a geologist called Curt Stager) for anybody seriously interested in the subject and what is most likely to happen in both the short term and the long term. Personally I think we will pass the often talked about 'point of no return' (if we haven't done so already). After all, when you look at the chaos surrounding one country leaving the EU it is hard to imagine the whole world even agreeing on the science (Mr Trump, anyone?), let alone putting something concrete into action for seven billion people.

By the way, that's a US billion by the way. I heard that our good old British twelve-nought billion was signed out of use by the government in 1974, and as Michael Caine used to say 'Not a lot of people know that!' Hey, let's start a political party and get our Great British numbers back. Anyone else up for the nine-nought milliard, the fifteen-nought billiard and the eighteen-nought trillion? If you're a wealthy city stockbroker I imagine you'd dearly love a game of billiards, but you'll have to settle with playing 'milliards' for now!

Well, I'm actually here to talk about a bike ride. Observing a strong westerly March wind, I decided to let it blow me eastward from Ashford in Kent and see where I ended up, so I set off on along the suburban Hythe Road and cut down past the Hooden on the Hill pub to take the lanes to the village of Wye, passing the old sign in the photograph. At one point I had to lift my bike over a fallen tree which a man was in the process of cutting up with a chainsaw. These winds were serious!

I surprised myself by riding all the way up onto the North Downs past the crown chalk carving which looks out over the Stour Valley. Some walkers cheered me on half way up the climb, and as I came along the top of the ridge by the Devil's Kneading Trough restaurant the side-wind almost blew me onto the grass verge a few times. I continued on through Hastingleigh and walked up a steep hill towards the hamlet of Elmsted, by which time I was deep in the rolling green hills. I turned left and descended into a valley, climbing Dean Hill and continued out to Stone Street, the Roman Road that runs from Lympne to Canterbury.

Beyond this was the village of Stelling Minnis with its many little greens on either side of the road. A 'minnis' in an area of common pasture land, and Stelling Minnis's is one of the last manorial commons in Kent, according to Wikipedia. I then took the lane towards Bridge which descends into an empty valley through the hills and eventually passes a former home of James Bond author, Ian Fleming. However, I turned off a few miles before this and climbed eastward towards Barham. At the top, I was surprised to get a glimpse of the port of Ramsgate around twenty miles away before the lane descended through woodland and then climbed a very steep hill back onto the plateau. The sign said that the gradient was 23%.

Soon I descended to Barham village and the climb past the church and cemetery wasn't so harsh. I crossed the A2 dual carriageway and headed for Snowdown, which lived up to its name as a harsh hailstorm came on and I pedalled like mad to get to the station for shelter. Upon realising that catching the next train involved a two-hour wait I concluded that it would take less time to wait for the sun to return and I continued to Nonington which is really quite picturesque with its thatched roofs.

I had to cut through a copse to get around another fallen tree and the lane eastward was surprisingly hilly but without the dramatic scenery I'd become used to. I was impressed at how well shielded the noise from the A256 was as I approached it, but I had to revise my views about the road's 'great design' when I had to sprint across each carriageway lifting my bike over the central crash barrier to reach the country lane on the other side.

There was a long straight on the next lane and I turned right to head into Northbourne. By now I'd lost my hat and this profoundly annoyed me. I seem to lose a woolly hat every winter, and as I had held onto mine well into March it felt like I'd fallen at the last hurdle. Quelling the annoyance, my idea was to head into the seaside town of Deal via Great Mongeham and catch the train home, but it was a rail replacement bus which means 'no bikes allowed.'

Disorientated, I was tempted to pop into the Sir Norman Wisdom, a Wetherspoons pub named in honour of Deal's most famous resident (although Carry On comedian Charles Hawtrey also lived there), but I eschewed this option and pounded my way along the A258 to Dover instead. This ride was nothing short of gruelling, being nearly all uphill and against the wind with a constant flow of traffic. When I reached Dover I cruised down the steep hill past the castle and headed for the Wetherspoons pub there instead.

I must admit I have become quite a fan of Tim Martin's chain over the years, as you pretty much know what to expect when finding yourself in a town you don't really know, and real ale drinkers seem to make up a considerable part of the target market which has got to be good! The chain is actually named after one of Mr Martin's old teachers who said that he'd never amount to anything. Bringing things full cycle (excuse the pun) the only thing that may cause rancour with some customers is Mr Martin's somewhat outspoken views on that old chestnut, Brexit (he is an impassioned 'no deal outtie'). To be honest I've developed Brexit fever which means turning Jeremy Vine's daily debate off the radio and switching to Classic FM.

All there was left to do for me on my ride was to wander up the High Street and catch the fast train back home. If you want to know what a post-M&S High Street looks like, head for Dover – it's probably coming to a town near you next. High town centre rates? We're all in the same boat. And it's sinking!

Ad break: If you've enjoyed this narrative, there are plenty more in my book 'Stair-Rods and Stars' which documents ten cycling trips in Southern England and can be bought on Amazon (digital format too). Some of my older books can even be downloaded for free.

