Ownership

Most women that I know (not all) love to go shopping. Most men that I know - do not. It is women by and large that drive the economy and some seem to be in a huge spiral, a maelstrom of acquisition that fills wardrobes, drawers, kitchens and eventually whole houses with stuff.
I look around and know that much of the clutter that I am surrounded by is utterly superfluous and yet I do not have it in me to throw things away. I am not a shopper but even so I seem to gather stuff like a magnet gathers filings, and my office is a mess of bric-a-brac that only I am responsible for. I know that most of the books will never be read again, and much of the music collection will remain unplayed. I can listen to whatever i like online now and that is so much easier than putting a dic into the machine.
I have two computers, one is a reserve in case this one should let me down, and I justify the retention of most things in a similar way. I have painting materials in abundance and yet I haven't painted for years, I have lino and cutting tools, I have a plethora of add ons for various electronic things and cameras both digital and otherwise that I no longer have any use for, and yet I cannot bring myself to pass these things on.
We are by nature of our genetic disposition nest builders, and as such we are programmed to collect things. Does it make us happy? Of course not; in fact it would seem that the more we have, the less happy we become. Modern society is about instant gratification and everyone seems to want everything and want it now. When i was a kid, if you couldn't afford it you couldn't have it, plain and simple. Now it is a case of buy it now and pay later, regardless of the mountainous debts that build up.
I often wonder what it would be like to shed all posessions and start all over again. I suspect that it would mean that I'd just collect a whole new batch of rubbish!

Waiting for the wolves

Every now and then, I realise that my opinion counts for nothing, and that tends to block me from writing anything at all. It fades of course and i return to the delusional state in which I imagine that someone somewhere might give a shit. We are all the centres of the universe and everything spins around us. We all imagine that we are all important and indestructable but the reality of it all is that we are all islands. John Donne got it wrong. LIke all islands though we do need interaction with others, we need to trade and to share ideas, but when the sun goes down we are alone.
We journey through whatever paths we choose and we may leave traces of where we have been, we may even influence others and in turn be influenced by them, but our path is unique and we tread it the way we choose.
Many believe in some sort of afterlife; whether it be reincarnation or a paradise populated by virgins ( seems like an oxymoron to me!), and this seems to give some sort of hope to the extent that their whole lives are devoted to preparation for the next one. That seems like spending all of one's income on life insurance, or placing a huge bet on the world ending tomorrow. I believe that we just have the one life and that one day the end of the path will be reached; beyond that there is nothingness and we take that last step alone. If it is possible we should endeavour to link our paths to other's while we can, and to make the most of whatever encounters there may be.
The spectre of old age is a frequent visitor, and elderly, frail parents are a constant reminder of one's own futility. The prospect of vegetation in front of a TV, or worse, in the cabbage and urine saturated atmosphere of an old folks home terrify me as i am sure they do others, and i hope that by the time i get there, that there will be alternatives. Being left festering in a home is no better than being left on the outskirts of the village and waiting for the wolves.

Excuses

For the past few weeks i seem to have been not here more than here. Travelling hundreds of miles by road is not the pleasure that is once was and this last weekend was a bit of a nightmare. Traffic density is getting to ridiculous levels and most motorway streams now run in pulses. All it takes is for a lorry to begin an overtaking manoevre on a steep incline to create a backup of traffic that goes on for miles. So, like millions of others, i spent a significant portion of the weekend sitting in traffic queues and muttering "never again" to myself.
The situation can only get worse unless something is done to reduce the traffic on the roads, but nothing that has been attempted so far seems to make any difference. Maybe it is time to bar some drivers from using the roads and to enhance the availability and affordability of public transport. I would happily trade my drivers licence for a subsidised travel pass, but with fares as they are, public transport is neither desirable not economic for anyone unless they are alone.
Anyhow, it is good to be home and away from the seething masses. I must get back into writing again.

Holidays

Returning to normality

One of the things about holidays is that as soon as you come back, everything slips back to normal and it is as if the trip never happened. The memories are there as are the gaping holes in the bank account, and I fear that I may be getting another reminder in the form of a speeding ticket, but I will hold my breath on that one. Dammit I didn’t see the camera or the change in speed limit because of a bloody camper van, but I won’t start on about those.

