endings

I think that it is time for me to draw a line, and with it end this blog. I feel that it is no longer possible to express myself in writing without causing discomfort or unhappiness to others and for that reason, it would seem sensible to call a halt to my ramblings.

To write publicly like this is always a risk and although I have deliberately avoided certain things, a simple cascade of emotions and ideas can become a minefield if accessed by others.

I have enjoyed writing here and have managed to pour out quite a lot of my thoughts and my own personal history. I know that it is not particularly interesting, but for me it has been somewhat cathartic and has helped me through some difficult times. I feel that I am now on more solid ground and maybe I can throw away the crutches without falling over.

I have taken to writing and this platform has given me the opportunity to practice and find imagery that I have never really found before. I will miss it a great deal and have already started the long process of deletion. I am keeping for posterity and maybe vanity, some of the longer entries, and that is taking time. Each time I try to delete an entry though, for some reason my browser seems to crash, so that is a frustration that I can do without.

So, there seems little more to say - it has all been said before and the rest? Well I will have to find a new direction. To write, almost by definition requires a reader, and without readers, what is the point of writing?

prefs

This is a first. I am typing this entry on a PC instead of my beloved Mac. The reason? My Mac does not have portability while this PC laptop has only that, and so i can sit here in front of the banality box and type away unhindered by feelings of guilt for my unsociability.

As a long standing Mac addict I do confess to an anti PC bias, and my experience this evening on Windows Vista has done nothing to redress a balance in my mind. I find the whole PC interface to be dull, uninspiring and very cumbersome. It takes ages to do anything, and insists on consulting something called a virus checker before it can be persuaded to run anything. I know that Microsoft rules the western world, and that could well explain why we are in a state of decline.

I am wondering what can be accomplished on a PC that cannot be done faster and more easily on the more reliable and intrinsically more accessible Apple environment.

Ok so Mac Users are a minority group, but that does not make us wrong. I suspect that some people, myself included, are drawn towards the unusual or maybe just repelled by the run of the mill. Yes Ok it is a perverseness on my part, but I have always rebelled against mainstream and swum against the tide, and maybe that is why I have never made a great success of anything. I have no desire or will to change, and evn though I may well be wrong about so many things, at least I am under an illusion that I have a mind of my own. There are few people that have been there, to most it is a closed book, and my blog is a way in which I can share a portion of what lies beneath. I know that I am ordinary and that is all that I can aspire to, however, I still have a voice and sometimes it gets heard.

caravan2

Caravan life was basic and I guess that my own enthusiasm for it was not necessarily shared. It wasn't much fun in the depths of winter, making visits to the outdoor toilet. It wasn't a lot of fun finding mildew on clothes, and oddly it never happened to mine.
It wasn't fun finding that the cats had left dead mice in the bed either, but those were probably the worst things.

It was nice to be woken by birdsong or by the same animals running over the metal roof, and it was lovely in early summer to be able to eat fresh fish almost daily.

We bought our first car that year - it was a fiat 500 and it cost 300 pounds. A tank full of petrol was about 3 pounds and it lasted a fortnight. The car was a necessity as the caravan was a good ten miles from the school. I took and passed my driving test in that little car and impressed the examiner with my double declutching that was essential when changing down. It took us many miles, mainly below 50mph but it was a freedom of sorts.

Ted's daughter, Samantha, has Down's syndrome, and we got to know her very well. She was, and still is a loving and caring human being and I always felt quite priviledged to have met her. While we were there in Ted's little corner of paradise, we always felt so welcome and like members of the family. Ted was a perfect gentleman and a great friend.

He would allow me to take the boat out by myself now and then, and I can recall balmy summer's days drifting alone on the tide and being so very content.

Eventually however it was time to move on and although I never felt that we could afford it, we bought our first house, a tiny terraced house back in the town, and that was to be home for the next five years.

caravan1

It's a bright and sunny day and I am sitting at my desk, listening to Monteverdi and staring at my screen wondering what is going to emerge from my mind today. I don't suppose it matters much at the end of the day, all this is so ephemeral and one day all will be lost in the scrapyard of hard drives and servers that is building up with every passing day.

I guess I could talk about the caravan year. Bear in mind that all I write is unprepared and only comes from one viewpoint. The move to the caravan took place because we were newly married and didn't think it was appropriate to continue living in a bachelor house. A work colleague lived out in the countryside, near to the beach and had a caravan in his garden that we could rent for five pounds a week. I jumped at the chance and for me that year was quite wonderful. It was small, and basic but it was home for a year. The accommodation was made up of a small bedroom, subject to mildew, a tiny kitchen, and a small lounge heated by a small solid fuel burner. Without it the place was freezing and with it on we roasted. For all its issues, it was home for a while.

