Well that is over again for another year. Somehow it seems like a fence that must be crossed in order to progress to the next and final straight of the year. Today the shops will be open again and there will be queues of people hoping to get something for nothing in the post lunacy sales.
It used to be said that farmers could be held accountable for all of the ills of this world. Until there were farmers, the population of planet Earth was nomadic and life was truly nasty brutish and short. If you couldn't keep up with the rest of the family, you were left behind and soon became a vital part of the food chain. Then one day, some guys (probably) decided that as they were getting a little long in the tooth, it might be wise to settle down and start growing stuff and maybe, instead of following the herds of four legged food, they would fence them in and hence, have all that they could eat. just outside the confines of their mud huts. Of course it would be a while before health and safety, vet's bills and the subsidies offered by the EEC, but nevertheless, from there onwards they had it made. From such beginnings, began trade, money, enhanced communications, politics and the rest. People had time to sit around and make mischief for the first time in human history. People got older and it mattered not if you could no longer run behind the horse. You could sit in a corner and someone might just throw you a bone now and then.
Of course it now became possible to find time to invent really useful stuff, and to create works of art. Writing followed and before you know it we had the internet and online banking. The population soared and farmers prospered as they always have done. Their vehicles grew in size and number and the roads filled up and so on and so on. Diseases spread easily with growing numbers of people, war became trendy and with that came the need to produce new and more interesting ways of killing people. Farmers demanded ways of killing nature too. Insecticides, fungicides, mulluscicides, nematocides, arachnicides and all sorts of other nasties came from the demands of farmers. I could go on for hours but I won't.
Now of course the damage is largely complete and the farmer has had his day. The hour of the shopkeeper is upon us and we are experiencing a mass delusion that forces us into the acquisition of rubbish.
The shopkeepers are an alien species that work in cahoots with the fashion designers. They invaded Earth several decades ago and through a complex and subtle brainwashing procedure, have convinced the more malleable humans that they MUST have, whatever the shopkeepers wish to sell. They found that is was possible to palm off, oddly shaped bits of coloured fabrics, and shoes for large sums of money, and that this could be enforced by the addition of certain labels. They manufactured myriads of plastic playthings, chemicals to apply to faces, and more and more clothes that no-one really wears but that lots of people think they want.
Inevitably the people collect the rubbish and their housed fill up. Thus they need bigger houses and more and more of the farmer's land gets bought at extraordinary prices.
So in the end - the money all goes back to the farmer, who now gets paid not to grow anything. Hey I can do that quite easily.
So, as you wander through the January sales, accumulating more debris, just think of the poor farmers, sitting at home waiting for their bank balances to grow.
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
Monday, 24 December 2007
Saturday, 22 December 2007
Rubbish
There was a time, when the words, Made in Hong Kong, meant a lot. It generally meant that this item has been produced in a sweat shop somewhere in the far east, and is guaranteed to be utter rubbish. It will break as soon at is used or will severely damage anyone who is so foolhardy to purchase it. Then everything changed. China wanted Hong Kong back and of course, no-one was going to argue with them. Now the same rubbish is labelled Made in China.
Some people maintain that change is good, and of course if we are to evolve as a species, then we must be prepared to change in order to survive. Many species, throughout time have failed to adjust to climatic and geographical changes and have vanished forever. This fundamental mechanism of evolution works well, but it is driven by the need for change and few changes, that are made for their own sake, or through a whim, are likely to survive in the long term.
In the world of education, employees are puppets in the hands of whiz kids, promoted to a level of incompetence, who feel that in order to make their mark, they must force huge changes on the system. And so, like many other organisations, change after change, has ensured that no-one knows where they are going or why they are even moving. The systems go round and round in circles as old and established ideas resurface, time and time again.
Change is not always good and often totally unnecessary. Sharks, have survived unchanged for millions of years, largely because there has been no need for them to change. They are perfectly adapted to suit their environment. Now some species are facing possible extinction, in order to provide the Chinese with shark's fin soup.
So now we have the world being taken over by the largest and most highly populated country. They seem able to copy everything that the west produces, and do it for a tiny fraction of the cost. Alas however, in this life one tends to get what one pays for and we are now bombarded daily by the cheap, badly made and even toxic or dangerous goods that we in the west seem eager to purchase. Everyone wants something for nothing, we all seek out bargains and bogofs but we should pay heed to the likely outcome of this monumental change in economics. Industries in the west cannot compete on price, and probably never will. Therefore in the face of such a competition, the strongest and fittest will survive and the rest perish.
I suppose the result of this will be that everything that we buy will be rubbish and so no-one will be any the wiser.
Some people maintain that change is good, and of course if we are to evolve as a species, then we must be prepared to change in order to survive. Many species, throughout time have failed to adjust to climatic and geographical changes and have vanished forever. This fundamental mechanism of evolution works well, but it is driven by the need for change and few changes, that are made for their own sake, or through a whim, are likely to survive in the long term.
In the world of education, employees are puppets in the hands of whiz kids, promoted to a level of incompetence, who feel that in order to make their mark, they must force huge changes on the system. And so, like many other organisations, change after change, has ensured that no-one knows where they are going or why they are even moving. The systems go round and round in circles as old and established ideas resurface, time and time again.
Change is not always good and often totally unnecessary. Sharks, have survived unchanged for millions of years, largely because there has been no need for them to change. They are perfectly adapted to suit their environment. Now some species are facing possible extinction, in order to provide the Chinese with shark's fin soup.