Desert Island Discs - Singles [Adam's Music Reviews #3]

I recently learned that we refer to a collection of songs as an album because when music was only really available on 78 rpm vinyl records you could only get a few minutes of music on each side of the disc, so when it came to issuing Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite a series of records was required and these were stored in sleeves which could be turned like the pages of a photograph album. The term had been used before, but ultimately this is probably why it caught on.

Well, I've done a couple of blogs on my top ten favourite albums before, but listeners to BBC Radio 4 will of course know that guests on Desert Island Discs are asked to choose individual songs rather than albums, which in many ways is a tougher challenge. On a camping trip with two friends of mine we decided to each treat the others to our personal top five songs courtesy of an iPod docking station which is now as essential as food and beer on such trips. It is probably not so surprising that the top two of my similar aged friend were identical to mine. It was either reaffirmation or proof of a lack of imagination for both of us. Either way, I make no apologies for the rock leanings of my choices. Whilst I appreciate many kinds of music, I guess certain criteria like a rhapsodic nature and a searing guitar solo will generally nail it for me.

10) Kings of Leon – Slow Night So Long (2004) This was the first Kings of Leon song I ever heard, a little behind the times in 2007, while sitting on a railway station with a personal CD player. Having pretty much given up on modern music I wasn't expecting much, but by the time I got to the full on 'whatever it is' at the end of the first verse with its stubbornly unusual drum rhythm I knew this band were something different. The track contains a hidden tune at the end which shows the Kings in a much more laid back frame of mind. All these years later the band are a regular soundtrack to the aforementioned camping trips and I can even understand Caleb Followill's vocals.

9) Oasis – Masterplan (1995) Originally just a B side to the Wonderwall single, I would declare this to be a far superior song that gets only a fraction of the airplay. Noel Gallagher handles the vocal of this ballad which begins in a minor key expressing confusion and alternates with a major key chorus stating 'All we know is that we don't know.' The backwards guitar solo is no doubt a nod to their Liverpudlian heroes, as is the reference to Ringo Starr's 'Octopus's Garden' recited in a slightly silly voice at the end.

8) Dire Straits – Private Investigations (1982) I first heard this brooding classic on the Radio 1 top 40 chart run-down when I was seven years old. Mark Knopfler's lyrics and vocal delivery are slightly menacing sounding with some succulent Spanish style guitar runs. Once the words 'private investigations' are uttered half way through, the mysterious ambience is unleashed for several more tense minutes.

7) The Beatles – While my Guitar Gently Weeps (1968) George Harrison's finest song in my opinion, although I cannot claim to having heard all of his solo work. This White Album track includes Eric Clapton as a guest for the weeping guitar solo to augment George's lyrics expressing the frustration that any thinking person will have about humanity's behaviour. This seems to be a message that is more urgent than ever today, yet I have a sneaking suspicion that George was channelling his frustration about his bandmates at this time as much as anything.

6) Queen – The Show Must Go On (1991) It is surprising that the lyrics were as much Brian May's creation as Freddie Mercury's at a time when he was literally staring death in the face. Here Freddie gives the 'life is all a show' theme all he can muster, perhaps knowing that it is virtually his final chance, while Brian May whips off one of his most evocative solos. It doesn't get much more dramatic.

5) Lynyrd Skynyrd – Free Bird (1973) The guitar hero's favourite. This nine-minute track begins as a ballad with some gentle slide guitar with lyrics about a wish to keep moving on. Upon reaching the conclusion of being unable to change, the duelling guitar solos illustrate the metaphor of the bird breaking free. The whole band then go full tilt for almost six minutes of frenetic soloing. Each time you think it can't get any more intense the string-bends move up the fretboard a little further.

4) The Beatles – A Day in the Life (1967) I remember listening to this as a teenager on a Walkman in my grandparents' bedroom and thinking 'This is scary sounding. I'm never taking drugs!' This, the closing track to Sgt Pepper sees John Lennon pitying those whose lives he views as dull and unenlightened before an orchestral riot leads to McCartney's jaunty bridge, a little like the hurricane taking Dorothy to the Land of Oz. Lennon's lugubriousness has the final say before the orchestral chaos leads to one of the longest notes in rock music, hammered out on five pianos simultaneously if I remember rightly. Even the Beatles couldn't really top this for ingenuity.

3) Queen – Bohemian Rhapsody (1975) A superbly crafted classic that never grows stale. The first time I heard this was on the bus going to school. I thought 'What a depressing song!' How things change. Bo Rhap opens with feelings of regret gradually building into a whirlpool of despair with Brian May's solo leading into the operatic middle section which perhaps represents madness taking over or even fear of hell. Then the rocking finale breaks out as if to say that the music is even bigger than all of that. Yet, Freddie Mercury's melancholic vocal has the final word, before the gong at the end seals his character's fate.

2) Pink Floyd – Comfortably Numb (1979) A rare writing collaboration between David Gilmour and Roger Waters. The verse and chorus are a vocal duel between Waters trying to coax the central character out of his apathy and Gilmour declaring that all is fine in his fantasy world. The first guitar solo sets the tone before Dave Gilmour lets rip properly for the dramatic conclusion. Nick Mason's cymbals hammer out the devastation just for good measure at the end. The track fades just a bit too early in my opinion, but maybe it's best to leave us wanting more.

