(This is a continuation of my earlier post First Two Days at Burning Man. The shoddy photo to the right is of illumination village where we stayed, our camp is just behind the big yellow shade structure at the front left. The thing on the right is the pink pleasure palace.)

Thursday

• Ice run with Serena
• Stairway to Hairven girl in queue, taking a snip of everyone’s hair
• Playa beautiful- Trying to find people, fail and get lost
• Suburban BRC, not the nicest place to be
• Clara visits- Greek salad, and emotionally overwhelmed while eating barbecued chicken
  - Troll trip, set out looking for fancy dress clothes
• Questionnaire in the dust storm at a table
• Body sprayed (2 coats)
• Post office, woman with stilts went inside it (didn’t really fit)
• Delivered mail in dust storm, green post troll, went to three places:
• • Bouncy Bouncy Club
• • Heavenly something bar
• • Wagasomething place, camp further round 7 o’clock
• Took ages as given lots of drinks.
• Back home, flag building- Wondering neighbourhood
• Climbing small scaffold
• Talking to Kate by caravan, Geena in truck
• Blacklight theatre- Dinner
• at Serena’s brothers, hippies
• Back to illumination village propane music, firey hat etc.
• Burning mini-temple, atmosphere felt like Nov 5th bonfire night
• Cycling round playa, mad light view near man
• Back to lost penguin

Friday

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The last week or two I’ve started working for mySociety, a new charity which builds websites which are civically useful. We’ve got funding indirectly from ODPM (Office of the Deputy Prime Minister) to build five interesting projects.

First up is Fax Your Representative (working title) which is an updated version of FaxYourMP. You enter your postcode to find out who all your elected representatives are at different levels of government, and their areas of responsibility. Then you can easily send your District Councillor, Welsh Assembly Member, London Assembly Member, County Councillor or whoever an email or fax. And you have a clue for the first time who they all are, previously very hard information to find out.

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It’s hard to give a good feel for what Burning Man was like, since so much happens so quickly. Every line below is just a passing incident. Yet if it happened to you on a normal day, it’d be worth ringing up your best friend to tell them about it.

Each morning, after breakfast, I tried to write down every notable thing I’d seen the day before. I’m posting them up largely unedited, so it may not make sense, but should give you an impression. Here are the first two days.

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I’m back in San Francisco after a road trip all the way down to San Diego. I’m flying back to Europe later today, so it’s time to post some impressions of America.

California is itself quite diverse, and no doubt the rest of the US is even more so. When I arrived here, I was surprised how roughly cut it felt. San Francisco feels most like a Latin American country, curiously the most similar feeling place I’ve been to before is Cuba. Of course, San Francisco is much richer, but it lacks glitz. The road surfaces are imperfectly maintained. There don’t seem to be any shops because their hoardings are so modest. No glaring neon adverts, or bright bold colours advertising their windows.

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It’s clearly an arts festival. Crazy large scale modern art, sitting on the beautiful stark canvas of the Nevada desert. Grant funded mechanical theatre. On the first evening, we were taken to these twenty-odd sculpted divers hanging from a mechanical wheel (photo right). James and I raced round to the powering cycles on the other side, and managed to get it spinning, a strobe light flashing every frame. Not fast enough. A few days later someone had hooked a motorbike up, it rotated smoothly and the diving-man sculptures leapt one after another into the desert. Walking round the playa and the camps, you’d stumble upon things this good everywhere.

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Tomorrow I’m going to the US for the first time. I’ve saved it up, mainly because I’ve been more interested in going to countries which contrast more with my own. Many who have been tell me I’ll be unnerved, confused, by American culture. Shocked. But somehow I can’t quite believe them, I expect it to feel a bit like home.

There’s an interesting bit in the introduction to Lonely Planet guides to Britain. It says that for Australian/American/Canadian (and even Malaysian/Indian/Burmese) backpackers, a trip to what was once their imperial mother (or slave-driver) is always an emotional occasion. Like it or not, I’m part of imperial America, and it’s no surprise that I partly have the same feeling.

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I’ve finally settled into my new house, which means I’ve cleaned my bedroom window so I can see peoples feet more clearly as they walk past. After living for five years in a pre-gentrified old-industrial area of Cambridge, Portugal Place where I am now seems very busy.

Although many tourists do walk past, not many find this narrow pedestrian place. Unfortunately, if you head up to the main road it doesn’t feel very real and full of community. More like Cambridge the theme park. But going the other way there are quiet streets, Jesus Green park, and easy access to the cafes on King Street.

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Did you know, you can make completely new people? Extra special people. They have super powers. They can split apart into multiple new people, or fuse together back into one. You can destroy them and nobody feels any pain, but sometimes they can live almost forever. All without the hard work of having a baby.

Most importantly, in many circumstances, you can use them as super shields. If you’re about to get sued, you can hold up one of these magic people, and let them get obliterated on your behalf. You emerge unscathed, and the person won’t complain or even exist any more. All perfectly legal, and you won’t even feel guilty.

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Even if a website isn’t yet as useful as it should be, sometimes it attracts attention and excitement. On Thursday, Julian and I were presented with an award for The Public Whip. It’s the winner of the “Civic Renewal” category for the New Statesman New Media awards. There are photos. Partly this was a good excuse for the New Statesman to get sponsorship for their summer party, which was great fun.

The week before, a few of us involved in Downing Street Says went to visit Number 10. Again, there is a photo. 10 Downing Street is much less like a home and much more like an office block than I expected. Albeit, an office block with beautiful paintings, carpets and furniture that you normally find in the Victoria and Albert museum. No, we didn’t meet the Prime Minister, lots of other people work at Number 10. We were meeting those who make the PM’s website.

Political engagement, it’s a struggle. It’s summer, the beer is fine, and house prices haven’t fallen for over ten years. Too busy being taught how to decorate by the latest television programme, why should anyone be bothered with politics?

Imagine a manager who never came into work. A boss who never even rang you up to ask you what you were doing. How hard would you slave away if he was always off walking in the countryside? If he still paid you your salary no matter what you did?

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