Many years ago when i was alive, I was a member of a local Amateur Theatre Group. This particular one took things very seriously and even owned their own theatre, and i guess that I only got in because I was a member of a rare group - Men.
Prior to this my experience of theatre was limited to youth clubs, schools and college societies, where fundamentally everyone pulls together. My illusions of a happy family were to be shattered over the months when I participated in two of their productions.
The first of these was as terribly morbid and depressing play called Blood Wedding by Lorca. In this i played the role of a woodcutter and had but a handful of terribly depressing lines, none of which I can remember now. I am not sure that i remembered them at the time but I do remember the rehearing and the backstage backbiting and bitchery that developed along with the production. One of the problems that this, and probably many other such groups had, was a superabundance of old women, who, saw the place as their own by right and woe betide anyone who stepped on their shoes. Old women of both sexes are a powerful force, and alongside these were the luvvies; a small cluster of latent and overt homosexuals who saw the stage as a way out of the closet in which they had been lying still for the rest of their lives. This formed the backbone of the theatre and breaking into the inner circle was never really an option.
At the time i had long fair hair and I suppose that I must have stood out like a sore thumb in a crowd that was ostensibly comprised of Spanish peasants, but the production went on and was staged to some acclaim by the few in the audience who knew what it was about.
The next production was Anhouil's Ring Around the Moon, a play that I knew quite well. I auditioned and was given the part of Joshua, an elderly butler who shambles into the story from time to time and who shares the final scene with an ancient Jewish banker - more about that in a moment.
In this production, the infighting and general bitching reached heights that I had not believed possible and tensions built between various factions that hung in the air like persistent farts. Each rehearsal was blighted by asides and deliberate provocations, but the real straw on the camel's back for me came on the opening night where the poor woman who was acting as prompt (she was always the prompt for reasons that i won't go into) gave a prompt during a dramatic pause. The old woman who had been prompted launched into a verbal attack as soon as the act had finished. The rest of the flock flapped around clucking and pecking and the aforementioned prompt vanished into the only lavatory cubicle and locked herself in sobbing her heart out.
This was awkward. Not only was there nowhere to pee, but it was clear that the safety net prompt was going to be absent for the remainder of the play. I must confess that I enjoyed the backtracking and grovelling apologies that ensued, and the way that the hens gathered around the unfortunate prompt as she emerged wet eyed form the toilet.
The last act went ahead with prompts safely in place and tempers under control. In the very last scene, a conversation between the elderly banker and myself took place front centre stage and face to face. It is an intimate moment where the play is finally put to bed and both of us were heavily made up as old frail men. The banker had a moustache that had always been well fixed in place until that moment. As the scene unravelled i became aware that the prosthesis was beginning to develop a mind of its own and that he was not able to do anything to control it. My face was inches from his as the hairy device first drooped on one side and then hung at 90 degrees to his mouth, swinging gently and reacting to every p uttered by stretching out towards me. I have never before or since exerted so much self control. Most of me wanted to laugh, but a small part of me admired the way that this guy totally ignored the situation and stayed in role until the final curtain, and so did I.
That was my last stage performance. I couldn't face the blathering and infighting any more and so i decided to channel my interest into producing plays in school, but that is another story.
Tuesday 31 March 2009
Monday 30 March 2009
Waiting
I had almost forgotten the wonder of live theatre, and then last thursday I went to see Waiting for Godot at the Theatre Royal in Brighton. The smell of the greasepaint and the roar of the crowd were there, and i was transported instantly back to the days when, whilst young and full of the urge to try anything, I'd tread the boards. I played a role in this play many years ago, and the experience left a lasting impression. I was amazed at how many of the lines I could remember and the faces of my fellow actors came to life as soon as I sat down.
This production was wonderful. Sir Ian McKellan, Patrick Stewart, Simon Callow and Ronald Pickup brought Beckett to life in a way that I didn't think was possible, and to see these great actors in such an intimate environment was an experience to treasure.
The play is billed as a tragicomedy, and Beckett's very clear stage directions were adhered to pretty rigidly. The audience was spellbound and whilst amused by the antics onstage, we were absorbed by the pathos of the non existent plot and by the sheer futility of the human condition. Who is Godot? that was never made clear by Beckett, and as he never turns up we are left to make up our own minds. I believe that there is one human mentality in which many people trudge their way through life hoping that their own particular Godot will be there at the end of the path. Beckett of course believes that he will never turn up. Perhaps he doesn't exist.
I love theatre, I love the interaction between the play, the players and the audience and I revel in the sheer brilliance of the professional actor who can make each and everyone a part of what is going on. I can't wait until the next show.
