I’ve mentioned this book before, but I was half way through it then, so now I’m at the end I thought I’d pen a review.

I suppose I could have written about the two other books I have read that have a vague connection to the topic/geographics — Palin’s Himalaya and Craig’s Tear’s of Blood. Both are very different reads (one is a travel log and the other is a freedom campaigner’s account of historical events), but neither was really a page-turner.

By the end of both I was finding it a chore to get through another chapter, and maybe with Tears of Blood it was more to do with me trying to enjoy actually being there rather than spending the whole time feeling obliged to read. But the difference between these two books and Heinrich Harrer’s insight into the Shangri-la of 1940s Tibet (but really it could have been set at any time before the Chinese occupation) is that I finally found a book that drew me in.

Harrer does not mince his words. At times I felt that if I had not ‘been there, done that’, that a lot of his reference points would be lost on me. He doesn’t go out of his way to explain unnecessary detail, and his descriptions are not packed with metaphors and flamboyant language. Well it might have been in the original German script, but if so, it’s all been lost in translation.

But despite only having a brief encounter with Tibetan life, this book gave me enough to rekindle my memories and reabsorb myself in what seems like a mythical way of life. It’s hard to believe that for the most part is still very much a real existence in most parts of B� (as the Tibetans call Tibet).

Harrer’s chequered past is not really addressed at all, and until I looked him up after completing the book I had not realised his previous involvement with the Nazis and the SS. Apparently he never was involved in any thing particularly questionable, and his merits as an Olympic athlete and mountaineer probably should bear more mention, but it was an interesting discovery none the less.

Maybe not knowing so much about the author from the book or before I started was a good thing. The brief context-setting in the first chapter is adequate to set the scene and (like the rest of Harrer’s text) is in complete contrast to the overblown introduction (at least in the 1983 edition I’ve read).

Harrer recounts all events with brevity and plain language that tells the story with clarity and not necessarily beauty. Without accompanying photographs the book lacks somewhat. Not only did photography and videography become a key part of his time with in Lhasa and with the Dalai Lama, it also is needed to really illustrate what Tibet looks like. We have nothing in the West that even compares slightly and although most people know what The Himalaya looks like, Tibetan culture is still a mystery to most.

I hadn’t visited many places that Harrer did on his journey, and the places where our paths did match, he doesn’t give enough away to really explain the place (as I would have). This book is far more event-centric rather than concerned with the details of the towns and vistas, but I don’t think it suffers too much because of this and it makes the whole text an easy read. Even by the end we are none the wiser to the personality of his seven-year travelling companion of Peter Aufschneiter.

I think Seven Years is worth a read, but I think you need to tackle it in context. A map of the Himalyan region to hand and a brief insight into the history of the Dalai Lama & Panchen Lama before you start will help. Don’t worry about being versed on the complications of China’s occupation – before that the history of Tibet was pretty straightforward and quick to pick up on.

For anyone who has been to Tibet or is thinking of going, it’s an essential.

I don’t know what the outcome of this blog post will be, but I think that due to the remarkable nature of the day, I should at least make some kind of comment.

It’s hardly a coincidence that Tony decided to depart in 2007. Notching up the big one-zero is a pretty important achievement, and he knows he’s leaving while there is still life left in the old politician yet. He’s definitely in the minority here, as most PM’s of recent times have been much more decrepit than the youthful age of 54 that Mr. Blair has bowed out at.

The whole departure seemed typically New Labour spirited. In the early days Alastair Campbell and his team of spinners served a ‘great purpose’ to The Party, but after a few years they fell out of fashion (Jo Moore sealed the deal on their eventual departure). But by the time they had packed up and gone, Tony had completed his apprenticeship, and was pretty well versed in the importance of a beaming smile.

I’ve heard him described as very good actor on many occasions, and twice again today. Combine his ability as a barrister with occasional emotional falter in the voice and he showed he could wind a powerful spell. A captivating orator who seemed to be talking genuinely, no matter what he was saying.

Of course, his departure all worked out rather well for him, but it was always going to. With months to plan the whole thing out, he was never going to make silly little errors like Edward Heath, who forgot to order a car to pick him up from the palace after handing in his resignation (after all, it’s only the current Prime Minister who gets to use the official convoy).