1) Led Zeppelin – Stairway to Heaven (1971) So good that I even walked down the aisle to the opening strains of this song. This begins in a quiet folky style and gradually picks up the pace and volume. John Bonham picks up his drumsticks about half way through and eventually Jimmy Page's guitar solo takes it into another dimension. Then, just when you think there's no way they are going to top that, Robert Plant gives it the full power vocal treatment as a crescendo. The lyrics are ambiguous enough that you can make it about anything you want. For me it seems to be about making choices in life, so it seemed perfectly fitting as a wedding song.

And here are a few tracks that nearly made the top ten:

The Animals - House of the Rising Sun (1964) An impassioned lament for a wasted life. A much older song recorded by Woody Guthrie among others, which appeared with this tune on Bob Dylan's debut album before the Animals took it to number one.

Procol Harum – A Whiter Shade of Pale (1967) A gibberish classic (which the Beatles might have even topped with I Am The Walrus), and the instrumental B side, Repent Walpurgis, is just as good.

Gerry Rafferty – Baker Street (1978) Irascibly, I include this one for the impassioned guitar solo which grabs you every time, rather than the much loved saxophone part.

Rolling Stones – Gimme Shelter (1969) This moody sounding track opens the Let it Bleed album and only narrowly pips You Can't Always Get What You Want for me, which is the track that closes it.

The Kinks - Waterloo Sunset (1967) Ray Davies' wistful song is evocative of gazing out over the Thames. This was one of the first songs I took proper notice of when aged about five, playing taped 'hand me down' records with a friend who lived across the road from me.

If you want a second Pink Floyd choice I'd go for The Great Gig in the Sky. If you want a second Led Zeppelin choice I'd go for Since I've Been Loving You. For Oasis try Champagne Supernova. For Kings of Leon maybe Arizona. For the Beatles just buy all their albums and listen to the whole lot! The photograph is of course where it all began in Liverpool's legendary Cavern Club.

And finally, just for sheer musicality a couple of proggy ones: Try Mockingbird by Barclay James Harvest for two of the most surprising orchestral chords in a rock song (after a superb build up) and then try 'Starless' from King Crimson's 'Red' album. If you don't appreciate this one during the middle building up section then we're definitely singing from different hymn sheets!

STOP PRESS: The musical musings and humour continue in '2021: A Musical Odyssey' - now available in digital and paperback formats.

Desert Island Books - a Personal Choice

I was recently challenged to pick ten of my favourite books via Facebook. As always, this seemed a good opportunity to do a blog, and I've decided to pick five fiction and five non-fiction tomes for my selection. These are in no particular order. Here goes...

1) 1984 – George Orwell (1949) – I originally read this for my GCSE English course at school. The ideas of the book have permeated into society so much that we don't even notice them, such as Big Brother representing the surveillance state and Room 101 being somewhere tortuous. These two phrases have even given their names to television programmes, of which I infinitely prefer the latter. As we sign up for million-page user agreements that nobody reads, granting technology companies access to literally everything, the book serves as a timely reminder that the route we are on may not be the wisest. Often perceived as being purely about communism, the author intended to satirise any totalitarian state, and this could equally mean complete control by the money men. A scary book for teenagers at least.

2) Brave New World – Aldous Huxley (1932) – This dystopian novel was written fifteen years before Orwell's vision. Here, society is divided into groups based on intelligence, and intelligence is governed at birth by the deliberate provision or starvation of oxygen. I've no idea if this is scientifically possible, but the main point is that an ignorant savage is perhaps more free than intelligent people living in such a controlled society. More warnings for our technology obsessed era, and the book seems to prompt the question: just because somebody has the luck to be more intelligent, does that give them the right to a better life?

3) Gone With the Wind – Margaret Mitchell (1936) – Some of the notions in this book may make us shudder these days, but I guess the author was trying to show that the ideology of the American Civil War wasn't as clear cut as we find comfortable to believe. The book is divided into two halves and after the first half one presumes that most of the action is over, but this is not the case. All in all, we have a stinging morality tale where the narcissistic central character, Scarlett O'Hara, gets her just desserts. Frankly my dear...

4) The Shining – Stephen King (1977) – Having loved Stanley Kubrick's film for many years I didn't imagine that the book could be even better, although I knew that it was certainly different. Here we get glimpses into Jack Torrance's past, providing clues about the real-life demons that gradually turn him into the familiar psychopath from the film. The book also focuses a lot more on his son's supernatural 'gift.'

5) The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde (1890) – Coming up with a fifth fiction choice was tricky as there are just so many options, but this was one of the first 'classics' I read. The book opens with a collection of witticisms about art (which is always a good start) before plunging into the story where a man's debauched life merely ages a portrait of himself rather than his physical body. Deemed shocking in its time, the only part that drags is the chapter where the author seems to relentlessly list the physical aspects of various expensive items, but I guess that's creativity for you.