So now we have the world being taken over by the largest and most highly populated country. They seem able to copy everything that the west produces, and do it for a tiny fraction of the cost. Alas however, in this life one tends to get what one pays for and we are now bombarded daily by the cheap, badly made and even toxic or dangerous goods that we in the west seem eager to purchase. Everyone wants something for nothing, we all seek out bargains and bogofs but we should pay heed to the likely outcome of this monumental change in economics. Industries in the west cannot compete on price, and probably never will. Therefore in the face of such a competition, the strongest and fittest will survive and the rest perish.
I suppose the result of this will be that everything that we buy will be rubbish and so no-one will be any the wiser.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Poem
Christmas is coming
The Rich are getting fatter
The Poor are getting poorer
But I guess that doesn't matter.
The Rich are getting fatter
The Poor are getting poorer
But I guess that doesn't matter.
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
वर
Well the Christmas card barrage is well underweigh, and pretty soon the mountain of paper, card and glittery stuff will be consigned to the recycling centres, to end up as toilet paper, egg boxes or something infinitely more useful.
Every year the same happens doesn't it? We make our lists of people who sent us cards last year, and use them as a fair guess as to how the game will be played. We write the cards and then play athe timing game. Too early is a pre-emptive strike which can pay dividends as it immediately raises a profile and puts others in a tricky spot. Now they may have you on their list, but if not, their list has to be modified, and so it goes on! The best salvo comes at the last minute. Make a subsidiary list of people that dod not send a card last year and hit them at the very last post before Christmas eve, or even better, hand deliver them when you know it is too late for retaliation. That way they will feel guilt at not being able to return fire.
Every year the cards get opened and one begins to think - Gosh is he still alive? or - Who on Earth is this? or Oh God not another Round Robin! These self aggrandisations are the ultimate weapon of course, against which there are no counterpunches. Some people begin them in January and have developed the art to an extent where recipients, upon opening the said delivery, immediately evacuate the contents of their alimentary canals and literally lose stomach for the fight. I strongly believe that regular offenders of this heinous crime, should be tried as war criminals.
I find that over the years, the quantity of cards has diminished substantially. I am no longer seen as a target. The quality of cards has not improved, though I have noted with some interest that this year, a large proportion of cards have been produced in China. How suitable! The true spirit of Christmas at last.
May you - my reader, have a wonderful holiday, and be grateful that you are not spending it with me. :-)
Every year the same happens doesn't it? We make our lists of people who sent us cards last year, and use them as a fair guess as to how the game will be played. We write the cards and then play athe timing game. Too early is a pre-emptive strike which can pay dividends as it immediately raises a profile and puts others in a tricky spot. Now they may have you on their list, but if not, their list has to be modified, and so it goes on! The best salvo comes at the last minute. Make a subsidiary list of people that dod not send a card last year and hit them at the very last post before Christmas eve, or even better, hand deliver them when you know it is too late for retaliation. That way they will feel guilt at not being able to return fire.
Every year the cards get opened and one begins to think - Gosh is he still alive? or - Who on Earth is this? or Oh God not another Round Robin! These self aggrandisations are the ultimate weapon of course, against which there are no counterpunches. Some people begin them in January and have developed the art to an extent where recipients, upon opening the said delivery, immediately evacuate the contents of their alimentary canals and literally lose stomach for the fight. I strongly believe that regular offenders of this heinous crime, should be tried as war criminals.
I find that over the years, the quantity of cards has diminished substantially. I am no longer seen as a target. The quality of cards has not improved, though I have noted with some interest that this year, a large proportion of cards have been produced in China. How suitable! The true spirit of Christmas at last.
May you - my reader, have a wonderful holiday, and be grateful that you are not spending it with me. :-)
Monday, 10 December 2007
लिघ्ट्स
So here it is again. Though really I suppose it has been with us for quite a while already, it seems to creep in as soon as the summer is over and makes the winter months even longer than they already seem.
I was asked the other day a rhetorical question. Why is it that December 21st is the shortest day, and yet, the 25th is the longest?
Now I know that it is early for my seasonal rant but, if you can’t beat them, join them I suppose, though joining does rather go against what little grain that I have left.
The reason for my earliness is that this year we seem to have had so many messages in the press regarding saving planet Earth, and it is good to see that people are beginning to respond, by using less plastic bags, but now we have an invasion of Griswalderie that not only erases all the good work but quite easily reverses any trend towards reducing the output of carbon.
Yes the lights are everywhere. What is more they get cheesier and more elaborate each year. Houses, trees and gardens light up with so much energy that the heat generated and the increased daylength is causing plants to flower early and birds to nest. Never have I seen such public displays of bad taste as appears at this time of year. Some do it for fun – hard to imagine what fun can be gained there – while others maintain that it is for charity.
I have a suggestion here. Why don’t they count up all the money that they spend on the lights and the electrical power, and give that to charity instead. By so doing they could help save the planet by saving vast amounts of energy, including the fuel consumed by the car loads of people that tour around laughing at their efforts and the coach loads of tourists that actually pay money to see them.
Ok I know I loathe Christmas almost as much as most other quasi religious festivals. But really this is not about religion and has not been for many years. Christmas is simply a celebration of capitalism and the greed that goes with it. Like capitalism, Christmas only survives by growing, and it seems to be growing more tasteless and tacky as each year passes.
