Reasons to hate December

I am definitely not a fan of this time of the year and have been trying to rationalise my antipathy. It hasn't been difficult, but rather than ranting I thought I'd simply list some of the immediate and obvious things that came to mind, in no particular order.

1. Dead leaves. They are everywhere and form a slippery mush all over the pavements. I sweep them up and minutes later the little buggers are back. Trees should be made to shed them all at once so we can get it all over and done with.

2. Stupid decorations.  It seems that everyone has watched the National Lampoons Family Christmas, and missed the irony.  Just think how much energy could be saved if there was a blanket ban on this nonsense. Flashing multicoloured LEDs have no meaning whatsoever and only serve to remind us that it is dark.

3. Dark days and darker nights.

4. Acquisitiveness gone crazy. The shops fill with garbage that people feel obliged to buy in order to make it Christmas.  It is just one day for goodness sake, and the majority of the population have no belief in the myth that inspired it, choosing instead to propagate the alternative fat man myth.

5. Christmas hypocrisy.  The number of people that go to church on christmas eve - just because it is traditional. Genital mutilation is traditional in some countries, that doesn't make it right.

6. Pantomimes.  These are intrinsically bad; actors that died years ago are dragged out to perform badly written shows in front of audiences that are brought up on X factor, Strictly come dancing and other bad shows, in the hope of rekindling careers that never shone in the first place.

7. Politicians. Seeing their own careers coming to an end, politicians of all parties attempt to rally some sort of misplaced christmas spirit.

8. Drunks.  Office parties abound and the pavements become cluttered with vomit and bottles as well as those incapable of walking. Getting drunk has become a lifestyle rather than an accident of over exuberance.

9. The weather.  It is cold and wet and bloody miserable, unless it snows, then of course everything comes to a grinding halt and it is just cold and miserable.

10. The year ends. This is seen as something to celebrate, and for some reason people think that the new year will be different from this one, and in a good way. They thought the same thing last year.

I take this opportunity to wish my reader a happy christmas and a prosperous new year  in the full knowledge that whatever I say cannot possibly make one iota of difference. (What is an iota anyway?)

Hell revisited

For some people, Hell or Hades is a real place, it lies beneath out feet and is a place where unbelievers or wrongdoers are sent to face an eternity of torture and damnation. Of course those same people would claim to be tolerant and filled with forgiveness and smugly confident that it is a place only for others.

Hell is an invention, a conception so diabolically evil, (no pun intended), that it could only have been devised by minds fundamentally warped and desperate to bring others into line and to accept their ways of thinking. The same minds conceived heaven; a place where the simpering goody goodies can kowtow to their master and spend eternity being humble and grateful that they are not in hell. On the surface of things it sounds better than the alternative but eternity is a bloody long time.

In reality, Hell is with us all of the time and it can take many forms. For Jean Paul Sartre, hell was other people, and by and large he got it right. There are so many situations where the presence of other people is a punishment. A crowded bus of train, finds you in close contact with strangers, all of whom would rather be somewhere else than have their own space invaded by all sorts. Being surrounded by the great unwashed, inhaling their emissions and sharing all their bugs is bad enough, but having to interact with some of them can be a torture in itself.

For me, glimpses of hell can be found in reality TV.  Any programme devised to make the masses believe that they matter should be declared as immoral and illegal, and yet these outpourings of mediocrity are sucked up each week by millions, enabling their organisers to become extremely wealthy.

Hell can be the agonies of depression, it can be a raging toothache or a terminal disease. It can be a tragedy or a break up of a relationship, it can be war or starvation or even a really bad sunburn, and sometimes it can be a 24 hour exposure to spiderman. It can be whatever you choose it to be, but please don't try to tell me that it is a place that I will be going just because I do not believe in fairy tales.

Belief - a postscript

A few days ago I wrote about my goldfish, postulating hypotheses as to their disappearance. Abduction by aliens seemed a remote possibility and so I had decide to settle on the probability of the more mundane notion that they had been eaten by the local heron.

Now I find myself having to re-examine my ideas in the light of new evidence.  This is a scientific approach, whereby evidence cannot be ignored and all ideas are subject to re-evaluation in the light of new findings. There are some who still believe that the Earth is flat, ignoring all evidence that contradicts this old idea. I suspect that these people are few and far between and probably concentrated in secure accommodation, but they do exist.  Any idea that is not subject to modification in the presence of new information is bogus, and this is why religious faith, however hard followers try to build bridges, can never be held alongside science as a beacon of truth.

Anyhow I digress; my problem is this.  The fish have reappeared, well at least four of them have, I saw them through the murk this morning.  Now I have to re-evaluate my ideas.  Clearly my original bird based notion has been shot out of the water, as it were.  Could the alien abduction be the correct idea?  If so then they have learned all they can about my fish and kindly returned them to their home. This makes very little sense, though if I were lazy enough not to think, then I could accept this and set up some sort of alien appreciation society. We could collect money from those least able to afford it, and build monumental edifices where we could meet and sing songs together in appreciation, or fear of the great fishermen in the sky.  However that sort of thing has already been done and  has a tendency to halt the thinking process permanently.

Putting all the recent findings together, I have had to discount the original two hypotheses, and set up a new one. The water is pretty murky so I have to concede that the fish were actually hiding from me. Hiding from me - the big face in the sky, who brought them to their world and provides them with food? How dare they?   I have a good mind to smite them!

Adrenaline

Adrenaline, or epinephrine, was discovered in 1900 and can be considered to be one of the greatest discoveries in the history of medicine.  It is naturally produced by the adrenal glands and is the chief chemical messenger of the sympathetic nervous system, preparing the body for any sort of crisis. In response to fear, it dilates the iris, increases heart rate and breathing capacity and dilates some blood vessels allowing the vital parts to receive a better supply of blood.  It is also released into the bloodstream when we are angry or when we are sexually aroused, it's effects can be summarised by the three Fs - fight, fright and shall we say frolic.

For some, the effects of adrenaline surges are addictive, especially among the young and foolhardy, though there are many older and equally foolhardy junkies out there.  Most of us enjoy a certain amount of fear as long as the conditions are controlled and that there is an escape route. Children love scary stories up to a point as long as they know that they are just stories, and for adults there is a massive market out there for horror stories and movies.  Theme parks and fun fairs provide rides that give some experiences that are so far beyond their normality, but people rarely think f these rides as unsafe. If that seed of doubt were there, most would not put themselves at any real risk.

For me, travelling on the M25 and the spectre of senility are probably as scary as things tend to be. My days of thrill seeking have long gone but I do take long and wistful looks at memories of times when I thought of myself as immortal. Times when I would do things without too much consideration of consequences.

Bringing up children in 21st century England is a difficult job.  When we were young, there were lots of things to fear. Bad behaviour was often met with some form of physical punishment. A slap maybe, but in my experience nothing worse. In school, sanctions included detention after school, the cane for serious misbehaviour, or worse, a letter home to parents who would blame YOU and not the school.  Out in the real world, bad behaviour was often dealt with then and there with a slap around the ear of a boot in the backside should you be daft enough to get caught. We knew that for every action, there was the possibility of a reaction and that all behaviour had consequences.  Things have changed, children no longer have a healthy fear of behaving badly, a loss of privileges can be tiresome but it is nothing to be afraid of and besides there is always something there to take its place. Lack of fear can lead to a reckless disregard for any form of authority and this begins at home.

Fear is essential and without it grows confidence without competence. Sooner or later there will be a clash of expectations and then there will be tears.

Belief

"Belief is a state of the mind, treated in various academic disciplines, especially philosophy and psychology, as well as traditional culture, in which a subject roughly regards a thing to be true."

My six goldfish vanished from my garden pond the other night. They hadn't been there very long and it is possible that they were abducted by aliens.

As children, we go through a slow process of coming to terms with the world that surrounds us. We are helped along the way, by others whip have already been through that process, and are fed with lies that enable us to accept what experiences come our way.  Mostly parents do not see them as lies, and are happy to promote  the stories that they grew up will as part of growing up.  Most children believe that a large fat man in a red suit climbs down the chimney of every boy or girl that has been good for a year, and leaves them gifts on the 25th of December. The impossibility of it, does not cross their minds; they accept it because their parents and their teachers tell them that is what happens and so for them it does.  It is an induction into the world of mythology and legend which for some is going to shape their minds for the rest of their lives. 

Children love stories, they love the ideas of fairies and dragons, of magic and wonder, and through these tales they learn much about good and bad, and also about living with other people. Most fairy tales have a message and are a way of addressing morality. Good always triumphs over bad and for most this i s a great comfort.