Since returning, I haven’t been out of the house other than to potter in the garden, and for that I am quite happy. Having said that I have still managed to continue the spendfest, ordering books and movies about the first and second world wars. The 3sheer vastness of those undertakings made a big impression on me and I fully intend to find out more about what went on.

I have been in touch with an old school friend; someone that I haven’t seen in 40 years, and that has been a revelation. She sent me a photograph of a school trip that we must have taken in the sixth form, and although I recognise all of the people in the shot, I have no recollection of the event whatsoever. That is disturbing as I have such crystal clear memories of days at school. Now I doubt the validity of those memories and am beginning to think that some may be artificial, mere figments of my imagination. We do tend to remember what we choose to remember and conveniently forget events that are not pleasant or that are in some way negative. I hope that I don’t see the past through “rose coloured glasses” but my communications with Kate have made me think, and reassess my thoughts. I hope that she will be able to fill in some blanks and lend a little accuracy to my accounts. Time, I guess, will tell.

Chips with everything

Now I know that the title is a cliché but I considered it apposite. It is in fact the title of a play by Arnold Wesker, not, as my copy of Enclopaedia Brittanica would have it, a part of the Wesker Trilogy, but a powerful freestanding play about some new recruits into the army. It is a play that I read when at school and it captured my imagination at the time. I was reminded of it last week as we journeyed through Normandy and Belgium, visiting the scenes of many of the battles of the two world wars. The scale of the carnage that took place in those two terrible periods of history is mind boggling. The graveyards and monuments are everywhere and still corpses are discovered in the fields nearly 100 years on. To say that I felt humbled and saddened is an understatement, and yet I was also impressed that these places are still being visited by swarms of people, all of whom show the greatest respect for these, mainly young, men who were butchered in their hundreds of thousands, and for what?

Most of us have relatives who fought in these conflicts. Some, the lucky few managed to return and those that did were forever changed by the experiences that they went through. My relatives managed to survive, but they never wanted to talk about what happened at Ypres or Passchendale. There are plenty of images and movie footage to explain why.

We stayed in a number of hotels, and ate in a number of restaurants, being fond of French and Belgian food. This time i noticed two differences in the cuisine compared with previous visits to this part of the world. One is that the whole experience has become more expensive and it seems that unless you are very lucky or wealthy, everything comes with chips! Mussels and chips, ok that is a fair combination but whatever happened to the traditional vegetables perfectly cooked and served? I guess that sadly the French are drifting into the 21st century.

Priorities

Dale and Leilani Neumann, have just been convicted or reckless homicide, because they put their religion before medicine, when their 11 year old daughter became ill. Choosing prayer rather than medical intervention, led to the unnecessary death of a young innocent girl and now both parents face a 25 year jail sentence. This is such a sad story and yet there is nothing unusual about it. The same things happen over an over again with so many people believing that prayer actually works.

One can almost imagine that in Bible belt USA, that these two would have got off, but no, a jury was found even there, that established their guilt. There are those that believe that Dale and Leilani must be mentally ill and should be hospitalised rather than incarcerated, but there is a dangerous precedent. If these two are found to be mentally ill, then the same diagnosis could be applied to 70% of the world's population on the grounds that they talk to invisible friends on a regular basis, and that many people have spent their lives in institutions for far less.

Those who think that religion is wonderful, or even a benign part of our lives, might like to think again. It is all very well to say that such extremists are rare but they are not, and what is more the evidence suggests that it is the extremists who tend to dominate in the end. The real criminals here are not the parents who I am sure loved their child, but those misguided and ignorant individuals who brainwashed them into believing that to love a fantasy is more important than to love one's children.

To pluck or not to pluck

I am fond of listening to the radio. It gives a freedom to do other things simultaneously, unlike the TV which tends to eliminate that possibility. Mostly the radio is tuned to BBC radio 4 or sometimes 3, and this morning it was the former. Normally when Woman's hour begins, i get up and change the channel. This is partly because i am against the very notion of a women's only programme and partly because I hate the way that these hairy feminists manage to make everything into a womans issue. However, there are occasions, like today, when i can't be bothered to switch them off. It all seemed pretty benign after all and there was an interesting item about clicky hips.
Then the discussion changed to eyebrows. Intelligent women who want to be taken seriously "entertained" their audience by talking about eyebrows for ten whole minutes. Unbelievable! The content even more so: apparently it has become trendy again to shave off the eyebrows and, wait for it, yes you guessed, to draw on some new ones. How ludicrous is the world of fashion and those who worship therein. I lost interest at that point, and must remember next time to turn it off before they get chance to rekindle the chauvinistic side of me.