This production was wonderful. Sir Ian McKellan, Patrick Stewart, Simon Callow and Ronald Pickup brought Beckett to life in a way that I didn't think was possible, and to see these great actors in such an intimate environment was an experience to treasure.
The play is billed as a tragicomedy, and Beckett's very clear stage directions were adhered to pretty rigidly. The audience was spellbound and whilst amused by the antics onstage, we were absorbed by the pathos of the non existent plot and by the sheer futility of the human condition. Who is Godot? that was never made clear by Beckett, and as he never turns up we are left to make up our own minds. I believe that there is one human mentality in which many people trudge their way through life hoping that their own particular Godot will be there at the end of the path. Beckett of course believes that he will never turn up. Perhaps he doesn't exist.
I love theatre, I love the interaction between the play, the players and the audience and I revel in the sheer brilliance of the professional actor who can make each and everyone a part of what is going on. I can't wait until the next show.
Tuesday 24 March 2009
Fishing
I have been trying to think of times in my life when I have been completely at ease with myself. I don't think that such a state is possible for me, there has always been the "what if?" lingering in the back of my mind, the regret of having missed an opportunity, and the more i think about it, the more I realise that my upbringing had a great deal to do with it. However i don't wish to air my family publicly, some things are best left unsaid anyway, and thrusting blame for one's failings upon someone else is pointless. At the end of the day we choose our own directions and some seem able to rise above the influence of others no matter how strong that pull might have been.
The closest I ever got to real inner peace I guess was when I went fishing. In my youth, fishing was quite an obsession with me and whenever I could, I would gather my very basic gear and wander the lengths of the overgrown river that flowed through the village. It was not so much a river but more of a stream that flowed down from the Cotswolds and joined the River Avon, but for me it was integral to my development.
Fishing to me was a solitary activity and I would often leave the house long before anyone else was awake and spend the day alone with the river and the wildlife. I got to know it very well and can still remember the colours that depicted the mood of the seasons. The crystal clarity of the summer and the light brown soup of the winter floods, the green opacity of the algal blooms and the greyness of long winters, were all part of the experience.
Actually catching fish was never important and anyhow they all got returned. It was for me a time of contemplation, a time of peace when i was not criticised or expected to do anything at all. I was myself and there were times when that was the most wonderful thing that I could imagine.
There was one stretch of the river, quite close to the confluence, where it ran straight and deep. This was the run up to a long gone mill, and a weir took the overspill down to a shallow pool and then onto the normal course. I never saw another soul here and it was along way from any extraneous noise. For me it was probably the most peaceful place that I knew then. I would it on the bank, among the monumental stinging nettle beds and gaze into the deep water. I'd imagine that it was infinitely deep, and now and then, I would be almost overwhelmed by an urge to jump into the water. It seemed so peaceful, and so calming and soothing, calling me towards it like a siren. Then the moment would pass and I remember a coldness replacing that feeling and I would pack up my things and leave. I can still hear the sounds of that strange place, i can see the colour of the water and smell the sweetly bitter smell of the broken nettle stems, and i still recall the power of that desire to slip into the water. Perhaps it was the inner me offering a solution to the problem of being me.
I don't go fishing much these days, and when i do it is usually in places where there are lots of people. Maybe one day, i will seek out that magical place and probably find it a huge disappointment.
The closest I ever got to real inner peace I guess was when I went fishing. In my youth, fishing was quite an obsession with me and whenever I could, I would gather my very basic gear and wander the lengths of the overgrown river that flowed through the village. It was not so much a river but more of a stream that flowed down from the Cotswolds and joined the River Avon, but for me it was integral to my development.
Fishing to me was a solitary activity and I would often leave the house long before anyone else was awake and spend the day alone with the river and the wildlife. I got to know it very well and can still remember the colours that depicted the mood of the seasons. The crystal clarity of the summer and the light brown soup of the winter floods, the green opacity of the algal blooms and the greyness of long winters, were all part of the experience.
Actually catching fish was never important and anyhow they all got returned. It was for me a time of contemplation, a time of peace when i was not criticised or expected to do anything at all. I was myself and there were times when that was the most wonderful thing that I could imagine.
