Born in 1955, Joolz Denby is a writer, poet, spoken-word performer, illustrative and fine artist, curator, photographer and tattooist. Her poetry collections include (1994), (2000), and , a book of short stories and poems published in 2005. Her first novel, , won the 1998 Crime Writers' Association New Crime Writer of the Year, and was shortlisted for the Crime Writers' Association John Creasey Memorial Dagger. Her novel, (2004), was shortlisted for the Crime Writers' Association Dagger in the Library Award and the Orange Prize for Fiction. Her most recent novel is (2006), set in a Cornish surfing village. She is currently writing a novel, , about an urban feral child.
This weblog was originally posted on www.encompassculture.com.
19 October 2006
'The last time I went to Finland was a great many years ago with the band New Model Army, who were to play at a big outdoor rock festival in the north of the country; I think it was the north, anyway, my recollection is somewhat hazy. I do remember my baggage went to an entirely different destination and I had to be lent a big hairy jumper by a big hairy roadie with a severely compromised sense of personal hygiene. Anyway, I was extremely glad of the sweater as come twilight, before it got really chilly, a swarm of gigantic, vampiric midges descended from out of nowhere and having tried out the musicians, obviously found the blood of a rather tired and travel-worn poet much more to their taste. There wasn't a particle of my minimally exposed, wool-clad flesh that wasn't chewed, nibbled, gnawed or punctured by those flying devils and whilst I began to bubble up in interesting lumps the band, being bite-free, played a blinding set to a loudly enthusiastic crowd. As I dodged from marquee to tent to portaloo trying to shake my insectile fan-club, I began to notice an incredibly high proportion of the audience were sporting plaster casts on arms or legs. Stopping a handsome, chisel-jawed young fella with his leg in plaster to the hip I asked him, why so many injuries? Gesturing in a cavalier fashion with his custom decorated walking stick he murmured something about the inadvisability of mixing the local alcohol with ski-ing. I got his vibe straight away - who'd want to do a moghul (or whatever they are) whilst under the psychedelic influence of the palate-searing, throat-excoriating home-distilled fire-water that had been the beverage of choice for every crewman and drummer on site for the last five hours. One vaporous swig had been enough to make me realise that Acid was totally déclassé when you had that brew and then tried to put your contact lenses in inside out as I did under its malign influence.
Finland to me has always been tinged by that festival experience (let's not go into the extreme shock of British musicians encountering the Naked Sauna Habits of Scandinavia) and the glorious shamanic insanity of the Finnish band Sielun Veljet (under the name L'Amourder) who famously supported New Model Army on a UK tour in the late 1980s. Ismo Alanko's merry troupe of gypsy jokers, clad in ill-fitting Russian army uniforms, their beautiful angular ivory faces alight with a terrifying chaotic joy pounded through a set that earned them the honour of being one of the very, very few outfits to actually give NMA a run for their money. Every night, the Finns played a brilliant gig, wrapped in the dope-fuelled rapture of their collective madness, every night NMA watched with the grim determination to outplay this raggle-taggle tribe writ large upon their furrowed, Northern brows. Every gig was a battle royal, and often resulted in a draw, and both bands loved every moment of it; it produced legendary performances from both outfits.
I'm looking forward to returning to Finland very much; it still holds that icy magic, the blue fire of strange shape-shifting arctic visions for me. Of course, I'm just a tourist, albeit an arty one, and I know nothing of the actuality of Finland though I imagine the country's problems are much the same as they are elsewhere. I don't have long, but what time I do have, I know I'll find it as fascinating as I did the music and brilliance of those great ambassadors for their land, Sielun Veljet.'
