There is a school of thought, probably with a low attendance rate and failed by OFSTED, that believes in behavioural change as a mechanism for driving evolution. Natural selection, as described so eloquently by Charles darwin in the nineteenth century, cannot fully explain the way that the human race has evolved, and now it would seem that there are no real selective agents at work. There are no advantages in physical strength or even mental agility in terms of survival value; thus it is likely that the way we behave will be more significant for generations to come.
From a distance it would appear that most people behave in ways that are expected of them, led largely by the media, through advertising, populist TV and a weak and watered down education system that has been manipulated as a political football and watered down by successive governments in order to reduce the ability of people to think for themselves.
This week and last, thousands have flocked to Wimbledon to pay huge sums of money in order to watch tennis, many worshipping at the shrine of a young arrogant Scot who declared his feelings about England a long time ago. The media is full of him, only because there is no Englishman out there who can bonk as well as he can. So his adoring fans cheer and shout for someone who loathes England and the English. Fascinating media manipulation and a true demonstration as to the way in which we are led.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Monday, 13 June 2011
Holidays
My phobia of holidays has been fed, nourished and watered this weekend, leading me to speculate on why on Earth we seem to go to such great lengths to take them in the first place.
It is impossible to escape the one thing that many people are trying to escape from. Reality follows us around like a faithful dog, and like a dog it always has the capacity to bite your arse just when you least expect it to.
When you take a holiday, you are taking a huge risk; stepping outside of one's comfort zone inevitably leads to problems, whether it be in the quality of accommodation that you will find, or the nature of the others that you find also trying to escape.
I am trying to find the positives here, but having spent several hundred pounds on a weekend away, I am struggling to come up with anything other than a change of scenery, that were worth spending that much cash on. I didn't sleep well, the food was ordinary, the weather indifferent, and the journey intolerable. Sitting in a traffic jam for two hours and then having to extend a three hour journey into a seven hour marathon is not my idea of fun.
Going abroad is worse. I loathe airports and the cramped metal tubes that carry millions of sheep to exotic destinations where they can burn themselves to crisps, drink themselves sick and return with more diseases than they set out with. Unless you are lucky enough to have shed loads of money, any holiday you take is constrained, and it is impossible to escape from ones fellows however hard one tries. You can of course find places where no-one else goes, but there are usually reasons why they don't go there and so you might just as well stay at home.
Inevitably then, holidays are spent milling about with people that you don't really want to have much to do with, spending money on overpriced food, seeing tired sights, waiting in queues, moaning and complaining at how bad everything is, and then coming back to pay the debts that your time away have incurred.
I know people who regularly fly off to find the sun. They lie on a beach somewhere for a week, come back red or brown and probably have aged their skin by ten years in the process. I just don't get it.
It is impossible to escape the one thing that many people are trying to escape from. Reality follows us around like a faithful dog, and like a dog it always has the capacity to bite your arse just when you least expect it to.
When you take a holiday, you are taking a huge risk; stepping outside of one's comfort zone inevitably leads to problems, whether it be in the quality of accommodation that you will find, or the nature of the others that you find also trying to escape.
I am trying to find the positives here, but having spent several hundred pounds on a weekend away, I am struggling to come up with anything other than a change of scenery, that were worth spending that much cash on. I didn't sleep well, the food was ordinary, the weather indifferent, and the journey intolerable. Sitting in a traffic jam for two hours and then having to extend a three hour journey into a seven hour marathon is not my idea of fun.
Going abroad is worse. I loathe airports and the cramped metal tubes that carry millions of sheep to exotic destinations where they can burn themselves to crisps, drink themselves sick and return with more diseases than they set out with. Unless you are lucky enough to have shed loads of money, any holiday you take is constrained, and it is impossible to escape from ones fellows however hard one tries. You can of course find places where no-one else goes, but there are usually reasons why they don't go there and so you might just as well stay at home.