There was one stretch of the river, quite close to the confluence, where it ran straight and deep. This was the run up to a long gone mill, and a weir took the overspill down to a shallow pool and then onto the normal course. I never saw another soul here and it was along way from any extraneous noise. For me it was probably the most peaceful place that I knew then. I would it on the bank, among the monumental stinging nettle beds and gaze into the deep water. I'd imagine that it was infinitely deep, and now and then, I would be almost overwhelmed by an urge to jump into the water. It seemed so peaceful, and so calming and soothing, calling me towards it like a siren. Then the moment would pass and I remember a coldness replacing that feeling and I would pack up my things and leave. I can still hear the sounds of that strange place, i can see the colour of the water and smell the sweetly bitter smell of the broken nettle stems, and i still recall the power of that desire to slip into the water. Perhaps it was the inner me offering a solution to the problem of being me.
I don't go fishing much these days, and when i do it is usually in places where there are lots of people. Maybe one day, i will seek out that magical place and probably find it a huge disappointment.
Monday 23 March 2009
All good things
We have had a lovely ten days of spring weather. Glorious blue skies and no wind or rain have been the norm and i was just getting used to alfresco lunches. However, as is always the case, that period has ended and today is overcast with rain heading south and high winds with plummeting temperatures to follow.
The weather is a metaphor for life i guess and unless you are exceptionally lucky, the good days will always be broken up by the bad ones. If you are unlucky of course the reverse could be true.
I confess to being a follower of Manchester United. I am not a fan as such as i don't spend half of my income on watching them play, rather i enjoy watching them on TV or more often these days, listening to the games on the radio. Being the most successful team in the country, if not the world, means that they are the ones to beat, and so if any team wishes to do that, they must raise their game, and recently it seems that has been working, and not in united's favour. They have lost their last two games, badly, and worse, for a team with a good disciplinary record, they have had three players sent off. It would seem that they are running into a stormy patch and I hope that it will be a short one.
The problem here is that the warm weather has pushed all the growth forward and the Magnolias are about to burst into bloom. It would be so typical for that to coincide with the high winds that strip the petal as soon as they are open. Again I hope that is not the case and that spring will be resumed as soon as possible.
The weather is a metaphor for life i guess and unless you are exceptionally lucky, the good days will always be broken up by the bad ones. If you are unlucky of course the reverse could be true.
I confess to being a follower of Manchester United. I am not a fan as such as i don't spend half of my income on watching them play, rather i enjoy watching them on TV or more often these days, listening to the games on the radio. Being the most successful team in the country, if not the world, means that they are the ones to beat, and so if any team wishes to do that, they must raise their game, and recently it seems that has been working, and not in united's favour. They have lost their last two games, badly, and worse, for a team with a good disciplinary record, they have had three players sent off. It would seem that they are running into a stormy patch and I hope that it will be a short one.
The problem here is that the warm weather has pushed all the growth forward and the Magnolias are about to burst into bloom. It would be so typical for that to coincide with the high winds that strip the petal as soon as they are open. Again I hope that is not the case and that spring will be resumed as soon as possible.
Thursday 19 March 2009
Der Fuhrer
I have probably written something similar to this post before but what the heck! Who cares anyway. Statistics are wonderful, and in the hands of the politicians they are invaluable. They can manipulate them and use them to present whatever argument they like and the gullible and oh so stupid public, will believe what they are told. Given that 20% of road traffic accidents are caused by drink driving, it stands to statistical reason that 80% are caused by sober people. Therefore it can be argued that drinking and driving are the safest option.
The reason i write this is because of the antics of arguably the world's most dangerous man, who this week proclaimed that the use of condoms was counterproductive in the fight against AIDS. What Herr Pope cited, were figures based on small samples in one African country, and his researchers must have really looked hard to find any sort of evidence to back his argument. For some long lost theoligical and doctrinal reason, the Catholic heirarchy wants people to breed like flies and fill the world with hungry mouths, probably to increase their numbers and swell their own coffers. The vatican depends on vast numbers of ignorant people who donate part of whatever they earn to maintain the immense wealth and power that Rome commands. It is a disgrace that someone with such influence can say such stupid and irresponsible things and be allowed to get away with it. Ok since yesterday the statement has been retracted, but perhaps too late.
The reason i write this is because of the antics of arguably the world's most dangerous man, who this week proclaimed that the use of condoms was counterproductive in the fight against AIDS. What Herr Pope cited, were figures based on small samples in one African country, and his researchers must have really looked hard to find any sort of evidence to back his argument. For some long lost theoligical and doctrinal reason, the Catholic heirarchy wants people to breed like flies and fill the world with hungry mouths, probably to increase their numbers and swell their own coffers. The vatican depends on vast numbers of ignorant people who donate part of whatever they earn to maintain the immense wealth and power that Rome commands. It is a disgrace that someone with such influence can say such stupid and irresponsible things and be allowed to get away with it. Ok since yesterday the statement has been retracted, but perhaps too late.