The only saving grace that I can imagine, is that once the 26th comes along, that spring is on it’s way.
I was asked the other day a rhetorical question. Why is it that December 21st is the shortest day, and yet, the 25th is the longest?
Now I know that it is early for my seasonal rant but, if you can’t beat them, join them I suppose, though joining does rather go against what little grain that I have left.
The reason for my earliness is that this year we seem to have had so many messages in the press regarding saving planet Earth, and it is good to see that people are beginning to respond, by using less plastic bags, but now we have an invasion of Griswalderie that not only erases all the good work but quite easily reverses any trend towards reducing the output of carbon.
Yes the lights are everywhere. What is more they get cheesier and more elaborate each year. Houses, trees and gardens light up with so much energy that the heat generated and the increased daylength is causing plants to flower early and birds to nest. Never have I seen such public displays of bad taste as appears at this time of year. Some do it for fun – hard to imagine what fun can be gained there – while others maintain that it is for charity.
I have a suggestion here. Why don’t they count up all the money that they spend on the lights and the electrical power, and give that to charity instead. By so doing they could help save the planet by saving vast amounts of energy, including the fuel consumed by the car loads of people that tour around laughing at their efforts and the coach loads of tourists that actually pay money to see them.
Ok I know I loathe Christmas almost as much as most other quasi religious festivals. But really this is not about religion and has not been for many years. Christmas is simply a celebration of capitalism and the greed that goes with it. Like capitalism, Christmas only survives by growing, and it seems to be growing more tasteless and tacky as each year passes.
The only saving grace that I can imagine, is that once the 26th comes along, that spring is on it’s way.
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
devastation
I am devastated today. I just found out that I missed an opportunity of a lifetime, and one that I had been waiting for for a few years. I had no idea that last march, that Loreena McKennitt came to London as part of her European tour, and I missed it. Ok i was going through an "interesting" phase of my life at the time when bookings would have been made, but it is no excuse. I missed it and will probably never get another chance. Let's face it, i am no spring chicken and come to think of it, neither is she.
Oh well there it is, another of life's disappointments and like most of the others, the tide of time will wash away the remnants and few traces will remain.
I am still mightily hacked off though.
Oh well there it is, another of life's disappointments and like most of the others, the tide of time will wash away the remnants and few traces will remain.
I am still mightily hacked off though.
Monday, 3 December 2007
Atmosphere
Just back from a weekend in London. Always nice to go there for a while and even better to get away again. One thing that I cannot bear for any length of time is wall to wall noise. Everywhere is noisy, the streets, the stations, the subways, the shops, the pubs and the wine bars.
At some stage during the weekend we found ourselves in a place called Gordon's Wine Bar. It lies in the depths of Villiers St and is not easy to find. The place lies down in a cellar and there is just the one almost unmarked door that leads down to it. Stepping into Gordon's is like stepping backwards in time. It looks old, smells old and it heaves with the young and the trendy. It is not all that big, but clearly it is the place to see and be seen when out on the town. It struck me that although it has a novelty value, most people would go there for "Atmosphere" and I am trying to imagine what gives a place atmosphere. It seems that if you have this magical property you can charge what you like and people will still come flocking.
We had previously been to a trendy Tapas bar in Covent Garden. It Oozed atmosphere and clearly was so popular that we queued to get in. The food was ........ ordinary. Lots of small bowls containing mainly potatoes, with the odd bit of protein thrown in now and then. I have to say though that I was not overwhelmed by the value for money, unless you count the atmosphere of course, which was loud and made conversation difficult and of course, loud.
I came to a conclusion. Not at all scientific of course, and based on very little evidence, but I believe that the secret of success in the catering business is volume. Make lots of noise, or encourage your punters to do it for you, and Voila - you have atmosphere and it will become a self perpetuating phenomenon. I suspect also that I may have missed something.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
जुस्त words
So an innocent and caring schoolteacher in the Sudan has been arrested and faces charges of Blasphemy and possible flogging or prison or both, and for what? Allowing her children to name a teddy bear with the name of a prophet.
It is no wonder that the world is in it's current parlous state, with the mediaeval and barbaric regimes that run one half of the world, and the bleeding hearts and Christians the other. The two "cultures" are so far apart that it is impossible to imagine that the two might ever meet, yet alone agree on anything other than arms deals and oil purchases. If there was a god, can anyone believe that he would, sorry she, would give the oil to one half and the intelligence to the other? Maybe, just maybe but she would require a sense of humour and be prepared to take all the flack at some time.
It seems that the days of free speech are gone. Even the Oxford Union is having problems allowing those with racist views to air their opinions. For goodness sake, an opinion is just that and surely in a civilised society, all opinions are allowed and should be aired and maybe even shot down in flames if necessary. To silence people simply drives them into an underground where their views can be cultivated and grow in an unchallenged way.
Tory politicians have been forced into resignation recently for airing non PC views. It seems that the only people to go unchallenged in their statements are members of certain ethnic groups, who, for whatever reason are feared by the rest of the populace. I am all for Tories resigning, but not for simply speaking their minds. Let them speak, or we run the risk of living in a society where it will be illegal to call a pet pig, Maggie.
Without freedom of speech a society cannot be called civilised, and the world must learn that before it is too late.
