No interesting blogs recently. Instead, why don't you apologize to a cow?

Maybe it's the warm weather, or a recent lull in my motivation to work on uber-cool new web projects (having worked on rather a lot of them recently), but in the last few days I've been considering the pros, cons and practicalities of going home to Trinidad.

Why do I want to leave London?

Well, I don't really. Or at least, nothing is pushing me to leave. I like my job, my flat, my friends, the city, everything about it really. Especially at the moment -- London is wonderful in the summer, when the long evenings mean you have hours of daylight after you leave work to do whatever you fancy. I think it is precisely because I have nothing obviously wrong at the moment, no major short-term hurdle to accomplish, that I'm finding the time to consider longer-term objectives. It's a very human thing, when presented with an easy situation, to seek a new challenge. It's a luxury I don't often have, so indulge me, okay?

Why do I want to go to Trinidad?

Because it's home, in a powerful and unequivocal way that Britain, for all its joys and advantages and attractions and excitement, can never be. Even after more than half a decade here, adopting the idioms and the culture and the fashion and the freedoms of a big, first-world country, it's still a foreign land to me. The people are the wrong colour, their accents are strange, their view of the world comprehensible to me now, but still alien. The land is flat and tame. There are mountains (somewhere), cliffs (I'm told) and gorgeous plains (criss-crossed with neatly-maintained walking paths). But they're not all lumped together, a big crash course in geography like the land of my birth.

And the weather. Do not get me started on the fucking weather.

Trinidad is not just beautiful, it is almost indescribably beautiful. Thinking about it all at once brings a lump to my throat. The way the sun is always there, bright and hot and sharp, twinkling off every surface all the time, not just on good days, not just for two weeks in July. The way every surface and crevice is not just alive but overflowing with life, not just grass but whole trees springing up in weeks, bright green leaves everywhere, the smell of the leaves after the rain, musty and yet fresh at the same time. The mountains of the northern range, the cliffs of the north coast, the islands, the curve of the gulf in the morning from the hill -- it's an amazing place. Small but not too small, and perfectly formed.

The grass seems greener... and it needs cutting

And of course I'm painting too rosy a picture. I forget all the things that are wrong with the country. Crime is high, drugs are everywhere, and the incompetence and corruption of the police is outdone only by that of the politicians running the place. HIV is the leading cause of death for people 15-34. The economy is booming but terribly managed, the infrastructure is appalling, the educational system is not so much failing as failed, the civil service is bloated and the private sector a nest of interlocking cartels, tied together by red tape.

But that is almost part of the draw. I remember being at school, daydreaming of the day when I was older, when I would take charge of the place, force people to be sensible, make the right decisions, fix the place up, fire the right people, hire better people. I remember having the same feelings about the banks, the supermarkets, the shops, the police, the town planners, the utilities, the telecoms industry, and above all the government. We have a bunch of idiots running the place, not George W. Bush style, ideologically-motivated crazy people heading purposefully in the wrong direction, but just idiots, lurching aimlessly from crisis to crisis with no strategy and no apparent long-term goals other than to retire comfortably with the money they've pocketed. This is a country that needs only a few determined, motivated individuals with the right ideas to turn it around, to stop coasting on the oil money that's pouring in and to start fixing things properly, for the long term, preparing for the days when the oil -- and the money -- will dry up again.

The right time, the right people, the right ideas

But is all this still just wishful thinking? I know there are smart people in Trinidad -- in the private sector, here and there in education, in friends who are still there. Why haven't they changed things? Are they trying, and just not getting anywhere? Why, for the love of god, don't they run the place? Any of them are more capable than the bumbling Mr. Manning. Is the system too broken? Are the bad habits too deeply entrenched? Is there no saving Trinbago? I remember the way my faith in my countrymen took a beating in 1990, when we drove past hundreds upon hundreds of people looting the stores, saw the smoke over the capital as downtown burned.

And who am I to think I can make any difference? Some rich-kid whiteboy from the hills who doesn't have a clue about what life is really like for most people? And don't even talk about my personal life -- the kid is a faggot to boot! With my limey accent and my tight clothes and a face far too pale to be taken seriously by voters used to deciding based on skin colour alone, I have no chance of changing things from the top, and would probably find it nearly impossible to advance from the bottom, without making use of the sort of connections that I spend my whole life trying to forget I have.