Later they learn about monsters and ghosts and other manufactured phenomena designed to scare, and through these they learn fear. Without interaction with caring adults, these fears can become nightmares and who knows what psychological damage can come from them.

Children believe what they are told, especially in the first five years or so of their lives, and what you tell them is going to stay with them until they reach the age of reason. Indoctrinate your children well enough and that age of reason is never achieved, as demonstrated by the Jesuits claims that if they have the child for the first seven years, they will give you the man.

We all grow up believing things, even things that have no foundation in fact whatsoever, and gradually, those beliefs  are demolished in the light of experience and through analysis observation and application of reason. Yet some beliefs remain. There may be race memories, genetically embedded that provide a need to believe in something, whether it be Nessie,  alien visitors or supernatural phenomena. There are plenty who believe in things that most others will consider silly, and yet the belief is there, it is embedded and impossible to shift. For some, ghosts are real, despite the fact that their existence cannot be proved. It is not possible to prove that something does not exist and because of this, there will always be those who have faith.

Having faith in an idea must be quite a comfort. You KNOW that you are right and that no-one can convince you otherwise. You do not need to prove anything, it is up to the rest of the world to do the impossible and to prove you wrong.  

The ability to convince others that you are right has enabled so many to control and manipulate populations and to divert the course of history. Faith and belief are incredibly powerful, they bind people and divide people at the same time. Blind faith is seen as something to be proud of, something to celebrate, and yet it is not. It is an escape from reality.

My fish I suspect were taken by a heron. I have seen on in the locality and although I did not witness what happened, I believe that this is the most likely cause of their disappearance.

Threats

Mankind is almost certainly a doomed species.  Each year we witness more and more extinctions as we struggle to exist. We invest time and energy into weapons designed to kill competitors and of course each other, and however hideous and catastrophic a weapon might be, sooner or later it will be used. There are too many people in the world and the numbers are expanding almost exponentially, whilst resources are dwindling. Ingenious scientists and technologists are no longer keeping up with the increasing demands and this cannot go on indefinitely.

Yesterday, a large, and visible asteroid came within the Earth's gravitational influence but thankfully passed us by. There are plenty more where that came from, some of them very small but others significantly large and sooner or later there will be a direct strike. They have happened many times before despite the ability of Jupiter to protect us from most of them, and we will always be vulnerable. Despite Hollywood's optimistic view of our ability to deal with them, visitors for outer space pose a continued threat.

There is much talk about the planet being under threat from our activities. Global warming, deforestation, pollution, you name it are seen as a threat to the planet, and yet it is us that is threatened not the planet. Our presence on the earth will be transitory and largely unnoticeable, apart from a thin layer of non biodegradable plastics. The Earth will change because that is what it does. We are only here because it  evolved conditions that favoured life on earth, and eventually what we imagine is the pinnacle of evolution.

Ebola, a particularly nasty disease, has broken out of Africa and cases are now being seen all over the world. Complacency tells us that we are safe in the west because our sanitation and health services are so much better. AS more and more people become infected, there is a greater chance that the virus will evolve and possibly become more infectious. Ebola is just one disease that is threatening us and with approaching winter, Influenza will be striking again and there is always the possibility of a new mutant strain that is far more lethal than usual.

If that were not enough, we are in danger of exterminating each other by warfare.  In this centenary year of remembrance of the first world war, we are again approaching a major conflict that looks as if it may run out of control.  How absurd it is that in an age of reason, that religion should be at the heart of it.  The Islamic world, by definition, has not reached a state of reason, and still lives by rules set down in mediaeval times. That culture clashes totally with that of the west, and also with variants of their own religion.  The middle east, was of course the source of most modern religions, all of which have common ground but also huge differences. One thing that they all had in common was a message of peace and yet the cesspit of the middle east has been a source of conflict, bloodshed and inhumanity throughout recorded history.  While western cultures, by and large, have grown up, the world of Islam remains trapped in a system that wants the west to change by stepping backwards, and is unwilling to move forwards.

We have cities and urban areas in this country that are  predominantly populated by Asian communities, most of which are followers of Islam.  Overall it seems that their religion comes first, then their culture and then the culture and laws of their adopted country. Mosques are seen as centres for radicalisation, and British Muslims are daily travelling to the middle east to fight for whatever cause they see as important.  The EDL, BNP and UKIP,  are growing rapidly, the Tory party not seen as right wing enough for some. and their attitude towards all foreigners cannot be described as friendly. As Muslim profiles get enhanced by the actions of their own extremists, more and more people, particularly in areas being taken over by Islamic culture,  will join these groups, creating the tinder, that one day will be ignited. The rising tide of Islam in the west is the biggest threat that we face, and yet it is viewed with complacency by governments and people alike. 

Breasts

There was a time when a breast of lamb was a bit of a treat. My mother would buy one now and then to make what she referred to as Irish stew.  There isn't a lot of meat on a lamb breast, most of it seems to be fat and bone, but it does make a nutritious and tasty meal.  It remains a relatively cheap cut of meat, paling into insignificance alongside the very trendy and popular pork ribs, and yet I still have the occasional yen to buy one and recreate a taste of the past.  I will not go so far as to cook pigs feet or tails, and definitely will not cook a pigs head as my mother was often asked to do.

In my childhood, it has been said that diets were much healthier, and maybe they were.  Fat people were few and far between and most of us were skinny.  It must be hard today to maintain healthy diets for children with so many tasty temptations around, and for most people there is no shortage of food.  Some people seem to make food the centre of their lives, living to eat rather than the other way around.  Every weekend newspaper has pages and pages dedicated to food and eating, and restaurants seem to thrive everywhere, people prepared to pay the ludicrous prices that they charge for their ambience and minimal cuisine.

I can still recall the smell of one of those stews, greeting us as we got home from school. I still remember the taste and the deep satisfaction gained as we mopped up the last bits of gravy with lumps of white bread.  I still love a good stew and for me, dishes like this are one of the few highlights of winter.

Noise

I went to London yesterday and am still in recovery.  I could be described as hearing impaired; in the old days it would be half deaf as I only have one ear that actually functions.  In most circumstances I cope with it, though stereo sound is wasted on me and I have no idea where sounds are coming from. I prefer one to one contacts and avoid crowded rooms as all sounds come in through the left channel and are mixed hopelessly.
The problems started on the train; shifted from my safety zone into public transport is not my idea of a good time and although we got seats, the noise was almost overwhelming.  The sound of the train itself was bearable, but there was a high pitched whine at around the 15khz frequency, that penetrated where few sounds can. It remained for the entire journey, a harbinger of what was yet to come.
We disgorged at London Bridge and joined the seething mass of humanity.  It was reminiscent of an anthill that has had the top kicked off, with people rushing around in all directions in a recreation of some version of hell.  The whole thing accompanied by a barrage of noise from traffic, overhead aircraft, road works and every other possible means of creating sounds. For me, any sort of meaning is very hard to distil from this and so I wandered around, admiring architecture and being moved by the ceramic poppies.  We did find a reasonably tranquil spot by the river and conversation was temporarily possible.
Next came the restaurant - a trendy place on the south bank more or less underneath the Shard. Putting aside London prices, the place was lovely and the atmosphere was, well, loud. As soon as we sat down, I realised that wherever I sat was not going to make the slightest difference. As with all restaurants, there is background noise which escalates exponentially as it fills up. The lack of soft furnishing, and the nearby espresso machine complimented the bashing of crockery and cutlery and immersed me in isolation.  The food was good and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, but by the end of the meal and the second bottle of house red, my head was throbbing, and we still had the train journey to come. We declined going on for a drink and headed for home.  There was no whine on the train home and within the hour I was back into my safe zone and the peace and silence that is my normality.
It is hard to explain to others how monaural hearing can be so handicapping, as one functions well in normal circumstances; hearing difficulties are hard to empathise with as there is no visual clue, thus people have little patience when they are not heard.

