My new e-book, ‘Short Breaks in Mordor’, for which I could not find a three-dimensional publisher, now has 47 customer reviews at Amazon.co.uk ( 43 of them awarding it five stars). On Amazon.co.uk it has 11 reviews. ten of them 5-star.
If this is enough information for you , you should know that you do not need a Kindle or other e-reader to read this book. It can be downloaded in seconds on to any computer.
You can download it through the Kindle Cloud Reader on to any device:
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You can find the book here:
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But if you’d like some examples of what you will find in this book, here are a few below:
DATELINE BAGHDAD (May 2003):
‘The Anglo-American attack on Iraq was supposed to be a liberation, and perhaps one day it will turn out to be one. But for most people here it has meant a return to Year Zero. Everything that made Iraq a country has gone. The currency swoops up and down in value and satchels full of dinars are needed to pay for anything important.
There is no law to speak of. The schools do not know what to teach or who should teach it. The frontiers are controlled by foreigners, if they are controlled at all. All the national TV channels have disappeared. The telephones are all dead.
Most medicines are unobtainable.
And in the world's second greatest oil producer, mile-long queues mark every petrol station - and the fuel on offer is a filthy, rancid-smelling muck which wrecks engines and fills the air with noxious clouds.
There is no gas for cooking, the tap water is tainted with sewage. Many people have not been paid for weeks and are not even sure that their jobs or businesses still exist or will ever reappear. Imagine what it must be like to be the parent of small children in such surroundings. Many Iraqis are haggard with worry and lack of sleep.
And yet in their guarded compounds, where the power always works and air conditioning cools the 95-degree heat, the American rulers of the city continue to show the clueless complacency that has marked their occupation since it began. The big men ride about in armoured convoys, machine-gunners fore and aft glaring suspiciously about them, too scared of the people they have liberated to get out, walk and see for themselves.
The real reason for the mess is that Washington knew nothing about Iraq - and cared even less - before it attacked.’…
…If the Americans had studied Britain's long-ago experience in Baghdad, they might have learned that democracy cannot simply be unpacked from crates and set up in a place like this. They might have learned that if you take over someone's country you have to use the old institutions and elites, even if you do not like them.'
DATELINE GAZA (October 2010):
‘Gaza was bombed on the day I arrived in retaliation for a series of rocket strikes on Israel, made by Arab militants. Those militants knew this would happen, but they launched their rockets anyway. Many Gazans hate them for this.
One, whom I shall call Ibrahim, told me how he had begged these maniacs to leave his neighbourhood during Israel's devastating military attack nearly two years ago. His wife was close to giving birth. He knew the Israelis would quickly seek out the launcher, and that these men would bring death down on his home. But the militants sneered at his pleading, so he shoved his wife into his car and fled. Moments after he passed the first major crossroads, a huge Israeli bomb burst on the spot where his car had been.
The diabolical power of modern munitions is still visible, in the ruins of what was once a government building. It looks as if a giant has chewed and smashed it, and then come back and stamped on it.
If you can imagine trying to protect a pregnant woman from such forces, then you can begin to understand how complex it is living here, where those who claim to defend you bring death to your door.
For the Islamist rocket-firers are also the government here, supported by Iran and others who care more for an abstract cause than they do for real people. They claim that their permanent war with Israel is for the benefit of the Palestinian Arabs. But is it?
Human beings will always strive for some sort of normal life. They do this even when bombs are falling and demagogues raging.
Even when, as in Gaza, there is no way out and morality patrols sweep through restaurants in search of illicit beer and women smoking in public or otherwise affronting the 14th Century values of Hamas.
So I won't give the name of the rather pleasant establishment where young women, Islamic butterflies mocking the fanatics' strict dress code with bright make-up and colourful silken hijabs, chattered as they inhaled apple-scented smoke from their water-pipes. Their menfolk, nearby, watched football on huge, flat-screen televisions. Nor will I say where I saw the Gazan young gathering for beach barbecues beneath palm-leaf umbrellas.
Of course this way of life isn't typical. But it exists, and it shows the 'prison camp' designation is a brain-dead over-simplification. If it is wrong for the rich to live next door to the desperate - and we often assume this when we criticise Israel - then what about Gaza's wealthy, and its Hamas rulers? They tolerate this gap, so they are presumably as blameworthy as the Israelis whose comfortable homes overlook chasms of poverty.