The deed is done

The conservatory is done! Well having said that, the bricklayers are back to move the step that was put in the wrong place, but that is a long story. It is a big improvement on what was there before and that is just as well considering the cost of it all, but of course it doesn't end there does it! Now there is the lighting, the furniture and woe of all woes, the blinds. The first estimate for these was a special offer price of two thousand pounds. Now excuse me for appearing to be more of a cheapskate than usual, but that seems hellishly expensive for bits of string and fabric.

The company that has produced this structure does make a good product and the finished work is very good. It is solid and, steps aside, the attention to detail has been excellent. What they lacked throughout the many weeks that this has taken, has been an ability to communicate, both with customers and their workforce. From both those points of view,it has been difficult to say the least. Very little seems to be committed to paper and workmen would often appear not knowing what they were supposed to be doing. One saving grace however is that no money has changed hands yet and that will not happen until the job is satisfactorily completed.

Minority report

The world runs as it does because of a very tiny minority of people. This elite, are the engineers, scientists and designers who innovate, improve and push technology to its limits. This group, most of whom are men produce everything that the modern world depends on. They cannot do it alone however and in turn they depend on the masses to provide the labour and the needs that keep them going. There is another elite of course, and those are the minority that control the money supply. For these people to exist they need the rest of us to spend as much money as possible, and that in turn traditionally means that we work hard to earn that money, or more recently to accumulate as much debt as we possibly can.

Most of us are utterly helpless and without the system operating as it does, we'd perish very quickly. Survival skills are something that our distant ancestors once had, but today we have a generation that can operate a remote control but have no idea how to recognise the wildlife that we were once dependent upon. So many skills are vanishing. It struck me yesterday that I don't remember telephone numbers anymore. Why? well one reason is that I don't need to, with all the numbers that I use being pre programmed into the phones. We are not encouraged to use our minds anymore, children at school are no longer encouraged to learn their tables or to learn poetry; precious little is ever committed to memory, as our technology does it all for us, freeing our minds to watch mindless pap on the TV. We don't write either, holding a pen has become an art form and most people now can type faster than they can form letters in coherent handwriting.

The bulk of the population are cattle to the elite minorities, and are led by the nose into doing exactly what they are supposed to do, whether that be work or not work, fight or not fight and so on.

A few weeks ago, the reputation of politicians in general were in tatters. Those of all political hues were pilloried for being caught with their hands in the till, and top Tories were shown to be working part time in the Commons and the Lords while making money hand over fist in other jobs. That story is no longer newsworthy, the tabloids have forgotten it and so, of course, has Joe public. Poor Joe has the attention span of a newt and the memory of a garden slug. The recent by election in Norfolk saw a swing of 16% towards the Tories. That means that a huge swathe of the electorate has decided that they would like a Tory government again. Joe imagines that the Tories would be better for him and that he and Mrs Joe and the six kids will all benefit from a change. What Joe forgets is that the Tories represent the interests of the elite groups that run the economy, whilst depending on the cattle to stay in their place doing what they are told.

We are a capitalist society, and whichever govenment gets elected will not change that. Govenments sometimes succeed and often fail, and the press loves to focus on the failings producing the terrible see sawing swings from right to left. A change is not necessarily a good thing, but Joe won't mind, by the time of the next election Jhe will have been told what to do.

Singing

There are few sounds as sweet and evocative as a skylark singing as it hovers above its territory in the early morning. Such things were once common, and when the world was a quieter place we were surrounded by the songs of so many different birds. If you take the trouble, you can learn to recognise each of them and that can enrich your days.

Singing is very important. Birds sing for many reasons, but mainly it is about territory or attracting a mate. Humans too sing for many reasons. We sing to our children to soothe them or to entertain them or even to encourage them. Children are naturally musical and love to make noises. Children in primary schools sing heartily, be it hymns or just songs for the sake of it. When I started teaching, kids even sang in school assemblies.

I used to love singing. I remember the school radio programmes, "Singing Together" and "Rhythm and Melody", both of which were highlights of my primary school education. When i went to Grammar school, one of my favourite lessons was music, and in those lessons we would sing as well as listen to wonderful music that was food for my imagination.