Ted, our landlord, gave us the use of his bathroom and there was an outdoor toilet for middle of the night emergencies. He also had a boat.

Ted's boat was a 10 ft plywood dinghy with a small outboard motor that he had found somewhere buried in the garden. It was never the easiest of things to start and there were times when i thought that it never would. I have to say at this point that i am lucky to still be here. (I think) In Ted's boat, we would venture out to sea, mainly at night, in order to fish. Now i am not a small man, Ted was then a good 18 stone, that's 250 pounds American/Canadian, and we went out with no life jackets, no flares, no lights and no thoughts whatever about personal safety. To make matters worse, Ted had no real appreciation of maritime rules and regulations, and to us, navigation buoys were there to tie up to.

During Cowes week, probably the world's most famous sailing event, we tied up to a buoy as was our habit and started fishing in the glorious sunshine, admiring the boats with their coloured spinnakers, heading in our direction. We hadn't any way of knowing that we had tied up to a mark and that in a few minutes, millions of pounds of expensive plastic and metal would come hurtling around the buoy. Our presence had not gone un-noticed as we had effectively extended the mark by a good 50 ft, and they ere all obliged, the whole fleet that is, to go around us. I learned words that day that i had never heard before, and I cowered in terror in our tiny floating pile of wood as the last of them hurtled round and vanished.

Then there was the night that we went out much further. Well it was a clear night and very calm. This time Captain Ted took us out to a buoy called Peel Bank. The water here was deep and fast flowing. No anchor would hold us and so of course we tied up to the buoy. It was a perfect night and we were even visited by a passing seal. That night, just as we were settled into the fishing, I at the front of the boat facing down tide and Ted seated at the aft end next to the outboard and over the spare petrol tank, cigarette in mouth as always, when we were treated to a rare sight. The QE2 came into Southampton and at the same time, the France came out. An there we were on the very edge of the busiest shipping lane in the country, in a tiny boat.

I saw the bow wave coming . It looked like a new horizon, growing from the old one. Because of Ted's weight, there were two inches of wood above the waterline at his end, and when I pointed out what was coming our way, he shot towards the front end and we sat side by side facing the oncoming tsunami.

There are always a number of bow waves and the first one picked us up and slammed us into the buoy. So did the second and the third. The boat did not break up and neither did we take in water. Had we done so, no-one would have noticed and we'd have drowned there and then, never to be seen again. Maybe we were - and perhaps this is another life that I am living.

ब्ज्ज्ज्ज्ज्ज्ज़

Mosquito, is a device employed by shopkeepers and the like, throughout the country. It is a sound generator that produces high pitched noise that is undetectable to old fogies like me, but is unpleasant and highly irritating to children and teenagers, as their thresholds of audibility are so much higher than ours.

The idea is that if you have one of these in or near your premises, that kids will not want to linger there and make general nuisances of themselves.

This is becoming a bone of contention, with civil liberty groups claiming that it is a major infringement on the rights of children. Others have said how disgraceful it is to be using a sonic weapon against our children.

Now i can see both sides of this argument. I agree that it seems discriminatory and that effectively it makes such areas, more or less no-go to young people. On the other hand, there are gangs of teens, who by their very presence are making other areas into no-go for virtually everyone else. Groups of hooded youths are intimidating for most people, as they are quite understandably seen as threats, and my hiding their faces, amplify the fear that some deliberately impose on their communities.

Many shopkeepers find that when these gangs collect outside their stores, no-one else will come anywhere near. So what are they to do? The police are more or less without power to deal with youths on the streets, and their parents have often no control, or worse, no knowledge of what the kids are up to. Anyone even approaching these clusters of young people is risking verbal and even physical abuse, and so most adults have abdicated any responsibility for their behaviour.

The gang culture is growing again, but now against a background of untouchability. Adults won't confront them, the police won't or can't do anything and the kids know this. The lines that we grew up with have slowly been erased by those whose blinkered approach to human rights, have and continue to, erode the rights of everyone else.

A shopping centre found that by playing Mozart through a PA system helped to move the gangs away, but eben this was seen by some do-gooders to be an infringement of someone's rights.

Yes in a civilised country, there should be basic human rights. To drink clean water, to afford to eat, to have shelter and security at home, and to feel safe. Unfortunately, now everyone wants everything that they can see others enjoying, but without having to go through the process of earning it. Everyone expects that the world owes them something, because they have been told that they have "rights". Unfortunately t hey have not been told that they also have responsibilities, and that those responsibilities include granting the same basic rights to their fellow citizens.

It is time that our society grew up and maybe enforced some of the basic laws that apply to adults, but seem to not apply to the youths. Maybe if the police spent less time bleeding money from motorists and more time on the streets where the new waves of criminals are at work, that things might improve.

