The Science Fiction Cult

I have a tale for you that sounds like it comes out of the Star Wars saga.

75 million years ago, Xenu, the tyrannical leader of the Galactic Confederacy transported billions of his own people to a distant rock floating around in space, in ships that resembled the aircraft that we know and love today. When they arrived at the rock, they were unceremoniously dumped out in the vicinity of volcanoes and wiped out with hydrogen bombs.

He sounds like a complete bastard, this Xenu character, doesn’t he?

Worse, the spirits of the billions of the dead aliens became immortal and after all of this time still roam the rock, which is now a lovely little blue planet teeming with life and beauty. That planet is our own beloved Earth and the spirits of the murdered billions, called Thetans, float around our planet and attach themselves to human beings. 

Basically we all have an inner Thetan and this is analogous to our soul.

Sounds like a great idea for a science fiction story, doesn’t it?

Except there are a large number of people who actually believe this story to be real; these people are called Scientologists.

The originator of this story is L. Ron Hubbard, a science fiction writer, who has somehow managed to convince thousands of people that their souls are immortal alien spirits that operate their bodies. Amongst those people are Tom Cruise and John Travolta.

L. Ron Hubbard is now dead but his legacy lives on. Scientology leaders announced his death as if he had shed his mortal body allowing him to continue his amazing research on another planet somewhere out there in the depths of space.

The leader is now a rather mysterious man called David Miscavige.

Scientology claims to be a religion but in reality it is more like a cult. I have to be honest with you, here – I am absolutely fascinated by it, not because I believe any of the rubbish that David Miscavige and his followers are trying to peddle (for huge sums of money I hasten to add). Rather, I am fascinated about how people can be taken in by all of this utter nonsense and actually change their lives to immerse themselves so deeply into it that they cannot escape without potentially having vile facts published about them, or worse, being totally ostracised by their own family members who choose to stay as part of the religion.

When I was a young naïve student, the church of Scientology tried to recruit my friend and I when we were backpacking around Europe. The incident occurred in Amsterdam and their “expert” tried to convince me that I was a manic depressive who was about to commit suicide. She claimed that only they could help and that rather than leave Amsterdam as I had planned, I should enrol in their course to help guide me away from such evil thoughts.

You see, I was wondering around Europe and as such was fair game. I was young and naïve, but not so naïve that I believed it.

Deep down I knew I was tremendously happy and that their words were ridiculous. I may have been naïve but I was not stupid.  They attempted the same thing with my friend who found the entire experience hilarious.

Since then, I’ve followed the exploits of Scientology with interest. Initially, I found it all amusing but in recent years, events have taken a disturbing turn for the worst and I no longer find it funny.

We even have a Scientology “church” in the centre of Manchester. One time, I saw a few people protesting outside and handing out leaflets.

There are a few accusations that have been directed at the Church of Scientology but, to be honest, I’m a bit wary about mentioning them.

Why? Because the first one is “attack the attacker”. Allegedly, anybody who attacks Scientology must be treated with hostility, which means that the church will investigate those who accuse them of wrongdoing and publish any findings to the press, employers, friends and family and even make counter accusations against them, potentially leading to things like running their career. There is no “turn the other cheek” philosophy in Scientology. Such people are labelled by the church as “suppressive persons”.

We also have “disconnection”. If you are a “suppressive person” who still has family who are Scientologists, then the church basically causes your family to cut you off completely. There are many examples in the documentaries that I have seen where people have left the church and been totally disconnected from family members who are still part of the church, Worse, those family members are allegedly so brainwashed that they completely disown them. Parents have been banished by their own children.

If you are a member of the Sea Org, the most dedicated elite within Scientology, and you don’t live up to the high expectations of the church then you are “rehabilitated” which involves being locked up and isolated and subjected to intense physical hard labour and “auditing”, an activity that involves a weird kind of question and answer session while you are gripping a metal cylinder in each hand that is connected to a contraption called an E-meter – a sort of strange emotion detector.

"Will I ever be famous"?

In order to rise up the rankings you basically have to throw money at the church and study religious doctrine for every hour God sends.

No wonder they want somebody like Tom Cruise to be the acceptable face of the church.

Allegedly, their “pope”, David Miscavige is said to behave like a psychotic despot, sometimes physically assaulting people working for him.

