Ode to Eminem - 8000 Mile Or.... Mile End Road To HongKong

Ok, see now I was born in Essex

so my papa didnt wear no Rolex,

didnt wear no Jimmy Choos neither,

and mama didnt shop at Gucci either.

Lived in a two up and a two down place,

where the curtains were made of lace,

saving his money for us two kids,

designing those homes under the power grids.

Then one day he went home to my mama

and said..

sit on down and listen to yo papa,

she said..

im listening so you better talk fast,

got our food on the table and it sho wont last.

Well now Mama how would you feel,

using chopsticks with every meal.

livin in a country where it doesnt snow,

and the taxation sho is low,

having servants at your beck and call,

then dancing at the governors ball.

Wotch u talkin bout mama then said,

and why u be messin with my head.

Whats so wrong with this life here,

you been sneaking another beer?

And Papa said i'll tell you why and i'll tell you what,

I want more from my life than what I got...

its stifling, its confining, theres no vestibule,

I want a home where we can play some pool.

Its degrading, its demeaning, i got ambitions ,

I want a career with better conditions.

I ve studied enough and ive worked real hard,

so now I want a life thats more lah de dah.

And Mama said ...

You want a home just to play pool,

and whats this thing called a vest i bule.

After all your studying u is an Arch i tect,

aint my magination but says so on the cer tif i cate.

now you wanna become lah de dah,

eat with ivory sticks and talk blah blah.

Dont you come no up-town honky now,

wheres the money coming from any how?

Doncha be worrying Mama its a done deal

just pack what you can and lets eat that meal.

So the very next week when they paid his fees,

they are in a cabin on the ol high seas.

the people were waving and they were screaming too,

cos the sea was rough and mama was in the loo,

now they never saw waves like those in Essex bay,

so Mama was wishing she had decided to stay.

But the ship was crewed by able bodied men,

and sailed thru the storm at a quarter to ten,

cos see now that boat was made by Italians,

and had the power of Egyptian Stallions.

So across the channel, along them straits,

through the Suez canal with their new mates,

portside out and starboard home, how Posh,

mixing with the other passengers with plenty of dosh,

they sailed from West to East as the weather turned fine,

and made HongKong at a quarter past nine.

Sam pans, tai pans, ferries and junks,

six months in the Repulse Bay Hotel with the kids in bunks,

five stars accomodation only the best,

cos now our Papa was as good as the rest.

Rickshaws, tri shaws, even Run Run Shaws,

and the kids were growing up by the sea shores.

Then we moved in to a bung a low,

mama now with a new kid in tow,

Ah Chew was the cook and Ah Sue was the Amah,

an we all tootling along in a lil red car.

Wasnt long before our papa was given the task,

to design the City Hall, what more could he ask.

So he and his partner used their fine imagination,

and got rewarded for their hard dedication,

and when the Royal Britannia docked for a visit,

Papa designed the decorations and went on board it.

Now while Mama and Papa are drinking a cool lager,

Duke of Edinburgh swats a fly from Papas shoulder.

So Mama turns to Papa and whispers low,

Wow we sure have come along ways you know,

And although you never learned to play pool,

how about getting that vest i bule.

And Papa said... I'll tell you why and I'll tell you what,

Im happy now in the life I've got...

Its exciting, its enlivenin, theres nothing I lack,

i've even got a home with a beach out back.

It's invigorating, it's fulfilling, the life I now lead,

and you got a nursery where the kids learn to read.

Now you dont get to be more lah de dah,

than chatting and eating canapes with a prince blah blah.

Look, I even sound like a right hoity toity,

must be coming from mixing with the hoi poloity.

Anyway who wants a vest i bule,

now ive got my eyes on a swim ming pool.

© Kevin Phillips

My Mama

When I was a little bitty baby,

my Mama done rock me,

well I assume she did, I dont really recall,

cos I was a little bitty baby and not very tall.

And when I wouldnt sleep she done rock me again,

cooing and clucking like a right mother hen,

well I assume those were the noises filtering to my brain,

cos I was a little bitty baby waiting for a name.