Many think that the kids only cluster the way they do because they have nothing else to do! That is rubbish, they cluster because they want to and because they are allowed to and because they have power in numbers. There is far more for kids to do now than there ever has been, and it is only a minority that make others lives a misery. The only thing that is lacking is enforcable rules.

Fatwas

Well another day of bright sunshine and unseasonable temperatures here. Frogs are spawning, daffodils are out and much of the natural world thinks that is is spring. Next week it is just as likely to snow as anything else, we know that our climate has a great way of biting your arse when you are not looking.

For those who expect me to rant about the Archbishop and his pronouncements on Sharia Law, I am not going to disappoint you.
I did go to the trouble of finding out a little bit about what he said and something about Sharia law too, and although what he said is probably horribly near the truth, one cannot help feeling that he should have kept his mouth shut.

In a time when the population in general is sick to death of the strife generated in the name of Islam, his speech will do nothing to engender more understanding between the two communities. If anything what he has done is to add fuel to the racism and bigotry that grows with the National Front and the British National party.

Sharia Law has a very bad press, and that to some extent is justified. It was Sharia law that was used to issue a Fatwa against Salman Rushdie, just for publishing a book which he used to express his rational criticism of Islam. In theory at least he is still condemned to death for expressing an opinion. In theory, should a Muslim see the light and decide to leave Islam, that too is punishable by death.

Though i can see that there are cultural problems that may be better sorted by some alternative means, there is no justification for having two sets of laws within this country, just because one , albeit a growing, section of the community sees British law as irrelevant to them. We already have a group within the country - they are called criminals and some of them are in prison because they don't agree with the laws of the land. To even suggest that Sharia law should be embraced within our own legal system will be anathema to the majority of the population, who would rather that those who wish to be ruled this way, should go to a country like Afghanistan, where Sharia Rules OK!

Any steps in that direction here is a backward step towards a mediaeval suppression of women and men and does nothing to encourage the assimilation of many wonderful people into our society.

So having got that out of the way, i can return to the greenhouse and try to get mack in, all the things that i took out this morning prior to giving it a good clean.

China

I have an apology to make. In a recent blog I complained about a DNA, and wittered about responsibility etc etc. I have just remembered that the student involved is away on a holiday. He had in fact told me but I had failed to write it down and hence forgot.
My memory is getting worse i know, probably too much wine blended with too many years. I can remember things if I really make an effort but sometimes things just pass me by.
Anyway there it is - i am sorry and will make sure next time that I have at least some of the facts right.

I made a resolution today. Never to buy anything that is made in China. Never ever again. I spent this morning trying toassemble a dining suite for a friend. It is smart and stylish and came in flat packs. The table looks lovely and when we find the legs for it I am sure that it will suit him down to the ground. As it is, down to the ground right now, it is pretty useless.

It came with six chairs - also flatpacked in some Bejing sweatshop. I spent at least an hour and a half attempting to assemble the parts into a sturdy dining chair. Note - One .....king chair. The last nut, integral to the whole thing would not go in. My fingers are so sore from trying to bend the chair to accommodate that last piece. It would have been so good if all the holes had been drilled to the right tolerances and in the right places, but that would have required the engineering skills that China seems to be missing.

They seem very good at copying western designs, and making replicas so much cheaper that can be done over here. Unfortunately it may be cheap but on the whole it seems to be turning out to quite nasty too.

My fingers hurt and there are still four chairs yet to build. He can wait!

ऑफ़ Mice

Princes street was a much more satisfactory living space than the bedsit in Alton ever was. Apart from anything else, i did not spend every evening alone hoping that it didn't rain, and every night worrying that I would oversleep.

The job too was more rewarding, though in those days the money was still pretty awful.

I arrived at the High school for my first term, the day before the kids arrived. This was a tradition that was retained throughout my career. THis time I knew a number of members of staff and some of the kids already as I had been to the school on a teaching practice two years before, so it felt like coming home. I was expecting to become part of the main school but found that my "lab" was to be an old Nissen Hut, dating from the last war, and that is was situated as far from the main buildings as possible.
The old green painted metal building had been kitted out as a basic laboratory with old desks and chairs that no-one else wanted. I had a small budget for improving equipment and was left more or less to my own devices - yet again. So my second year in the job was spent in near isolation.

Ok I went and joined the others at tea breaks and lunch, as long as it wasn't raining, but by and large I had my own little empire and should anyone important decide to visit, it was easy to see them coming.