Wednesday 18 March 2009
Not a rant
I am spending this evening working on a website that I created a long while ago for a friend. It is at times like this when i am reminded of my frailties and shortcomings, which i know are legion, but my bugbear is really one of disorganisation. I Hardly ever write things down. I never have, apart from in this instrument called a blog. The result of my laziness/ineptitude is of course that I forget things. I forget where things are and worse, how i did something, and so as a result, every time I make alterations i am really starting almost from fresh.
Clearly I am at the moment taking a break from it as my brain is hurting somewhat, and i thought I'd spend a few idle moments rabbiting on about something or other. I suppose i could write about my faults and failings but that would take far too long, and I'd rather leave that to others, who can relish the put downs.
At my advanced age, illness in oneself and in ones peers seems to be the natural way of things, and, as bodies and minds wear out, we slow down and become damaged so very easily. I am getting used to the fact and know that sooner or later some other part will fail and i will wind up in the care of the health system. They used to say that you should never buy a car that was made on a friday - (as if you had any choice) on the grounds that workers on friday were more likely to be careless and do sloppy jobs. I have a theory that I was either born or conceived on a friday! I would look up the birthday but can't be bothered and frankly, i really do not want to know anything about my conception. i know that it was an accident and that some people believed that it was a big mistake, but it happened. Like the friday made cars I have a body that is falling apart and an engine that probably needs a rebuild. I use good fuel and am generally well oiled but it makes no difference. i am still rolling downhill towards the scrapheap.
What concerns me more are friends, good friends, much younger than I , who have had more than their fair share of health issues. That does not seem fair to me, and my heart goes out to those who live in pain and fear for their own failing systems.
I often think about death and dying, as with certainty, it gets ever nearer, and I hope that i can approach it with some dignity. I have no fear of the end and no expectations of an afterlife, especially not one that includes dozens of virgins (perish the thought), but maybe like most people, I am not too keen on the journey.
I know that i have generally been lucky and have had a good life and for that i am thankful. i have met so many wonderful people and had some amazing experiences, I have a mind that works from time to time, i have some basic skills that are still of some use, and i still have most of my faculties. I have no cause for complaint.
Clearly I am at the moment taking a break from it as my brain is hurting somewhat, and i thought I'd spend a few idle moments rabbiting on about something or other. I suppose i could write about my faults and failings but that would take far too long, and I'd rather leave that to others, who can relish the put downs.
At my advanced age, illness in oneself and in ones peers seems to be the natural way of things, and, as bodies and minds wear out, we slow down and become damaged so very easily. I am getting used to the fact and know that sooner or later some other part will fail and i will wind up in the care of the health system. They used to say that you should never buy a car that was made on a friday - (as if you had any choice) on the grounds that workers on friday were more likely to be careless and do sloppy jobs. I have a theory that I was either born or conceived on a friday! I would look up the birthday but can't be bothered and frankly, i really do not want to know anything about my conception. i know that it was an accident and that some people believed that it was a big mistake, but it happened. Like the friday made cars I have a body that is falling apart and an engine that probably needs a rebuild. I use good fuel and am generally well oiled but it makes no difference. i am still rolling downhill towards the scrapheap.
What concerns me more are friends, good friends, much younger than I , who have had more than their fair share of health issues. That does not seem fair to me, and my heart goes out to those who live in pain and fear for their own failing systems.
I often think about death and dying, as with certainty, it gets ever nearer, and I hope that i can approach it with some dignity. I have no fear of the end and no expectations of an afterlife, especially not one that includes dozens of virgins (perish the thought), but maybe like most people, I am not too keen on the journey.
I know that i have generally been lucky and have had a good life and for that i am thankful. i have met so many wonderful people and had some amazing experiences, I have a mind that works from time to time, i have some basic skills that are still of some use, and i still have most of my faculties. I have no cause for complaint.
Tuesday 17 March 2009
Birthdays
I once made the mistake of designing and producing some personalised birthday cards. Being something of a novelty, they were well received, and so I continued the process. Now everyone expects a personal touch each and every birthday. This presents all sorts of issues to me. Whenever i see a friend or family member i become preoccupied by the collection of photographs that can be used in future cards. I don't much mind doing them but sometimes it does become a chore as each one needs to be original and if possible, funny. When there is someone who's sense of humour is different or challenging, that poses other problems as the images and text must be chosen so as not to upset them or worse.