I even joined the school choir, well ok it was because there were lots of girls there, but I did enjoy a good sing. We'd do the odd concert and of course the annual carol concert, and I can still remember the thrills of being part of a massive and wonderful sound.

I sang through college. I was a member of the folk club, and we'd always sing along to the popular songs. I met Annie and together we'd sing for hours, in her room or in mine and eventually she persuaded me to join her singing at other folk clubs and even in the college revue. The feeling of holding an audience and receiving applause was like a drug and left us wanting to do it again and again.

I left college and when I came to the Island, joined the local choir. We'd perform several times a year and though I never learned to read music, I loved the challenge of new pieces and working towards the final production.

The human voice has tremendous power. It can infuriate, enrage, enthuse, and enrapture. It can motivate, move, and communicate emotions. Singing gives one a freedom of expression and allows one to vent and release. It is a liberating experience and is part of being human. Some people have the most wonderful voices; my friend Holly is one example. Her voice has the ability to reduce me to tears and that takes some doing.

I think back to my boyhood and the solitary wanderings through the countryside, and i can hear the skylark as clearly as if it were real. I can smell the grass and the wild flowers and feel the sun on my skin. I knew the sounds of all the birds then, but I have forgotten many things, including how to sing.

The Pub

An alarming story in the news today. Allegedly pubs in this country are closing at the rate of 52 a week. At that rate there will be none left in a year or two.

The British Pub has changed considerably in my lifetime. I seem to recall that when I was a child, they were generally the province of the male, where adult men would gather in darkened smoky rooms to socialise. Some pubs welcomed women but mostly lone women were treated with suspicion, and in those days, probably for good reason. For kids they were mysterious places where we were most definitely NOT welcome at all.

My childhood memories of pubs were very limited to family days out. Always a coach trip, and always the coach would take longer to get home than it did to get wherever we went. The reason being the frequent stops en route so that the adults could go to a pub. We kids would be left in the bus with a few disapproving women usually, and might be provided with a bottle of vimto and a bag of crisps if we were lucky, but often it was just a case of waiting for the adults to return, smelling of smoke and beer. Pub toilets were always outside and rarely cleaned but we did have access if desperate. Pub food was crisps, pickled eggs and pork pies, and in those days there were no sell by dates or refrigeration units.

Every village had it's pub and they managed to survive without all of the modern advantages. They were even very limited in the times they could open. A couple of hours at lunchtime and from six to ten thirty at night. The village policeman would patrol soon after closing time to make sure that this was properly adhered to. Even so the pub, like the shop and the post office were focal points of village life and even teenagers unable to get served in the pub would congregate in that vicinity.

Now every pub serves food, does not allow smoking, permits the presence of kids and sells a vast range of beverages including tea and coffee, and yet it would appear that many pubs are stuggling to survive. I bought a round of drinks the other night that only weeks ago had cost me nine pounds and yet this week it was over eleven. The price of alcoholic drinks has rocketed and of course the price of the non alcoholic alternatives has shot up too. Food in pubs is no longer a cheap option and the presence of kids does nothing to enhance the experience. For what one pays for five drinks these days, one can, in the supermarket, buy three bottles of wine or several packs of strong lager or cider, and that of course is what people are resorting to. It is cheaper by far to drink anywhere but the pub, and with takeaway kebabs springing up all over like mosques, those on low incomes are going for the alternatives.

Of course there are always the Weatherspoons pubs, that buy their beer in bulk and sell it at vastly reduced priced. These places also do very cheap food and have huge barn-like buildings with no character whatever, but they do allow punters to get drunk quite cheaply and are therefore doing a roaring trade.

Reducing the tax on alcohol would be catastrophic in a land where alcohol related disease and crime are at an all time high, and so the future of the pub seems pretty bleak. Of course there will be those that survive, but for many people they will become no go areas on the basis of cost, Weatherspoons excluded.

Ephemerata

At the start of the British Open Golf Championship this weekend, Tom Watson was a 1500-1 outsider, and I would guess that very few backed him to win. And yet he led the last round to the final hole where he dropped a shot and then had to face a further four difficult holes in a play off.

