Lies, damned lies and ..............

It is an alarming statistic based on current trends and demographics, that by the year 2025, One third of the world population will be Muslim. It is said that the goal of Islam is world domination and the overthrow of the west and the evils of democracy and it would appear that the battle is being won. Simply by breeding rapidly and crushing anyone who disagrees, the toxic dogma and its fanatical purveyors are biding their time and awaiting the inevitable outcome. Sharia Law for the world and a return to the dark ages.
It is easy to see how and why religious wars begin and why some groups have been and are persecuted.   I would do more or less anything to resist being absorbed into an Islamic world.  Unlike other religions, Islam has no tolerance for the unbelievers. Their book is filled with hatred and violence towards those who choose to think for themselves and should any muslim dare to leave the "faith" there is only death and disgrace. It is a club, into which infants are admitted, indoctrinated and then imprisoned for the rest of their lives, much like other mainstream religions.
People who fear the overwhelming growth of what is a fundamentalist religion, are branded Islamophobes and racists.  It has nothing whatsoever to do with race; it is about a middle eastern, mediaeval doctrine that has no relevance to those who believe in freedom and democracy. Most people don't seem to care; maybe because we are apathetic and only concerned about our own little worlds and have forgotten about the monsters under the bed.  Islam is a monster and it thrives on fear and ignorance. It is growing rapidly and perhaps it is too late to stop it.

Sniff

It has not been a good month. First pneumonia, then a bad back and now a rotten cold. I know I shouldn't complain but if I can't moan to myself then who else can I moan to?
It seems that moaning is the thing to do anyhow; people seem to moan and complain about everything and are always wanting to blame someone for whatever happens in their own little world. Social media sites are infested with moaners, and I know that I don't HAVE to use Facebook and Twitter, but each has a strange compulsion.  Facebook is a way of keeping up to date with distant friends and family, but I find it fascinating what people air in public.  Much of what is posted is inane drivel that can be of no interest to anyone but the person who wrote it. I am not interested in people's dogs and their ailments or who has a hangover this morning and why?  People post so many so called motivational messages, and incredibly bad photographs. How hard is it to delete shots that are out of focus, and why post 500 pics of your day trip to Bognor?  People seem to befriend and "unfriend" one another with amazing frequency, while others make a hobby of collecting as many contacts as possible.  It would seem that some people spend most of their waking moments generating posts and responding to those of others. Those accused of crimes are often villified on facebook, generally before they have been tried and convicted, and there is no doubt that many people's lives are blighted by poisonous facebook campaigns.
Anyhow, I do post the odd rant on facebook and usually get my share of complaints as a result, so generally I keep my rants to myself or for the edification of anyone who should read what I write here.
I suspect that now that the country has forgotten the olympics, there will soon be plenty for me to complain about.

It is over

The games have finished and the fat lady sang at one of the most lavish parties that this nation is likely ever to see.  It was a spectacle indeed and it would seem that no expense was spared in the attempt to celebrate the best of Britain.  I watched much of the olympics and have to say that the BBC did an amazing job at making most of the sport available to everyone. Coverage was wide and commentaries well done and with some measure of impartiality. I also sat through the opening and closing ceremonies, both of which were a mixture of the very good and the blandly awful.

Last night saw the closing ceremony which got off to a bad start and never really recovered.  It was a celebration of 50 years of british music but it was not necessarily a celebration of what was good. It was a celebration of what is popular and there is a big difference. It would seem that what is most popular has style and yet no substance, as demonstrated by a gaggle of models and the strange appearance of the synthetic Spice Girls that must have reeked of botox.  Another highlight seemed to consist of a guy that plays other people's records, who was accompanied by an attractive stick insect and someone else chanting gibberish in a monotone.  Yes ok I admit it I am getting old and I have no understanding of herd mentality, but even the old Kink was dreadful and only the drummer from Pink Floyd showed up, and he looked as if he had been dragged away from his Horlicks.

In my humble (ish) opinion, the people representing our musical heritage were outclassed and upstaged by the electronics, the lightshows and the slick organisation that kept the whole thing moving.

It is true that our musical heritage is rich and varied. For the latter half of the 20th century, the best bands in the world were British and the musical influence was wide ranging and powerful. Bands came and went and some, a few, stayed. The quantity and quality of music today seems much less varied. The emphasis is on short termism, boy bands and girl bands dominate, singing dull songs with electronic accompaniment. Then there is the Rap, Hip Hop genre. I am sure that it requires some sort of talent to talk in rythm but give me punk anyday. At least the punk bands never claimed to be any good.

So today it is back to normal and the country can reawaken the awareness of the mess that we are in. The condems can go back pretending that all will be ok and George Osborne will continue to drive the economy like a two year old in a pedal car. Cameron and Clegg will pretend that they like each other and will be looking for another way to distract everyone from reality. Isn't it time that the Royals produced another mouth for the country to feed?

Role models

Oscar is changing rapidly. He is absorbing information like a black hole, and like a black hole,  there is so selectivity in what he absorbs.  Every word, or expression is taken on board, processed and often repeated.

Oscar is fortunate to be born into a loving and caring family, with parents who put his interests before their own.  They are already considering options for his schooling and have his name down for a private primary school.