It is no wonder that the world is in it's current parlous state, with the mediaeval and barbaric regimes that run one half of the world, and the bleeding hearts and Christians the other. The two "cultures" are so far apart that it is impossible to imagine that the two might ever meet, yet alone agree on anything other than arms deals and oil purchases. If there was a god, can anyone believe that he would, sorry she, would give the oil to one half and the intelligence to the other? Maybe, just maybe but she would require a sense of humour and be prepared to take all the flack at some time.
It seems that the days of free speech are gone. Even the Oxford Union is having problems allowing those with racist views to air their opinions. For goodness sake, an opinion is just that and surely in a civilised society, all opinions are allowed and should be aired and maybe even shot down in flames if necessary. To silence people simply drives them into an underground where their views can be cultivated and grow in an unchallenged way.
Tory politicians have been forced into resignation recently for airing non PC views. It seems that the only people to go unchallenged in their statements are members of certain ethnic groups, who, for whatever reason are feared by the rest of the populace. I am all for Tories resigning, but not for simply speaking their minds. Let them speak, or we run the risk of living in a society where it will be illegal to call a pet pig, Maggie.
Without freedom of speech a society cannot be called civilised, and the world must learn that before it is too late.
Monday, 26 November 2007
रेअदेर्स Block
I started reading The Red Dog by Louis De Bernieres - for some reason i can't get past the first few pages!
42
My life is pretty uninteresting on the whole. I guess most people think the same thing and our own existence seems trivial alongside those of people that we know.
I have spent a significant part of this morning sanding down walls in the hallway in preparation for painting. Needless to say that decorating wasn't my idea - it rarely is these days. Oh I know it will be ok when it is done but I just find it hard to muster enthusiasm. Now i am covered in dust and so is the rest of the house no doubt. My lungs feel a little clogged and goodness knows what i have been inhaling.
While i am doing this job, I don't much feel inclined to start anything else and I am beginning to seriously doubt my ability to focus on anything much. Even this normally meaningless drivel seems more so than usual.
Some days i yearn for something out of the ordinary to happen, but I am always reminded of the Chinese curse - "May you live in interesting times" I guess that I have nothing to complain about anyway. Guess I'll continue to live in my head.
I have spent a significant part of this morning sanding down walls in the hallway in preparation for painting. Needless to say that decorating wasn't my idea - it rarely is these days. Oh I know it will be ok when it is done but I just find it hard to muster enthusiasm. Now i am covered in dust and so is the rest of the house no doubt. My lungs feel a little clogged and goodness knows what i have been inhaling.
While i am doing this job, I don't much feel inclined to start anything else and I am beginning to seriously doubt my ability to focus on anything much. Even this normally meaningless drivel seems more so than usual.
Some days i yearn for something out of the ordinary to happen, but I am always reminded of the Chinese curse - "May you live in interesting times" I guess that I have nothing to complain about anyway. Guess I'll continue to live in my head.
Saturday, 24 November 2007
Music
Yesterday I did something that I haven't done in many months. I played my all time favourite CD, all the way through. The Division Bell is in my opinion the best thing that Pink Floyd ever recorded. I know that It is not really the original Floyd and that Waters' cutting edge is missing but that is all beside the point. The point is that I played it and did not need to turn it off part way through.
Music is evocative and there are so many pieces that have so many memories for me. Some are bad memories and some are the reverse, but most of my favourite music I can link to places, people or experiences in my life. A song can take me back to a point in time and enables me to conjure, smells tastes and even fingertip memories. Some pieces I associate with terrible times in my life and of course I avoid listening to them as some things are best left buried.
The Division Bell falls into a strange and bitter sweet category and that is why I have avoided it for a while. However i am glad that I have taken this step and can rekindle my relationship with a piece of work that has been underrated by many Floyd purists.
I did notice though that the disc is getting worn, the box it broken and i may soon have to replace it. Maybe, thinking about it, that would be the best thing to do in any case.
Music is evocative and there are so many pieces that have so many memories for me. Some are bad memories and some are the reverse, but most of my favourite music I can link to places, people or experiences in my life. A song can take me back to a point in time and enables me to conjure, smells tastes and even fingertip memories. Some pieces I associate with terrible times in my life and of course I avoid listening to them as some things are best left buried.
The Division Bell falls into a strange and bitter sweet category and that is why I have avoided it for a while. However i am glad that I have taken this step and can rekindle my relationship with a piece of work that has been underrated by many Floyd purists.
I did notice though that the disc is getting worn, the box it broken and i may soon have to replace it. Maybe, thinking about it, that would be the best thing to do in any case.
Wednesday, 21 November 2007
?
One of my worst fears was realised today.
Wednesday used to be a turning point in the week and thanks to one who was a friend, I think of it as hump day, even though my life has few humps these days, mostly I am freewheeling down the long hill. Anyway it started out ok, and believe it or not, the sun shone for a while and I could actually leave the house. So i took the opportunity to go and see my old friend Liz. I haven't seen her in a while, partly due to weather and partly idleness on my part. Anyway, she is fine, at least no worse than last time I saw her.