Stuart Cink had almost come back from the dead to match his score and I felt sorry for this guy who had spoiled the party for the fifty nine year old Watson who would clearly have been the most popular winner of all time. That however was not to be and as the four holes progressed and Watson's game fell apart, the crowd was almost silent and the atmosphere, which until the play off began had been electric, began to die along with Watson's ability to play golf. It seemed that his batteries had just run low, he had given his all in the previous 72 holes and just had nothing left. Cink played brilliantly, and although he did get generous applause on the final green as his putt dropped into the hole, the 2009 Open will be remembered as Watson's swansong.

Everyone seems to like the underdog, and this could be seen as a flaw in society. We build people up to become champions, putting them on the highest of pedestals and once they are there, the media lead the mob into trying to bring them down again. It seems that we like winners, but only for a while. Winners that keep on winning lose their appeal and then we love nothing more than to see them fall., and the media love to give them a shove at every available opportunity.

We are a society of ephemerata if that is a word. Everything has to be short term as attention spans have become so short and change is foisted upon us at every turn. Fashion houses make their fortunes by changing every five minutes, electronic goods are evolving so fast that as soon as you buy something it has become obsolete. We don't repair things any more as it is generally cheaper to replace things. About the only things that last these days are people, and sadly as we get older it becomes more and more difficult to embrace the changes that we face. Technology drives the economy and it seems that it has advanced way beyond most people's ability to cope with it.

Tom Watson has lasted the course. At nearly sixty, it is unlikely that he will ever be so close to the top of the pile again, and I imagine that he will have very mixed feelings about his weekend. The huge cheque for second place will be some consolation for what might have been.

Goldfish

having the memory of a goldfish with A.D.D. or whatever the label is these days, is a distinct disadvantage. That coupled with an innate laziness and inability to organise myself means that I have a tendency to repeat myself. I have been told about this and i do try hard to be original but alas, there are memories that come and go like Jehova's Witnesses.

I have to admit a certain admiration for these people. They have the balls to turn up on the doorstep, usually at the most inconvenient time, they hand out the most badly produced and ridiculous literature and have nothing with which to back up the silly notions that they try to feed people. They must take a lot of abuse, which they probably deserve, and yet they come back over and over again, thinking that this time it may be different. Rather like the way that spiders rebuild their webs again and again, regardless of the frequency with which they get destroyed.

I have taught a number of witnesses over the years and those that I had dealings with were highly intelligent and lovely people, who could easily have continued their education to university and beyond. The family that I am thinking of were among the smartest kids I ever met, and yet they left school at 16, as far as I know, in order to continue the work of trying to convert others.

I often wonder what their success rate is or if they even care. I see the same faces, treading the same paths and you can watch local residents vanish into their houses as they progress up the street. I always give them the time of day and would never dream of abusing them and yet I cringe when I open the door to them. What drives them to believe in a book with such a blinkered and literal faith is beyond me. We often hear of children dying because their parents do not believe in blood transfusion, and that is due to one person's understanding of probably a single biblical statement.

I didn't set out to talk about religious issues today, i have probably done that before. What i write is usually just a stream of consciousness and for that I make no apology. One of the only advantages of getting older is that once ceases to care what other people think.

Are we all paedophiles?

Newish government regulations have made it necessary for artists and other regular visitors to schools to become registered, and probably vetted as a means of protecting our children.

Now before I go on, I do believe that children need protecting from predators but I don’t believe that there are significantly more of them than there were when I was a kid. Even in the small village that I was dragged up in there were weirdos, including the farmer who’d often present his meat to passing girls, and the Desperate Dan lookalike with his permanent five o’clock shadow who loved to walk around after dark in his wife’s clothes. As far as I know, neither of them ever did anyone any harm. The kids of the village just saw them as figures of fun and the village tolerated them.

Bringing talented people into schools has so many benefits. An enthusiast can inspire and encourage the development of budding talents or even show that there is more to life than what they have so far experienced. The outcome of this legislation, I am sure will be a reduction in the numbers of those willing to go into schools. Schools, like playgrounds and other areas where children gather are becoming no go areas for adults, especially men, and that is very sad. From a personal point of view, I will avoid other people’s children more or less, and have no wish to be in places where they are likely to be. I feel uncomfortable carrying my camera around children, and I would have to think long and hard before going to the aid of a child in distress or even reprimand a child that was doing wrong. I would imagine that most adult males probably feel very much the same.

