Tara Palmer-Tomkinson and the art of the snub.

I met Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, once, many years ago, when she still looked like a boy. I suppose, in certain ways, she still does. For those who don't know who she is (and that would be almost everyone outside the UK), Tara Palmer-Tomkinson is a former socialite newspaper columnist, a tv presenter and, unexpectedly, if you ask me, a model.

It is likely that Tara Palmer-Tomkinson remembers me as well as I remember her. You see, when we met I was going through my "Lord Valentine the Misplaced", phase. This was when I took it upon myself to bring live performance art, to various unsuspecting places, as an 18th century dandy, "Lord Valentine the Misplaced." It should be quite clear why he was "misplaced".

I had been invited to a nightclub event, by the organizer of the event, who happened to be acting as Romeo, in a show of Romeo and Juliet in which I was Friar Lawrence (I made him Mayo Irish, with a very thick accent. The problem with it was that casting directors who came, were so convinced by the accent, they thought I normally spoke that way, and was "unsuited" to more mainstream work!)

Without prior warning, I decided to turn up as Lord Valentine the Misplaced. It was quite a popular move with most people there, since I had many an animated conversation with the curious guests, about, just why, I was attired, as I was. The only person who didn't ask me a single thing, was Tara Palmer-Tomkinson. She sat at my table, opposite me, gazing over occasionally in silence, when she thought I wouldn't notice, as if somewhat put out that I had upstaged her.

The thing about Tara Palmer-Tomkinson was that I didn't have a clue who she was. I made a classic social error, when the girl next to me (who was almost bouncing with enthusiasm at her idea), said to the boyish girl, or was it girlish boy, opposite: "You have GOT to write about him!"

Apparently, the unspeaking one, was a writer. "Who is she?" I asked my new-found friend, in the next seat.

"THAT," she said, as if I had asked where Earth was, "is Tara Palmer-Tomkinson!"

She was simply amazed that I did not know who Tara Palmer-Tomkinson was.

I looked across at the woman opposite and found that I still did not recognize her. Perhaps I had spent too little time attending to her column in the Sunday Times. I knew, at least, that she wrote that.

I tried, then, to speak to Tara, but she tried her utmost not to speak back. She determined not to be impressed by anyone except herself. This was, in fact, the most impressive thing about her.

The evening passed, as evenings do, in a blur of misheard names and forgotten faces. By the end of it, I knew only one thing: who I was, for I had determinedly not drunk a thing with alcohol in it. It is, after all difficult enough to be an 18th century gentleman in a 20th century world, without being drunk with it. If I had gotten drunk enough I might have forgotten how I had ended up two centuries out of date in the first place. It was better to remain carefully aware of the facts of the situation.

That weekend, I opened the Sunday Times, at Tara Palmer-Tomkinson's page, with one thought in mind: if Tara Palmer Tomkinson were truly a journalist, who truly wrote of the most unusual events of the week, the most striking occurrences, she would undoubtedly have written of our encounter.

I scanned the article with care. It was, as usual, about little more than Tara Palmer-Tomkinson. Nowhere was there a single mention of the 18th century gentleman, Lord Valentine the Misplaced, who had failed to recognize her. It had never occurred to her that it is quite impossible for an 18th century gentleman to recognize anyone in the 20th century at all - so she should not have been offended. She should, instead, have been charmed that I had endured so long to meet her.

So, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson was not, as I had been led to believe, a journalist at all. She was just another writer about the self.

The funny thing about our meeting, from the point of view of what journalists are supposed to be about, is that there was a lot more to my presence there than she ever allowed herself to understand. Lord Valentine the Misplaced was not a casual manifestation of the 18th century, but a very meaningful piece of performance art. She never, however, inquired as to my purpose at all. How curious that is, for a "journalist" to be so incurious. No doubt, a lack of curiosity, must be a product of all that "breeding" (for those who don't know, she had a privileged upbringing on an estate in Hampshire).

In a way, it was pleasing that she did not write of me, for it could only mean one thing: that I had somehow "got" to her. She had been put out, by my existence, in a way, that, by not acknowledging my existence, in her column, she was, in a sense, forcefully acknowledging my existence. Had she been less put out, by me, she would, undoubtedly have written of the encounter.

So, thank you, Tara, for your silence: it was all the acknowledgement I needed. A snub from a snob is better than any accolade.

(If you would like to learn more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, 10, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, 6 and Tiarnan, 4, this month, please go to:
http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html

I also write of gifted education, child prodigy, child genius, adult genius, savant, megasavant, HELP University College, the Irish, the Malays, Singapore, Malaysia, IQ, intelligence and creativity.

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"Not one of us".

I overheard part of a conversation, on the bus, the other day, between two Singaporean teenagers. I thought it most revealing of attitudes that permeate this society.

"He is not one of us.", said one of the boys to the other. Both boys were a little chubby, so I had to wonder what "One of us" meant.

