The most important things in a person's life are decided by others. So said Salman Rushdie before a packed theatre at UCL. The evening was to hear him discuss his book about living on the run for 12 years. The conclusion after a solid 1 1/2 hours was that far from being a hunted (haunted) man, he is a wry observer of what happens when you get on the wrong side of some stranger's decisions, in his case two Indian Muslim politicians trying to boost their election chances by gratuitously criticising someone else's words, and a dying Ayatollah. At least that is what Salman told us.
Having been informed by a colleague that the ante on the fatwa on Salman's life had been upped the previous week, it was with no small amount of concern that we approached the event after work, making nervous jokes about how we might be walking into an ambush.
No such concern. If anything, the atmosphere was too relaxed. Security? Chris's bike bag had sharp tools and a gas canister. No prob. Beer in the theatre? No prob. Racial profiling? You must be kidding.
It was nonetheless a bravura performance, variously funny, perceptive, witty, pensive, and more-ish. Much too short a time, even with questions added on. The highlight for me was the story he told of one of his Alpha Squad minders, a man by the name of Fat Jack. While shepherding Salman and his son to a Fun Fair, he overheard Salman's son urging his father to win the biggest prize at the shooting gallery. 'Daddy, I want that one', pointing to the stuffed animal at the top, the one requiring all of the targets to be hit. Fat Jack intervened. 'What's the problem, Mr. R?' Taking a quick look at the 'adjusted' sights on the air rifle, he slapped down his money, and Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam, they all fell in succession. 'There you are. Sorted.'
Woebetide any potential assassin.
Made me resolve to read what all the fuss was about (yes, I for one was woefully unprepared, having read NONE of his works).
Which is, after all, the purpose of JFDI. To tread where you haven't before.
And Tom, no mean wry observer of life himself, came up with a slogan for JFDI apropos of any misplaced fear.
NO TREPIDATION. J.F.D.I.
Having been informed by a colleague that the ante on the fatwa on Salman's life had been upped the previous week, it was with no small amount of concern that we approached the event after work, making nervous jokes about how we might be walking into an ambush.
No such concern. If anything, the atmosphere was too relaxed. Security? Chris's bike bag had sharp tools and a gas canister. No prob. Beer in the theatre? No prob. Racial profiling? You must be kidding.
It was nonetheless a bravura performance, variously funny, perceptive, witty, pensive, and more-ish. Much too short a time, even with questions added on. The highlight for me was the story he told of one of his Alpha Squad minders, a man by the name of Fat Jack. While shepherding Salman and his son to a Fun Fair, he overheard Salman's son urging his father to win the biggest prize at the shooting gallery. 'Daddy, I want that one', pointing to the stuffed animal at the top, the one requiring all of the targets to be hit. Fat Jack intervened. 'What's the problem, Mr. R?' Taking a quick look at the 'adjusted' sights on the air rifle, he slapped down his money, and Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam, they all fell in succession. 'There you are. Sorted.'
Woebetide any potential assassin.
Made me resolve to read what all the fuss was about (yes, I for one was woefully unprepared, having read NONE of his works).
Which is, after all, the purpose of JFDI. To tread where you haven't before.
And Tom, no mean wry observer of life himself, came up with a slogan for JFDI apropos of any misplaced fear.
NO TREPIDATION. J.F.D.I.
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