Slavery

One of the most compelling chapters of American history, was the fight against slavery that divided the  north and south, creating a gaping wound, whose scars are still there.  Slavery has been a part of human history and probably prehistory, with weaker people being subjugated by their stronger neighbours. Empires were built on the backs of unwilling labour, Egypt, Rome and of course the British empire all embraced the culture of servitude and ownership of other human beings. Organised religions were established to reinforce the notion of  bowing and grovelling before a higher power and thus maintaining the status quo. There have always been slaves and masters.
There are even people who derive sexual pleasure from domination and submission, some actually live their lives in such fantasy, though for many the reality of their slavery is far from an erotic experience.
here in the UK, slavery has been illegal for more than a hundred years and yet it still exists. We all know of gangs of immigrants working on the land or in sweat shops for very little money, scared of being deported, they give their lives to unscrupulous employers.
Then there is the minimum wage, set at a dismally low level to encourage employers to take on workers who care little that the minimum wage does not constitute a living wage.  Hundreds of thousands of people in Britain are living in squalid conditions and children are going without the basics so that the wealthy can get wealthier. Their lives, meaningless to their masters.
Our government is driven by those that have; their mentality rather akin to the slave owners of the past. They have managed to alienate a sector of society that is unable to fight back, and by vilification of those people they have successfully divided the population once again.
Work is fine, and it benefits both the worker and society at large, but it is not all that life is about. There are not enough jobs for everyone, there never have been even in the best of times. The scarcity of jobs should not be used as a stick to beat people, or to drive down incomes to the point where people dare not or cannot walk away.

Babysitting

A baby that is tired but resists sleep can be a nightmare. When they scream and scream in sheer temper, there is little that you can do except keep your own in check, and sometimes that can be very difficult.  Matilda's mother was hard work as a child and undiagnosed asthma probably had a lot to do with it, but getting her to sleep was so difficult and the experience very stressful.
Matilda woke up last night whilst we were babysitting and as usual I bow down to experience and let the expert deal with the situation. It began with a whimper, but soon the looming tempest was unleashed and she let rip with everything she had. I turned off the monitor and found Fawlty Towers on Netflix. I Watched Waldorf Salad, and she was still at it, then the Gourmet Night and there were still no signs of her giving up.  Whilst pondering the next choice, probably Basil the Rat,  she was brought downstairs by a grandma at the end of her rope, and so I stepped in and sat her on my lap. Gourmet night was coming to a close and she watched it intently, snuggling in to granddad and chuckling along with the canned laughter. At least the crying had stopped and she seemed happy enough.  There was no sign of her sleeping and so I took her back upstairs, imagining that keeping her snuggled in a dark room would do the trick.  I sat in the easy chair and lay her on my chest and she happily lay on me breathing gently. We stayed like that for what seemed a long time, and I foolishly imagine that she was drifting off. It struck me at that point they I could probably not get up from the chair. It is hard enough without a human being on your chest, and was resigning myself to remaining trapped until her mother came home, when her head popped up and she decided that she wanted to play.  She explored my face, tried to remove my glasses and chattered away while I resisted the temptation to laugh.  She pointed to the bottle of milk, drank a good helping of that, burped, farted loudly and then pointed to her cot.  So I obliged and gently placed her into her bed. Of course she has her cuddly toys there and she could grab them and throw them around whilst exploring every syllable of her embryonic vocabulary.  So I knelt by the side of her cot and stroked her, hoping that my touch was still there. She quietened and lay still, but then the front door opened and she heard her mothers voice. She climbed to her feet, held onto the cot rail and was jumping up and down shouting YES!
At least our stint was over. I wonder how long it took her to sleep?

Sacred Cows

Anyone who visits a hospital these days, whether as a patient or otherwise, will probably hold the place and its workers in some sort of awe.  For many, visiting or staying in hospital is a frightening and stressful event. The NHS is a monster, and yet most of us to some extent owe it our very existence. I certainly do, but I am becoming more and more aware that the monster is becoming dysfunctional.  The whole system is burdened by democracy, with letters frequently duplicated, appointments cancelled over and over again, consultations usually late, and regular reports of patients being poorly treated.
While sitting waiting this morning, there were any number of employees, standing around doing what seemed to be very little. The main reception desk was unattended, the person on duty, restocking shelves of booklets while a queue of irate patients waited.  Everyone accepts the state of things and few make complaints because there is a built in reluctance to shake the boat, in the fear that you may be branded a troublemaker and so receive worse treatment.
To criticise is like farting in church.  You want to do it so very much but you are meant to show deference and respect, and so most people keep their views to themselves.
Few things these days are above criticism, even the BBC has its share of dissenters and critics, but the NHS, the Church and the world of Islam are treated with kid gloves.  Surely it is time that these institutions received radical overhauls.

Decision day

Well it is here, a day when Scotland is more or less ignored for 24 hours, while the people go to the polls. I know very little about the pros and cons of dividing the United Kingdom, but I suspect that whatever  the outcome of today things will never be the same again.  The Nationalists, in their fervent hatred of Westminster, and the Tory party in particular, have aroused many Scottish people to a height not achieved since Bannockburn, and many will be voting YES, with little consideration of the consequences. No-one can be certain of the outcome, and no one can predict the far reaching and potentially catastrophic results of a yes vote.  Maybe Scotland can make it alone, but it is a small country with a small population and I suspect that they are heading towards being the poor man of Europe. Oil revenues will not last forever.
The ballot results will be known soon enough, and ironically on the same day, the possibility of women members being allowed in the oldest golf club in the world, St Andrews, will also be known. The membership have been balloted by post and should their vote favour women, one of the last bastions of male supremacy will fall.  Some may think that is a bad thing, while many will welcome that decision, seeing it as a move away from divisiveness.
Division in my opinion is a backward step. The world is divided enough and where there is division there will always be problems. The world should be working towards common goals, but the prevalence of right wing parties such as Cameron's conservatives, will always encourage the division between this that have and those that don't.  With a general election looming, and the probably outcome not favouring the current government, you can imagine that the fat cats are already filling their pockets and insulating themselves from the likely chaos that they will have created. None of the major parties seem electable any more and so we are likely to have government made up of a divided bunch of unelectables, with the nasty right wing springing from the ashes of the coalition.
Maybe Scotland should go their own way, but I hope that they do not have to come begging to the rest of us when it all falls apart.

Google

This entry has nothing whatsoever to do with its title. Call it an experiment in the effectiveness of search engines in producing random hits.
The media are reporting the imminent arrival of yet another royal; this normally happens at a time when the Tories are in deep trouble, so I take some pleasure in the announcement, though I will not be keeping up with the developments.  Such news is ambrosia to much of the population; they revel in the growth of a family that has no connection with them at any level whatsoever.  The worship of the royal family is a weird phenomenon and must to some extent be an example of epigenetics. It runs in families I am sure and probably harks back to the days when the servant classes were totally dependent upon their masters for every aspect of their existences.  Many people still think that the ruling classes are a good thing, and so of course they listen to whatever they have to say, convinced that the house of Windsor is a found of wisdom and truth.
I have heard it argued that they are essential for the tourist industry, though I cannot see much logic in that argument. Some will argue that they are a part of our tradition; perhaps they are but then female circumcision is a part of the culture of some countries, and that does not make it either defensible nor worthy of preservation.
It is said that they have no power, but of course they do, they control immense wealth and they have the support of the entire Daily Mail readership which makes them as powerful as the Tory Party and far more powerful than the other political parties. Their tendrils reach far and wide, insinuating into the fabric of our society, parasitically thriving as much of the population struggles to exist. The gap between them and those unfortunates is beyond imagination and it continues to grow.
I  wish the child well and it would be nice to imagine that their life will be a normal one, but I suspect that he/she will want for nothing and will probably never face the prospect of having to find a proper job.

On writing

Now and then I ask myself why I write this blog, and I never really come up with a satisfactory answer. So few people read it that it cannot be for an audience, and even I don't often look back at older entries. When I was a kid, I hated writing. I remember being made to write letters to people to thank them for whatever, and then there was writing at school with terrible scratchy ink pens that we dipped into the ink wells on our desks, filled every week by the ink monitor.  We'd have to copy great chances of stuff from the blackboard and the mess was examined and criticised on a regular basis.
Then we moved on to grammar school and graduated to fountain pens. Biros were not allowed, and cheap fountain pens were pretty messy, at least in my hands. My handwriting was poor and this had a knock on effect in the quality and quantity of what I wrote.  Each day seemed an endless round of filling exercise books with my spidery scrawl. My handwriting remained pretty dreadful until I went to college, and I suppose, like the rest of me it began the painful process of growing up. We were expected to write of course and essays were frequent, if not brilliantly conceived they were done, and of course there were letters home to be dutifully constructed and sent. I even managed to write a little for the college magazine and found that I liked to produce short fictional tales.
As a schoolteacher I found myself having to write all sorts of things and my handwriting gradually improved through necessity, and then later I found out necessary to join the Open University, which involved a large number of essays and assignments.
Gradually I have learned to enjoy writing, and now in my self imposed quasi solitude, writing gives me an outlet for my feelings. I have written a number of short stories and like so many people, would love too write a novel, but I don't think that I have one in me.
Perhaps I have a vain hope that someone is listening, but in the end it really doesn't matter. I rarely plan what I am going to say, and so each entry is rather like an entry into a journal and if anyone has got this far then welcome.