Then after I was hungry and at lunch on her right breast,

she done rock again me before putting me down to rest,

Well I assume that was what she felt she had to do,

cos I was a little bitty baby and in need of a poo.

Then after she changed my nappy and pampered round my bum,

she done rock me again, only this time on my tum.

well I assume that was the case but it was really hard to tell,

cos I was a little bitty baby and not feeling very well.

So after she cleared up the mess lying there upon the cot,

she done rocked me again whether i liked it or not.

Well I assume I liked it, I I know it made me laugh,

cos I was a little bitty baby and enjoying my first bath.

Then my Mama done rock me in my pram when she would talk,

to those staring and smiling people we met out on our walk.

well I assume they were smiling it was really hard to see,

cos I was a little bitty baby so what do you expect of me.

When I was a little bitty baby that was my daily ritual,

mama done rocking me becoming quite habitual,

well I assume it was habitual as Mamas rocking me is done,

and now shes waiting patiently, for a grand-son.

© Kevin Phillips 2004

Mombasa or Bust

Now you understand my way of discourse,

you will want to read more of course,

So sit down old friend by my side,

if more stories you can abide.

Twas many years ago come September,

the first time I do remember,

getting on a jet with Tim,

and whatever became of him.

The captain said buckle up one an all,

we is going to Kenya to have a ball,

woo hoo, yee ha and how do you do,

gonna see our mate,

gonna be great.

Landing in Nairobi so high it was cool,

and feeling hungry as a mule,

met James mama and had some brekky,

then it was time to start our trekky.

You never been on a bus quite like this,

soon as it starts they all get off for a wizz.

Women on one side men on the other,

nah, dont think ill even bother.

Will he or wont he, comes the shout,

as we overtake and the bus goes about,

with our passports and monies secured away,`

we bumped and grinded along that day,

and everytime that bus would stop,

we made damn sure nothing of ours was taken from up top.

Through Tsavo and the plains of dust,

we rode that vehicle of pain and rust,

finally we awoke to find,

the driver had the presence of mind,

to set us down in a market place,

far from the beach in his haste.

We walked a little and had a rest,

then shared a bus with babies on the breast,

chickens clucking, piglets squealing,

and most of the time the driver three wheeling.

Asante bwana, far enough,

now the going will get really rough,

a tent on ones back and feeling eager,

we were nearly at our destination Twiga.

Kupiga hema went up the cry,

thats pitch the tent before we can lie,

on a beach with sand so blindingly white,

the crabs couldnt see what they wanted to bite.

This is when you must forgive me my prose,

its like a chorus when i get morose,

It was quite a scene that coast down there,

with plenty of ambiance in the air.

So let me savour the memories clear,

and wipeaway a lonely tear,

for days such as those,

I soon forgot I had any woes.

Those carefree days down at the coast,

when we swam and played and laughed the most,

where the sky was blue as ink,

and into the soft sand our toes would sink.

Palm fronds waved lazily in the breeze,

causing waves to crash on the seas,

as the warmth of the sun washed over me,

inviting me to go for a dip in the sea.

So do you wonder why I smile,

as I wander along my sandy and golden mile.

Two weeks we spent here in Twiga, where theres no reef,

and unlikely to come to any real grief,

but where theres africa there is a snake, and I heard it said,

always check your shoes and inside your bed,

look search and peek,

as they like to play hide and seek.

Once I was walking cross Watamu bay,

man dem sands was awfull hot,

I wanted a swim and off I trot,

and damn near got bitten on me bot.

A seasnake was lying underneath,

looking at my toe with his teeth,

I got out fast and grabbed my camera,

looking like a happy camper.

There he was that slimy fellah sliding away,

I took his piccy for another payday.

It was a foolish thing I done gone and did,

I should my face gone run and hid.

When will I learn he only had to turn,

and then goddam my foot would it burn.

Bringing me, ionides,

to my knees.

The time flewby all to quick,

any more sun and one of us will be sick,

me already a deep shade of lobster,

looking like an embarrassed mobster.

Anyway we had to leave that idyllic lodge,

back to Mombasa and crowds to dodge.

See, just before we left, i saw small spots in the cleft,

Of my hands and on my fingers too,

Tho no inkling yet of what would insue.