Had he done a John Major and left with a falling majority, people would have said he had lost his flair. Margaret Thatcher remains bitter to this day to the sort of quick and dirty ousting she got back in 1990. But whatever Blair has been blamed of, his faults and his failures were forgotten for one day as he breezed through the very congenial, if not warm, goodbye party that was PMQs. How many departing prime ministers have ever garnered a standing ovation in The House, let alone one joined by the opposition? (For the record, it’s none.)

The whole thing was beautifully orchestrated without appearing to have lifted a finger. It’s almost as though it was completely normal to happen so smoothly. Announcing his departure months in advance infuriated those who wanted to see the back of him, but after the press had had picked the carcass of the story clean, there was little they could do but sit back, cover new ground and speculate what would happen after.

And so sailed along Tony. By the time he’d named His Date the press were far too busy with the carrion of Deputy Leadership, the ‘clunking fist’ of our premier-in-waiting and the chatter over the possibility there might be an election to think about picking-on old Tony. It seemed like he was just an office-personality stepping into retirement, and you usually bake a cake for that person.

By the time Blair uttered his last words, everyone knew the man who was talking had effectively wrapped everything up and there was little left to say. Even the ever divisive issue of Iraq had been talked to boredom, and so everyone resigned to be nice to Tony as he quietly handed over his party leadership, dropped off the keys to Number 10, bid farewell to his constituents and drove off into the rosy glow of a New Labour sunset. Whether he deserved it or not, it was all very, very graceful.

But how will time judge him? Often political figures are compared and contrasted to their contemporaries and their successors. Asquith to Lloyd-George, Churchill to Atlee, Thatcher to Major – with Tony it will undoubtedly be Gordon. For the past ten years sparring between political parties has been in the featherweight class (as part of the scramble for the ‘centre ground’), and at times the ugliest battles have been fought within the ranks of the Labour Party itself.

In my view Mr Blair will, eventually, sit quite content with his position in history. The unpopularity of Iraq is going to become Brown’s issue (if he is savvy enough he will be able to brush that one off as Tony’s big mistake). The thing is that when you are fit and well and looking for another career on the world stage (for example as an envoy to the Middle East), you’ll have enough time to rewrite history pen your memoirs and forge another less divisive personality. That’s made a lot easier when your new job is one where your involvement can only reflect favourably on you.

And harking back ninety years; the man who sold peerages by the dozen, kept a wife and several mistress and thought that starting a war in the east would rally popular opinion when it did the reverse – a maverick and corrupter; Lloyd George by all regards should be disliked and condemned, but those who know about him mostly quite like the guy. The passing of time makes funny waves that can distort realities.

As for Tony, I can’t say I’d let him into my heart like quirky old LG. However, I have a feeling that if you give it twenty years, opinion will be wistfully reminiscent. Even his foreign policy, considerably flawed at times, made a critical impact in bringing peace to warring territories, got rid of a vicious regime and pushed the poverty agenda when others resisted. We’ll all be using the same rose-tinted spectacles that some people are wearing now, quarter of a century after the quelling of the Unions and the controversial tactics of the war in the Falklands.

So if you thought you’d seen the last of the Blairs, you’d be wrong. I’m fairly sure Mr and Mrs B will be around for a little longer yet; the gears of the publicity machine will take a while to wind down. And I think there is some salt to be pinched as Cherie makes the acerbic remark to the cameras, “We won’t miss you” — you can catch her exclusive documentary on the life of the PM’s wife at 9.30pm on 4 July, BBC One. Now that’s scheduling if ever I’ve seen it.

I can’t believe it’s Monday again. Saturday evening was late-ish and not at all social (well, half a glass of red and coding ‘til it’s dark isn’t my idea of a proper party). At least I got done what needed getting done and things are progressing smoothly on that front.

Sunday was the Foley 25th year anniversary, so I chipped back to school via the Seven Stars where I met with Gwyth, Gingle, Will and Charlotte. At OSH we ran into loads of people, but I didn’t get a chance to speak to everyone I wanted to. Si, Rich, Buzz & fiancée, Olli, Baz, Henry, Steve, Ums etc etc made it a fairly big gathering. Despite my wariness of full-on reunion events, it wasn’t bad at all and I had a good day.

This afternoon I went bank-hopping, and ended up spending two hours in HSBC having a conversation in one of those little booths while my member of staff tackled all the incredibly difficult questions I had to throw at her. It seems to have paid off though, and I’m now thoroughly clued up.