When i came home i decided to catch up on one or two things that needed to be done. One of which was taking out the vegetable waste to the compost bin. I opened the lid and my heart sank as i saw the leaves moving. I poked and prodded the pile - I really don't know why I do it - and of course the inevitable happened. A rat the size of a small horse, leapt out of the debris and disappeared between the bin and the house wall. Now if you have read my blog you will know that I hate and fear rats, more than anything else. I'd prefer it to be occupied by a lion, and so my mind replayed the last rat v me scenario. The rat won every round and I eventually gave up and moved house. Now i have to face the same problem over again. First I'll buy a trap and the little swine will learn how to get the bait off it or how to spring it without being caught. I'll get my fingers trapped again and then I'll resort to poison. That will be thoroughly ignored, or my rat will be one of the supersods that are resistant to it and so I'll be feeding it at great expense, while it gets fat and laughs at me.
I was quite pleased with my attempts at composting and now I feel a little differently about even opening the lid. Yet another of life's joys has deserted me.
ps i wonder if boiling water would do the trick? Or should I hire a cat?
Wednesday used to be a turning point in the week and thanks to one who was a friend, I think of it as hump day, even though my life has few humps these days, mostly I am freewheeling down the long hill. Anyway it started out ok, and believe it or not, the sun shone for a while and I could actually leave the house. So i took the opportunity to go and see my old friend Liz. I haven't seen her in a while, partly due to weather and partly idleness on my part. Anyway, she is fine, at least no worse than last time I saw her.
When i came home i decided to catch up on one or two things that needed to be done. One of which was taking out the vegetable waste to the compost bin. I opened the lid and my heart sank as i saw the leaves moving. I poked and prodded the pile - I really don't know why I do it - and of course the inevitable happened. A rat the size of a small horse, leapt out of the debris and disappeared between the bin and the house wall. Now if you have read my blog you will know that I hate and fear rats, more than anything else. I'd prefer it to be occupied by a lion, and so my mind replayed the last rat v me scenario. The rat won every round and I eventually gave up and moved house. Now i have to face the same problem over again. First I'll buy a trap and the little swine will learn how to get the bait off it or how to spring it without being caught. I'll get my fingers trapped again and then I'll resort to poison. That will be thoroughly ignored, or my rat will be one of the supersods that are resistant to it and so I'll be feeding it at great expense, while it gets fat and laughs at me.
I was quite pleased with my attempts at composting and now I feel a little differently about even opening the lid. Yet another of life's joys has deserted me.
ps i wonder if boiling water would do the trick? Or should I hire a cat?
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
deluge
Today it is raining once more. The sky is grey and the ground waterlogged. I don't envy those that have to be out in it, especially those whose living depends on being in the great outdoors.
I am indoors of course and at present am sanding down the walls of the hallway. Dust is the order of the day and I am covered in it. Because i hate wearing a face mask, my lungs are pretty well inundated too, so no doubt I will pay the penalty for that at a later date. In between sanding sessions I take breathing breaks and dive into my study hoping not to take the clouds of dust with me. This is my bolt hole really and my access to the rest of the world. here I can sit and think, or sometimes just sit, and as long as there is electrical power i can communicate to people that I know and care about.
It struck me that as i blog away, there are plenty of others out there who at some time in my life have meant so much to me and yet now, i don't even know if they are alive or dead. In all probability many friends from the dim and distant past are no longer with us and to many, their passing has gone unrecorded. The same will happen with me. When i shuffle off this mortal coil, there will be some who will miss me, of that I am sure. But the majority of people that I have come across in my life will not even know that I have passed on, unless I have advance notice and can email some of them at least. But most of us die un-noticed by the majority of our friends and acquaintances and that is a little sad.
People drift into our lives all the time, most drift out again and may never leave a trace of their visit. Others stay and others still, leave and either take something with them or leave huge scars that are constant reminders of their passing. Everyone that we interact with touches us in some way, and in some cases people have touched me without ever having met in the flesh. Physicality is just a part of who we are, but the main part, the real us, is deeply rooted in the mind. It is the mind that collects the scars as well as the joys and the memories.
I am very lucky to have shared in the lives of some truly wonderful people. Many of whom will stay in my life as long as I breathe, and I celebrate the roles that they have played and the roller coasters of emotions that they have shared with me. None of them will be forgotten. Well not just yet anyway.
Even rainy days have their bright side.
I am indoors of course and at present am sanding down the walls of the hallway. Dust is the order of the day and I am covered in it. Because i hate wearing a face mask, my lungs are pretty well inundated too, so no doubt I will pay the penalty for that at a later date. In between sanding sessions I take breathing breaks and dive into my study hoping not to take the clouds of dust with me. This is my bolt hole really and my access to the rest of the world. here I can sit and think, or sometimes just sit, and as long as there is electrical power i can communicate to people that I know and care about.
It struck me that as i blog away, there are plenty of others out there who at some time in my life have meant so much to me and yet now, i don't even know if they are alive or dead. In all probability many friends from the dim and distant past are no longer with us and to many, their passing has gone unrecorded. The same will happen with me. When i shuffle off this mortal coil, there will be some who will miss me, of that I am sure. But the majority of people that I have come across in my life will not even know that I have passed on, unless I have advance notice and can email some of them at least. But most of us die un-noticed by the majority of our friends and acquaintances and that is a little sad.
People drift into our lives all the time, most drift out again and may never leave a trace of their visit. Others stay and others still, leave and either take something with them or leave huge scars that are constant reminders of their passing. Everyone that we interact with touches us in some way, and in some cases people have touched me without ever having met in the flesh. Physicality is just a part of who we are, but the main part, the real us, is deeply rooted in the mind. It is the mind that collects the scars as well as the joys and the memories.