Was a long walk to that road,

and all the time them spots they growed,

That sun was sure beating down,

wasnt funny but I looked like a clown.

Finally we reached our destination,

them sores were huge in my estimation.

We found a daktari, not in a hut,

very lucky he wasnt shut.

Witch doctor maybe cos he speared my blisters,

without the presence of nurses and sisters,

ouch ouch and ouch some more,

all that blood and sweat , twas fearfull sore.

Now we had a train to catch,

of which you aint seen a match,

they come through the train with a ding a long,

telling you that dinner wont be long,

Tis unwise to eat curry and have some more,

cos you know in the morning you gonna be thore.

Choo Choo woo woo and how do you do,

gonna be in Molo, gonna meet Rollo,

gonna be on the farm,

see that cow dont come to harm,

poor thing mustnt laugh,

lost its one and only calf,

what a to do, us running around,

trying to pull her to the ground.

Then huffing and puffing with the vet,

pulling out a useless pet.

If i sound callous, this is Africa, lest we forget,

where often animals and accidents are met.

The farm in all its glory,

is quite another story,

built of stone and timber too,

with a really breathtaking view,

it sits atop an earthy mound alone,

quite a place to call your home,

The grass is green and soft and shallow,

looks here comes John, say Hallo.

Toasti ngini, kahawa too, i fancy a bite,

while i enjoy this awesome site.

Whats for dinner, fancy some Duck, cos Im feeling lazy.

Hang on I'll get me wellies and go and shoot ol Daisy.

Had enough of eating sheep,

tummy so full i just want to sleep.

Then later after the dinner gong,

sit down for a noisy game of mahjong,

already played monopoly after lunch,

but hadnt enough hotels when it came to the crunch.

Up here there is no electricity,

so being resourcefull is a necessity,

everynite we have a log fire,

and the water situation can be dire,

James, I and Tim too share a bath,

not at the same time, u havin a laff?

Then before we lays our heads to sleep we goes out for a drive,

Bwanas on the hunt for jackals, look alive.

I been told to search for red eyes amongst the sheep

cos all the green eyes should be asleep,

then if i see one and it dont run,

I bin told to fire my gun.

Damn what is in this field of dreams, look we surrounded,

and need more than a gun or we gonna be hounded.

But it appears your bwana is flawed,

and his eyesite well overawed.

He is colour blind it would appear,

and no airplane shall he now steer,

oh dear what a mess,

now hows he gonna chase a stewardess.

© 2003

Masai Mara

Picture if you will,

a lion on a kill,

antelopes roaming and tommies at play,

on this, just another erudite day.

Africa, the land of diversity,

where on the plains of adversity,

eagles swoop,

while hyenas group,

and on the apposite bank

a Masai with a gourd is smelling quite rank.

A giraffe stands poetic,

as the baboons act chaotic,

and the hippo grunts as he waddles by,

his actions in water though his weight belie.

A country set in time immortal,

one eyes history through their portal.

Stand in awe, gaze in amazement,

be transported to the past.

Oh, how I wish as never before,

this moment would last and last.

But I am a traveller such as you,

holding on to this marvellous view,

alone in the wilds of this land called Kenya,

and all too soon Im going to be leaving her.

They call me bwana,

Jambo Bwana,

and don't you forget it,

one man was so inclined and lived to regret it,

so lend me thine ears you brethren up late,

as this is my tale to date.

Now in days of old when stories were told,

a man would lay down his life for a wench,

But this here tale may take some telling,

so go find yourself a comfortable bench.

The sun was sinking,

the stars were winking,

time to take refreshment from the fridge.

Wait, this is the Masai Mara,

a wild part of Kenya.

and here we are encamped on a ridge.

The drinks hang cold on the back of the rover,

windswept cool as today we drove her,

minding those thorns,

while admiring topis horns,

then seeing that elephant at our side,

in long grass attempting to hide.

There too, a buffalo bellows,

give him a wide berth, they are dangerous fellows.

Our tent is struck, the kuni well found,

the logs lay strewn on the ground.

A fire to keep us warm,

hopefully till morn,

simmers with rice and soup in a pot,

next to tinned milk not likely to clot.