Swanny seems to have been up to his usual adventures and so listening to that provided some amusement today. With the rain being so consistently annoying at the moment, being stuck indoors is my only option – so no sandwiches on the lawn with the cat this week.

Tuesday and Wednesday made a formidable combination.

Tuesday involved clients, videos, precious metals, small dogs and very, very expensive burgers.

Wednesday involved long drives, reunions, strategy meetings, document drafting, venting, more driving and eventually some relaxing.

It’s made for a busy couple of days, but it was good to finally catch up with Currin, who is now back from the US. We worked out it has been pretty much a whole year since we saw each other last, and it really is remarkable how well our collaborations have progressed considering all communication has occurred over Skype and Google Docs.

I’m a good way through Seven Years In Tibet now. I read Palin’s Himalaya recently, and to be perfectly honest, was a bit bored by it. Not that I don’t like Palin or his style (_Sahara_ is a fantastic read), but I just never found the appeal in this one. Seven Years on the other hand, is a really great read (written with clarity, despite the strangely over-complicated preface) and I’m lapping it up.

But that’s my escape. Otherwise, it’s most certainly a time to knuckle down.

Either my grip on reality is diminishing, or every year since 2003 has gone quicker than the last. Logic dictates that the fastest year so far has been this last one. Australia seems to have occurred just six months ago, when in fact I was there this time last year. Scary.

Because everyone who took a placement year on my course is now being spat out from the far end of the machinery of academia, I found myself in Loughborough over this last weekend.

Mike greeted me on Friday, along with Waddy and their Grantham friend, Chris. We headed over to Mike’s degree show and spent the next couple of hours exploring the illustration exhibits. The work was mixed, but mainly very good and Mike had managed to produce his best work to date (money please). Everything was made more enjoyable by how well oiled we were by the time we left, so I think it’s only fair to thank the university for the free wine.

After a quick trip to The Griffin, we spent the night at FND. I ran into a number of old faces and bar a fire alarm which left us all outside for an hour, it was good night.

On Saturday I went to check out the furniture and textiles exhibits with Nature and Cat, and once again was blown away by the quality of both the printed and woven work (last year too). It sounds really odd, even to me, as I’m not one of those people particularly interested in textiles normally, but honestly, the work was stunning.

In the evening Sean, Laura, Corrie and I went for Pizza Hut and several hours of (very funny) quality catch up time. Afterwards I met up with Mike in Echos, took him for a curry and went to sleep.

Sunday was back up and at ‘em. Over at Hollywell, the venue for the Industrial Design show I spent a couple of hours catching up with yet more people and viewing the 2006/7 output from my old course. Once again, standards were high and there were some nice products.

My bag is stuffed with business cards.

Anna gave me a lift back up onto campus for a mid-afternoon meeting with the boys from RMP and it was only then I had to get myself home.

Public transport was a bit hit and miss all weekend though and with the rain on Friday, I very nearly got stranded at Derby. On the way back I ended up on a bus from Leicester to Brum too. Oh well, I’m back up there on Wednesday, but this time I’m going to drive it.

There were a few people I didn’t manage to catch all weekend, which was a bit of a shame, but otherwise, a enjoyable little time was had. I also seem to remember promising someone I’d mention them in this entry, but I really can’t remember who it was. If you know who you are and are gutted by my black hole of a memory, let me know I will make amends…

Oh yeh, get well soon Deakin. And try not to fall over again.

One of the few consistent things about my days is my music. The only times I’m not regularly listening to something is usually when I’m away on my long trips (I don’t tend to take my iPod), but I have to admit that during my visit to Nepal and India, I picked up a taste for Bollywood film soundtracks.

Since I’ve got back, I’ve got into the habit of listening to internet radio on my Mac. I used to do this a bit in the past, but now I’ve hooked up my stereo to my sound system using a iPod headphone splitter it’s a much better experience. I’ve been a Radio 1 man for a long time, although mainly for Jo Whiley and Zane Lowe. I’m not a particular fan of Moyles and unfortunately find Edith Bowman’s voice tiresome, so I decided to try something else.

BBC 6music is one of those stations that probably isn’t taken that seriously. In fact, most people probably haven’t heard of it. Despite this, it plays some really good stuff, the presenters are up-and-coming or ex-mainstream types (Lemacq, Nemone, Shaun Keaveny) but because this isn’t mainstream they can play a bit more variety.

Admittedly not everything is to my taste, but on the whole I’ve been a lot more impressed than I have with Radio 1 of late.