Protest everything.

Watching a report about radical Muslims on a protest march in Luton was disturbing.  This was an organised rally opposed to the arrests of a local woman on terrorist charges, but of course there was more to it than that.  This was an opportunity to condemn the country that they have adopted as their own and the legal system that  serves us. It would seem that we are all going to hell, led by our police force and our government. Now while that may be true, it seems a little rich coming from ill educated and totally indoctrinated lunatics that are probably abusing the welfare system and love nothing more than to bite the hand that feeds them.
I support the right to protest and the right to free speech; these things are unlikely to be found in an Islamic state that these people wish to create in this country.
People love to protest and march. Virtually any change to the status quo is likely to be met with opposition, and also people like to demonstrate their support or otherwise for more or less anything.  People protest about new housing developments, they protest about housing shortages too. They protest against nuclear power, coal power, wind power, wave power, solar power, power shortages, the price of power, the abuse of power, immigration, bankers bonuses, MPs pay rises, train fares, bus fares,  anything.   The same people probably protest everything simply for the sake of it.
Mostly protests go unnoticed  if they pass peacefully,  after all a peaceful protest has little news value, so if you want to be reported then it is important to do something to get noticed.  Knock a policeman's helmet off if you wish to get arrested or start a brawl if you wish to get on local front pages, or as in these modern times, load your slogans with bigotry and hatred of your fellow citizens.
"Moderate" Muslims would do well to condemn the actions of their growing band of radicals, but they don't. The stay quiet, like most people, afraid to confront the toxic snake for fear of reprisals. Unchallenged by their own, these groups will grow and become nastier and noisier and the public at large will stop believing the lie that Islam is about tolerance and peace.  It has been said by some Muslims that Islam cannot co-exist with other belief systems, and that the role of Muslims is to convert everyone else to their way of thinking and what cannot be achieved by argument will be achieved by violence. I fear for the future of this country.

Charity shops

I used to have library tickets and would use them frequently. I loved the library, the relative peace and quiet and the sheer abundance of books. This was in the olden days of course before libraries became multimedia playgrounds,  and if you wanted to find something out you looked in a book. I would borrow half a dozen books at a time and probably read half of them before returning them.  I was taught from an early age to have respect for books, though I know that they are mass produced ephemera for most, I still find it difficult to mistreat one, even one by Jeffrey Archer.  I those days books came and went tidally and my own collection remained fairly static.
Times change, libraries are evolving and though books are there in abundance, so are computers offering google, Wikipedia and so much more. Many people read on tablets of Kindles and some predict the demise of the printed page altogether. I have read books on my iPad but find the experience unsatisfactory and still by far prefer to hold a book in my hand.
I no longer hold library membership but I do love to browse charity shops bookshelves and though I try to be disciplined, I still manage to buy books faster than I can read them. That coupled with a failing memory means that I am now forgetting what books I already have on my shelves as well as those that I have read.
Charity shops all smell much the same. I guess it is the combined  smell of elderly people and death. The smell is a reminder that inevitably, one day in the not too distant future, my life too will be measured out in black plastic bags and the things that surround me will be scattered to the wind and hopefully recycled.

There are two types of people

I read somewhere that there are 10 types of people, those that understand binary and those that do not. I remember meeting binary for the first time in a college lecture; it was probably in year one as attendance at such lectured did tend to wane as the terms went by. The tutor was actually very entertaining and I believe that we had an interactive binary system with the two states being standing and sitting. It was quite an ask for a  monday morning but it seemed to work and as a mathematical concept it was embedded easily.  This was 1967 and home computers and even personal calculators were some way into the future. Mobile phones, iPods, iPads were almost unimaginable and so application of the binary system was non existent to us mere mortals, though exponents of the world of electronics were already into their ANDS,  NANDS, NOTs, NORs and whatever. The age of computing was germinating and those with the brains and foresight could see it coming. Most of us could not and have spent a lot of time playing catch up.
The population at large never keeps up, it is impossible. Technology evolves faster than our ability to cope and so most people throw up their hands and give in to the tsunamis of change.
Computer coding now forms part of the primary curriculum and there must be long serving teachers who will find themselves in a strange world of languages that they have not heard of and having to enthuse young minds, far more plastic than their own. Many children will revel in the challenge, while others, already struggling with many other things will not cope and neither should they. Writing programs is a good exercise in logic and it does encourage thinking processes but like anything else it is not for everyone.
There are two types of people, those that adapt to the changing world around them, and those that expect the world to adapt to them. The latter is ok in the short term and as long as one has the tools needed to effect the changes, otherwise the world has a tendency not to co-operate.  

Back to school

Yes it is that crazy week when so many emotions will be in overdrive. Maintenance staff will have been busy for weeks, polishing, cleaning and fixing damaged furniture and fittings, floors will sparkle and even windows will be clean. Admin staff will have been doing all the mysterious things that they always seem to be doing and senior management will have been trying to work out the implications of whatever poorly thought through new initiatives have been thrust in their direction.
At home, teenagers will be contemplating the idea of getting out of bed before noon and having to wear uncool uniforms again, but secretly looking forward to being able to sulk in company, to bathe in pheromones and to begin new liaisons and relationships.
Timid toddlers will be dreading their first day of school having been terrified and intimidated by older siblings. They will don their loose fitting uniforms that they are told that they will grow into and pack their pristine pencil cases into equally pristine school bags; they will leave their beloved toys behind and begin the arduous process of social integration with children that most of their parents would want them to have nothing to do with. Lifelong friendships will be forged and enemies made.
Parents who have been on duty all day and every day for the last six weeks or more will be anticipating their freedoms or abilities to go back to work and hoping that their offspring will not embarrass them too much and keep out of trouble, and long suffering teachers will be dreading that return to the mayhem of modern education.  New rules, new curricula, new legislation and a whole new bunch of material entering the machine.
Teachers are trapped between rocks and very hard places. On one hand a lot of children that really do not want to be in school, being served a poorly devised national curriculum, that each successive government fiddles with, and a pernicious Ofsted organisation that can descend without notice, catch someone on a bad day and ruin careers and lives.  It is little wonder that many are giving up and that continuity is becoming a thing of the past.  Many teachers will be starting their careers this week and will be full of enthusiasm and "fresh" ideas.  Many others will have seen reality and will be back with a more cynical approach but will still do their jobs as well as they are allowed to, despite the fact that goalposts are both both moving and invisible.
I wish everyone luck and a successful year.

Bank Holiday

Here we go again, another wet and miserable August Bank Holiday Monday. It is almost a tradition that the weather will ruin the day for so many, who were probably looking forward to their day by the seaside or maybe just a day out from the daily drudgery of work.
Public holidays are seen by some as a burden on their businesses and I am sure that there are many who would like to see them abolished altogether, especially as the number of days off that everyone is entitled to, seems to increase, and if the ethnic minority groups get their way, then pretty soon there will be more.
Maybe each ethic or religious group should nominate their own public holiday choices; I am sure that if they did, then there would be at least 365 public holidays a year and surely it cannot rain on every one of them.

"If you could reason with religious people, there would be no religious people."

I had a visit from the Jehova's witnesses yesterday, I do wish that they would give advance notice so that I could be better prepared.  They were two nice old ladies and utterly indoctrinated into their faith. We had a pleasant discussion, though a pretty pointless one, ands we parted company each wishing the other a nice day.
The recent atrocities in the middle east came to mind, where religious zealotry is the driving force and leads to various religious groups seem linked only by their hatred for each other and by a mutual hatred of the west.  How can discussion and debate bring about change? Total intransigence and reliance on the writings of one self proclaimed prophet are a recipe for disaster and we are witnessing disasters day after day. We have in our own country, radical clerics preaching their hatred from mosques and young impressionable youths dragged into this culture and fighting against the country that they may well have been born into.
Our government signally fails to address the problems at ground level, afraid of offending the Muslim community, which seems to take offence as a matter of course. Any criticism of their behaviour is seen as racist or anti Islamic, and so few people are willing to speak out.
I do not live in a predominantly Islamic community and have no wish to do so, but it is easy to understand the discomfort of minority non Muslim groups in places like Walthamstow, who seem subjected to the ludicrous posturing of radical groups pushing for Sharia law in their area.
I am sure that there are plenty of Muslims out there doing their best to integrate and become part of the communities in which they have chosen to live, but as Richards Dawkins says, there are no moderate Muslims; but its very nature, Islam is an extreme form of religion that fundamentally needs to spread, which it is doing very successfully, and just like any pernicious virus, take over its host and destroy it from within.