Then there is the use of the word 'siege'. Can anyone think of a siege in human history, from Syracuse to Leningrad, where the shops of the besieged city have been full of Snickers bars and Chinese motorbikes, and where European Union and other foreign aid projects pour streams of cash (often yours) into the pockets of thousands?’
DATELINE MOSCOW (February 2012):
This is where, 22 years ago, I came to live in a dark and secretive building where my neighbours were KGB men and the aristocrats of the old Kremlin elite. Here, in this mysterious and often dangerous place, I saw what lies just beneath our frail and fleeting civilisation - bones, blood, death, injustice, despair, horror, loss, corruption and fear. I grasped for the first time how wonderfully safe and lucky I had been all my life in the unique miracle of freedom and law that is - or was - England.
I learned to respect, above all, those who managed to retain some sort of integrity amid the knee-deep filth of communist Moscow. I also learned not to be too unkind to those who made compromises with it. I was there as a privileged person. Would I have been able to stay clean if I had lived as they did? Would you? I very much doubt it.
I saw the last hammers and sickles pulled down, and the braziers full of smouldering Communist Party membership cards the day the all-powerful Party died.
I saw the tanks trundle along my street as they tried to restore communism, and I saw them, and their cause, depart for ever. I witnessed oppressed peoples throw off Soviet rule. In the course of that struggle, I saw for the first time what a human head looks like after a bullet has passed through it, and also what a human face looks like when it is telling direct lies about murder.
When I finally left, I was sure that a horrible fog of lies and perversion had been scoured from the surface of the earth when communism ended. I am confident that it will not come back. From now on, it is just Russia - heartbroken, ravaged, afraid, desperate and cruel, but no longer a menace to us. Nor is Putin's frosty rule comparable to the gangster chaos of Boris Yeltsin - a drunken, debauched disaster that reduced millions of Russians to selling their personal possessions on the street to stay alive.
It is not just me saying this. The distinguished Russian film director Stanislav Govorukhin - whose devastating documentary We Can't Go On Living Like This helped end the communist era - is now working for Putin. He recalls that the Yeltsin era was 'a thieving outrage, open plunder. Billions were stolen, factories and whole industry sectors. They destroyed and stole, they ground Russia into dust'.
But, now, he says, 'we have returned to "normal", "civilised" corruption'.
This is, on the face of it, an astonishing thing to say. But most Russians readily understand it. Their country, almost always subject to absolute power, has been corrupt from its beginning. One of the greatest of pre-revolutionary Russian historians, Nikolai Karamzin, asked to sum up the character and story of his country and people, replied with just one word 'Voruyut' - 'They steal'.
But in the communist era, the state and the Party stole their private lives, their sons, husbands, brothers and fathers, and dragged them to death camps. And in the Yeltsin era, when Western 'experts' stalked the land, the nation's rulers stole the whole country.
I am not arguing in favour of this state of affairs, just pointing out that if the only alternative is even worse, you might see its advantages.
But I can see no reason at all why Britain should seek to undermine Russia's government.
DATELINE SHANGHAI:
‘They are building the future capital of the world here at the mouth of the Yangtze River, a city so vast, astonishing and potent that it ought to be a warning to the soft, declining West that the 21st Century may well see the centre of global power shift from the free, English-speaking world to the tyrannical Orient.
Those who have not seen this place simply cannot grasp the scale and nerve of the endeavour. Each day a new tower surges towards the sky in a project so gigantic it makes the Pharaohs look cautious. Forget the buried era of boilersuits and red books, tractor factories, grey pitted concrete cubes and windswept parade grounds. Chinese Communism is now just a vast machine of power, privilege and money, with the children of the mighty building great fortunes for themselves and their friends, untouchable and beyond criticism. 'To get rich is glorious' has replaced 'The East is Red' as the governing slogan of the times.
And it has been taken very seriously. The contrast between wealth and poverty here is like a Victorian morality tale. Except that in a China which has never known Christianity or the sentimentality of Charles Dickens, nobody draws any morals from it.
Filthy beggars grovel on the pavements near to where Porsches and Rolls-Royces sit in shiny showrooms. Luxury of every kind is on shameless display in the city's heart, while destitute migrant workers labour for tiny wages in construction gangs, living in spartan dormitories and sending their money home to mudbrick villages in the distant interior. While private living standards soar, the rivers are dark with muck and the smoggy, hazy air stinks of sulphur.