6) Notes from a Small Island – Bill Bryson (1995) – This book has to be included as it inspired me to start writing myself. Other amusing UK travel books had been written before, such as Tom Vernon's 'Fat Man on a Roman Road,' but this one seemed to jack up the humour giving a more diary-like feel to things, with a tone of indignation ('Where the **** is my sustenance?') mingling with the factual discoveries. Sadly my own attempts at the genre were completely blanked by the literary world and those dreadful bookshops beginning with 'W,' and I will forever cower in the shadows of this leviathan.

7) Revolution in the Head – Ian Macdonald (1994) – A must read tome for Beatles fans, although I often disagree with the author's views, for example he is quite disparaging of the White Album (my favourite). Nevertheless, his thoughts on the individual Beatles' outlooks as expressed through the lyrics, production and chord structures that he analyses is second to none. The writing is almost as prosaic as the songs at times and some of his phrases make me laugh out loud, such as describing Maxwell's Silver Hammer as 'sniggering nonsense' for example. Sadly the author committed suicide, and the generally dour prologue about soulless modern music in a vacuous era is perhaps a clue.

8) Journey into the Whirlwind – Eugenia Ginzburg (1967) – Translated from the original Russian edition, this is a harrowing account of a communism supporting journalist who fell foul of Stalin's brutal paranoia. I literally couldn't put this book down as I followed Eugenia from a comfortable life into the jaws of hell, torn from her family, plunged into prison and then exiled to a remote labour camp where death is pretty much guaranteed. Like 1984, another shocking lesson from history, except this one is for real.

9) A Brief History of Time – Stephen Hawking (1988) – I could include several more mind-blowing books from the popular science genre such as The Never Ending Days of Being Dead by Marcus Chown, but this is the one that really brought astrophysics to the masses in a palatable way, touching on human concerns such as our place in the universe, freedom of choice and the familiar question of 'why are we here?' The opening section on the fundamentals of astronomy is pretty easy going, but keep pressing on to the particle physics and you'll realise that the universe is far more bizarre than you ever imagined. Also worth trying is The Last Three Minutes by Paul Davies.

10) Status Anxiety – Alain de Botton (2004) – We finish with the most modern book on this list. We live in a world that seems hell-bent on making us feel bad about ourselves and the fight-back starts here. There is nothing particularly revelatory, but this book certainly reminds us that there are many other ways of looking at things. He looks at the issue through everything from religion to art and creativity, and if none of that works, the fact that we are all going to end up six feet under might be the reality injection of choice. If you enjoy this, 'Happiness' by Richard Layard and 'Happy' by Derren Brown both seem to sing from a similar hymn sheet; the first looks at economics while the second focuses on psychology.

Well, that's ten for you. Don't forget new unknown authors too. If you fancy a collection of hopefully mind-blowing short stories that pre-dated TV's Black Mirror anthology, try a download of Adam Colton's 'Conundrum' stories (published as two paperbacks in 2009 and 2011), or if you fancy some humorous UK travel, Stair-Rods & Stars / Mud Sweat & Beers will appeal to walkers, cyclists and campers, while England and Wales in a Flash / Bordering on Lunacy will appeal to lovers of the coast. Physical copies are available on Amazon, but sadly you won't find them on the shelves of the High Street bookshops, although they can order them for you. If they say they can't, hit them over the head with an ISBN catalogue! Unlike the Murphy's...

Norwich & Marriott's Way - a Cycling Perambulation

My first cycling trip away this year took place in June, when I decided to explore the disused railway lines of Norfolk. The £58 price of a return to Norwich from Kent surprised me, especially as I'd saved no small sum by breaking the ticketed journey in half at Manningtree in order to use a railcard. Oh, the arcane ways of the railways! When I reached Stratford domestic station an announcement incessantly repeated 'Would Inspector Sans please go to the operations room immediately.' There were some emergency announcements too which they then announced were only a test and that there was no need to evacuate. This made me wonder if the incessantly repeated sentence was merely a coded warning to staff of a potential 'real life' emergency, made nonsensical so as not to panic the passengers.

I changed trains at Colchester and unusually a girl asked if I wanted a burger heated up. I've never tried a cold one, but if this is a delicacy in Essex, so be it! I was impressed upon my arrival in Norwich, as the stately station building seemed like a mini version of Lime Street Station in Liverpool. I headed up towards the castle mound, which was quite an incline for the relatively flat county of Norfolk, eventually getting my bearings to pick up the Marriott's Way Heritage Trail, a 26-mile loop named after the chief engineer of the Midland and Great Northern Joint Railway, William Marriott. Apparently M&GN was nicknamed 'muddle and go nowhere' by passengers.

My route passed over the River Wensum on a footbridge and there was a short footpath section through the former railway station at Hellesdon. The scenery was much more diverse than I'd expected, having previously found the western part of Norfolk to be flatter than your average pancake.