I am very bad at dates, and there are a few people, whose birthdays stick in my mind, but the majority, like most dates, simply pass me by and so often, a clump of birthdays will come along and I am reminded that i have to produce a whole batch of cards all at once. This is such a week and i feel a little inundated with the demand. Each card can take me hours to produce, and so if you ever get one from me, spare a thought for the blood sweat and tears that went into making it. having said that, it is unlikely that you will unless you remind me that it is your birthday. I am sure that there is one in March that I ought to remember.........
I am very bad at dates, and there are a few people, whose birthdays stick in my mind, but the majority, like most dates, simply pass me by and so often, a clump of birthdays will come along and I am reminded that i have to produce a whole batch of cards all at once. This is such a week and i feel a little inundated with the demand. Each card can take me hours to produce, and so if you ever get one from me, spare a thought for the blood sweat and tears that went into making it. having said that, it is unlikely that you will unless you remind me that it is your birthday. I am sure that there is one in March that I ought to remember.........
Monday 16 March 2009
Rambling on
It is a lovely day today, and I am listening to the Incredible String Band while sitting next to an open window. Many days, like today, I have no ideas in my head at all and write what comes into my mind once i have started. Last week was a strange one, and although it had many good points, i had another outbreak of the dreaded hives. I am beginning to think that it may be a reaction to red wine, and yet I can go weeks without any reaction while continuing to imbibe. Last week's was a strange attack; very quick to appear and quite short lived, though while it lasted it was pretty awful. I reckon that each attack is worse in it's intensity than the last one and for a 24 hour period i felt dreadful. It is not just the welts that cover my skin and itch like crazy, though that is pretty annoying, it is that inside i feel really, indescribably unwell. This attack was also accompanied by a dizzy attack which meant that I could neither stand or see, and so, i took to my bed, a swollen mess that felt very sorry for itself. The next morning it was more or less gone, and life was restored. I did have a glass of red wine the following evening and detected slight prickling and itching of the skin, so maybe I'll give it a miss for a while and then maybe have a binge at some time and see what happens.
I haven't had any comments from my reader for a while. I do hope that a. he/she is ok. b. that i am not being a bore. and c. that I have not altogether lost touch with reality. I do enjoy some feedback from time to time, it is a sort of affirmation of my existence. I seem to lack much of that some days.
Retirement, especially premature retirement has it's dull times and i guess that I am going through one of them, in which I can see little point to my days and nothing to moan or complain about. As a result I look outside of my life for inspiration, and that too seems lacking at the moment. Oh well - tomorrow is another day.
I haven't had any comments from my reader for a while. I do hope that a. he/she is ok. b. that i am not being a bore. and c. that I have not altogether lost touch with reality. I do enjoy some feedback from time to time, it is a sort of affirmation of my existence. I seem to lack much of that some days.
Retirement, especially premature retirement has it's dull times and i guess that I am going through one of them, in which I can see little point to my days and nothing to moan or complain about. As a result I look outside of my life for inspiration, and that too seems lacking at the moment. Oh well - tomorrow is another day.
Sunday 15 March 2009
Words
I am a believer in free speech but it does seem to me that the laws regarding what one can and cannot say in public need some attention. I am not free to speak out against Islam without running the risk of being arrested, or having a fatwah set against me, and yet I can happily express my dissent regarding Catholisism or Church of England philosophies. I can criticise Mormons and Jehova's Witnesses with impugnity (I hope), and yet I,like most of our politicians, do not feel safe to argue against the ridiculous notions of the mad mullahs that seem to control the bulk of the Muslims in this and other western countries. This week, a British born, Cleric has been observed, condemning British troops returning from Afghanistan and Iraq, and urging his followers to provide funds to support the war against the west. He has also been reported as promoting the introduction of Sharia law into the uk along with the mediaeval systems that it is based upon. All of this while utterly dependent upon State benefits as many of his kind tend to be. At present he seems to be walking free and although I do support his right to freedom of expression and can laugh at the ridiculous nature of his arguments, many of his followers have experience of one book and one set of ideas and as a result are malleable and so easily influenced. It would seem that as yet he has broken no laws, or is it that these days it is so much easier for us to turn a blind eye?
Wednesday 11 March 2009
French peasant food
In the middle of cooking a Coq au Vin for a dinner party this evening. Bad timing really as there is a big match on tonight and i will miss it. It is my own fault of course, I should learn to listen more effectively and take notice of what I am being asked before i say yes or just mumble assent which is the usual response. Anyway the main course is simmering away nicely and I just hope that I remembered the recipe correctly. There is another failing on my part. I never read instructions for anything, and that goes for recipes too. Well i might read one at first and then my instincts take over and I do things my own way. I rarely get any complaints about my cooking but then maybe people are too polite.