I hasten to add, all of this comes from documentaries and films about the “church” – I have to say this in case I suddenly find myself being followed by Scientologists or have the name “Plastic Mancunian” splashed over cyberspace as an evil liar.

Oh well – if such a thing happens then maybe we’ll see whether the “attack the attacker” accusation is true or not.

I’m really looking forward to seeing “My Scientology Movie” by one of my favourite documentary makers, Louis Theroux. Here’s a trailer for it:

Let’s hope I am not labelled as a “suppressive person” as a result of this post.

Caffeine Bomb

I have a love/hate relationship with coffee - or more accurately caffeine.

It all started when I drank approximately a gallon of coffee to help me cram in all of the knowledge in my notes the night before my very last exam at university. Usually I was well prepared but a mixture of laziness and arrogance forced me to spend most of the entire night reading and rereading reams of notes in the hope that some of it stuck.

Caffeine didn’t help me. On the contrary, I think it made the situation worse.

The coffee certainly kept me awake but my brain was totally and utterly fried and I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Sadly my ability to retain facts and apply logic flew out of the window and headed south. That was the worst exam I ever sat. After the initial panic was over, I somehow managed to struggle through dredging my memory to scribble down vague facts related to the subject at hand.

I passed – barely.

As a kid I rarely drank coffee. I would have a cup to force myself awake for a newspaper round at 6am in the morning, but apart from that I was a tea junky. I didn’t actually realise that tea contains a fairly large quantity of caffeine too - that's how stupid I was.

I have always loved my tea to be so strong that I can stand a spoon up in it. I leave the teabag in the cup for as long as possible so that all of the flavour – and caffeine – drains into the hot water.  Yet paradoxically I cannot stand strong coffee.

I remember my first trip to Europe way back in the early 1980’s. My travelling companion at the time was a coffee addict who drank his caffeine bombs by the bucket load. We spent loads of time in coffee shops in Amsterdam drinking the strongest coffee I had had to that point. The taste stayed in my mouth for a couple of hours until it was time to grab the next one. When people ask me how I felt about my first trip abroad, I used to say “the beer and food tasted of coffee and I barely got any sleep at all.”

Amsterdam? No sleep at all? Yes – but not for the obvious reason. I was so high on caffeine that I mutated into a gibbering wreck.

My brain was overstimulated but my body was completely exhausted. My brain wanted me run around like a madman but had no idea how to channel the energy into something constructive. The conversations went something like this:

BRAIN: QUICK!! WE NEED TO DO STUFF!!

BODY: Yeah – sleep!

BRAIN: NOOOOOO!!! SLEEP IS FOR ARSES!!! GET UP AND DO STUFF!!!

BODY: Do what? I’m exhausted.

BRAIN: I DON’T KNOW – JUST DO STUFF!!!

Coincidentally, the first time I worked abroad was also in Amsterdam, and my Dutch colleagues used to constantly supply me with huge mugs filled to the brim with potent coffee. I somehow survived on around four hours sleep a night for the entire week I was there.

Gradually as I got older, I started to feel the effects of caffeine more. The tipping point was when I found myself in a bar in Manchester around fifteen years ago with a few friends who insisted on sharing a pitcher of Red Bull and vodka. Until that point I had no idea what Red Bull was and naively thought it was some kind of weird mixer for boring old vodka.

I do not drink spirits but on this occasion I succumbed to peer pressure and had a fair amount. Inevitably I was slightly the worst for wear, noticeably drunk but there was something else wrong. I felt alive and buzzing, so much so that I was actually shaking.

I arrived home, desperate for sleep but lay tossing and turning on the bed with my brain and body completely and utterly wired. I think I eventually passed out at around seven o’clock in the morning some five hours after arriving home.

Red Bull gives you wings indeed – the stuff is lethal!

So why am I blithering on about caffeine?

The reason is that for the past year or two I have seriously cut down on my caffeine intake. I have even purchased decaffeinated tea – which is not exactly the best thing in the world but still infinitely better than the swill you get in Europe and America.

I still drink full fat totally caffeinated tea at the weekend but during the week my sole drink of choice at work is decaffeinated coffee.

I have had some abuse for this. One guy said:

“Why on earth do you drink decaffeinated coffee? Coffee tastes like shit and the only good thing about it is the BUZZ you get. It gets me through the day. Drinking decaffeinated tea is like drinking alcohol free beer – totally pointless.”

