Meditation on Facebook

The founder of Facebook, Mark Zuckerberg, 25 years old, is one of those billionaires who enjoy relaxing in Eastern spirituality places. In January, he spent one week in Pune, in India, where he visited the splendid resort “Osho International Meditation” to practice yoga and meditation . Zuckerberg, a student of combining business and leisure, is in India to attend the wedding of a friend, and posted on his Facebook page a picture meant to capture the experience.

Literacy in Croatia

When it comes to tourism, the passion of Bill Gates are cultural holidays . At age 55, founder of Microsoft and the richest man in the world and spent the last holiday to Skradin, a small town in Croatia , with 3,800 inhabitants.Gates clan arrived here aboard a mega-yacht, personal property, “disembarking” leisurely visit to the historic center, where there is a thirteenth-century fortress, and National Park Krka.

Philosophy after Spielberg

And Steven Spielberg seems to prefer to run away from Hollywood regularly and take refuge in places full of history.Last year, his wife, actress Kate Caps-haw, visited the Celtic regions of Ireland. Accompanied by a group of Irish writers and philosophers, and starring as a guide poet David Withe, Spielberg wives have walked through the Burr en region, and They stayed in the small village of Ballyvaughan and have spent hours discussing philosophy with those of the environment and visiting nearby prehistoric dolmens.

Nowhere like home

Texan billionaire Kelcy Warren prefer to spend holidays away from trendy places. Therefore, in April this year he purchased (the “modest” figure of 46 million dollars) Boot Jack Ranch, a huge ranch in Colorado . Property of all you need to relax: villa, surrounded by six lakes, and still has a swimming pool of Olympic dimensions, and the library, fitness room and a cellar with over 1,500 bottles of wine collection.

But others prefer adventure, and as little time off, fly to Africa to enjoy natural landscapes . Financier Paul Tudor Jones is the case II, owner of a farm in Zimbabwe , where he relaxes fishing and hunting. One technology magnates, Tom Sibel, last year opted for a long safari in national park Serengeti, one of the most important protected areas in eastern Africa.

One that, although love uncontaminated nature, can not however give the exotic beaches, the Russian billionaireRoman Abramovich, owner of Chelsea football team. Abramovich spends much of vacations in Costa Rica,where wildlife can both enjoy, and take advantage of the spectacular beaches of the South American country.

Flying Submarine

Also in South Africa owns Virgin boss, Richard Branson, a private natural reserve , this Branson relax when not inthe Caribbean , where he bought Necker Island, an atoll in the Virgin Islands. According to Forbes magazine, Branson is fond of sports like snorkeling and scuba-diving, so he has personal property on the island a kind of submarine aircraft - “Necker Nymph” - with which to explore the depths of the archipelago. And because Britain is not at all selfish, flying submarine can be rented by amateurs, the amount of $ 25,000 per week.

Often, however, super-rich holidays do not last more than a weekend, in these cases, many VIPs from New York take refuge in the Hamptons, located at the eastern end of Long Island. It is also where characters the caliber of Steven Spielberg, George Soros and Ron Baron own impressive holiday homes.

Last destination loved by tycoons from around the world and raised by Forbes is the Bermuda Islands: the islands have properties (among others) New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, the billionaire Texan Ross Perot and Italian Prime Minister Berlusconi Sillvio.

He served for a short while in the British army in France as part of the occupying forces after Napoleon’s defeat, but peacetime soldiering was not to his liking and he idled away his time gambling and drinking before eventually resigning his commission.

And then, on his twenty first birthday he came into his full inheritance, and started spending his considerable fortune like a sailor on shore leave.

His escapades were legendary.

Jack Mytton had a lust for life, a taste for danger, and a reckless extravagant nature. Combined with his passion for gambling, hunting and horses, his wild and impulsive character ensured that his was what one contemporary described as “ a life full of suicide attempts”.

He was so careless of his wealth that he absent-mindedly dropped money all over the place, and staff and visitors to his estate gleefully fill their pockets with jettisoned banknotes. Once he lost his racetrack winnings – several thousand pounds – at Doncaster races when the wind blew them away. He had a wardrobe consisting of 150 pairs of hunting breeches, 700 pairs of handmade hunting boots, 1000 hats and some 3,000 shirts. He had some 2,000 dogs who were fed on steak and champagne. Some of the dogs wore livery, others were costumed in various outlandish outfits.