As I write, the pigeons are back, squabbling over the remaining grains in the bird feeder and each time i look at them, Julie's recipe for pigeon pie looks more like a reality. I guess i could trap them easily enough but could i kill and dress them? That is another matter entirely. Dismembering the shop bought chicken was hard enough.
It always goes against the grain to use a whole bottle of wine for this dish, bust as it is only mid day, the temptation to sample it was very weak and I managed to resist it. I'll leave the Brandy until later though as that might be harder to resist.
As I write, the pigeons are back, squabbling over the remaining grains in the bird feeder and each time i look at them, Julie's recipe for pigeon pie looks more like a reality. I guess i could trap them easily enough but could i kill and dress them? That is another matter entirely. Dismembering the shop bought chicken was hard enough.
It always goes against the grain to use a whole bottle of wine for this dish, bust as it is only mid day, the temptation to sample it was very weak and I managed to resist it. I'll leave the Brandy until later though as that might be harder to resist.
Tuesday 10 March 2009
Money saving ideas
I read this morning that the latest government plan is to cut teacher training down to six months. My first reaction was one of disbelief and that turned into disgust - just another way of saving money thought I with an air of cynicism. (Yes i know it is hard to believe isn't it?) However I have given the matter some thought, while cleaning floors, and i have to say that they may have a good idea here. When i trained it was a three year course, but if i think about it, the amount of actual work that got done could have easily be crammed into a six month slot. I am assuming that the people they are talking about will already have degrees and probably work experience in a variety of fields, so some sessions on classroom management and riot control, coupled with the reading on child psychology, ( and these days probably child psychiatry too) when coupled with a couple of teaching practice sessions should be adequate preparation for the battlefield.
Maybe the idea can be further extended to most degree courses. Many students actually spend very little time in contact with tutors. Lots of courses could be crammed into a six month slot and that would vastly accelerate the turnout of graduates. If the courses are more demanding, then dumbing down might be necessary but as the bulk of the population are stupid anyway it won't matter much. Medical training is very long and expensive. Maybe it needs to be broken up into manageable chunks. There could be six month courses in appendectomies, or tonsilectomies, options in limb setting and so on. That way most of the straightforward procedures could be managed by teams of craftsmen trained in just one task. This would provide a huge army of trained medics each with very specific roles and boy would they be cheap.
Virtually all professions could be reduced in this way and at a stroke the number of people employed would increase enormously.
No-one would be excluded from any profession, and many have skills already that could be transferred, and with such short courses one could mix and match. A vasectomy specialist could also do a basic plumbing module or even become qualified as a TV presenter. The mind boggles as to the possible career paths that would become available.
Maybe the idea can be further extended to most degree courses. Many students actually spend very little time in contact with tutors. Lots of courses could be crammed into a six month slot and that would vastly accelerate the turnout of graduates. If the courses are more demanding, then dumbing down might be necessary but as the bulk of the population are stupid anyway it won't matter much. Medical training is very long and expensive. Maybe it needs to be broken up into manageable chunks. There could be six month courses in appendectomies, or tonsilectomies, options in limb setting and so on. That way most of the straightforward procedures could be managed by teams of craftsmen trained in just one task. This would provide a huge army of trained medics each with very specific roles and boy would they be cheap.
Virtually all professions could be reduced in this way and at a stroke the number of people employed would increase enormously.
No-one would be excluded from any profession, and many have skills already that could be transferred, and with such short courses one could mix and match. A vasectomy specialist could also do a basic plumbing module or even become qualified as a TV presenter. The mind boggles as to the possible career paths that would become available.
Monday 9 March 2009
Bloody regulations
It takes quite a lot to make me angry. In fact my feelings are pretty much in neutral most of the time and the world seems to just go on around me. I read in the weekend papers about the government's latest scheme to lower the national speed limit to 50mph, a move to be co-ordinated with a network of average speed cameras. The aim that is stated is to make the roads safer.
There is a similar scheme afoot to impose a 40mph limit over the Island!
The national scheme seems to me yet another way of making money from motorists, as any traffic camera is designed to do. Euphemistically referred to as safety cameras, they are merely automated money boxes that do precious little to make our roads safer.
Imposing and Islandwide 40mph limit is crazy. People that live here with learn to drive in a 40mph zone, and although there are many that will never drive elsewhere, a lot of people will eventually find themselves on mainland motorways and will have to use the top half of their gearboxes for the first time.