I have mixed feelings about this but can understand their reasoning. I spent my working life in Comprehensive schools, coming into the system at its inception. I went to a grammar school and at the time did not appreciate what it had to offer, so for me, the new system appealed and for many years in my experience it was successful. There was opportunity for all and with the original introduction of GCSE there were clear goalposts for everyone to aim for.  Of course, even through the rose tinted spectacles of time, things were never perfect. There were kids with problems and behavioural issues were part and parcel of the system. Some kids were dealt with in special schools with staff trained to help them, and some were able to be assimilated into the mainstream in time. Then came Inclusivity; a means of saving money as specialist schools could be closed and kids with problems, some very severe problems, could be incorporated into the main stream regardless of the ability of teachers to deal with them. As time went by the numbers of these kids increased and their influence became far reaching and destructive. Instead of dealing with the problem, falling standards were met with curriculum changes that made examinations much easier, meaning that kids could get away with doing less and still the pass rates in public exams increased. This smoke screen fooled no-one really but politicians love statistics. Lies are the currency of the politicians and education became a football that distracts from other issues. Poor exam results could be blamed on teachers. Bad behaviour could be blamed on teachers.  Integration and larger class sizes were not the problem; teachers were the problem and so OFSTED was born on the political whims of a government that all sent their kids to private schools.  Ofsted is a stick that is used to beat the teaching profession into submission and it worked. Teachers became machine operatives, working to formulae, delivering tedious National Curriculum pap in a style that meant boxes could be ticked, forms could be filled and men in grey suits could write lengthy reports on schools that few read and less cared about. 

By placing a child into a comprehensive school, there is a risk that that child may not receive the education that is most appropriate to their needs.  The system deals well with the less able,  and to some extent the very bright will survive whatever they are treated to, but the mass in the middle are forgotten, their lives often made a misery by behaviourally maladjusted fellow students who run rings around authority and can do so with impugnity.  To be in a class with  a few delinquents is appalling for many students and yet it is their everyday experience with teachers powerless to do anything about it.  To weaker kids, these become role models and it is so easy to be sucked in to their behaviour. Not to join in is often a cause of bullying. Even strong willed kids have to be very brave to avoid the pressures of their peers.

I believe that is is one’s peers that are most likely to influence the direction in which a person is likely to travel. Yes role models have some clout but the media seem to love celebrity for the sake of celebrity.  Reality TV programmes demonstrate the worst of the worst, talk shows seem to be a celebration of homosexuality and sport is about greed and  winning at all costs rather than about competition.  So called talent shows are used to mock the incompetent and elevate a lucky few to the heights of celebrity for a few months before being dumped by the phoney system that has used them for profit.

The Olympics are being vaunted as an inspiration to a generation, but even these wonderful games are blighted by cheating and suspicion of drug abuse.  Our best athletes seem to come from families that have nurtured them and their abilities, and most seem to have been educated privately. 

There will be a temporary interest in sports thanks to the likes of Victoria Pendleton and Jessica Ennis, both of whom seem like contenders for sports personality of the year, but the likelihood is that Mr Gove and his cronies will continue to sell off school playing fields and public amenities, and so the aspirations of the majority of kids will be doused before they have chance to be realised.

We are a divided nation and as long as our kids aspire towards being Jordan, Girl or boy band singers, or premiership footballers, we are doomed as a nation. The media needs to present role models of some worth and make achievement cool. Our current youth culture, dominated by an Afro American attitude will change eventually but unless there is a radical change in the media and in the state school system, then a change for the better seems unlikely.

Hold up the team that successfully put a spacecraft and vehicle onto Mars, or the people who built the Olympic Stadium and executed the opening ceremony. Celebrate the discovery of the Higgs Boson or the designers of the things that we all take for granted. These are the role models that I’d like Oscar to look up to. Sadly, I suspect that he would not find them in a state school.

Kitchens

For the next two weeks we will be without a kitchen. The room is still there of course but it is an empty shell. The  fitters are working hard but everything has to be replaced, including the plastering of the walls.
When I was a child, things were very different, the kitchen was the heart of the house; it was often the only room that was warm and certainly the only one with  a table and chairs.  It was the room where we sat and played when it rained or when it was dark or too cold to be outdoors, and it was a very simple room indeed. In terms of equipment there was an electric cooker, a cold water tap and one electrical socket into which was plugged an electric kettle. There was one cupboard with crockery and pots and pans, and one drawer with cutlery.  It was a very small room too and yet five of us regularly sat and ate together and sometimes we'd even talk, although it was more a case of four of us listening and never daring to disagree with the fifth. It is more than forty years since I last sat there and yet my memories of those times are indelibly etched into my mind. I can remember the colour of the walls, the Marley red tiles on the floor, the door to the outside yard that always stuck, and the rows and fights that took place there. I am desperately seeking happy memories but can find none. Most of what I recall about those days are neutral at best - days when there were no raised voices. Days sitting, waiting for the weather to improve so that I could escape. The best times I suppose were when my father was at work; at least then, stress levels were low, though the anticipation of his return rarely filled me with anything but dread.
Meals  were very different then. Food was still in short supply and incomes were very poor. We did get fed though and there was always one cooked meal a day, usually meat, potatoes and a vegetable of some sort. The only variety though came from seasonal produce. There was no local supermarket, just a local grocer and butcher. The week's groceries were delivered in one cardboard box that often smelled of soap powder.
There was no refrigerator, no freezer, no washing machine or dish washer. there were no blenders, mixers, breadmakers, woks or coffee machines. Things were very simple, though I would not describe them as the good old days.
I won't complain about the noise of power tools as pipework and wiring are replaced, vast numbers of electrical sockets are installed, and gas pipes relocated and water supplies cut off then re-installed. The new kitchen will be worlds apart from the one that I grew up in; it will not be the hub of the house, there will be no table to sit around,  it will be a place to create meals largely from foods that we, as children, didn't know existed.