You’ll notice that both of these are still BBC stations, and it is a concious decision. I dislike the adverts you have to navigate on the commercial stations, but somedays when I’m feeling lazy or not really listening properly, I’ll flip to Kerrang. Unfortunately, their online player leaves something to be desired… this little BBC Radio Dashboard widget is just too convenient.

OK, so we’ve all got social network accounts now. If it’s not Facebook, it’s MySpace or Bebo or Ning or whatever.

I’ve been making these points to friends for a while now in various discussions, yet the implications of mass shared personal data in years to come doesn’t seem to have been considered by many people at all. I often find people surprised by the ideas, which I think are very likely to become a reality.

I think it maybe because we’re too used to thinking in block of five years when it come to the internet. Also, I’m not talking about the scary aspects of a Big Brother society (we hear them lot) but some of the benefits to be encountered in years to come, especially by future generations.

For example, we all know the popular Friends Reunited website. A place where you can rediscover lost relatives, classmates and streetmates was probably the once most-popular social networking tool. The Friends Reunited idea was great and today’s “2.0” social network tools have built on this.

But over the next few decades Friends Reunited will become completely redundant. I’m not saying the company will necessarily disappear down the pan, they will probably evolve to avoid disaster, but there is one crucial ongoing change that is sealing the fate of this service.

We are now forging maps of all our relationships way before they have a chance to be forgotten or be disconnected. In fifty years time, no one will need to use a reuniting service to find long-lost friends, instead you will just be able to look them up. Even if you forget their name, a few minor details (a year or an event you both attended) will give search tools enough to locate the person in your records. And even if you never added them as a ‘friend’, one of your friends may have done, so you search their records instead.

The social network is creating an incredibly rich layer of information that will eventually be available to our children and our children’s children. At the moment, if I want to find out the occupation, location and children of my great, great, great, great grandfather I know I can. I go to the census records and search, but this is probably the limit of what I can discover.

Essentially, I can track down some specific information about maybe the past six generations, in periods of every ten years for 167 years (since the national census began). If I want to go back further, it’s really sketchy. All I can ever know about any one of my blood ancestors is the house they were staying in on one particular night on maybe six or seven days of their whole life.

I cannot see a photo of them. I do not know who they knew or who they worked for. I do not know what their job entailed or where they travelled to. I maybe able to trace their accommodation if the buildings still exist, but I can’t see it as it was as they lived. I have no idea of their personality, their likes and their dislikes.

In fact in comparison to what will be available to our descendants in a few decades time will be truly stunning. We have to remember, our data is a commodity, and is only ours until we die. After a while it becomes the property of whoever buys it. In thirty years time, we don’t know who will own Facebook. We don’t know if anyone will sell the database of millions of names (the holy grail for anyone in the illegal mass-marketing game) or make it public by accident. But we can assume that it will not be that long before demand to the access of records by historians will be huge.

In 100 years time, when most of us will be gone – our grand kids will be curious to find out what they can about granddad in his youth. There will be no stigma attached to accessing this information, as like copyright, or the archaeological excavation of an ancient grave – it eventually becomes part of the public domain.

The curious result will that the process of mapping family/interpersonal history will become far more complex than it is now, but also more accurate. Historians will be able to plot the exact movements (or at least much more than they ever could now) of any person part of a social network. Although the information is likely to be biased to some extent (as it is self-generated), it will mean they will know the equivalent of if one of your ancestors taught Shakespeare English, or if great-granddad really did punch the guy who went on to invent time-travel.

Of course, it’ll all be open to interpretation and all the silly stuff that goes along with it. Jokey relationship “descriptions” between people in Facebook will cause maximum confusion for historians, but at the same time, they will be able to partially rectify this by piecing together a personality using the other information available, such as who the person talked to, the mannerisms expressed in their comments and the places they photographed.

Bearing in mind that just in the past thousand years, there have been at around 30 generations of You, meaning that you know very, very little about the millions of relatives that eventually made you you. Had things continued as they have done for centuries before, when you eventually pass on, your entire life would be (if you’re lucky) summed up in a name between two dates – birth and death – with no record of what you we’re doing one afternoon in the summer of 2007.

I’m not sure if other people feel the same way, but there is something strange, but not necessarily unpleasant about your descendants knowing this much about you. For example, it is very possible that in two hundred years time, these exact words could be being read by a seventh-generation grandchild of mine.

Hello kiddo.

Odd eh?