He lived for hunting, which he often did naked, in the middle of winter. He was a reckless, fearless rider who would attempt any hedge or stream, no matter how high, deep or wide. As a result he was often unhorsed, but this wouldn’t deter him. He would continue the hunt on foot, and on at least one occasions with several broken ribs.

His favourite horse was“ Baronet” a one-eyed charger who in the evenings was allowed to lie down in front of the fire with his master. Not all of his horses were so fortunate. Another, “Sportsman”, died after Jack made it drink a bottle of port.

He loved speed, and if he had been alive today he would have been a racing driver, although not one you’d want to be on the track with. He would drive his gig at high speed at an obstacle like a rabbit hole to see if it would turn over, and he once attempted to to jump over a toll-gate in a horse and carriage just to see if he could. He couldn’t.

On another occasion he deliberately tipped his carriage over at high speed, just because his passenger had remarked that he had never been in a carriage accident. Jack thought he was doing him a favour!

For a bet he rode his horse up the grand staircase of a swish hotel and out onto the balcony, from which he jumped, still seated on his horse, over the heads of the astonished diners in the restaurant below. Landing safely, he calmly doffed his cap to the shocked customers and trotted out through the ground floor window and onto the street.

He was absolutely physically fearless, and regularly picked fights with much larger men, just for the hell of it. He also liked to fight his own vicious bulldog with his bare fists, and battled other fighting dogs with his teeth!

He loved practical jokes, and once entered his dining room riding a large and savage female brown bear, scattering banknotes in the direction of any of the terrified guests brave enough to catch them. No wonder the bear bit him on the leg.

On another occasion, he bade his dinner guests farewell, and as soon as they left changed his clothes, grabbed a mask and two pistols, and rode across country to intercept their coach. Thinking that he was a highwayman the terrified passengers fled into the freezing night. Jack pursued them for several miles, demanding that they stand and deliver and firing shots in the air. He thought it was great fun.

Despite warnings from friends and advisers about his unsustainable expenditure and self-destructive behaviour, Jack refused to curtail his profligate lifestyle and eventually had to flee to France to avoid his debtors. Whilst there he deliberately set fire to his nightshirt in an attempt to cure his hiccups. When his servants finally beat out the flames, Jack looked ruefully at fire-damaged room and his own badly burned torso.“At least the hiccups is gone, bigod!” he said.

Jack died aged 38 in 1834, in a London debtors prison. According to the Literary Gazette he died “ a wretched drunkard…, a worn-out debauchee and drivelling sot.” It was a sad, but probably inevitable end to such a larger than life figure, and his funeral attracted thousands of mourners who came to pay their last respects to the man whose antics had enlivened their lives.

Today Jack’s name is commemorated in his native county by a handful of pubs and restaurants, several roads, and even a long-distance footpath through Shropshire, all of which would have pleased him no end—especially the pubs. But the most bizarre memorial, and certainly the one that he would have been most proud of, took place nearly 4000 miles away. The Jack Mytton Run was an annual MASS STREAK event by nude students on the University of Minnesota campus in Minneapolis, Minnesota USA. Starting in 1999 it became a hugely popular event attracting hundreds of spectators. Sadly the campus police put a stop to it in 2009.

If Jack had been alive I bet they wouldn’t have dared!

Timothy Dexter, born in Massachusetts in 1747, a farm labourer by the age of eight, an apprenticed leather-dresser who could barely read or write and regarded as an idiot by those that knew him – went on to accumulate a huge fortune by literally selling coal to the mining area of Newcastle in England and amongst other things, woollen mittens to the sweltering islands of the West Indies.  As a businessman and entrepreneur he was nothing short of an enigma.

However, as an individual, his behaviour was bizarre to say the least!

By reason of the way that he had made his fortune, seen by many older, long- established Boston families as ‘new’ money and therefore vulgar, he was totally shunned by their ‘society’ and excluded from all of social events.  Because of what he regarded as their unfounded prejudice against him, Dexter established his own ‘society’, surrounded himself with his own ‘courtiers’, one of whom was a 6ft 7in giant he called ‘Tiny’, and began calling himself ‘Lord’ Timothy Dexter.