So, our children have become untouchable and even unapproachable. Each day they are herded into hermetically sealed, sterile classrooms and exposed to a bland and dull school curriculum. They are sheltered from the realities of life, fed processed food and a diet of awful television. Girls are forced by the advertisers to grow up long before they are ready, and boys exposed to an alien culture that worships indolence, violence and all that is opposite to excellence.

There are so many things that our children need protecting from. Poets, artists and authors are not amongst them.

A fete worse than death - sorry about that!

One of the nicer British traditions and one that highlighted village life, was the annual village fete. In the olden days when I was alive, this was a big thing and was months in the preparation. The traditional fete was a way of raising funds, for goodness knows what but i always suspected that it kept the vicar in booze for the year. It brought much of the village together and in our village it was always held on the Vicarage lawn. Visiting there even for the fete was always a nervy thing. The vicars garden also had a lot of hazel nut trees and each autumn, that was a target for us. We were often spotted by him but never caught and we always hoped not to be remembered when we turned up officially. Our fears were groundless but real at the time. Anyhow that is by the by and I was talking of the fete. It was always a busy and crowded affair with stalls ranging from bric-a-brac, home made produce, book stalls, jumble, and bottle stalls. There was bowling, a guess the weight of the pig competition and as the posters always said, much much more. It was a time when everyone gave away the things that they no longer wanted and came home with replacement rubbish, or if you were lucky a raffle prize or something alcoholic on the bottle store. I always wondered what happened to the pig though. Some fetes were much bigger and grander than ours and we'd visit these if we could cycle that far.

The reason i am writing about this is partly due to my mind being almost empty and partly because the fete is dying out. It is on it's last legs because of health and safety. These days there is little that one is allowed to do freely and organised gatherings like this are scrutinised by the H and S people to the extent that huge insurance is required in case little Freddie gets bitten by the pig and catches pig pox, or the vicar gets hit by stray bowls or the whole village dies from food poisoning because of Mrs Jones' home made cakes. I suppose riots could break out on the croquet lawn - it wouldn't be the first time after all. Health and safety is a concept devised by insurance companies, and they are dragging us all into a mire of mediocrity where no-one ever dares take a risk and that is one of the biggest tragedies of the modern world.

The long arm

They say that the law is an ass. Oh we need laws in order that society can operate in a civilised and balanced fashion, but some of the laws that we live with are at best stupid and at worst unworkable. Laws are laid down in Parliament and ratified by the unelected upper classes, and more and more rules and regulations get added to the statute books with each passing day.

Laws are introduced to maintain some sort of status quo or to protect various groups within society and because the world is changing, the laws need to be juggled to allow for this change. It would seem logical then that out of date or inappropriate laws would be removed or made null and void but this does not seem to happen. The books get thicker and thicker and the job of enforcing those laws gets more and more complex.

I am no expert in these things and as ever I may well be talking complete rubbish but as far as i know, it is illegal to urinate in the street. Now that is sensible unless one is driven by desperation and lack of public utilities. The thought of streets running in pee is not an appealing one and so most people abide by this. Allegedly however there is a loophole in this law that dates back to the days when we all drove carts. Should one get caught short, it is still legal to relieve oneself against one of the wheels of your vehicle. However I can't remember which one and so there is a 75% chance that I'd be breaking the law if I tried it.

Another silly and unenforcable law forbids the purchaser of a book or other copyrighted material from lending that item to another person. This does not apply to libraries but in principle each time I borrow or lend a book I am breaking the law. The laws on sunday trading are ridiculous and date back to the days when people went to church before going to the pub and didn't want alcohol to be available to the unbelievers while they were on their knees.

There must be dozens of ways that each of us breaks the law on a day to day basis and i suppose that it is just as well that the average bobby is as ignorant of the law as most of us.

Come back bees - all is forgiven

It's saturday and I'd like to say that the sun is shining but it isn't, and neither is it raining. So we have the worst of both worlds - bad weather and a drought. The garden is a mess as ther is too much to keep watered and worse, there seems to be a distinct lack of honey bees. There are plenty of flowers on the tomatoes and the beans but few are setting and that gives cause for concern. Bees are declining all over the world and this is going to have major implications for food supplies. Much of the food that we take for granted depends on bees.