China is an entire alternative planet of 1.3 billion people with a shared culture and a more or less common language, in which the Third World and the First World are within a passport-free train ride of each other. And in Shanghai, only a bus ride often separates the two.
Travellers arriving at the colossal new international airport can head towards the city on a futuristic magnetic levitation train capable of more than 200mph, so fast they can barely make out the thousands struggling along the roads on decrepit bicycles.
Smart young people pour into the city's four huge B&Q warehouses to equip their fashionable new high-rise apartments to the highest standards. Superb restaurants charge London prices to smoothly dressed businessmen and their polished women amid glossy surroundings. Volkswagen and Buick cars, made in Shanghai factories, provide the growing middle class with a symbol of independence and status.
Yet overlooked by the new city of towers, respectable, decent people are still living in alleyways, known as longtangs, carting chamberpots to communal sluices, hanging washing from their windows, confined to one room where they must sleep on a shelf and sharing dismal kitchens with nine or ten neighbours.
Young married couples are often forced to share the same bedroom as their parents, separated only by a curtain. These people are so poor that they sometimes fight with each other over who has been using too much expensive water, so that each family has its own metered tap. I saw one such place with a dozen taps projecting from a riot of plumbing over the grim tiled sink. At night the kitchen is almost unusable because it is full of bicycles which cannot safely be left outside.
You might think that such people would be glad to be rehoused. But often their homes are bulldozed by unscrupulous developers and they are simply driven away without compensation. They are unlikely to find flats in the new blocks which swiftly replace their demolished alleyways.
Their plight is barely noticed. China, which has just put a man in space and plans to follow America to the Moon, is using the same driven determination to build a great megalopolis which is plainly designed to rival New York and utterly overshadow Hong Kong - whose colonial past and lingering traces of Britishness make it distasteful to the fervent, unashamed patriots who now hold power in Peking.
The sheer size of it is almost impossible to take in - the official city limits cover 2,500 square miles containing more than 13 million people, not far short of the entire population of Australia and bigger than several European countries. The packed central core of 90 square miles somehow crams in nearly eight million humans, perhaps the highest population density in the world. That would be even bigger if ruthless pressure to keep families small did not lead to 300,000 abortions a year, twice the figure for the whole of the UK.
There is plenty of ruthlessness here. You can practically feel it. Ruthlessness has drawn in nearly 20,000 foreign companies glad to make use of the low pay and high skills available in this disciplined police state with its almost limitless supply of labour and its excellent education system. Ruthlessness has created Pudong, until recently a glum district of low-rent housing and rice paddies, now planned as Asia's Wall Street.
As yet it is an eerie, inhuman city within a city of extravagant, ornate towers obviously meant to copy and eventually surpass the skylines of Manhattan and Chicago. Two of them, the Oriental Pearl TV tower, with its globes and spire, and the Jin Mao Tower with its strange pagodalike spikes, top 1,400ft. The tallest skyscraper in the world will soon stand alongside them. At their feet sits a great stone engraved with the words of Deng Xiaoping: 'Waste no time. Do not waver until the development of Pudong is complete.' If you are surprised that a communist leader demanded the swift construction of a boastful zone dedicated to rampant greed, then it is time that you realised that the world's Marxists now believe that capitalism, not state socialism, will create the classless, global, multicultural world they have always dreamed of.
These arrogant towers stare down - and it cannot be an accident - on the ghostly grandeur of the Bund, the old Shanghai riverfront which was once the symbol of Western Imperial power in Asia. But its formerly majestic Edwardian and Twenties buildings, which long ago symbolised the fact that the West's foot was on China's neck, are now grimy, sad, dingy and pathetically small, preserved as a museum of a time which Chinese schoolchildren are still taught to remember with bitterness.
Here is the riverside park where, until 1928, a notice at the gates banned Chinese people from setting foot and casually added that dogs, too, were not admitted. Here are the old British and French concessions where Chinese law did not run and Westerners controlled their own special quarters of the city. And here is the place where a brief, savage and unequal artillery duel between a Japanese cruiser and a brave but tiny British gunboat in December 1941 signalled the doom of European colonial power in China.
You cannot help feeling that we in the West are being sent a message here. The whole project seems to say: 'You came here and taught us that if you are poor and weak, then the rich and strong can rule learning Chinese over you. Now it is our turn to be rich and strong.' For a moment, the image flickers through my mind of Chinese street signs in London and parts of our cities given over to Chinese law while we are kept outside.’