Within the large garden of his mansion, that he referred to as his ‘court’, and in a prominent position that could be seen by all those passing by, he placed – on the top of tall plinths – forty life-sized, hand-carved, wooden statues of famous people such as Admiral Lord Nelson, William Pitt, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, George Washington, and of course – ‘Lord’ Timothy Dexter.

In true entrepreneurial style Dexter enlarged his garden to become an open-air museum, charging members of the public a small fee to enter.  One of the exhibits of which he was particularly proud was the tomb he had built in anticipation of his eventual demise, complete with silk-lined mahogany coffins.  The tomb also contained, among the usual funeralaccoutrements, a speaking trumpet, a set of smoking pipes with a good supply of tobacco and…a box of fireworks! 

Dexter’s relationship with his wife, Elizabeth Frothingham, whose pre-marital wealth had enabled him to go into business for himself after their marriage, was rocky by any standards.  Often, when he had visitors in his mansion, Elizabeth, who was usually the worse for wear due to her regular consumption of alcohol would take much pleasure in berating him in front of his guests.  Accustomed to her fiery outbursts, ‘Lord’ Timothy was always one step ahead of her.  Whenever she appeared in the room, drunk and cursing him at the top of her voice, he would inform his guests that in actual fact his wife had died years ago and that the mad, ranting woman in front of them was merely her ghost, instructing them to simply ignore her.

In 1802, Dexter wrote and published a book, principally an autobiography, entitled ‘A Pickle for the Knowing Ones’ or ‘Plain Truths in a Homespun Dress’.  In true eccentric style Dexter did not charge a price for the book, but gave it away free to anyone who wanted a copy.  The book became so popular that it actually ran to eight editions, and often changed hands at a high price amongst those unable to obtain a free copy.  Unfortunately the book had one major drawback.  It did not contain one example of punctuation and only a few randomly placed capital letters.  In response to the many complaints that he had received regarding the problem; he included in the second edition an extra page in the book – thirteen lines of punctuation with a note asking readers to “peper and solt it as they plese”.

One fantastic idea that Timothy Dexter did argue for within the pages of his book, was that what America really needed was an emperor, someone with authority to lead them, and in his opinion ‘Lord’ Timothy Dexter would be the ideal candidate!

In 1806 Timothy Dexter died and was buried at Old Hill Burying Ground, Newburyport, Massachusetts, as officials at the time would not allow him to be buried in his tomb.  A plain simple headstone marks his grave.   His house subsequently became a hotel and then a library. 

Unfortunately, thirty-nine of his wooden statues, his own likeness included, succumbed to the ravages of the elements; William Pitt’s being the sole survivor.  A fact that would not have amused the emperor – ‘Lord’ Timothy Dexter!

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Further church, history and railway-related articles by Charles Moorhen:

Video Clip: Baby Swan Gets a Ducking

Overcome ‘Writer’s Block’ With Just One Word

Henry Bessemer’s Extravagant Attempt to Cure His Seasickness

Timothy Dexter: Farm Boy to Millionaire

Paper Recycling in the 1950’s

Caravan and Motorhome Dealers Directory 2011

Fall and Rise of the Great Selborne Yew

Lost Medieval Church Paintings of England

Exploring The English Church

Origins of Traditional Wedding Customs

The Winding Country Lanes of England

12 Practical Tips For Safer Winter Driving

Did Charles Dickens Really Invent ‘Miss Havisham’

A Unique, Unusual and Fascinating Farm Gate

Bricked Up Heart and a Ghost in Woodford Church

The English Church: The Baptismal Font

The English Church: Exploring the English Churchyard

English Churches: Selborne Church in Hampshire

English Churches: Cheriton Church in Hampshire

English Churches: Brixworth Church in Northamptonshire

English Churches: Clifton Hampden Church in Oxfordshire

English Churches: Charwelton Church in Northamptonshire

She Became the Fastest Typist in Europe

The Popularity of the Railway Camping Coach

Origin of the ‘Humpty Dumpty’ Nursery Rhyme

The Tudor Origin of the ‘Mary Mary Quite Contrary’ Nursery Rhyme

The Intriguing Origin of the ‘Little Jack Horner’ Nursery Rhyme

The Great Little Brownie 127 Camera

Smith’s Crisps and the Little Blue Salt Bag

The Grisly Murder of ‘Sweet Fanny Adams’ (and the origin of the saying ‘sweet FA’)