Fussy eaters

One of my overwhelming memories of childhood was that of always being hungry. Food was very much a necessity and was often in short supply. Fruit and vegetables were always seasonal and choice very limited. The garden was a producer of vegetables all the year round and the garden shed used for storing sacks of potatoes and bags of onions as well as boxes of apples individually wrapped in newspaper.  Groceries came from the village shop, and were limited to the bare essentials.  Milk was delivered daily and I remember that frequently the foil tops would be broken open by birds hungry for the cream. In winter the cream would often freeze solid and rise from the bottles pushing the tops off. Skimmed milk was unheard of and it always tasted rich and creamy.
Each week, probably on a monday but I do not remember, there was a mobile fish and chip van that came to the village. It was a huge brown and cream van that moved very slowly. It would stop in strategic spots in the village and the owner would ring a handbell to attract attention. He probably had no need as the smell was wonderful and could be detected miles away. We coveted those fish and chips but never tasted them as they were too expensive. I envied those who queued for them each week while we went home for whatever food there was.
Breakfast was usually corn flakes or toast, rarely both, and we drank water or tea, unless a backlog of milk had developed.  Lunch was generally a sandwich, especially on school days as we could not afford to pay for school meals, and evening meal was a family event, usually some sort of meat and potatoes with whatever vegetables were available.  There were no snacks, though sometimes a packet of biscuits would appear and just as suddenly vanish again.
We were very active by and large and spent most of the time outside, often miles away from home, but we instinctively knew when it was time to go home.  There were rules at meal times. Good manners were expected and enforced, clean hands and faces were essential, and if you didn't eat what was presented then you went hungry. There was little quarter given to finicky eating and you stayed at the table until everyone had finished, even then you asked permission to leave.
There were of course foods that I did not particularly enjoy, but then I didn't enjoy being hungry either and so I ate whatever I was given, as it seems did most people. There is truth in the saying that if you are hungry enough, that you will eat anything.
Whilst out and about we were always on the lookout for food, whether it was fruit from orchards or vegetables from the fields. We'd make fires and cook potatoes in the embers and anything else that came to hand.
Whilst not starving we were very skinny and would be seen these days as anorexic. Our physical activities probably maintained a balance in our metabolisms and there was no such thing as junk food then. McDonalds was still a farm and kebabs were unheard of.
Even today I find it odd that people can be so fussy about their food. No doubt this is the product of a wasteful world where there is too much choice. I don't recall anyone being lactose intolerant or unable to handle gluten. If there were allergies, we were unaware of them or maybe I am just forgetful.
I am sure that in modern Britain, thanks to the careless nature of the government, that some people do not have enough to eat, and yet there will be others who spend whatever money they have on things other than food and rely on others to look after them. I do find it strange that there are people out  there who claim poverty and yet can still own and use a smart phone.

A week like any other

What troubled times we live in.  The world is awash with hatred and violence, Ebola is spreading at an unprecedented rate, and Robin Williams has left.

It struck me this week, what real heroes are.  For me, the people we train to kill and send to foreign lands, do not compare with those who risk their lives every day treating people with deadly diseases, in the knowledge that they face an invisible enemy that can kill at any time. Health workers who face such situations in all corners of the earth, do so willingly and with little in the way of remuneration or even thanks.  Doctors and nurses will die from ebola and I am sure that the streets will not be lined with flag waving jingoists, if and when their bodies are ever returned.

Ebola is a terrifying disease and at present it is contagious, but we are led to believe that it can be eliminated with soap and water. Most viruses are not so easily dealt with and we can be grateful that it is not infectious as so many diseases are.  Contact with an ebola carrier though can easily result in the disease being passed on, and in the African countries where it seems to be spreading, personal hygiene is limited by water supply as much as by custom or tradition. It will, if it has not already done so, spread wider than the African continent, and the more people that become infected, the greater is the risk that the virus will mutate into a form that is infectious. Should that happen, the world faces a threat probably worse than the bubonic plague of the seventeenth century.

Ebola is just one of a number of haemorrhagic diseased that have so far been confined to equatorial regions and are though to have originated in other primate species.  The prognosis for an ebola sufferer is pretty bleak, though some people seem to have immunity, while others recover. There is no vaccine as yet, probably because of the rarity of the disease and the huge cost of  producing a vaccine.

While this is going on, the Jews are pounding the Palestinians and the Palestinians are killing a few Jews, Muslims are murdering their own people in Iraq and in Syria, and Russia is fuelling a deep conflict that borders on civil war in Croatia, and the Pope continues to pray for world peace.

Such prayers have probably been offered  throughout the history of organised religion by people who believe in a higher power. The fact that prayer does not work seems to elude them, and their beliefs are still used as an excuse for the mindless killing of their fellow human beings, all of whom, if a god existed, would be seen as equals. Clearly some are more equal than others.

Rebellion

The 1960s were years of change. The second world war was still a clear memory for those who had been alive at the time and the long years of austerity were coming to an end. Opportunities were opening up in all walks of life and there was a sense of freedom in the air. The status quo was no longer acceptable to many and the old order was threatened from all sides.
I went to a traditional grammar school where masters and mistresses all wore gowns and sometimes their hoods. Discipline was tight and old traditional values were thrust down from above. Even so the discontent was fermenting quietly and things began to change.
My own rebellions were restricted to a rejection of uniformity and a refusal to obey petty rules that seemed to have no purpose.   The biggest protest being a refusal to run in the annual cross country race; we walked from the start and of course finished long after the rest, only to face the wrath of the staff.
I was reminded of those days by Oscar the other day. Their sports day is coming up, and even the nursery class is expected to participate. Being there and four year olds, they need to rehearse and the other day they were lined up on the running track to go through the routines. When the moment came to start, Oscar, who is a good runner, decided to turn around and ran the opposite way to the rest, thinking that this was very funny.  I have to agree with him, though four is a little young to make such protests. What will he be like when he becomes a teenager?

Brahms and Lists

One way to fill in time, which of course would have passed anyway, is to make lists. We all do it, whether it be shopping lists, friends lists, to do lists and things not to do perhaps. In one of my many idle moments, I was exposed unwittingly to Britain has got talent, and was appalled as to how unbelievably bad some of the music that emerges from youth culture today. I know that there are good musicians about but it seems that the get famous quickly culture is in the driving seat. Being unable to find any endearing features in what I was witnessing, my mind wandered into the past. At my age there is a great deal more of that than there is ahead, and I was reminiscing, making a mental list of the bands that I grew up with and have seen.
My first real live band was The Beatles. I saw them on stage in Weston Super Mare, where they topped the bill. Gerry and the Pacemakers were there too, and they were very impressive. The Beatles were about to become massive and whatever they played was pretty irrelevant; they could not be heard above the hysterical screams of teenage girls. It is said, though I can't say that I was aware of it, that cinemas hosting their tour had to be deep cleaned afterwards, due to the quantities of urine expelled on the seats and puddling on the floors.
Living in the back of beyond, it was difficult to get to any gigs, until I left home and went to college. There we had frequent social events and hosted a number of bands for very little money. I think we paid £40 for Status Quo to play for an evening and tickets must have been as much as 25p each. In those days, equipment was trundled about in Bedford  dormobiles and the band were their own roadies.
Trips home were as rare as possible but the Winter Gardens in Malvern were a wonderful venue for music. There I got to see Cream. That was a memorable evening and already the tensions in the band were becoming obvious. Eric Clapton broke his top E string in one of the solos and carried on as if nothing had happened. Winter garden events were dances and of course people could stand close to the stage. There was no stupid behaviour, no heavies guarding the band, they just played and we enjoyed.  It was at the winter gardens that I saw the late great Sandy Denny with Fairport Convention. She and they were amazing.
Most college functions have faded into the darkness; there were many bands some very good, others less so and all I can say is that I made the most of the opportunities available. Memorable evenings included Jethro Tull, Free, Rory Galagher, Joe Cocker, Spooky Tooth, Julie Felix and Family.
The majority of bands that I have seen were post college and post children. Only then were away trips a realistic possibility. I am proud to have seen great performances by Pink Floyd, Queen, King Crimson, Pentangle, Maddy Prior, June Tabor, Moody Blues, Oyster band, Loreena McKennitt, Robert Plant, Genesis, Bruce Springsteen, Canned Heat, Fleetwood mac and many others. There are so many more that I would love to have seen, The Stones, The Who, Santana, The Kinks, The Doors, Led Zepplin and Tom Petty. Now either they or I or both are too old, and so they belong on my list of regrets.