I am very lucky to have shared in the lives of some truly wonderful people. Many of whom will stay in my life as long as I breathe, and I celebrate the roles that they have played and the roller coasters of emotions that they have shared with me. None of them will be forgotten. Well not just yet anyway.
Even rainy days have their bright side.
Monday, 19 November 2007
थे रिंग ऑफ़ fire
I remember my first curry very well. I came from a household that not only had little experience of anything exotic, but who were negatively discriminating in their approach to anything foreign. My first curry, real one that is, was experienced in the Bombay Restaurant, located almost next to the King's theatre in Southsea. The year was 1967 and I think that the cost of the meal was around ten shillings. In today's money that is about fifty pence, and it seemed a lot at the time.
I had for some reason attended a drama course audition that evening along with a friend, and as things tend to, they got a little out of hand. Before i knew what was happening, I was being auditioned too and damn me if I wasn't given a part in Under Milkwood. My Pakistani impression seemed as close to Welsh as anyone else's attempts and I was suddenly a member of the dramatic society. We all trooped down through the older parts of Southsea and there i was initiated into the fine cuisine of the east. From that point i was hooked, and still am, on all things spicy and firmly believe that I suffer withdrawal symptoms if deprived for any length of time.
By today's standards the Bombay was pretty basic and would struggle to escape the eyes of the public health people. The walls in parts were spattered with strange stains and to this day, I believe that some were blood!
It was a denizen for students, but also for other local lowlife, and so there were periodic conflicts - let's face it, no-one likes students except other students, and so we were seen as the enemy by many locals. We were never deterred however and would frequent our equivalent of an opium den whenever we could afford it, and sometimes even when we couldn't. I remember walking the three miles down to the Bombay after midnight, to pick up a few poppadoms and some free chutneys, just because we felt like it. It became a home from home over the months that followed and we became known well by the management, who strangely, although we were students, seemed to like us. Maybe they saw us as fellow persecuted minorites.
In those days of course it became the macho thing to eat the hottest thing that you could. It was supposed to impress, I am not sure who it was supposed to impress but to climb to the heights of the hottest on the menu was the aim of some of us.
The Vindaloo was ok. Having graduated through, the milder Kormas, and byrianis, we weaned ourselved onto the Madras and the Dansak before attempting the Mighty slopes of the Vindaloo. The secret is to keep going once you have started. If you drink water or stop for a breather you are lost without hope, and many failed before the halfway stage. To complete a vindaloo is an achievement and it is not for the faint hearted. The tell tale signs that someone had had a vindaloo the night before was that the next day they did not emerge from the toilet until mid afternoon, and all one could hear were moans and groans emanating from the cubicles. The vindaloo bites twice and the second is far worse than the first.
I did try the main peak one day - The Tindaloo and was so drunk that I managed to finish it. The next morning is best not spoken of. Suffice it to say that I remembered the meal for several days.
There was one time when we were sober and enjoying a sensible curry, when some really drunken locals came in and ordered the Tindaloo. Or ears pricked up - we thought we were the only ones to attempt this. The meal duly arrived and we watched in awe as this guy, shovelled the food in without batting an eyelid. He called the waiter over and complained that it wasn't hot enough. Open mouthed we waited for the next event. Minutes passed while the plate was taken away, and then the waiter returned, followed by the kitchen staff who watched and waited for this guy to eat. He did so while everyone gazed on in some sort of bizaare admiration.
I often wondered how he felt the following day.
I had for some reason attended a drama course audition that evening along with a friend, and as things tend to, they got a little out of hand. Before i knew what was happening, I was being auditioned too and damn me if I wasn't given a part in Under Milkwood. My Pakistani impression seemed as close to Welsh as anyone else's attempts and I was suddenly a member of the dramatic society. We all trooped down through the older parts of Southsea and there i was initiated into the fine cuisine of the east. From that point i was hooked, and still am, on all things spicy and firmly believe that I suffer withdrawal symptoms if deprived for any length of time.
By today's standards the Bombay was pretty basic and would struggle to escape the eyes of the public health people. The walls in parts were spattered with strange stains and to this day, I believe that some were blood!
It was a denizen for students, but also for other local lowlife, and so there were periodic conflicts - let's face it, no-one likes students except other students, and so we were seen as the enemy by many locals. We were never deterred however and would frequent our equivalent of an opium den whenever we could afford it, and sometimes even when we couldn't. I remember walking the three miles down to the Bombay after midnight, to pick up a few poppadoms and some free chutneys, just because we felt like it. It became a home from home over the months that followed and we became known well by the management, who strangely, although we were students, seemed to like us. Maybe they saw us as fellow persecuted minorites.
In those days of course it became the macho thing to eat the hottest thing that you could. It was supposed to impress, I am not sure who it was supposed to impress but to climb to the heights of the hottest on the menu was the aim of some of us.
The Vindaloo was ok. Having graduated through, the milder Kormas, and byrianis, we weaned ourselved onto the Madras and the Dansak before attempting the Mighty slopes of the Vindaloo. The secret is to keep going once you have started. If you drink water or stop for a breather you are lost without hope, and many failed before the halfway stage. To complete a vindaloo is an achievement and it is not for the faint hearted. The tell tale signs that someone had had a vindaloo the night before was that the next day they did not emerge from the toilet until mid afternoon, and all one could hear were moans and groans emanating from the cubicles. The vindaloo bites twice and the second is far worse than the first.