But there's not just me. There's lots of us. The diaspora of Trinidad is huge -- there are more Trinidadians living illegally in the United States than live in all of Tobago, to say nothing of the legal population, and those who went to the UK or Canada. We're leaving in ever-increasing numbers, faster than we're giving birth -- the population is shrinking. To get out, you have to have the money, and to stay out, you have to have the skills to keep a job in the developed world. So the people who are leaving are, on average, the smartest, richest ones, the ones with the most potential to change things. We do all right in the world outside -- all we have to do is come back.

Above all, the right time

More important than all of the above is the question: is now the right time to move back?

The reason that most makes me want to return to Trinidad is the thought -- the horrifying thought -- of having kids in Britain. Pale, soft, whiny, spoilt little first-world kids with snobbish ideas about class and wealth and status and damaging ideas about what makes you cool, what makes you popular, when's the right time to be having sex, what drugs are a good idea. I know this is alarmist -- I have all these British friends, and they turned out okay, so it must be possible to raise nice kids in Britain.

I want my kids to have the childhood I had. It rocked. There was sunshine, and a big garden, and lots of dogs to play with, and piles of sand and wire and plywood and a roomful of hammers and nails and tape and glue and paint to stick things together and build things, even if they were pointless things, and room to play with them. There was a sea to swim in and sand to build castles out of -- every weekend! There were hills to climb and islands to explore and abandoned houses to poke around in, boats to drive. There were a lot of dangerous, unplanned, sharp, splintery, fast, pointy, sticky, poisonous things too -- painful, but survivable, and formative. Members of my family at this point can barely contain their indignation -- how I hated those things! How I complained about them! How I spent my teenage years indoors glued to a computer! But I didn't realise without them how dull and humdrum a childhood could be, what a lack of perspective you can get when everything is safe and soft and controlled all the time. It is debilitating enough as an adult; it must be terrible for a child.

And now is not the time that I'm going to be having kids, or leaving London for that matter. These are the years I'm having fun and doing everything exciting and new and experiencing the world. And I'm not experienced enough, not skilled enough, not rich enough to parachute myself into the top of some company or institution in Trinidad -- and life when you're not at the top of that pile is a lot harder there than it is here.

Oh, and that other thing

There's also the factor that affects me a little more uniquely than it would another prospective returnee: homophobia. It's not just funny looks and not holding hands on the wrongs streets over there. It's illegal, ridiculous sodomy laws that haven't been enforced in years but remain on the books, forcing gays to remain hidden and speak in code.

But it's just the same push-and-pull situation on a different scale. Things are bad, but I could change them. Maybe that's what I'm the right person to do. And maybe even if I wasn't successful, the mere attempt would be more worthwhile than my job which -- for all I love it -- cannot reasonably be construed as making the world a better place. The Crazy Frog with his tiny digital penis isn't striking any blows for equality.

A London thing

And of course, it's quite possible that I am tarring all of Britain with a London-coloured brush. The simplicity and adventure of an innocent childhood, big gardens and dogs and weekend projects may still be available, out there in some part of the country I've never been to. All those nice children must be coming from somewhere. Maybe there's some big house in a field that in 15 or 20 years time, when I've had a good few years to get the garden in order and really do something interesting with the décor, would feel like home. It's a common enough plan. It's certainly the easier, safer plan.

TBD

I'm not sure what my plan is, yet. I think I'll stay undecided for the moment.

Samuel L. Jackson predicts that Snakes on a Plane will win Best Movie at next year's MTV Movie Awards.

And who are we to argue? The man is Samuel L. Jackson. We are mere mortals.

A powercut. Now there's something you don't expect on a sunny day in central London. Sans electricité, 560 formerly productive members of the IT and media industries suddenly find themselves little more than oxygen consumers, as do all the people in all the offices around us.

Browsing: via a nearby unsecured wireless network
Twiddling: my thumbs
Wondering: if I should go home yet.

For 82 minutes, we were really giving you bastards a run for your money.

I have just eaten a burger for dinner. The footie is on TV.^[1] I am wearing a football t-shirt^[2]. I'm drinking a pint^[3].