At the village of Drayton, Station Road was signed as private, so I took a V-shaped course via the village centre which was very pretty. Initially Marriott's Way continued via a wooded cutting. The bridge over the dual carriageway A1270 marked the half way point to Reepham (pronounced 'reefam') according to the sign. It was then very wooded, with a parallel lane to the right. I stopped for a rest and a guy in a van nearby had a woman's voice on loudspeaker; it was very loud indeed and I wondered if the caller realised she was being broadcast. In this age of data protection perhaps the driver had a duty to inform her!

Beyond was a long wooded descent. There was a detour near Attlebridge where a station is now private. The route still seemed rural when passing industry and an old man gave me a good old fashioned 'how do?' at one point. I soon came to Whitwell and Reepham Station where there is half a mile of restored line. I got a Guinness at the bar and sat on a bench while a group of motorcyclists met up. There is much for the rail enthusiast here. The trail beyond to Reepham itself via the big loop of Themelthorpe had a rougher surface and I read somewhere that this bend that linked two different lines was once the sharpest on the UK network.

I detoured into Reepham, which had a quaint village centre, to use the shop. I then consumed three quarters of a pork pie and an iced coffee drink in the churchyard which once contained three churches. Two remain and appear joined together.

I took a back-street back up to Marriott's Way and then rode the last six miles to Aylsham via Cawston. Aylsham has a very nice market square, and naturally I called into a pub to write up these notes. World Cup football was on TV and a band were setting up and winding wires around a young lady who seemed to be getting in their way. With 'Knocking on Heaven's Door' as a sound-check, my attention was diverted from Ronaldo and chums, although most folk resolutely kept their eyes on the ball.

Upon leaving I walked through the churchyard and got a spring roll in a Chinese restaurant. I then biked to a wood to the south of the town via a suburban cycle way and across a field on a footpath. It was a very comfortable place to camp and I had a brief territorial wander before getting into the sleeping bag.

I awoke at 5.30am. Natural light seems to restore me to a lark's sleeping pattern from the annoyingly impractical owl's hours that I usually gravitate towards. I got up at about 6.30 and rode back to Aylsham town centre, picking up the Bure Valley path which runs beside a narrow gauge railway. This reminded me of the Romney Hythe & Dymchurch railway in Kent, and path and rails share the track bed amenably, unlike the two pigeons that were fighting furiously on a bank. I was unable to intervene in an 'Oi, you two, cut it out!' kind of way as the rails were between me and warring birds. As it leaves the town, the line goes through the only railway tunnel in Norfolk. The path goes over the top.

This path was narrower than yesterday's trail and rougher. There had been a light shower while I was in the sleeping bag, but now it came on quite strong. I headed for the top of a cutting and set my tarpaulin up, preparing for the worst, but it soon eased and I was on my way again.

The route presented me with a long slow climb via Coltishall to Hoveton & Wroxham Station. The main line joins just before the station and there is a book shop on the platform of the narrow gauge station. I found my way to the centre of Hoveton which was awash with tourists and headed for a pub to consume the obligatory breakfast in a conservatory, looking out towards the Broad. After a visit to the tourist info centre, I decided to head for the small village of Spixworth. Crossing the Broad via a bridge, I was then in Wroxham and I had to use the pedestrian crossing to disrupt the endless flow of cars in order to get across the main road onto Church Lane. Eventually, I found myself on a track which became quite bleak and open. Once back on lanes, I phoned my friend Simon Crow, a very nice chap who writes exceedingly gruesome horror novels; he lives in Norwich. I waited for his arrival on a bench in Spixworth, just a few miles north of the city. His fiancée, drove us to a pub about a mile up the road which looked more rustic than the nearest alehouse. The conversation couldn't have been too excruciating as I was kindly given a lift back too!

Reunited with my bike, I continued west along the lanes via Horsham St Faith and Horsford, where I picked up Dog Lane, which turned into another bridleway and became quite rutted through an evergreen forest. It then detoured south to the dual carriageway A1270 and I rode the parallel path. I eventually branched off northward into another wood on a byway. There was a steep climb which I walked up; I wasn't expecting to be relegated to Shanks' pony at all in Norfolk, but this climb was of the 'no messing' variety. The path then continued next to a fenced off compound and went across the middle of a field, more like a footpath than a byway by now, but legal to ride I hasten to add.

I used the lane to get to Attlebridge, but was devastated to find nothing there as I was tired and thirsty. I'm not sure why I am always so surprised to find this! In desperation, I pounded along the main road to the next village - Lenwade. The garage shop was just closing, but just as I thought my ride was descending into farce or starvation, I found a pub a bit further up the road. I had a pint of lemonade and a Cromer crab with salad and warm bread. The landlord was lively and welcoming and the gents' loos were outside (very 'retro').

I then rode down to the common, but it wasn't common enough as the gates were locked, so I headed up a lane back to Marriott's Way and turned east in search of a place to camp. After a few miles I decided to camp at the top of a cutting. As I settled down, I heard a noise which I was a bit worried could be a tree creaking as a large trunk had fallen nearby.

I was back in 'owl mode' as I snoozed until 8.45 the next day, when I packed up and headed east on the cycle way. When I got to Drayton I headed for a café. It was very busy so it took a quite a long time to get each of my two pots of tea, but they gave me extra items with my breakfast which was delicious with black pudding and scrambled egg. Sorry vegans.