3 November 2006
As I sat in the kitchen on Thursday the 28th November 2006, packed and ready for my happily-anticipated trip to Finland the following morning, it occurred to me – for no particular reason other than the usual travel paranoia – to check my passport. I did so, and with a cry of horror that surely could have been heard from one end of our terrace to the other, I discovered it was out of date by a week. Burbling madly I rang the passport office in Liverpool where a louche young gent informed me languidly that as it was past twelve noon, nothing could be done for me. Even bandying phrases like ‘British Council’, ‘international cultural event’ and ‘I’m desperate’ did no good. In despair I rang the British Council itself and there, a Fragrant Lily-Maid calmly, with a voice like still waters on a summer’s eve, assured me she would fix everything. To my amazement she did so, though at that point I was being driven to Liverpool by Himself in a mad, arty attempt to beg the passport office to hand over a new passport. As it was we got no further than Warrington as the motorway was closed and Liverpool inaccessible. Never mind, cooed the FLM, I’ve got you an appointment at eight in the morning tomorrow and changed your flight to a later one. Shame you’ll miss one of your two events, but at least you’ll get there.
Which after much screaming, haring about the motorways of England and falling asleep in airports nearly missing flights, I did. At least the picture in my new passport is quite nice, as opposed to the previous one which made me look like a member of some deeply strange cult due to the inadvertently sinister lighting effects.
On arriving at Helsinki, a city I have visited before with rock bands, but never in the guise of an author, I was met by a charming representative of my Finnish publishers and her equally charming Mexican husband and whisked off to a party thick with a blue fug of cigarette smoke and a polyglot babble of voices debating fascinating literary topics (I’m sure they were, what else could such a distinguished crowd of artistic types be chatting about so very animatedly?) I propped myself up in a corner and drank two short glasses of neat vodka very quickly, thus using up my year’s quota of alcohol in one fell swoop. I don’t know if it did any good but at least I felt nowt, as they say in Yorkshire, and fatigue, hunger and stress were momentarily held at bay.
Later, back at the hotel, I blessed the rock n’ roll packing habits of a lifetime and extracted the travel kettle, Yorkshire Tea bags, cereal bars and chocolate I always carry with me (as well as a small hot water bottle with a skull-and-crossbones fleece cover, bed-socks and a black cashmere shawl) in my dear old pink suitcase. Manoeuvring past the gigantic red arm chair that took up all the space in the tiny room not occupied by the single bed, I noted with interest the ceiling had been papered with a photo-realistic cloudscape, which added considerably to the Alice-In-Wonderland effect of the room as a whole. Was I Very Large, or was the room Very Small? Where was the bottle marked ‘Drink Me’? Or had I done that already at the party? Alas, I fell into unconsciousness before solving these riddles.
The next day dawned very brightly indeed and at 9.00 I was started off on a round of heavily attended public panel discussions, public interviews and readings, media interviews and the like (where were the 'two little events', of which I'd missed one? Hmm . . .) that were only interrupted by a swift visit to the Helsinki Food Fair (being held in the same conference centre) to buy that Finnish speciality, salted liquorice, and a brief lunch in the canteen. I was only sad I didn’t get more chance to look round the Book Fair itself, which was a huge event, bustling with people, and featuring hundreds of fascinating stalls selling books and reading accessories that I could cheerfully have spent a fortune on - not to mention the talks, readings and discussions by the many distinguished writers present. Then for me, there were more events, a delicious and longed-for nap back in Wonderland and finally, after a leisurely meal in one of Helsinki’s favourite Turkish restaurants, it was onto the last reading as part of a mixed music and spoken word event at a nightclub. This passed off pretty well given the PA didn’t exactly work as such, the audience couldn’t see me for fag-smoke and I was regaling them with complex poetry in a foreign language. All in all, they were very good sports and were kind enough to applaud as rapturously as though ABBA had taken the stage for one last reunion. You can’t fault the Finns for courtesy.
On my way home, the Gods smiled on me and I got miraculously bumped up to Business Class due to having long legs and a bad back – after a gourmet meal I snuggled down in the huge seat to pass the time reading , which given my experiences in the music industry and a lifelong interest in the fashion world, I enjoyed immensely. It did, however make me feel very guilty about the state of my jeans, but that’s another story.
The United Kingdom’s international organisation for cultural relations and educational opportunities.
A registered charity: 209131 (England and Wales) SC037733 (Scotland)
Our privacy and copyright statements.
Our commitment to freedom of information. Double-click for pop-up dictionary.
Open the original version of this page.
Usablenet Assistive is a UsableNet product. Usablenet Assistive Main Page.