It is people that cause road deaths, many of whom are simply bad drivers. What govenments should be looking to do is to remove those people from the roads. We seem to have several groups of road menaces and at the risk of stereotyping, the main dangers seem to be immigrant drivers with little knowledge of the highway code, boy racers who see themselves as immortal, habitual drink drivers ( and i know a few of those), and the elderly drivers who think that because they have always driven, that they are still safe on the roads. Personally I think that this last group should be offered a free public transport travel pass in exchange for their licence. The others may be more difficult to deal with, but remove them from the road and the traffic density would drop as well as the number of accidents.
Of course what really happens is that everyone gets to pay for the faults of the minority, and I don't suppose for one moment that the imposition of the new limits will change the number of accidents.
There is a similar scheme afoot to impose a 40mph limit over the Island!
The national scheme seems to me yet another way of making money from motorists, as any traffic camera is designed to do. Euphemistically referred to as safety cameras, they are merely automated money boxes that do precious little to make our roads safer.
Imposing and Islandwide 40mph limit is crazy. People that live here with learn to drive in a 40mph zone, and although there are many that will never drive elsewhere, a lot of people will eventually find themselves on mainland motorways and will have to use the top half of their gearboxes for the first time.
It is people that cause road deaths, many of whom are simply bad drivers. What govenments should be looking to do is to remove those people from the roads. We seem to have several groups of road menaces and at the risk of stereotyping, the main dangers seem to be immigrant drivers with little knowledge of the highway code, boy racers who see themselves as immortal, habitual drink drivers ( and i know a few of those), and the elderly drivers who think that because they have always driven, that they are still safe on the roads. Personally I think that this last group should be offered a free public transport travel pass in exchange for their licence. The others may be more difficult to deal with, but remove them from the road and the traffic density would drop as well as the number of accidents.
Of course what really happens is that everyone gets to pay for the faults of the minority, and I don't suppose for one moment that the imposition of the new limits will change the number of accidents.
Friday 6 March 2009
Glasses half empty!
I am frequently branded as a pessimist. I don't mind really as I don't really care too much what people think of me. I am pretty self contained and self sufficient in many ways and also content with my own company; at least i don't let me down, and that is about the only thing that you can rely on most others to do for you.
The whole thing with glasses being half full or half empty strikes me as a nonsense anyway. In my experience, a glass begins in a full state and gradually gets less and less full. Only when empty does it get filled again, unless you have a cheapskate friend who serves up half glasses. To me - half a glass is a glass halfway to being empty!
Anyhow - I spent this morning in the greenhouse, partly sorting it but also planting the first of the seeds. Now that to me is an act of pure optimism. There was a frost this morning and I am planting seeds in the hope that they will germinate and that i will be able to nurture the seedlings until they reach maturity. Pat experience tells me that is may or may not happen, and yet every year I go through the same procedures with varying degrees of success. That is optimism to me, even though I know that the odds are stacked against me I persevere.
Come the summer I may reap the benefits of these activities, but if not, then I will only have been let down by chance and that is to be expected.
The whole thing with glasses being half full or half empty strikes me as a nonsense anyway. In my experience, a glass begins in a full state and gradually gets less and less full. Only when empty does it get filled again, unless you have a cheapskate friend who serves up half glasses. To me - half a glass is a glass halfway to being empty!
Anyhow - I spent this morning in the greenhouse, partly sorting it but also planting the first of the seeds. Now that to me is an act of pure optimism. There was a frost this morning and I am planting seeds in the hope that they will germinate and that i will be able to nurture the seedlings until they reach maturity. Pat experience tells me that is may or may not happen, and yet every year I go through the same procedures with varying degrees of success. That is optimism to me, even though I know that the odds are stacked against me I persevere.
Come the summer I may reap the benefits of these activities, but if not, then I will only have been let down by chance and that is to be expected.
Wednesday 4 March 2009
Talking of memories.....
I have been watching with much interest, Terry Pratchett's documentary on his search for some sort of hope in his last great adventure, the battle with Alzheimers disease. It would seem that as the population continues to age, the frequency of dementia is steadily increasing, and as yet, there is no effective treatment, let alone a cure for the long slow slide into confusion.
I am a latecomer to the world of Terry Pratchett, and have become utterly devoted to his peculiar world and the characters that inhabit it. I have read many of his books but there are still a few that I have yet to seek out and one that I will bring myself to eventually, but like all good things, I don't want to reach the end. At the moment he is still writing very prolifically, but as the disease takes a firmer grip, it is likely that his light will slowly fade and die.
To lose one's memories must be terrible, especially as the process can be very lengthy and one is aware of what is happening. As the disease progresses, maybe that awareness diminishes and perhaps it is as if the occupant of the brain has left.