I then rode the remaining miles to Norwich, riding a bit of the river path from the end of the trail and chaining my bike up by the bus stops near the cathedral. A young man was going ballistic on his phone at some poor unfortunate soul – not the best intro to the city for me! Eventually I met up with Simon again and he explained to me that there seem to be more 'characters' in Norwich on Sundays than the rest of the week, before showing me the market square where I think I can remember buying a book on interpreting dreams when I was thirteen. Thirty years later they still make little sense but I view them more like free entertainment.

After a visit to a café which seemed church-like inside, we walked up to the castle on top of its mound and had a brief look at the two main shopping centres before gravitating towards a Wetherspoons pub. My father is something of an enthusiast of these pubs; I have yet to come near to his tally but usually relish visiting a branch of the chain that he's yet to discover. Our final place to visit was the cathedral with the grave of Edith Cavell outside. Edith was a British nurse who saved lives on both sides during World War I but was sentenced to death by firing squad for helping 200 Allied prisoners escape from German-occupied Belgium. Not quite on a level with crossing borders to flee a country, my journey home was nevertheless epic, starting at 5pm, with me finally walking through the door of my home just before midnight. This was largely due to some high jinks involving throwing things onto the electric cables. High jinks; low IQ. I had a notion of wanting to visit Colchester, but I didn't mean sitting for two hours on the station in the hope that a train might eventually come along. The café stayed open late to accommodate the masses and consequently saved my sanity. Well, the can of Guinness did at least!

If you enjoy reading the write ups of these trips, there are plenty more to read about in my book, 'Stair Rods and Stars.' The digital editions of most my books are now free, so why not have a look on Kindle, iBooks, etc. and go 'the full cycle?'

Desert Island Albums - 2018 [Adam's Music Reviews #2]

A few years ago I wrote a kind of 'Desert Island Discs' for this blog, listing ten of my all time favourite albums. As I was recently nominated on Facebook to do exactly this, I thought I'd post an updated list. I say updated; as you'll see the centre of gravity seems to be about 1971! The first three albums and descriptions are the same as in my 2013 list, being perennial favourites, whilst those further down the list are works that I've come to appreciate more since I last blogged about this. In keeping with the BBC Radio 4 'Desert Island Discs' tradition, I have made sure one classical album is included, replacing Beethoven's 3rd Symphony (from last time) with a bit of Gershwin. The musical musings and humour continue in '2021: A Musical Odyssey' - now available in digital and paperback formats.

Pink Floyd – The Dark Side of the Moon (1973). 'Money' is about the only song on this album which receives regular airplay (usually edited because of the rude word), but the album spent 6 consecutive years on the UK album chart. All human life is explained in the lyrics. 'Time' is particularly apt. If I had to pick a second PF album it would be a tough choice between 'The Wall' and the totally bonkers 'Ummagumma'.
[High point for me: the segue from Time into Breathe (Reprise)]

The Beatles – White Album (1968). The sequel to Magical Mystery Tour (which in turn followed Sgt Pepper). On this album, the Beatles did whatever they felt like with no constraints towards commercialism. Styles vary from folk to Charleston to country and western to heavy metal, and 'Revolution 9' simulates the effect of waking up during a series of bizarre dreams, before Ringo lulls us back to sleep with 'Good Night'.
[High point for me: the segue from '...Bungalow Bill' into 'While my Guitar Gently Weeps' (George's finest)]

Bob Dylan – Bringing It All Back Home (1965). Lyrically I think this is Dylan's masterpiece. You've got 'Mr Tambourine Man' and 'Subterranean Homesick Blues', but for me the highlight is the verbal deluge of 'It's alright Ma, I'm Only Bleeding'. This album is half folk and half rock – both sides of Mr Zimmerman's oeuvre. For a second Dylan choice, 1996's 'Time Out of Mind' comes close, but so do about ten others!

Rolling Stones – Sticky Fingers (1971). The Stones emerged from their brief dabble with psychedelia with what I regard to be their three finest albums; Beggars Banquet, Let it Bleed and this one. Opening with Brown Sugar, which amazingly still gets radio airplay in these more politically correct times, the classics keep on coming. Wild Horses heralded further 70s ballads, but it is the extended jam of 'Can You Hear Me Knocking?' which really highlights the band's musicality. The final four tracks show that even at their most decadent, the Stones could be amazingly mellow. The album's conclusion, 'Moonlight Mile,' is a little-known classic that deserves regular airplay. Great for sitting round a campfire!

Led Zeppelin III – (1970). Whilst 'IV' had the all-time classic (Stairway to Heaven) and the world's most sampled drumbeat (When the Levee Breaks), 'III' is an album of two halves. The first half opens with the archetypal Zeppelin of Immigrant Song and includes the 7-minute blues epic 'Since I've been Loving You' as well as 'Out on the Tiles' (similar to 'Good Times, Bad Times' from the first album), but it is the relaxed folky second half that surprises, particularly Tangerine and That's The Way. Great for sitting round a camp-... oh I've done that one!