I did try the main peak one day - The Tindaloo and was so drunk that I managed to finish it. The next morning is best not spoken of. Suffice it to say that I remembered the meal for several days.
There was one time when we were sober and enjoying a sensible curry, when some really drunken locals came in and ordered the Tindaloo. Or ears pricked up - we thought we were the only ones to attempt this. The meal duly arrived and we watched in awe as this guy, shovelled the food in without batting an eyelid. He called the waiter over and complained that it wasn't hot enough. Open mouthed we waited for the next event. Minutes passed while the plate was taken away, and then the waiter returned, followed by the kitchen staff who watched and waited for this guy to eat. He did so while everyone gazed on in some sort of bizaare admiration.
I often wondered how he felt the following day.
Friday, 16 November 2007
Tripe
I don't know what drives me to do things. I never know that, and the reason I say this is that I am listening to Leonard Cohen, Suzanne, a song that I love,and one that has so many memories attached to it. So why did i suddenly get the urge to write? I literally have nothing that I want to say. Many people think about our lenny, as i am sure no-one calls him to his face, as a dreary and depressing singer, whose songs are best taken with plenty of razor blades. Ok he tends towards the melancholy on occasions and yes i confess that I am feeling a little that way today, but that is ok and i know that by the time i have finished the first bottle of wine all will be different.
I spent a part of today designing a christmas card of all things. That could account for a lot. The only reason i do it is because most of the cards we send are so bloody awful, i get embarrassed to send them. Oddly I don't get embarrassed sending out my own designs but I try not to include the usual hypocritical and insincere crap that i associate with this time of year. My greetings are succinct and yes i do wish my friends well and hope that they have a happy 25th of december, but not just that day. What is so bloody special about one day in the year?
Len is now singing so long Marianne, he does it so well and his pain is so easy to feel. Only a man in real agony could write a song like that. Ironic isn't it that I should only have happy memories associated with him.
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
चरिटी बेगिंस अत होम
I have been asked to design some posters and flyers for the local community club who are asking the membership to dig deep into their pockets in order to raise money for some new windows. I will of course enjoy the challenge and produce something that will suit their needs.
It made me think about the fund raising that goes on all of the time now. It seems that there is never a day that is not devoted to some special case or another, and it is impossible to walk the streets without being collared for a donation to any charity that you can imagine. Has it always been like this? or are we suffering from a glut of open hands, applying a type of blackmail that eases money from many who can ill afford to part with it.
Many door to door collectors focus on the less well of as they know that they are more likely to get contributions from them. The National Lottery sells more tickets to those on benefits than to anyone else and I guess that is why, by and large that the poor stay poor and the rich don't!
I donate to charity and could probably afford to give more but i do find it wearisome when i get pleas through the post, over the telephone, people at the door, on the radio, on the TV, even for goodness sake in the pubs, where dubious people come around selling roses at inflated prices via a haze of emotional blackmail and alcoholic fuzz. When they have gone the Salvation Army come around with their Watchtower, hoping to prick the consciences of the merrymakers on a weekend night.
There must be more charity collectors than there are contributors, especially if you count the sellers of Big Issue and why is it, I'd like to know that they always have dogs and they all wear a neck scarf and they all look the same?
I know that most charities are functioning well and that they do a great job by and large but I just feel totally and utterly bombarded by the constant fire, to the extent that I hate to answer the phone or even the door - well it's my excuse anyway, So if you call and get no answer, I am working on the posters and can't hear you!
It made me think about the fund raising that goes on all of the time now. It seems that there is never a day that is not devoted to some special case or another, and it is impossible to walk the streets without being collared for a donation to any charity that you can imagine. Has it always been like this? or are we suffering from a glut of open hands, applying a type of blackmail that eases money from many who can ill afford to part with it.
Many door to door collectors focus on the less well of as they know that they are more likely to get contributions from them. The National Lottery sells more tickets to those on benefits than to anyone else and I guess that is why, by and large that the poor stay poor and the rich don't!
I donate to charity and could probably afford to give more but i do find it wearisome when i get pleas through the post, over the telephone, people at the door, on the radio, on the TV, even for goodness sake in the pubs, where dubious people come around selling roses at inflated prices via a haze of emotional blackmail and alcoholic fuzz. When they have gone the Salvation Army come around with their Watchtower, hoping to prick the consciences of the merrymakers on a weekend night.
There must be more charity collectors than there are contributors, especially if you count the sellers of Big Issue and why is it, I'd like to know that they always have dogs and they all wear a neck scarf and they all look the same?
I know that most charities are functioning well and that they do a great job by and large but I just feel totally and utterly bombarded by the constant fire, to the extent that I hate to answer the phone or even the door - well it's my excuse anyway, So if you call and get no answer, I am working on the posters and can't hear you!
Monday, 12 November 2007
speed
For some reason the web seems very slow today. We have become very impatient and expect everything to happen instantly and no longer are we prepared to wait for anything. It seems that we all want everything and we want it yesterday.
As a child, I was brought up to be very patient. Partly through having spent a long time in bed, but also because we had very little to anticipate, and almost no money. In those days if you wanted something you waited until you could afford to buy it. No-one was foolish enough to lend you money and mostly it was a case of living hand to mouth. Expectations were low.