I started to keep animals there, Locusts in cages, Mice and even cockroaches. That was fine until one monday morning I came in and found the mouse cages open and bits of mice all over the place. Rats had got in and eaten most of the livestock. The rest had escaped and would thereafter be seen scuttling over the benches or over the floor from time to time.

I never felt the same about the place after that. I loathe rats.

During that time, I established a gardening club at lunchtimes, a drama group, and began taking kids on walking holidays, staying in Youth Hostels. All of this stemming from my youth club days and remembering how such things had changed my life. It just felt so natural to give something back. Goodness knows how I found the time, but I, and others too, did find the time to make school a little more than a tedious curriculum.

That year we got married and moved out of Princes street into a caravan in a colleagues garden. Therein lies another tale.

politeness

For the first time ever, a student failed to turn up today. No phone call, no email, nothing. As it happens, I was not particularly bothered and had other things to do, but the principle is important. DNAs as the hospital calls them are a pain in the arse, as they have booked time that could easily be filled attending to the needs of someone else.

I am a very punctual person. i was dragged up to believe that impunctuality was rude and inconsiderate, and gave out the message that your own time is more important than someone else's. So many people today are very inconsiderate of others and live within their own little worlds believing that the whole universe revolves around them.

I suppose that it is the current trend to give kids a sense of their own worth, and that is truly a great change since my school days. Self worth is extremely valuable and essential for healthy lives. The problem is that so many kids are overvalued and have no sense of their place in society. We on the other hand were made to feel worthless and put very firmly into our places at every possible opportunity.

There has to be a middle ground and all of us need to be reminded that we are just tiny parts in a big picture. Our role within that picture may change, but the picture is not about any individual, and no-one has the right to imagine that it does. We all have rights, or so we are led to believe, but those rights are only there while others allow them to be so. We all have responsibilities too, and that is what seems to be forgotten. The world owes none of us a thing, and what we get out of this life is very much dependent upon what we are prepared to put in.

I long ago stopped blaming others for my problems. I am in control of myself and whatever is wrong in my life is my responsibility and mine alone.

My student may come back next week and it will be interesting to see if he has anything to say. I won't mention his non
attendance of course because to do so would be highlighting a failure, and that in modern educational terms is really not good practice.

मेमोरी

music

I guess that I am not alone in my tendency to drift away into the past. Even in cases of dementia, it is the oldest memories that tend to be the last to go, and I can understand why many people drift into that personal sea, where they can be safe and alone, wrapped in a rose tinted version of their own history.

Music does it for me. There are so many songs or snatches of music that instantly transport me to a long lost location in time and space. Though it is impossible to reach the actual co-ordinates, it sometimes feels as if I really go back. For that reason there are some songs that I find hard to play and will generally do so only when I am drunk!

Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues, takes me to my room in College, which for a while i shared with Chris. Chris was a PE student, and although we shouldn't stereotype them, he lived up to the part. He was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was a nice enough guy. Chris had two things that I lacked. A record player and money. The problem was that he only had one record, and that was "Days of future passed" by the Moody BLues. He'd play this, day and night, over and over again. I suppose we both must have tired of it eventually.

Chris was the most naiive person i ever met. I recall the way that he was persuaded to sell pound notes for nineteen shillings and sixpence because someone told him that the devaluation of the pound made his money worth so much less.

Led Zeppelin's Whole Lotta Love, from their second album also takes me back to college, and this time to a later date when I actually did have a record player. There were two of os who owned this disc and rather than compete, we'd try hard to synchronise the players so that Robert Plant would be heard from both ends of the corridor in some weird stereo. Alas, my player was slower than his and any synchrony was very brief.

Samuel Barber's Adagio for strings, is forever glued to the funeral of my father. The immediate family returned to Mother's house after the ceremony. No-one else was invited! (How weird is that?) Mother decided to play some of his records, and that was the first. There were no tears - I didn't miss him and never have.

There are so many songs from the sixties that transport me back to adolescence and the youth clubs and dances where i would yearn for the beautiful girls and never be able to talk to them. The Rolling Stones, Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown, reminds me every time of a visit to the skating rink in Birmingham. There, all night I lusted after Jane, who looked so elegant and attractive as she hurled expertly around the ice. I on the other hand in my skin tight pale blue jeans, struggled around while holding on to the rail, feeling very foolish. She didn't even know that I existed.

Like a Rolling Stone, the original version is probably my favourite song of all. It conjures the days before life became complicated. The days when relationships were a thing of the future, when I'd look at girls as objects on a high shelf; there to admire and never to hold. I was on the edge of something very significant and being there had an excitement that is so hard to recapture.

The sixties were not all wonderful and life was hard by today's standards, but all I owned then could be fitted into a small suitcase and for whatever reason, i made choices that brought me here. With every step music came along as my companion, and as such it has many tales to tell.