David Bowie – The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972). In younger days, I was a bigger fan of this album's predecessor, Hunky Dory, for it's eclecticism and Rick Wakeman's piano playing. However, for pure escapism, 'Ziggy' is a masterpiece. The first three tracks run together like a trilogy, as do the final three. The filling is equally good. Bowie starts out theatrically with Five Years and Mick Ronson's soaring guitar solos excel throughout. It's a bold statement, but this album provides a rare glimpse of something beyond the mundane.

Travis – Good Feeling (1997). I saw Travis perform as a warm-up band before they were famous and dismissed them as 'Oasis wannabes.' I was wrong. 'The Man Who...' gets all the plaudits, but this was the group's raw debut. Like so many on this list, it's an album of two halves. 'All I Want to do is Rock' is a simple, yet rousing opener and 'Tied to the Nineties' sums up how we may have felt at the time about what now seems to have been a 'classic' decade. The love songs come thick and fast at the end. Travis have never seemed so impassioned since, although once they unplugged the guitars and found a formula, they would achieve stardom.

The Kinks – Muswell Hillbillies (1971). The Kinks' 'Arthur' album of 1969 has never been far from my CD player, but just a couple of years later came this little-known classic. The songs are something of a catalogue of disorders, dealing with alcoholism, anorexia and anxiety (and that's just the 'A's), but the subjects are always dealt with humorously, and Ray Davies even recommends a good old fashioned cure for all – 'have a cup of tea!' A folky feel pervades and sadly the pub that appears on the album cover is now in a state of disrepair. The opening track sums it up; it starts quietly, when the drums kick in they never sounded better and then it builds to Ray's deranged shout of 'I'm a 20th century man but I don't wanna be here.' Brilliant!

Photo: Myself outside the Archway Tavern which features on the album cover.

John Lennon – Plastic Ono Band (1970). Before we got the 'John as a saint' persona (which he never courted), we had this – a raging diatribe against all society's norms. This would have been something as a shock for those who remember the Beatles as lovable clowns from their early years. Working Class Hero is a classic, although I would advise a '12' certificate if you have kids. 'Look at Me' is a very nice introspective acoustic track, and in case anybody was hoping for a continuation of the Beatles career, John laments 'The dream is over' on the penultimate track. After some activism, John would settle into family life before his tragic demise, and comparing the relaxed feel of his final songs with this album is like comparing chalk and cheese.

George Gershwin – Piano Concerto in F / Rhapsody in Blue / An American in Paris (1924-1928). The version I have features Daniel Blumenthal on piano and may have even been the first classical album I appreciated. 'Piano concerto in F' always returns fatalistically to the same dramatic orchestral chord, with variations that include the bluesy second movement and a high-speed summary of all that went before (the third movement). An American in Paris includes the orchestrated sound of car horns before mellowing into its more famous romantic theme, and Rhapsody in Blue has an opening that is perhaps second only to 'Beethoven's fifth' when it comes to fame, but entertains with around twenty minutes of piano dominated themes.

Thoughts on Dream Phenomena

Apologies to those who enjoy the cycling narratives, etc. They will return as soon as the weather picks up. For now, I'm continuing with the 'psychology' theme of my last blog.

I've been interested in dream phenomena since a very young age. One of the first dreams I remember involved thinking I'd woken up in my bedroom aged about 7, only to find various animals appearing in my room, at first as a faint outline and then vividly. In the end, I got out of bed and went to open the door to the landing, only to hear my mother's voice say, “Don't come out. There's snakes out here.” Then I woke up.

How many childhood stories end with that twist? - Alice in Wonderland for a start! In fact, I recall being told at school that this was a kind of 'cop out' cliché ending to give a story when you don't know how to finish it. Well, it worked for Lewis Carroll.

I guess the opposite of the phenomenon of thinking you have woken up when you are still dreaming is what is known as 'lucid dreaming' - when one becomes aware of being in a dream. The natural reaction is to try to wake yourself up, but this invariably seems to fail. After a while, you realise that the best thing to do is to go with the flow and try to manipulate the dream itself for your own entertainment.

My grandfather used to state emphatically that he never dreamed at all, in spite of the impossibility of this, and indeed, for those who don't even remember their dreams such phenomena will sound almost like having a fight with your own mind. I remember as a child having lucid dreams and thinking I was forcing my eyelids open with my fingers, when of course I was laying motionless all along.

In later years, I used to have a similar experience on a regular basis, thinking I'd got out of bed to put the light on, only to find that I was still in total darkness. This was normally the give-away that it was a dream, so rather than panic, I used to open the patio doors and go for a wander around the village where I lived, until my brain was ready to wake me up. Of course, I had not left the safety of the bed in reality.

Winding the clock back to childhood, I remember staying at my grandparents' house and seeing a pneumatic drill being used in a dream while I was there, only to wake up and realise that the sound was in fact my alarm clock going off. My grandparents used to have a 'teasmade' (basically an alarm clock that wakes you up with a cup of tea) and perhaps I heard the kettle boiling while in a dream-state when I dreamed that I could see the tea infusing within the teapot! In both cases, it amazed me how quickly the brain can incorporate an external sound into a dream. In fact, what can seem like hours in a dream is really just a matter of seconds.