British Values

We have been hearing much this week about British Values. I have no idea what they are and I suspect that the majority of the population are in a similar position.  Our  personal values probably vary considerably and yet we probably share a large proportion, but does that make them British? Being nice to people, caring for others, helping those less fortunate than ourselves, giving to charity, being polite and understanding and trying hard to tolerate those around us seem pretty universal to me.

The likes of Michael Gove would love to thrust his own set of values onto all of us and given enough rope he will hang all of our children out to dry, whilst enforcing his own right wing, so called "Christian" idealism into the National Curriculum.

I loathe all religions equally, but having said that, some of the ideas handed down have helped some to build their moralities and provided a framework for living.  Others of course have used the same sources to build an alternative morality based upon hatred and intolerance of others.

Ridding our schools of religious influence might well be a step forwards; a step towards a less divisive society. In schools unfettered by religious dogma, our children might learn their own way throughout the muddle of growing up and develop their own value system, rather than having one thrust upon them by the zealots who run some of these establishments. Enforced beliefs and values are in the long term meaningless, though if children are forbidden from thinking or communicating with those who are free to do so, then they are condemned to a life of slavery of the mind.

It is not right to force our own values and prejudices onto our children, and it is the role of an education system to prepare young people to find a place in the world and to  furnish them with an ability to make reasoned decisions based on information that is freely available; only then will be begin to forge a society that is coherent and free.  Michael Gove and his cronies would probably disagree.

Addiction and its friends

As I write, our neighbourhood alcoholic has staggered past the house, having been into the town and drinking his way through the morning.  He often stops to chat and unfortunately is hard to shake off once he does.  I often wonder about his history and how he got to where he is today.  He can't be more than forty something but suffers from arthritis and struggles to walk, which he does a lot using a stick.  He manages to get into town at least once a day and walks past the house several times, mostly with a can of lager in his hand.  He wears a filthy baseball cap, even filthier army fatigues, covered in ultra left wing logos and badges and army style boots. He sounds vaguely Irish and smells vaguely scotch.
Addiction is a terrible thing and such an easy hole to fall into. I smoked for many years and frequently tried to stop. It was always so very hard and I do sympathise with anyone who has tried. It was only the incipient arrival of our first child that provided me with the incentive that I needed, and finally some 30 years ago I quit and never went back there.  My mother was a true addict; she used to make me so angry when she described her cigarettes as her only friends, whilst struggling to breathe. She had suffered bronchitis and emphysema for many years and had even managed to give up smoking for 18 months and then started again. Frequent hospital trips did nothing to stop her, and she would even be smoking whilst waiting for the ambulance to take her in. She died an unpleasant death after many years of suffering at the hands of her only friend.
True there are people who seem to have addictive personalities, but I believe that we all have the potential to slide into the troughs of addiction, given the right stimulation or circumstances. I remember being given morphine in hospital, and the feelings of euphoria were truly wonderful, but I know that would be the beginnings of a slippery slope should I wander along that path.
I like to drink alcohol quite often. A glass of wine often becomes two or three and I love a pint or two of good beer, but I can go without. I am able to make that choice but I wonder if there comes a point along the road when making that choice is no longer an option.

Post op

Matilda came through the operation with flying colours and we are all so happy to have her back. She seems hungrier than ever and will eat more or less anything that is put before her. The British public, or elements of it, also seem to take in whatever the tabloids tell them to, and we have festering boil on the political scene.  UKIP have only one redeeming feature that I can think of, and that is they they are seeing off the National Front or the BNP as they are often referred to.  Replacing one fascist group with another though is not something to celebrate, and we should be worried that seeds have been sown and an increasingly disenchanted and undereducated population will view them as a viable and realistic alternative. Ok they don't have any Parliamentary seats yet, but not long ago neither did the Liberal Democrats, and look what happened to them.  Nigel Farage and his cronies are not going away; they will continue to spread their poison and  create divisions in communities already on the brink of chaos.
Being stupid is not a lifestyle choice, though there are some too lazy to make use of the wits that they have. Just look at someone of average intelligence and consider that half of the population are statistically more stupid.  The tabloids sell well, and the media is often  geared to please that sector of the population.  UKIP will not represent them any more than the other political parties. UKIP will simply represent the selfish and greedy, which is why so many Tory voters supported them this time.
I hope that Matilda does not grow up to be greedy or self serving, I suspect that she will not be stupid, but it is a stupid world that she is growing up  in.

Eurovision

Apart from a free bus pass and not having to go to work, one of the compensations of being an old git is a freedom to rant. I love to express myself but tend to limit myself to here as no-one really wants to listen.
It is Eurovision song contest time, and what better epitomises the low depths that our society has reached, that the hours that many people will spend tonight, encouraging the continuation of an international disgrace. It is popular culture at its worst unless you take into account X factor, and yet millions will be sitting down to watch and some will take it seriously.
Many modern songs and singers sound much the same as they plough the furrow that the likes of Simon Callow demand and so the populace that lack the ability to think for themselves, accept the pap that is produced and buy, or steal, the same stuff over and over again.  Girl bands and boy bands pop up like mushrooms; usually they have one plagiarised idea and fade into the oblivion from which they came.
Pop music was once the territory of the young, but those of us who grew up with the Beatles and the Stones are still here and just about hanging on. So are some of the bands from the 60s and many are making pension tours, while others have grown older and wiser and others still have been killed off by their lifestyles.
I do try to listen to current music but so much of it consists of bland and uninspired lyrics, bleated out by post pubescent spotty teens, accompanied by bored session musicians. An then we have Rap and Hiphop, though I don't know the difference; maybe it is my hearing but all I can make out is a heavy beat, with someone chanting in a strange language. Whatever happened to good black music?  Motown, Hendrix and so many others had real talent and are still being listened to today.
Anyway I know that I am in a minority, but I was brought up to respect talent and admire quality, and maybe spoiled by having experienced some of the best bands in the world. If Eurovision is to your taste then............... um..................um...................enjoy your evening.

Superstition

I remember as a kid being told all sorts of nonsense. It made no sense then and less now. I could never see why it was unlucky to walk under a ladder or to see a black cat; and what was lucky about a rabbit's foot or a four leaved clover? The former would have been better still attached to the rabbit and the latter could easily be found if you looked hard enough.  Many sportsmen have "lucky" shirts or boots and often have routines that they must follow before competing. Of course their opponents probably have the same which I am sure must act as a neutraliser.
Are we naturally superstitious or is it a characteristic that is foisted upon us as children?  I suspect the latter; along with father christmas, the tooth fairy and religion, our superstitions are programmed into us at an early age. Parents eventually admit the lies about santa and the tooth fairy, usually when demands from the children reach beyond the means of the bank balance, but other superstitions are deemed non threatening and are allowed to ferment.
I don't think I am superstitious in any way. I don't cross my fingers, or anything else; I walk under ladders unless it is not safe to do so and black cats are just black cats. When things go wrong, I don't think "Why me?", bad things happen to everyone sooner or later, so why not me? Why someone else?
I do not pray to an invisible presence, yet I have heard that there are no atheists in trenches. What a load of rubbish. Just imagine those poor men in 1916; both sides praying for themselves and those around them, and to what end? I am sure that there were plenty there who could think for themselves and realised that if there were a deity he could not support both sides.
The same it true of football matches; where fans on both sides in an important game will employ all of their superstitions, including prayer, to ensure their teams' success. The outcome is not influenced by anything other than the quality of play, and perhaps an element of chance. Everything is pretty random.