This is the time of day I like the most,

when Africa stirs from coast to coast,

not just the animals big and tall,

but insects tiny, fragile and small,

the hills may be alive but the ground is vibrating,

hush now, Africa is awakening.

Sup deep of that gruel on your lap,

while listening to the woodpecker tap.

Sip long of that beer in your hand,

for soon the lions, they will band,

then tremble in your skin at their roar so deep,

wakening those with the audacity to sleep.

That noise carries afar on the wind of matter,

competing with the hyenas chatter,

laughing it appears as they eat their meal,

with paws like claws and jaws of steel.

The skies darken and the insects harken,

a symphony of sound,

reverberating through the ground.

This is a time when I could sigh,

when I look up at the sky;

so many stars, so liquid blue,

even a satelite comes into view.

How small do I feel,

is this moment real,

as here I am at one with nature bare,

the ambience I am trying to share.

I digress from my tale,

because this awe is difficult to regale,

but suffice to say it gets under your skin

this land of Kenya where I have bin.

The lions are on the move,

the zebras on the hoove,

and though we cannot see them in the dark

we know buzzards circle and swoop for a lark,

Warthogs in a troop follow with tails alert,

then burrow their heads in the dirt,

snakes too come out to lie all supine and slow,

so tread carefully and look out where you go,

as many a child and grown man too,

has come unstuck just like glue.

They may be scared of us human beings,

but still they hurt our feelings.

So beware the mamba,

bwana.

Only that day while making our way from Narok,

two things swaying in the distance did we clock,

and when we got closer, we saw they were cobras,

on a mound recently vacated by zebras.

They were intertwined near three feet off the ground,

oblivious to us, not making a sound,

then the ugly great brutes all of nine feet,

with hoods splayed wide slithered off into the peat.

All too soon my eyelids are heavy,

the sounds of Kenya finally seducing me.

The day has been hot and long,

and when I hit the pillows I am gone.

The fire burns too fast it seems,

and dies whilst im in my dreams,

so Africa advances, on our scent,

and soon those lions surround our tent.

One two three, mojo mbili tatu, yes it's true.

Uh oh this is something new, what is one to do.

Looking through the fragile tent,

we watch them sniffing our gear,

Simbas, large, and hungry, one finds the souferear,

the other climbs a tree smelling tatties,

we hope we aren't dinner to make them fatties

what's the etiquette, what does one do,

when a lion imagines you on his menu.

Fear not mine friends I of course live to tell this tale.

I shouted hard and clapped aloud,

thus putting the wind up their sail,

and off they trundled in a huff,

my friends shaking me by the cuff,

for the bwana had saved the day just like Rambo,

that's right folks just leave it to ol' Jambo.

© Kevin Phillips

Frank

The Little Apple

It was a very sad day, they all agreed. The little apple, the green and red one had fallen and begun to weep. All her pips tumbled around her flowing peel, and her side deeply bruised was beginning to bleed. The whole orchard looked on in misery. It was so very sad. The gentle breeze that had blown so comfortingly before, now melted away, and a sense of quiet and stillness pervaded.

Nothing moved nor sound was heard, when suddenly the wooden gate pushed open. All branches turned to watch the farmers youngest daughter gingerly walk amongst the grass and the nettles, to where the little apple lay. She stopped and glanced down at her feet and tears rolled down her cheeks, in recognition and in sympathy, and all the trees drooped closer to the ground, it was so very very sad.

The little girl stood blinking through her tears then gently bent down over the little apple, and with the softest of touches took it into her warm hands, and held it to her damp cheek, and she smiled a soft gentle smile that was a comfort to behold. 

A wondrous thing came to pass, the little apple by her cheek, had taken replenishment of her tears and the colour that had hitherto been missing, now slowly returned and the little apple seemed to glow and smile back at the little girl. The gentle breeze now returned and the trees all lifted themselves up and winked to one another, it was truly a miracle they seemed to rustle.

The smiling happy little girl caressed the little apple with her lips and then bit it in half with one fell swoop. 