DATELINE GORLOVKA, EASTERN UKRAINE (September 2010)
'It is true that there are plenty of parts of Ukraine where people do feel and speak Ukrainian - mainly in the west around the city now called Lviv (though in the past 150 years it has also been the Austrian city of Lemberg, the Polish city of Lwow and the Soviet city of Lvov - in this part of the world you can move from country to country just by staying in the same place).
But travel east, as I did, to the old coal-mining region of the Don Basin, and you will find out why so many Ukrainian citizens did not support the 2004 Orange Revolution. I went to the decayed town of Gorlovka. Independence has done little for this place. Cut off from its Russian hinterland and its markets, it is expiring. All around are dead slag heaps and ruined mines and factories, and tragic landscapes of collapse under a ferocious sun.
Gorlovka’s coal mines and chemical works fed the USSR's industries. Now they are mostly dead and the town - twinned with Barnsley in the Eighties - is nearly as bereft of its traditional industries as its Yorkshire opposite number. Sad, empty playgrounds are melancholy evidence of a city condemned to die. There is still a statue of Lenin in the main square but on its flanks are scrawled graffiti - a thing I have never seen before in the former USSR. The image of Lenin was once revered, and later hated, but never trivialised by drawings of Bart Simpson.
The mayor, Ivan Sakharchuk, is proud of his treaty with Barnsley and also insists that there are no difficulties with being Ukrainian.
I am not so sure. Nobody uses the town's Ukrainian name of Horlivka. Many of the street signs are still in Russian. The names of shops are in Russian. The newspapers on sale are in Russian. In the rather smart Cafe Barnsley, the only beer on sale is Russian and the radio is tuned to a Russian station. I suspect the people are hoping for - and expecting - a Russian future.’
DATELINE HAVANA (July 2006)
'Castro was to revolution what Mick Jagger was to rock, and his image (and Guevara's) had a lot to do with the strange student revolt that destroyed Charles de Gaulle's conservative France in 1968, and with the wave of cultural revolution that changed the morals and attitudes of the Western world and has now subsided into the weary swamps of political correctness.
Interestingly, the student revolutionaries who loved Castro and Guevara got Fidel wholly wrong. He loathed rock music as degenerate and only in recent years has he recognised it as an ally, permitting a John Lennon memorial park in Havana. They got a lot of other things about him wrong, too.
Castro matters so much to the fashionable liberal Left that they have tried to deny – to themselves – the true nature of his very nasty regime. A recent example of this was a March 2005 letter to The Guardian signed by, among others, Harold Pinter, Tariq Ali, Nadine Gordimer,Harry Belafonte and Danielle Mitterrand, which claimed that in Cuba 'there has not been a single case of disappearance, torture or extra-judicial execution since 1959, and where despite the economic blockade, there are levels of health, education and culture that are internationally recognised'.
This is almost total garbage and just shows what the Left will put up with when it likes someone. Castro personally reversed the verdict of an important trial when he disagreed with it. He used to round up homosexuals and put them in labour camps to 'make men of them'.
One of his old comrades, Huber Matos, confided after 20 years of brutality and starvation in Castro's jails that he was 'subjected to all kinds of horrors, including the puncturing of my genitals'.
Just three years ago, after a brief period of liberalisation, Castro threw 75 peaceful dissidents into dungeons.
Most are still there. Their wives demonstrate bravely every Sunday for their release and are attacked and abused by 'spontaneous' mobs of loyalist women.
Others who defy the leader face similar misery short of jail. They lose their jobs. Their houses are trashed by government supporters. One incredibly brave dissenter, Oswaldo Paya, remains at liberty (NOTE: Oswaldo Paya has since died in a mysterious car crash) but he is constantly watched and the state has placed an insulting poster near his house which says: 'In a country under siege, all dissent is treason.' Imagine the response of Pinter and his friends if a Right wing Latin American dictator had done half these things. No wonder one of the Alsatian guard dogs that patrol Castro's villa near Havana is called Guardian.
Or so I am told. Like all tyrants, Castro conducts his real life behind thick screens. After a long absence he has twice appeared in public recently.
During a rambling speech in Cordoba, Argentina, he continually plucked at his collar as if in some sort of discomfort.
The cameras swung away. Back in Cuba a few days later, he jokingly promised not to stay in power until he was 100.
A recent rumour that he had died was spread, as always, by Cuban exiles who yearn for him to go so that they can come back.’