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.