The wind blew, the rain fell heavy, and up whipped the clouds turning the sky dark grey. The orchard was seemingly plunged into night-time and the little girl was sore afraid. How small and alone did she feel, for it seemed to her that suddenly all the trees were bigger and closer. Her bright eyes shone in terror and in wonder for both did she feel. She clasped her arms about her and stood still. Then falling to her hands and her knees began to cry, and all the apples, the big ones, the little ones, the red ones, and the green ones too, all tumbled about her so that soon she was covered from her head to her feet, and still did she lay. 

Wondrous still.

Copyright Kevin Phillips

The nightmare of my first digital assignment...

2005

Important client, Malaysian Airlines, is so happy with photographers recent corporate front cover and inside spread shots of their CEO in Airline Business Magazine, 

that they track him down to advise him they are willing to pay top dollar to fly him the following week, business class roundtrip from London to Kuala Lumpur, for huge all singing and dancing evening celebrity and press launch, of their new first and business class cabins and seating, in a newly liveried 747 jumbo especially painted for the occasion.

His role will be that of the sole MAS Official Photographer (OP), and he will be responsible for photographing the Prime Minister of Malaysia onboard the new plane after the lavish ceremonial proceedings, which are to be held in an elaborately decked out airport hangar, hiding the plane from the view of the audience of 800 invited guests until the spectacular reveal after all the speeches.

However, as he is currently on assignment in Singapore anyway and leaving for Australia the very next day for another front cover shoot of the CEO of Virgin Blue in Brisbane,...

 MAS are happy to fly him first class back from Australia to KL for the assignment, put him up in a five star hotel for two nights plus all expenses, 

then pay him a £500 cash day rate plus guarantee him one business class round trip ticket from London including all taxes to any fareast destination valid for one year, and then after the KL shoot fly him first class onward to Dubai for his next assignment.

For this one would expect one fully experienced professional photographer au fait with shooting digital and press type work.... So early the next morning photographer dashes out to Sim Lim Square in Singapore

 to acquire first reasonably priced Canon digital camera and new flash gun before boarding Aussie bound Emirates plane later the same morning. Panic, not at all.

  

So who is this man, whom after arriving in KL a week later, refreshed from his first class cabin sole occupancy flight from Sydney, is casually hobnobbing with the other press photographers at the Pre Launch Breakfast and surrepticiously enquiring as to what particular ASA they like to shoot on, what file format they prefer, raw, medium or well done, what flash settings they use and what chips they recommend, while hiding FLW and 85B filters and stowing tripod in back of mind. 'So you can shoot individual images at vastly varying ISO settings without worrying about grain or noise too much, interesting.' You will understand each question is asked to a different photographer so his sum knowledge of shooting digital is building up, and he acquires quite an air of been there done that bravado already, and its only just breakfast. He can almost feel the greenhorn tattoo on forehead evaporating.

Of course said official MAS photographer is still identifiably lacking in top end digital camera, huge flash head, and ultra wide and fast heavy press type ostentatious lenses, and to make it all the more obvious he is not quite your average KL Joe Soap Photographer, is leaking profusely from every pore with every step as he walks and breathes in the oppressive Malaysian humidity.

But what really secretly sets him apart from all the rest of the press horde, is that he has probably negotiated a deal worth 10 times what the locals are being paid.

After breakfast the press are bussed out to the airport for a sneak preview of the plane, where they are invited on board to take their newsworthy shots, so he gets into the melee and is soon upsetting the police and security guards with his 'outta my way sunshine, i'm the official photographer for MAS' attitude despite what he may look to the contrary. 

  

So he blaggs his way through the morning exercise with the rest of the frenzied snappers, while frequently found discreetly huddled behind a rather fine new first class seat checking out the results on the back of his new and pristine photographic toy while flashes pop and fizzle all around...

 'Hmmm, I see, so that works and that doesnt works. OK OK im getting the hang of this digital stuff, easy when you know how. So if I practice the flash bit now i'll be alright tonight when I am the MAS official photographer allowed on board to photograph the Prime Minister of Malaysia to inaugurate the new seats etc, yikes, and crumbs, mummy I wanna go home', suck suck.