Britain’s First Railway Murder

The Historical ‘Uffington White Horse’

London’s Unique Funeral Railway

15 Historical Railway Facts You Possibly Never Knew

Is This The Oldest Woolworth’s Christmas Tree In The World

Superstitions Surrounding Babies

Five Easy Steps to Improve Your Cycling Enjoyment

Great Little Wind-Up Radio

‘Pure White Crosses’: World War One Poem

‘Pure White Crosses’: (The Musical Version of the Poem)

‘They Made Me Stay Behind’: World War One Poem

‘I Believed You Honourable’: World War One Poem

Autobiographical stories of the 1950’s and 1960’s by Charles Moorhen:

Reaching For The Stars

Santa Claus is Hiding Behind the Curtain

A Double Decker Mystery That Lasted Nearly 40 Years

The ‘Bread-Roll Lady’ Visits Our Estate

Not A Promising Start

Meat Pie and Two Forks

Hop, Skip and Jump

Boredom After Brown Gravy

Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining

Along Dover Promenade For a Walk In My Past (Part fiction)

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For instance, the eighteenth century artist Benjamin West had an executed criminal exhumed and crucified to see how he hung in order to be more realistic when painting.

Gustav Mahler was famous for his funeral marches and wrote his first funeral march when he was six years old.  He suffered from depression and had a morbid fixation on death.    He believed that the great composers Beethoven and Schubert lived only long enough to compose nine symphonies.  He thought he could cheat death by calling his ninth work a “Song Cycle.”  As soon as the wrote his first draft, he died suddenly from a throat infection.

James Whistler is famous for his painting called simply “Whistler’s Mother.”  He once had his rice pudding dyed green so it wouldn’t clash with the decor of the dining room.

In 1863, author Louisa May Alcott became ill and wrote in her journal that she suffered from terrible hallucinations in which she was repeatedly molested by a big Spaniard with soft hands.  She recovered and went on to write “Little Women.”

Friedrich Von Schiller, an eighteenth century German poet and dramatist, worked best with his feet on a block of ice while inhaling the fumes of rotting apples.

Arnold Bennett is renowned for his stunning detail when writing his novels.  Bennett was complimented for his description of the death of Darius Clayhanger in his series by that name.  The death scene was said to be the most realistic of its kind in the history of English literature.  He said that while his father was dying, he was at the death bed taking notes.

After Jonathan Swift finished writing “Gulliver’s Travels”, he wrote a piece on excrement in 1733 called “Human Ordure” under the pen name of Dr. Shit.

Robert Louis Stevenson, the Scottish author of “Treasure Island” and “Kidnapped”, spent his early years reading parts of the Bible aloud to sheep.

German composer Robert Schumann had two imaginary friends called Florestan and Eusebius who gave him ideas for his musical scores.  Unfortunately, Schumann died in an insane asylum.

The Belgian-French pulp fiction writer Georges Simenon created the pipe smoking detective Inspector Maigret and was the world’s hardest working author.  He was able to type out as much as eighty pages of manuscript each day.  He said that he found the strain of writing so extreme that it frequently caused him to vomit.  Alfred Hitchcock phoned one day and was told by Simenon’s secretary that he couldn’t be disturbed because he had just begun a new novel.  Hitchcock, knowing that Simenon could write as many as three novels per month, simply replied “That’s all right, I’ll wait.”

Opera composer Giacomo Mayerbeer lived in constant fear of premature burial.  He arranged to have bells tied to his arms and legs so that any movement inside his coffin would be heard.  So far, he continues to rest peacefully.

Nineteenth century French writer Honore de Balzac believed that sex drained him of his creativity.  After several months of abstinance, he was lured into a Paris brothel.  Afterward, he complained of his folly by declaring “I lost a novel this morning.”

Other articles by Bren Parks include:

• Making Movies: Stars Who Died Undone
• Making Movies: Stars Who Collide
• Making Movies: Beyond the Call of Duty
• Strange Stories: Making Hollywood Movies
• Six of the Greatest and Deadliest Bands in Rock and Roll
• Strange Acts of Entertainment