Nevertheless, I actually feel better for it. I sleep better and I am reasonably calm at work instead of being so wired that I run around like a demented lunatic.

Some people say that coffee helps the true executive to function correctly, keeping his mind sharp and focussed so that he can be bulletproof. Mr Motivator cannot live without his coffee.

So what does caffeine actually do that makes Mr Motivator so dependent on it? Caffeine actually blocks chemical signals in your brain that tell you how sleepy you are and thus kick starts your mind when really, perhaps, it should be feeling sleepy. I think we all know this especially if we are coffee connoisseurs or Red Bull addicts. However, as well as telling your brain that you should be awake instead of asleep, caffeine enhances mental ability, which is where Mr Motivator comes in.

“I need my caffeine to function at 200%!” says Mr Motivator.

Your body can successfully break down caffeine within a few hours so perhaps my mistake when I sat my final exam was not to drink a monstrous caffeine bomb comprised of Red Bull, caffeine pills and espresso.

Well I can function without it. My mind is clear and relaxed and I don’t end up buzzing around like a wired wasp.

Having cut down severely on my caffeine intake, I find that I am still reasonably agile mentally which is good because I don’t really miss it. I still love my tea and I can channel my energy into something useful. I have no problem staying up later though I don’t drink tea after 5 pm and usually end up falling asleep around midnight in front of Match of the Day or that late movie I really wanted to watch.

And I sleep a lot better when I finally do nod off at the end of the day.

I think I could actually live without caffeine in my life at all.

How about you, dear reader? 

Can you function without full fat coffee or tea?

Is caffeine a help or a hindrance to you?

And have you ever grown wings through drinking Red Bull?

I have to say, speaking about Red Bull, that it is absolutely disgusting. The taste is abhorrent even when tainted with vodka.

What on earth was I thinking? That is exactly the drunken thought that raced around my head for five hours in the wee small hours of that fateful night - and how disgusting Red Bull tastes.

Tulips From Amsterdam

A week or so ago, I attempted a meme about travel (you can read it here) and it gave me an idea. I have decided to pepper my usual inane garbage with a few posts about my favourite cities but with a bit more detail.

I would like to start with Amsterdam, a city that I absolutely love.

Amsterdam will always have a place in my heart as the first city I visited outside the UK. I was 20 years old and completely naïve, so naïve in fact that I had absolutely no idea about its reputation and why it was, and still is, a favourite location for stag parties.

Since that first visit all of those years ago, I have returned to the city so many times that I have lost count. I was lucky enough to work on two separate projects in the city with work, resulting in countless trips. I have also returned on a couple of lads’ weekends, a city break with W, my ex-wife, and with Mrs PM as well as a stag party.

Here are a few highlights of my trips and some of my favourite places:

(1) On my first visit there, I walked out of Centraal Station with my mate Steve and my first conversation with a Dutch man was this:

Dutch Man: Hello – do you speak English?

Naïve PM (grinning inanely) : Yes – YES I DO!

Dutch Man: Want to buy some hashish?

(2) The reputation of the Red Light area in Amsterdam in legendary and on my first visit I walked around with my mouth wide open in shock at the graphic and extremely hard core pornographic magazines. What’s more, I was flabbergasted by the fact that women sold their bodies for money so openly in shop windows. When I was working there, every single person who came out for the first time wanted to go to the Red Light Area and in the end I was so fed up of endless strolls around there with shocked individuals that I would pop into a bar and wait for them, rather than walk around yet again. When I was with W, we strolled around and were invited to go to a Sex Show. I politely declined and the guy said:

“Oh come on! Tonight it is audience participation and couples are definitely most welcome”.

We, of course, declined.

The funniest thing I saw there was a bunch of Japanese gentlemen standing staring at one of the shop windows. After a couple of minutes, another Japanese gentleman came out of the shop window, having sampled the local delights, and was greeted by rapturous applause from his fellow countrymen.

(3) My favourite bar in Amsterdam is Café Gollem, a small bar with a plethora of beers from all over the world. It is only a small bar but it is always absolutely packed, particularly at weekends. Here I sampled Belgian beers for the very first time and I haven’t looked back since. If you visit Amsterdam, I recommend you to check out Café Gollem if you like decent beer in a laid back environment.