Jeremy Clarkson

We live in a world where communication has never been easier or more dangerous. To speak your mind is perilous to say the least, and things will only get worse as technology and indolence advances. It seems that everyone, regardless of their status and income, has a mobile phone, and smart phones at that. This gives instant access to the internet and to all of the social media as well as email, Skype and the like. This should be a good thing, and perhaps in a way it is, but there is of course a dark side to it all.
Using a mobile phone or iPad or computer to access the world means that your location is identifiable. It is possible that whatever you do whilst communing with Google or Facebook or whatever takes your fancy, that you are being observed and giving away your personal data to anyone with wits enough to access it.
Posting opinions on Twitter of Facebook has led to careers being terminated prematurely and lives being changed for the worse; opinions must fall into line and be politically correct or you may find yourself in trouble.
Jeremy Clarkson made the mistake of muttering a childhood nursery rhyme on TV, alas using what is now referred to as the "N" word. He can use the "F" word or the "C" word and no-one is particularly bothered, but the "N" word was deemed almost sack worthy. He is in my opinion, an arse, but that is irrelevant.
This morning on the radio, several bearers of two X chromosomes were seriously debating the issue of being referred to as "girls", some find the term demeaning somehow. How sad is it that such an issue is even worthy of radio time.
Our language is a bastard mix, enriched with beautiful metaphors and similes, and yet its use in all of its glory seems to offend so many people so much of the time.
There are plenty of opinions out there that I disagree with, but words to me are never offensive.  I welcome criticism of my own beliefs and am quite happy to accept that I may well be wrong, though of course, just like everyone else, I don't think that I am.

Zeitgeist

I have just watched Zeitgeist, an enthralling movie that you can stream online. Ok it is unsubtle, but it packs a weighty punch and should be viewed critically by anyone who cares about the way the world is run. I think the whole thing can be summed up in a quotation, from whom I have no idea, but it went something like this - "Only when the power of love, exceeds the love of power, can the world be safe." Yes i know I got it wrong but i have the memory of a gnat these days.

The movie was made in 2007, long before the current crisis, and its focus is on power and the lies that we, mere humans are subjected to. We are lied to by organised religion as well as governments, who in their turn are the puppets of those who weild the most potent weapon of all - Money. It makes the point that the world is there for the use of the big bankers and that their greed is the root cause of most of the worlds problems.

Knowledge is power, and those in the know can do more or less as they like. Fundamentally the majority of people dont question anything. There is an inherent trust that has been made use of by the rich and powerful. The church has been culpable, and in the name of a myth, has sent millions to their deaths to defend that myth. Central banks, need wars to make profits and so provocation of delicately balanced conflicts, catapults so many innocent young people to death in the name of capitalism.

Education systems thrive on maintaing a base ignorance of the things that matter and harness minds into National Curricula that have no value and no meaning to the majority. An ignorant public is what they need and flourish on.

They say that we get the governments that we deserve and perhaps that is true.

Matilda

The other part of the last week or so goes as follows.  Matilda was born with a defective aortic valve and was due to go into hospital today for the treatment that she needs.
Last weekend we were invited to a retirement party on the IOW and we deliberated long and hard about making the journey, in the end deciding to pop down for the weekend. The arrangement was that we'd stay with son in law's parents, at  least in their house as they were away on holiday in the USA. All was planned and we set off, looking forward to catching up with old friends. On the ferry, my phone rang; it rarely does so this was somewhat of a novelty. It was my daughter, telling us that her husbands' brother had died suddenly. We were about to stay in his parents house and they were due back the following day. They had been informed and insisted that we carried on as normal. There was nothing normal about the trip believe me.  Well anyhow we did go to their house and stayed the night wondering what the following day would bring.  We picked them up from the ferry the following day and were able to offer a little hospitality, if not comfort. Losing a child, however old they may be is very hard.  Later that day we got a call telling us that Matilda was in hospital. She had suffered a febrile convulsion and had to be rushed by ambulance into Tunbridge Wells.  The party was to be the next day but clearly our enthusiasm for it was waning fast, and we decided to head for home as soon as possible.
We got home the following morning, by which time Matilda was home again, if not well, much better. As a result of her weekend, the operation has been postponed and the anxiety will have to go onto the back boiler once again.  I just hope that the next date does not coincide with the funeral.

Elite Phones and Computers - Do not go there.

This has been a strange week or so.  It began with a failure in my computer; a series of crashes due to kernel panic, whatever that may be, and led to me having to buy and fit a new hard drive. That was successful, though it did not seem to cure the problem.  Eventually I contacted a company that claimed to have nationwide branches and would collect and deal with the problem. The nice lady on the phone told me that there was a fixed fee for diagnostics and took my money. On a whim, I asked where they were and was told Manchester, which is of course not very close to here, by this time it was too late to back down and the computer was collected by courier the next day.
While my dear Mac was away, I finished watching Breaking Bad, leaving another hole in my life, and paced the floor until my machine came home.  Elite Phones and Computers  do not communicate well, but after a few days, I was informed that the repair would cost blah blah blah and so I agreed the payment.  A day later I was told that it was fixed and on its way home.  Five days later still, I called to ask where it was and was told that it would be sent that day. A mail told me that I must open the box to check for damage before signing for it as otherwise they could not be held responsible. The UPS man told me that I must sign before opening, so I signed and he evaporated. I opened the box and extracted my Mac, noticing that it was filthy and covered with fingerprints, but worse, the hinge mechanism was broken, leaving the screen facing down at the floor.  Wedging the screen in a manageable position I attempted to plug the mains lead in, only to find that the plug was bent and impossible to use. So I had my machine back, but in a worse state than it was when I parted with it. Needless to say, I was on the phone to Elite Phones and Computers and venting my spleen to someone on the switchboard.  They claim that the hinge was broken when they received it and ignored the state of the plug and the filthy condition. So now, I am financially worse off and my computer is a wreck.  Battle with Elite Phones and computers will continue but they are not having it back.

Don't Panic

I have made no progress with my Python skills and for once I have a good excuse. My trusty Mac is playing games with me. I am suffering with  frequent Kernel Panics. Now this may sound like an outbreak of lunacy, but it is a serious issue for me. Every now and then, my screen has a transparent grey veil drawn down over it and a message appears telling me to restart. The restart takes a long time and within a short period of time, the same thing happens again.  I think, but do not know, that the problem is a dying hard drive. So yesterday I went out and bought a replacement and googled the procedure for the operation. It looked simple enough and I have dismantled previous machines, and replaced parts, with success.  So I took the plunger and removed the glass screen, undid the weird starhead screws and looked inside. Alas, the guts of my machine look nothing like the guts of the one on google and the hard drive is nowhere near as accessible. Caution is the keyword when fiddling , and so I reassembled the machine and decided to tackle the problem in the morning.
This morning, before the operation, I thought I'd power up one more time, just to get the full details of the panic report. I had a mind to print it out for reference purposes, but then remembered that my printer is out of ink.  So I left the machine running, waiting for it to panic; it still hasn't, though like the old golfing joke concerning gotchers, I wait for it to happen and cannot really settle to doing anything. I have cleaned the house, made soup, made a curry, cut the grass, and still the attack hasn't happened. While this goes on, I cannot even power up my Pi, let alone focus on the intricacies of language learning.

If then goto

I have a Raspberry Pi. For the uninitiated, this is a really cheap computer, designed to encourage the re-introduction of programming into schools. I say cheap, but by the time you add a keyboard and mouse, a case and a monitor, it is not as cheap as it appears. However it is an encouragement for me to learn coding again.
I have very fond memories of a similar initiative, the BBC Micro, which was introduced decades ago, and was an introduction to the world of computing for hundreds of thousands of school children and their teachers. In those days, computer studies involved a knowledge of how programs work and many students would write sophisticated software, using BBC Basic, or the really smart ones would go the extra mile and write in what was called Machine code.  The computer room was always full of students clacking away at keyboards and I too was caught up in the tide of logic and became the proud owner of several machines.  I learned how to program and would spend hours inventing routines and even simple games.  At first loading and saving code was achieved via cassette tapes, it could take several minutes to load a big program and both processes were tedious and unreliable.  Then we progressed to disc storage and the school bought a 30Mb hard drive. This stood as the server for the whole network and each student could store their data on it.  I bought a floppy disc drive and could store my creations on those old flimsies so much more efficiently. Programs loaded quickly and far more reliably, removing the anxiety that often accompanied loading and saving.
My Pi has a memory card that holds 16Gb of data and yet it seems no faster in operation than did my BBC machines.  It uses a language called Python, though I am told that it can handle others too,  and this is very different to the Basic that I was so familiar with. To begin with there are no line numbers, so commands like GOTO no longer apply. I realise that I must erase my memory of Basic and to start completely from scratch, though my brain is far less capable than it was, and while I have my Mac sitting alongside it, the Pi offers little motivation in creating practical applications.
It is early days, and the learning curve is steep, but I will give it a try and hope that I can stay ahead of my grandchildren for a while.