I know that these days my mind is not being used much, and that coupled with probably too much wine is not doing me a great deal of good. The other day I did have a scary moment, a small insight into the world of the demented, and maybe this was an early sign. I went to put some clothes into the washing machine, and for all of 30 seconds I couldn't remember where it was! At the time I put it down to the hangover but perhaps there is more to it than that. With my health record in recent years i wouldn't be surprised by anything.
I'd like to think that I could approach things the way that Terry Pratchett has, though I don't have his money or his imagination. I also hope that he can slow down the progress of his Alzheimers and continue writing as long as both of us are alive - we are the same age.
I am a latecomer to the world of Terry Pratchett, and have become utterly devoted to his peculiar world and the characters that inhabit it. I have read many of his books but there are still a few that I have yet to seek out and one that I will bring myself to eventually, but like all good things, I don't want to reach the end. At the moment he is still writing very prolifically, but as the disease takes a firmer grip, it is likely that his light will slowly fade and die.
To lose one's memories must be terrible, especially as the process can be very lengthy and one is aware of what is happening. As the disease progresses, maybe that awareness diminishes and perhaps it is as if the occupant of the brain has left.
I know that these days my mind is not being used much, and that coupled with probably too much wine is not doing me a great deal of good. The other day I did have a scary moment, a small insight into the world of the demented, and maybe this was an early sign. I went to put some clothes into the washing machine, and for all of 30 seconds I couldn't remember where it was! At the time I put it down to the hangover but perhaps there is more to it than that. With my health record in recent years i wouldn't be surprised by anything.
I'd like to think that I could approach things the way that Terry Pratchett has, though I don't have his money or his imagination. I also hope that he can slow down the progress of his Alzheimers and continue writing as long as both of us are alive - we are the same age.
Monday 2 March 2009
Antiques Road Show
I never deliberately set out to watch many TV shows, and the Antiques Rod Show is not one that I would plan to spend time with. However, it seems to be on at a time when I have little else to do and consequently I get absorbed into it from time to time.
For the uninitiated, this show is a travelling bunch of experts who invite members of Joe Public to bring along their treasures to be scrutinised, discussed and eventually valued. This is where great delight is taken in telling the world that you bought this terrible painting at a car boot sale for a few pence, only to find that it is worth thousands of pounds.
I have fond memories of watching an episode of this show while getting pleasantly drunk on Guinness and turning the valuations into a stupid game that I lost. That however was a long time ago.
It strikes me as an interesting insight into aspects of human behaviour. Why do people take their things along to the show? Is it just to get on TV? I know that some people love the thought of being on the screen. i can think of few things that I'd like less, but that is me. At the end of the day it seems that it is all about the valuation. An item that may have a wonderful history, that turns out to be worthless seems to have little air time, yet the junkshop bargains that are worth fortunes seem to grab everyone's attentions and imaginations. Very few owners admit to wanting to sell their posessions and yet everyone is obsessed by the monetary values, and it strikes me that there are many people who fill their homes, like magpies, with things that they see as valuable.
I own nothing that is valuable, nor do i wish to. Valuable items in one's home are a liability, and after all you are just taking care of them for someone else. The older I get, the less my interest in acquisition of things becomes. What I value most, one cannot put a price on. Family, friends and memories are the real treasures.
For the uninitiated, this show is a travelling bunch of experts who invite members of Joe Public to bring along their treasures to be scrutinised, discussed and eventually valued. This is where great delight is taken in telling the world that you bought this terrible painting at a car boot sale for a few pence, only to find that it is worth thousands of pounds.
I have fond memories of watching an episode of this show while getting pleasantly drunk on Guinness and turning the valuations into a stupid game that I lost. That however was a long time ago.
It strikes me as an interesting insight into aspects of human behaviour. Why do people take their things along to the show? Is it just to get on TV? I know that some people love the thought of being on the screen. i can think of few things that I'd like less, but that is me. At the end of the day it seems that it is all about the valuation. An item that may have a wonderful history, that turns out to be worthless seems to have little air time, yet the junkshop bargains that are worth fortunes seem to grab everyone's attentions and imaginations. Very few owners admit to wanting to sell their posessions and yet everyone is obsessed by the monetary values, and it strikes me that there are many people who fill their homes, like magpies, with things that they see as valuable.
I own nothing that is valuable, nor do i wish to. Valuable items in one's home are a liability, and after all you are just taking care of them for someone else. The older I get, the less my interest in acquisition of things becomes. What I value most, one cannot put a price on. Family, friends and memories are the real treasures.
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