(4) My first trip, as I said, was legendary. On our last day there two major things happened. Let me tell you about the first. Steve and I were backpacking so we sought cheap accommodation and ended up in a real dive masquerading as a hotel on the edge of the Red Light area. The place supplied breakfast (well when I say “breakfast” I mean a roll, some ham, some cheese and a coffee) and with a hangover, I nursed my coffee with all of the other travellers. After a while, a woman who I presumed was the owner came in and started to scream at one of the other guests, a young hippy with major dreadlocks who looked as if he were high on some drug or another. I took no notice until I heard this:

Angry Woman: I want you out NOW!!!

Hippy Guest: Chill out, man.

Angry Woman: CHILL OUT???? It wasn’t ME who shot my friend.

Hippy Guest: Chill out, man. It was an accident. We were playing Russian Roulette. He’s not DEAD! I’ll pick him up from the hospital later. We’ll be fine.

(5) The second thing occurred on that day, not long before we were about to leave the city. We had three hours to wait before our train left for Munich. As we strolled around the city, a man approached and said:

“Have you got time to take part in a survey?”

Steve and I shrugged and agreed so that we could kill time without having to spend money. We sat down and filled in what turned out to be a Personality Test and at the end were invited to chat with "one of our experts”.  I answered all of the multiple choice questions and after five minutes or so was invited to chat with a very attractive Dutch lady. After telling me that I was a “people person” who “cared about his fellow man”, the conversation went something like this:

Woman: When are you leaving Amsterdam?

Naïve PM: Later today.

Woman: You mustn’t – you must come back here.

Naïve PM: Why?

Woman: Your test shows that you are suicidal; you have problems. We can help. We have this course …

Naïve PM: Hang on – excuse me! What do you mean “suicidal”?

Woman: Your answers reveal that you are very sad and depressed. You may not believe it but you are. There is a darkness inside you that we need to help you with. And we can help you if you stay...

Naïve PM: No I’m not  depressed. I’m very happy. What on earth did I say that makes you think that I’m going to top myself?

After ten minutes or so of disagreeing with the woman, she finally agreed that I could leave without having to be escorted out of the building by a guardian angel. She tried to sell me a book and I refused (well I had little money).

As I left the building, paranoia kicked in and I actually started to question myself. Am I really going to commit suicide? Am I really so depressed that I need to go on suicide watch?

Steve was waiting.

“How did it go?” he asked.

I didn’t want to tell him that I was potentially going to hurl myself in front of a bus. Steve didn’t wait for my answer. He continued:

“You’ll love this,” he laughed. “Apparently I am about to KILL myself. Can you believe that? Pharrking charlatans. They should talk to that arse who shot his mate.”

I laughed and told him that I, too, was a suicide risk.

The book they tried to sell us was Dianetics by L.Ron Hubbard.

Yes, that’s right – this was an attempt to recruit myself and Steve into the Church of Scientology.

(6) If you go to the Amsterdam you must visit the Anne Frank house. I have never been to a place where the memories of the tiny house are so intense that they are almost tangible. Every single person who walked around the tiny house and museum did so in utter silence, contemplating the atrocities of the Second World War and how a little Dutch girl’s diary helped to give a sense of that terrible time.

(7) If you like art, the Rijksmuseum is the place for you. I was working on my own for the weekend and staying near there and, because the weather was dreadful, I thought I would pass an hour or two looking at some paintings. Five hours later, I was still in there and I hadn’t seen half of the place. And I am not a big fan of art at all.

(8) My last visit there was in 2009 when I went on a stag party. The groom was a policeman and four of the group were also British bobbies. And boy can they drink. I spent the weekend trying to stay relatively sober but also, because I had been there before, acting as a tour guide. The sad thing was we all had to wear the same T shirt – complete with porn star name on the back. For the duration of that weekend I became Jake Sin.

I could tell you a lot more, but this post is already quite long so I will leave it at that for now. Suffice it to say, I know that I have not seen the last of Amsterdam and I look forward to my next visit to the city – whenever that may be.

I recommend you visit if you ever get the chance – even if you want to avoid the Red Light area. There is so much to see – the bars, the canals, the restaurants and, best of all, the people who are among the friendliest and most laid back I have ever met on my travels.

I’ll leave you with some photos from my last trip there.

 

    

  

 Next time, dear reader, I will bring you back a gift – some tulips!