This may be because the dream contains the important moments of a sequence of events but not all the boring stuff in between. A dream tends to flick between one event and another more like a film does, rather than playing out an actual 'minute for minute' timeline. The Christopher Nolan film 'Inception' makes good use of this time distortion factor by creating months of time by means of a dream within a dream within a dream within... you get the idea!

Lucid dreams can be particularly fun when you're trying to prove to yourself that you're in a dream by catching your brain out. For example, trying to find the answer to a question that you know nothing about. This could mean picking up a book on an unfamiliar subject and trying to read it, or having a conversation with somebody who is supposed to be an expert on a topic that you know little or nothing about.

A lot of these ideas ended up in some of the stories in my Conundrum anthology, from somebody being stuck in a dream and unable to wake up to another character who invents a machine that can record dreams and ends up unable to distinguish them from reality. It's free to download from most online retailers if you fancy some unusual stories with a (usually dreamlike) twist.

One particularly disturbing experience is sleep paralysis. This occurs when a person is partially asleep and partially awake. Thus, the paralysis that stops a person from acting out their dreams is in full effect but the brain is active.

Far more scary sounding than it actually is is something called 'exploding head syndrome.' This seems to occur in a half-asleep, half-awake state, and involves hearing all kinds of explosions or loud sounds that seem to be coming from within the brain. It's a real thing (see Wikipedia) – I personally experience it sometimes when I first drop off to sleep and the sound normally resembles rushing waves over a high pitched ringing. Sounds bizarre? It is - not my idea of fun at all!

A more common parasomnia (occurrence within sleep) is somnambulism or sleep-walking. I had a brief dalliance with this in my teenage years. I used to wake up during the experience at the opposite end of the room to the bed, disorientated. When I got my first job of cleaning windows, I even woke up finding myself attempting to clean a non-existent window in my wooden bedroom door.

As you can see, I've had a lot of these experiences and I'm not sure if it's simply a case that if you suffer from fairly poor sleep you're more inclined to 'get the lot.'

But why dream at all?

The most sensible theory I've encountered is that dreams merely occur while the brain is filing away information from the preceding day. This would make sense to me – when we sleep badly, we cope pretty poorly with things – perhaps the brain is just in a state of confusion, like a teenager's bedroom. And you're expecting it to find solutions in that kind of chaos?!

What we experience as dreams mostly occur during periods of rapid eye movement (REM), where the eyes move around beneath the eyelids as if the dreamer was awake. This is one of five stages of sleep which vary from shallow to deep, with REM sleep as a kind of fifth 'bonus' stage.

All in all, I think remembering dreams adds a dimension to life that many are not even aware of. How much creativity has been inspired by dreams for example, from music to literature, and from films to art? The bible is filled with dream stories, so it would seem that the ancient people were far more interested in these night-time adventures than most folk are today. It's true that people believed that dreams contained premonitions, a view that few would share today, but this isn't to say that dreams have nothing to offer the dreamer at all.

The brain can often find solutions to problems while it's doing its filing, and the dreamer merely has to ask what the specific things within the dream mean to them personally and join up the dots. Sometimes the idea is helpful; other times just 'bleeding obvious.' I used to often dream of travelling on a train, only to find that there were no rails beneath it and then later there was no train at all – I was just walking along a disused track-bed. It seems fairly obvious to me that this implies a lack of a clear direction or a sense of not reaching any particular destination fast. Thankfully I don't have that dream now, so either I've found a direction or resigned myself to not having one!

Peculiarly, I have noticed that many dreams seem to exist in a time-warp. I hardly ever dream of being at my current home, or even the one before that. Time and time again, my dreams seem to take place in my parents' house (pre-2000) or my grandparents' house (pre-1997). My old jobs also seem to feature quite heavily too. I wonder if the experiences of early life merely have a greater impact on the mind and therefore the brain interprets everything through these memories.

Another thing with dreams is that the brain never seems to accurately replicate a real-life location. Normally the dreamer just accepts what the brain is presenting as reality, but upon waking realises that the scene was pretty far off the mark. I guess these dreamscapes are like the vaguely familiar pictures that the mind conjures up when imagining a location in a book - generally our personal idea of what is being described roughly takes on features of familiar places. I also find that people rarely look the same in dreams and that often a person can morph into somebody else completely half way through the dream without me even realising. Yet conversely, I find that music sounds astonishingly real in dreams, as do recognisable voices.

Whilst dreams are often dismissed as having little value these days, it does seem to me as though they give us a glimpse of how the brain actually works in interpreting the real world. On that thought, I'll let John Lennon have the final word on the matter, with a line from what is perhaps his most popular song (Imagine); - “People say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.”

Indeed, there are over seven billion others.

STOP PRESS: Adam Colton's short novel 'The Dream Machine (Labyrinth of Dreams' was released in 2020. It is a psychological sci-fi tale concerning a machine that can record dreams.