OK client says have afternoon off ...we can organise a free tour of KL if you like, it will be fun and relax you, ermmm nah thas ok I want to be prepared for tonite, so i'll sneak up to my sumptious room and pore over new digital camera and flash manual, delete all the crap shots I mite have taken, ok I did taken. Client also says smart dress is de riguer for tonite so thas all I need... warm jacket on top of sweaty shirty. Triffic.

So the evening hour is nigh, we have been bussed back to the venue and I have my position sorted by the end of the passageway where the PM will enter the hangar, hmm not bad only three photographers here too. Here he comes, only an hour late, what the hell, where the bleeding heck did one hundred and fifty photographers suddenly descend from and how the effing come am I now stuck at the back of the crowd instead of the front? And, hey how come I am the only photographer wearing a jacket even if I am the official one, and how come even the Prime Minister is only wearing a shirt and bugger me its not even tucked in.

Ok it's not that an important a shot, and I can barge about as well as the next obnoxious snapper, hey this is fun ..poke my camera in his face, in their face, oops sorry official uniformed looking guy.....ok ok im going, sheessh gimme a break will ya im the official photographer after all. 

So I'm pulled back to the sidelines by the security guards and experiment with ISO settings, flash settings, ambiance settings... some you wins some you doesnt wins but hey no-one will know cos I can delete them later can't I?

                                     

Ok enuff of the stage and lectern bullshit, the music is at fever pitch the lights are having a field day and the stage backdrop has parted to reveal the newly liveried 747 Jumbo in all its gaudy glory. 

The PM is striding manfully forth, untucked shirt tails flapping, to ascend the aircraft steps, and now is the time when all my newly acquired knowledge and expertise will come into play, wait for me will ya... hey let me on.. im the official photographer, look turkey I gotta get on, yes yes I'm with MAS, look ask the client here with me, see? 

Thanks, bugger me about effing time. So here we are up on board surrounded by minions and bummers, outta my lens you bloody midgets, oops not you PM. Damn, blast and effing hell, the on board night-time ambiance lighting set up is completely different from this morning's, so now I gotta discreetly experiment again while smiling pleasantly through sheen of most attractive sweaty countenance, and shoot PM and transport minister and MAS top Brass, in totally different camera settings. Do I use daylight with no flash, do I shoot with fill-in flash, do I change the ISO, ASA, my underpants? Decisions, decisions.

So finally its all over and the shots are in the chip, and now its time to find a quiet area away from the masses gorging on satay around the plane, and discreetly edit out the crap, and I do mean crap bigtime but of course along with some good shots. Just the law of averages means I gotta get some! It's not as if the film processing is going to kill me is it.?!

Hang on a minute...What's this... damn damn too late, no time to find a hideaway to do a pre edit...im being hustled quickly as I leave the plane steps by another photographer around to the back of the stage, apparently by pre arrangement from my client, and the man is taking my unedited chip and downloading all of it on to his laptop, its taking 20 minutes and the news papers are eagerly awaiting a shot from the MAS OP to make the next days front covers..... This should be cute.. seeing all the crap come out with the good stuff, at least I had savagely edited all the morning onboard stuff, back at the hotel earlier so all that looks ace.

Finally its all downloaded and we find a couple of ace shots of the PM lying on first class bed which is immediately emailed wirelessly to the waiting presses. Personally I thought it looked like he was lying in state, instead of in a state of relaxed repose.

Client wanders by and likes what she sees, whewww!

Of course she hasn't seen the mess of duds, which she will do tomorrow when she gets a copy of the unedited CD Rom from the photographer who downloaded the stuff from me....

So MAS official photographer anxiously awaits at KLIA to see whether his first class ticket to Dubai is still honoured, and yes siree bubba it is.

Now he is back home and can really edit the stuff and color adjust, contrast and brightness etc and he is able to send 188 really good shots back to client on his own personalised CD with photo-comped packaging too. So professional.

So new feather in cap.. vastly experienced digital press photographer completely au fait with shooting top politicians, no worries mate, available for digital commissions but no time in the near future please!

PS....He got paid his cash fee, flown first class on to Dubai and used the return Business Class ticket to go to Japan for another assignment later that year.....

How many of his 188 shots were ever used by the MAS client...?

None.

Copyright Kevin Phillips