Worries

Matilda is beautiful, lively and has a wonderful personality. She is not yet 18 months old and yet she has already acquired the ability to manipulate those around her.  If she is somewhere that she doesn't want to be, then she takes my finger and gently pulls me to where she does want to be. She gets what she wants by pointing and making appropriate noises and to all intents and purposes she is a perfect child, whatever that means.  However, things are not all they seem to be.  Matilda had one of her regular trips to St Thomas' hospital yesterday and the issue with her aorta has worsened.  Basically it seems that the walls are thickening and she needs intervention.  The next step is the introduction of a device to open the artery and so this poor little mite will have to undergo the procedure in the next few months.  I find it quite upsetting so goodness knows what her parents must be feeling.
On the positive side, the problem was spotted early by a very aware paediatrician, and so she is getting the best care in a centre that specialises in such problems, and of course she is totally unaware of her problem.
For now though it feels that we are living with a potential time bomb and it doesn't feel very nice.

Private education

People change so they say.  Having worked in state education for thirty three years, I have long been opposed to the divisive nature of the private school system. I could no more have applied for jobs in the private sector than do one armed press ups, and yet I now have a grandson in a private school and a grand daughter signed up for her place.  Initially my feelings about this were confused, but having had time to come to terms with it, I fully support their parents' decision to give their children such a good start in life.
I attended their open day this morning and arrived at morning breaktime. We were given a guided tour by two delightful eleven year olds and were suitably impressed by what we saw. The buildings are all new or well maintained and every classroom is attractive and well equipped with all the latest IT. The kids are well presented in smart uniforms and smiles, they are polite to vistors to teachers and seemingly to each other. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming and I am glad that my grandchildren are being given this advantageous start.
Friends of theirs, less well off financially, are finding it hard to get their children into their schools of choice, and one child is having to settle for their fourth choice of school.
Parents have been sold a lie for a number of years; there is no choice for those who cannot afford to send their children to a fee paying school. Long gone are the days of catchment areas, today school placement is a lottery with many of the better state schools implementing a selection by the back door policy. State education is underfunded and teachers constantly undermined and undervalued by a system that values statistics rather than the reality of a childs future. I know many state sector teachers and many are worn out by the ridiculous pressures placed upon them. Behaviour is deteriorating and staff have little in the way of sanctions, exclusion being old fashioned and expulsion an ancient myth. However dysfunctional a child it will be kept in school, screaming and kicking maybe, at the expense of all those others who have to put up with it.
I do not believe that all fee paying schools are wonderful, but I do understand why the middle classes wish to protect their children from some of the less desirable elements of society and at least give them an opportunity to learn in a world where education is valued by employers if not by consumers.

Huis Clos

Jean Paul Sartre said that Hell is other people. In his day, there was no such thing as a long haul flight and I am sure that was he able to experience twelve and a half hours crammed into a metal tube with over three hundred fellow sufferers, he may have had reason to modify his idea.
The flight from Hong Kong to Heathrow came on top of a one hour flight from Blenheim to Auckland, a five hour wait in Auckland and then a twelve hour flight to Hong Kong and a three hour wait there, altogether not a great start to the final leg of the journey.
To begin with, I hate crowds and boarding the plane was, as always a chaotic process with everyone ignoring their instructions, bustling to gain their seats as if it was first come first served; as it is the first on has so much longer to sit down in the confines of their seat, watching the rest of us hauling our unwilling bodies down the aisles and squabbling for space for the overhead lockers. What do people not understand about ONE item of hand baggage?  Some waddle onto the plane with so much stuff that it takes them an age to find enough locker space to contain it and generally the same people are too short to accomplish that feat without assistance.  Having taken my seat, aware that I was now confined for the next 13 hours including take off and landing,  my first aim was to get comfortable. Cattle class seats are basic and uncommodious and austere though ingeniously constructed to get everything into that tiny allocated space that is to be ones entire world for what seems forever.  My knees pressed into the back of the seat in front ensured that every movement of the large lady in front can be felt and the inevitable non aggressive battle for the armrests began.
I had an aisle seat which is a mixed blessing. I could get up and wander to the toilet without disturbing anyone unless I fell over, but then people had to disturb me if they wished to get out. Then of course anyone wandering down the aisle would brush against me, thus ensuring total lack of sleep. Babies howling, the endless white noise from the cabin, turbulence, flatulence, plastic trays and plastic cups providing food and drink that always smells and tastes the same as any other airline meal, and the map on the screen in front reminding you of just how far you still have to go, together make a less than joyous experience.
I anticipate landing with trepidation mixed with feelings of relief.  On one hand, I am soon to be freed from this metal tube filled with more than three hundred random human beings that I will never see again, whilst on the other hand I am reminded of the definition of landing. It is simply a controlled crash. Hundreds of tonnes of metal and plastic mixed with organic matter hitting the ground at two hundred miles an hour, relying on a few rubber tyres.  This has now been made terrifyingly real with the presence of a camera slung underneath the plane so you can watch the ground approaching. I am sure its role is to terrify passengers as for most of the flight all you can see is cloud tops or darkness.
Anyhow once released there is the scramble to get through immigration and the melee of baggage claim, wading through a sea of tired and tetchy travellers most of whom have failed to make their baggage easy to spot.
Sartre was right but I wish that he could have travelled more.

Diamonds

So many people measure success in terms of monetary or material ownership. Those that have the most seem to be celebrated and looked up to, while those who have least are looked down upon and are not valued at all.
We own nothing. None of us owns a thing. We have temporary custody of all those things that we strive to gain and that is all.  Take away the material wealth and we are all the same; fragile and temporary biological entities, subject to the basic drives that make us survive and breed, thus ensuring the production of further generations.
I am nearer the end of my life than the beginning, and know that anything that I own will be passed on to my children or their children, should there be anything other than money, that they want.  Most of what surrounds me, will, like everyone elses' posessions be consigned to black plastic bags. The most valuable things, and really the only things that we can lay claim to, are our thoughts and memories. Inside my head is a catalogue of my life and all that is me. That is something that is hard to pass on and most of it will of course vanish in the same instant as my last breath. By writing this blog, I can at least set down some of what I have inside, and perhaps one day someone will read all this and wonder why I bothered.

Clubs

In Afghanistan, and I would guess other countries, it is illegal to abandon your religion.  So we have an Afghan who has abandoned Islam, claiming asylum on the grounds that he will be criminalised if he returns to his own country.
Imagine if we insisted on our children believing in santa claus and fairies and then in later life criminalised them for having rational thoughts and rejecting that belief.  Some may think that this is not a fair comparison, or that I am being flippant, but the point is a serious one.
Most muslims have no choice about being a muslim. It is the way that they are brought up and the way that their parents and those before them are raised. Indoctrination from birth has powerful influence, and of course most muslims remain as muslims so that they can pass it on to their children. The same is to a lesser extent true of other religions, though apostasy in Catholicism is not normally punishable by death.
Surely, any club worth joining, can retain its membership without the threat of persecution from within.

Waiting for Godot

Probably my favourite college drama production was Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot.  Classified as theatre of the absurd, his play is described as a tragicomedy in two acts. It has also been described as a play in which nothing happens - twice.  It is true that nothing really happens to the two vagrants that meet and spend their days hoping that Godot will arrive.  The characters do go through  a whole gamut of emotions, from ecstasy to despair, but the play ends on a low key of helplessness and hopelessness. There are lines that stay with me after all these years and recently having seen Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan performing it on stage, the times and circumstances of that college production came flooding back.
What got me onto this was a walk with my grand daughter this morning. She needs her nap and I need some exercise and coupling the two is a joy for me.  We have a circular route along a woodland path, and by the time we are less than half way, she is usually asleep.  Like most urban areas the place is well provided with litter bins and bins for the deposition of dog turds. It is illegal to allow your pet to poo in public places and responsible dog owners carry plastic bags to pick up the nasty stuff, and most either take it home or place it in the bin provided.  However it seems that however the community makes provision to assist people, there are still those who prefer to do things their own way. What makes people think that it is a good idea to festoon hedges with little bags of dog shit? What do they imagine becomes of them?  Are these the same people that throw empty bottles and cans around the streets, or vandalise public places?  Maybe they think that their behaviour is acceptable, not having any sense of community or even decency.
There are elements of our society, who, in true Thatcher style, are totally selfish. For them, there is no such thing as society or if there is it is not one that I'd want to be part of. We are fragmenting, of that there is no doubt and there is a whole generation growing up without criticism or the experience of failure.  The media suggests that the only worthwhile people are ephemeral pop stars and football players. Sucked in by celebrity, eschewing learning and knowledge for its own sake, people are, in Beckett's words, bloody ignorant apes.