This is it, folks. This is as heterosexual as I'm ever likely to get.

[1] England v. Sweden because the Trinidad match isn't on. Fascist programmers! It's on, but I'm actually watching an episode of Family Guy.

[2] Trinidad's, obviously.

[3] Of milk.

I am currently in Kiev with Mikey, and will be until Sunday. Kiev in summer is outstanding, and my gracious hosts are certainly laying on the hospitality. I am taking record numbers of photos of 1950s soviet architecture with which to bore you when I get back. Be warned -- this is going to be even worse than New York, though I may end up being a little more selective.

I have not, prior to this, been much of a world traveller. My gap-year plan to earn money in London then tour India got as far as the earning money in London part. My world travelling consisted mainly of leaving Trinidad and moving to London in the first place. Since then I've been to New York, and very briefly to Paris.

But now I have spoken English only to about 3 people in 3 days and eaten vast quantities of thoroughly novel but very tasty food (Ukrainians seem to share my philosophy that it's not really food unless there's a lot of meat in it somewhere). I'm enjoying myself, but I certainly left my comfort zone somewhere far, far west of here.

I will probably write up some kind of summary at some point, but a few highlights of the trip so far, so as not to forget them:

• On our flight over we sat next to a very friendly and extremely talkative gentleman who turned out to be a really quite senior figure within NATO's division responsible for liaising with politicians and advising upon the political situation in Ukraine -- sort of like finding yourself, on a flight to New York, sitting next to Madelaine Albright. As such, large quantites of extremely high-value gossip were exchanged.
• Lots and lots and lots and lots of deco architecture, especially around the "official" parts of the city
• Mikey's flat is unbelievably plush. Details are being withheld, the better to blackmail him with later
• Andrew's descent is a sort of religious version of Camden Market at a 45 degree angle. Buy your russian dolls here.
• Churches, churches, we got churches. From 9th century through to 19th century and plenty around the 1200 sort of area. Mostly topped off in gold and full of gold stuff.
• A random restaurant out in the country based somewhat oddly on a World War II theme. You'd think you'd base your restaurant theme on something a little less closely associated with starving to death and/or dying of gangrene, but apparently not. Featuring a replica of Michaelangelo's David holding a machine gun.
• Military hardware a big recurring theme.
• Mullets are In
• Capitalism also In. Nokia was holding a gigantic Nokia Quest competition, with loads of sweaty teenagers running around Kiev clutching mobile phones and ending up at a big concert in the centre of the town. That looked like good marketing until, for the price of a few flags and balloons, a local mobile phone company (and a jeans company owned by the same corporation) hijacked the whole affair by sending a gang of guerilla marketers careening through the crowd on roller blades, holding flags and balloons. Awesome, especially as the whole thing was going on in front of a giant Stalinist monument.
• Their underground is way nicer than our underground, featuring marble floors and chandeliers and no advertising (apart from the trains, where they've adopted a rather ad-hoc system of sticking posters to every available flat surface, including the ceiling). Also, they have mobile reception in their underground stations. Calling London Transport! Time for a fact-finding mission to Central Europe!
• Underground catacombs and a gigantic monastery, featuring the coolest museum idea ever. Pictures definitely to follow.
• A gigantic sort of Stalin Theme Park, featuring gigantic brutalist sculpture, a rescued soviet missile, bombers and tanks, not to mention a 200-foot high statue to Motherland made out of, apparently, stainless steel, that makes the Statue of Liberty look like a child's plastic plaything.

In summary: awesome.

Not too much new to report since the last update. We've been on a river tour -- jet skis are much more popular on the Dneper than the Thames -- and seen rather a lot of churches and cathedrals, all of which were pretty cool. Last night we went for a swim at midnight in the pool attached to my host's apartment building, but I'm saving up the details for yet more blackmail opportunities. Suffice to say: button-operated waterfalls are exactly as fun as they sound.

This afternoon we are flying to Kharkov, Ukraine's second city and Mikey's former home town, to meet various (allegedly English-speaking) people and see a bit more of Ukraine beyond the capitalist playground that is Kiev. We will be driving back, to see a bit more of the countryside as well.