I found my ears pricking up, in attention.

They were a bit far to hear perfectly, so the conversation tended to fade in and out of comprehension. Therefore, I only heard those things which the speaking boy said with a little more fervency.

"...he doesn't have any passion," he explained to his friend, "He only does it out of forced necessity."

His friend said nothing, but listened, nodding every now and again, as if both urging his friend on and agreeing with him. Clearly, he deferred to his friend in conversation and probably in life. I felt that what he was hearing was at odds with his initial view, however. I felt that he was being persuaded to accept a different viewpoint on the "he" of the conversation.

"He is NOT one of us." concluded the speaker, emphatically.

The silent one reached up and pushed the bell to stop the bus. He turned and mumbled something to his friend and rose to leave.

Soon the speaker was alone with his thoughts. He sat there as if resolved about something. He was determined to hold onto his belief about this other person - and to make others believe it too. He seemed quite an unexcitable person, for one who spoke of "passion". Perhaps he meant something else by passion, to what is normally meant. Perhaps he just meant doing something because you wanted to: an inner drive.

I have noticed how often Singaporeans speak about "passion" but, oddly, it is difficult to recall meeting a passionate Singaporean.

For me, this conversation captured the way people in this society are cut off from each other, by their imagined stratifications - by the social status they hold onto, the cliques they form, the exclusions that make them feel special. "He is not one of us"...the boy said, as if it were a special thing to be "one of us"...to be just like the speaker. Looking at him, I saw no reason why anyone should desire to be "one of us", at all. Yet, for the speaker, there were reasons why they were a desirable type, that others should be pleased to be included in.

This kind of attitude that some people are above others and apart from them, is very Singaporean. It has even been heard on the lips of a Singaporean member of government referring to ordinary people as "lesser mortals". This is, in effect, just another way of saying: "They are not one of us".

Well, speaking as an outsider, a foreigner, who cannot, therefore, ever be "one of us"...I am quite pleased not to be so. Why, on Earth, should anyone wish to be part of a group that spends so much time, looking down on the rest of the world, for not being just like them? It seems to me to be an undesirable group to be a member of, in every way that it is possible to be undesirable.

Singapore speaks a lot about "unity" and "harmony" - but, in truth, it is neither unified nor harmonious. It is actually a country broken up into little islands filled with people thinking: "The others are not one of us". The truth is, elitism, in the sense of a set of self-appointed elites, is much closer to the truth of what Singapore is, than any notion of unity or harmony. Yet, these "elites" are not really elite in any objective sense. I don't see them as being genuinely superior to the people they think themselves superior to - they are just filled with a sense of their own importance and apartness and it is this which creates in them a sense of superiority. (Oh, and usually they have high salaries, too...sometimes very high).

It seems that the attitudes which end in government men referring to the rest of us as "lesser mortals" begin in the classroom, in schools around the country, with young boys (and, I assume girls), creating little elites for themselves, from which all others are excluded.

The funny thing is, I could say the same about those boys: "They are not like me"...but what purpose would that serve? In what way does that define a group worthy of being defined? It is empty talk, in the end. Yet, few realize this: they think such demarcations are worth defining their lives by. In truth, of course, all they are is artificial barriers between people and obstructions to free communication.

Singapore would be better off without this instinctive "elitism" that creates these attitudes. It would, in fact, be better off with genuine "elitism" founded on true differences in ability, rather than artificial social exclusion. I say this because clearly this boy they spoke of was performing as well as they were (otherwise why the need to create a distinction where none existed?) - but still they wanted to separate themselves from him. So, they created an artificial distinction to exclude this GENUINELY elite boy, from their "elite" circle. They wanted, in short, to say that despite his performance being of our kind, it was not to be accepted as being of our kind. Thus, they created social divisions where none should exist. That is unnecessary and unhelpful for Singapore. This nation would benefit from dissolving such barriers - not creating them out of nothing.

I wonder when this nation's leaders will learn that - and the schools too?

(If you would like to learn more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged eight years and seven months, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, five years exactly, and Tiarnan, twenty-eight months, please go to:http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, the Irish, the Malays, Singapore, College, University, Chemistry, Science, genetics, left-handedness, precocity, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, wunderkind, wonderkind, genio, гений ребенок prodigy, genie, μεγαλοφυία θαύμα παιδιών, bambino, kind.

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IMDB is the Internet Movie Database for film and tv professionals.If you would like to look at my IMDb listing for which another fifteen credits are to be uploaded, (which will probably take several months before they are accepted) please go to: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3438598/ As I write, the listing is new and brief - however, by the time you read this it might have a dozen or a score of credits...so please do take a look. My son, Ainan Celeste Cawley, also has an IMDb listing. His is found at: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3305973/ My wife, Syahidah Osman Cawley, has a listing as well. Hers is found at: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3463926/

This blog is copyright Valentine Cawley. Unauthorized duplication prohibited. Use Only with Permission. Thank you.)