I fished a lot, largely as an escape, and in all weathers, i would wander the riverbanks looking for the elusive or even non existant big fish. They rarely appeared but it didn't seem to matter much. Time went by and eventually I guess i grew up. Some may argue that I never did, but I don't really care what anyone thinks anymore.
I have bought yet another computer. Not because I needed one but because I rather fancied one and besides, I may not be around by the time the next upgrade comes along and so I just bought it. Partly because it is bigger and sexier than the old one, but also because it is faster and will help me to do very little but I will be able to do it so much faster. It is still a Mac and has a lovely 24 inch screen, so I can see much more of the hardly anything that I do. Planning for the time when eyesight fails one might say.
So it is fast and powerful and yet I still want it to be faster and bigger and more powerful still. I do not yearn for a fast car or much else really but that extra speed could save me whole nanoseconds every day and just think of the use that I could put them to. Whoever said that life was futile?
As a child, I was brought up to be very patient. Partly through having spent a long time in bed, but also because we had very little to anticipate, and almost no money. In those days if you wanted something you waited until you could afford to buy it. No-one was foolish enough to lend you money and mostly it was a case of living hand to mouth. Expectations were low.
I fished a lot, largely as an escape, and in all weathers, i would wander the riverbanks looking for the elusive or even non existant big fish. They rarely appeared but it didn't seem to matter much. Time went by and eventually I guess i grew up. Some may argue that I never did, but I don't really care what anyone thinks anymore.
I have bought yet another computer. Not because I needed one but because I rather fancied one and besides, I may not be around by the time the next upgrade comes along and so I just bought it. Partly because it is bigger and sexier than the old one, but also because it is faster and will help me to do very little but I will be able to do it so much faster. It is still a Mac and has a lovely 24 inch screen, so I can see much more of the hardly anything that I do. Planning for the time when eyesight fails one might say.
So it is fast and powerful and yet I still want it to be faster and bigger and more powerful still. I do not yearn for a fast car or much else really but that extra speed could save me whole nanoseconds every day and just think of the use that I could put them to. Whoever said that life was futile?
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
remembrance
November is a time of remembrance, for Europe at large as well as for me personally. In November both my brother and my father died, and of course, on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month we remember those who died in wars that were meant to change the world forever.
I recently drove accross France to Germany, and on that trek along the pristine French Motorways, came upon frequent reminders of those conflicts as whe whizzed through the locations of ancient battles and historic sites that are forever linked with the tragic deaths of countless men and women. There is something very moving about the vast plots filled with identical graves, filled with the remains of persons mutilated and butchered in the name of ........ what exactly? Wars to end wars? It doesn't seem to work does it? Looking at the sheer numbers of dead, makes one grateful; to them for their sacrifice, though I guess many must have not been there through any choice, and grateful that I will never have to kill another human being in the name of someone else.
How many lies were told to those sent to die?
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas!Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
I recently drove accross France to Germany, and on that trek along the pristine French Motorways, came upon frequent reminders of those conflicts as whe whizzed through the locations of ancient battles and historic sites that are forever linked with the tragic deaths of countless men and women. There is something very moving about the vast plots filled with identical graves, filled with the remains of persons mutilated and butchered in the name of ........ what exactly? Wars to end wars? It doesn't seem to work does it? Looking at the sheer numbers of dead, makes one grateful; to them for their sacrifice, though I guess many must have not been there through any choice, and grateful that I will never have to kill another human being in the name of someone else.
How many lies were told to those sent to die?
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas!Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Thursday, 1 November 2007
Reunions
Looking back over my blog history, I notice that I have been very inconsistent in the frequency of my entries. I am not sure why, though I guess that I have used this vehicle to gt things of my chest and by and large it has been of benefit. On the other hand there have been times when it has felt so utterly futile, and such a waste of time. However on balance I have to say that the plusses outweigh the minuses and I will try hard to get down to writing more.
I had got as far as College days, and I still see them as some of the most influential, if not happiest days of my life.
The re-union weekend went well and although the old college has long since gone the way of all things, the Halls of Residence are still there and still in use. Some sweet talking to the bursar, got us into the building and a very kind assistant gave us a tour, even letting us into our old rooms. How odd to stand in that room on the seventh floor, seeing a view that had changed little in all those years. The rooms had changed, not only did they seem smaller - they were smaller as they have added en-suite facilities that we never had. I think I preferred it the way it was, but then I would wouldn't I?
The city was much the same too, and many of the old haunts were still recognisable. We even had a Curry in the old Bombay Restaurant, no longer the Bombay but the food was excellent and the service wonderful.
Maybe in 40 years we'll have another reunion, but I don't suppose it will be in the same world.
I had got as far as College days, and I still see them as some of the most influential, if not happiest days of my life.
The re-union weekend went well and although the old college has long since gone the way of all things, the Halls of Residence are still there and still in use. Some sweet talking to the bursar, got us into the building and a very kind assistant gave us a tour, even letting us into our old rooms. How odd to stand in that room on the seventh floor, seeing a view that had changed little in all those years. The rooms had changed, not only did they seem smaller - they were smaller as they have added en-suite facilities that we never had. I think I preferred it the way it was, but then I would wouldn't I?
The city was much the same too, and many of the old haunts were still recognisable. We even had a Curry in the old Bombay Restaurant, no longer the Bombay but the food was excellent and the service wonderful.
Maybe in 40 years we'll have another reunion, but I don't suppose it will be in the same world.
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