From a biological point of view, a beehive containing a colony of bees, is rather akin to a single organism. They are truly social animals and utterly dependent upon each other for survival. Only one member of the colony is able to reproduce, and she can produce tw types of offspring. The female eggs that she lays are unfertilized and produce the worker bees, the ones that we are so dependent upon, while mating with a male allows her to lay fertilized eggs that produce the drones, or male bees that are essential for the production of further males. It would seem that it is a community that is totally dominated by the females, and that the males are tolerated and even nurtured.

This week saw the announcement of a successful attempt to produce sperms from embryonic stem cells. Stem cells can be extracted from a variety of tissues and for the first time in history, the role of the male as a donor of sperm is in serious jeopardy - or is it? The notion that all future offspring will be produced from synthetic sperm cells, genetically manipulated to produce perfect offspring is the stuff of nightmares, and yet the potential for that looms large. Potential however is not the same as reality. I was always told that I had potential and yet I never came to much!

Addictions

I have a friend, who was known to take days off work to play a computer game. That one happened to be Tomb Raider, a wonderfully inventive virtual adventure where the character of Lara Croft battles her way through a linear series of puzzles and adventures, killing and destroying as she goes. When i was working, I never saw the attraction of these games and my attention span was about the same length as my reaction time. Nowadays i have plenty of time on my hands and I find that these things are becoming more and more attractive.
My current game of choice, having completed the last Tomb Raider game with huge enjoyment is a golf simulation. I do not spend all day on it but try to play once a day even if only for half an hour. I do enjoy it thoroughly especially as it offers a challenge and i don't find it at all easy. I can pretend that I am on the golf course and that is rather sad in a way because most days, I could be on the actual golf course.
I can understand how people become addicted to these things, and from an outsiders point of view, it must be odd for someone of my advancing years to be in possession of one games console let alone three. The latest buy was a Nintendo Wii, not my decision I might add, just that someone wanted to get fit and this seems to be the universal panacaea for those who don't much like exercise but can go through the motions in the front room. It is fascinating though how Nintendo have become so health and safety conscious - wrist straps so that you can't let go of the hand sets and jelly casings in case you hit anything or anyone with them, as well as safety warnings onscreen all of the time. Rather takes the edge off i think.
I do not have an addictive personality. I gave up smoking easily and can take or leave alcoholic beverages, though i do prefer to take them, and I don't do drugs. I tried pot a few times but last time it made me feel sick. I know that I am lucky in that respect and that there are others less fortunate. I wonder if my friend is still sneaking days off work to play games?

People are bloody ignorant apes

The characters Estragon and Vladimir in Beckett's Waiting for Godot had little time or respect for humanity. They had seen it all and waited interminably for something else. Bloody ignorant apes, were what people were described as, and Beckett wasn't far wrong.
There used to be a computer game called Lemmings, in which you led herds of these strange animals through a series of obstacles, attempting to save as many as you could. They all followed their leader of course and frequently to their own oblivious fate. As computer games go it was quite good fun and rather addictive as well as being a wonderful analogy.
This week I was reminded of lemmings on several occasions. The first was when the grossly overpaid football player Christiano Ronaldo was introduced to his new team mates. 80,000 fans turned up to the stadium to witness a shaking of hands. 80,000 is a lot of people and one must assume that many took a day off work and travelled long distances simply to witness a shaking of hands - bloody hell it wasn't even a wedding!
Then there has been the Michael Jackson hysteria, with tens of thousands desperately trying to get tickets for his farewell bash, queuing for hours and some spending vast amounts of money for tickets, floral tributes etc. There have been public displays of grief and mass wailing and gnashing of teeth, especially in this country when normally anyone even marginally associated with charges of paedophilia are publically pilloried. Mobs will descend on the houses of suspected abusers and literally run them out of town, and yet the same people will worship at the feet of someone like this.
Thirdly there has been the uprising of the Muslim minority group in China, demanding that they be recognised and given autonomy. These peaceful and forgiving people ran riot in the streets killing and wounding many that might have disagreed with them, and in return have been beaten back into submission. Anyone in their right mind would know that you can't do that sort of thing in China of all places, look at their track record in other regions and especially in Tianamen square, after which a lot of protesters strangely disappeared.
Mobs need leaders and some people are so easily led. The less you know the easier that becomes and keeping people ignorant is a very real political strategy.
Overall the Lemmings have had an active week and have as is always the case done what they have been expected to.