Inevitably then, holidays are spent milling about with people that you don't really want to have much to do with, spending money on overpriced food, seeing tired sights, waiting in queues, moaning and complaining at how bad everything is, and then coming back to pay the debts that your time away have incurred.
I know people who regularly fly off to find the sun. They lie on a beach somewhere for a week, come back red or brown and probably have aged their skin by ten years in the process. I just don't get it.
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Moaning
Moaning and complaining seems to be a national passtime and there are some who are never happier than when complaining about something. If your country is invaded by jackbooted psycopaths, if your government is stealing everything to feather personal nests, if your bankers are bleeding your economy dry while unemployment rockets, if the poorest are made poorer by reduction in benefits, if price rises turn essentials into luxuries then there is something worth complaining about.
A group of cyclists are hoping to ride naked through Portsmouth in order to highlight the problems faced by cyclists on our increasingly busy roads. Of course, the blue rinse brigade is up in arms and may take to the streets to protest on the grounds that public decency may be affronted. Maybe there will be counter protests against the blue rinsers and so on.
The thought of cycling naked does not inspire me, nor does the prospect of following behind large pink wobbly bodies. The likelihood is that most of the participants will have bodies that, like mine, are best kept under wraps. Having said that, nudity is not offensive. We all have bodies and they come in such a variety of shapes and forms. I assume that those who find skin offensive, still bathe fully dressed.
Of course one person's freedom can tread on the toes of another but that is life. We are free to do what others allow us to do and that is all. Freedom is a myth.
Personally i hope that the naked cycling event does take place. It could provide an entertainment for many, bearing in mind the potholed roads and the distinct possibility that it may be cold.
Monday, 30 May 2011
Blackbird no longer singing
I am very fortunate. I enjoy freedoms that are denied to so many others, and that is a sadness. I am sitting here listening to Mahler intermingled with birdsong from the garden just outside my window and contemplating what to write about. I have no real problems or worries in my life and yet I feel ill at ease.
"Life is nasty, brutish and short." I was reminded of that recently. For weeks, a pair of blackbirds have been building their nest in a bush by my front door. They laid a clutch of four eggs and the female has patiently sat, waiting for her brood to hatch and for her family line to continue. Such tame birds: when not on her nest she would wander around looking for food, more or less ignoring me, as I appeared no threat to her. This morning I looked into the nest, and found that the eggs have indeed hatched, and the corpses of her little brood lie cold in the remnants of the shell. The female has vanished, no doubt the victim of a neighbourhood cat or a bird of prey. I confess a sadness that is not altogether rational, and have been contemplating mortality in more general terms.
I am at a time in life when my limited range of skills and talents have less and less value. There is not much that I can do with a poorly equipped toolkit and I seem to have slipped into an uneasy contentment, that disturbs me on a more or less daily basis. I watched Morgan Freeman and jack Nicholson in The Bucket List, the other day and feel the need to perhaps produce a bucket list of my own, while I still can; and maybe to amend that list on a week by week basis. Long term goals have never been my forte, and I have never been good at resolution keeping either, but again, this is not the first time, I want to make more of what days i have left. I have given this a little thought and by recording items here, at least I have a reference point and others might wish to add items to my list. So far I have the following ;-
To learn a poem - maybe more than one
To make something with my hands.
To write a short story.
To paint and actually finish a picture.
To learn a new skill.
To do something good for somoeone else.
To meet someone new.
The last one will probably be my greatest challenge as I am not at all good at socialising any more and have lost the need for the company of others.
I will do my best to begin ticking things off the list, as and when and if I can achieve those goals. In the meantime, life passes by and I will probably continue to make little impact on the world as a whole. I hope that my comfortable existence continues as it is, at least for now, but like the blackbird, I have no idea what is coming around the next corner.
"Life is nasty, brutish and short." I was reminded of that recently. For weeks, a pair of blackbirds have been building their nest in a bush by my front door. They laid a clutch of four eggs and the female has patiently sat, waiting for her brood to hatch and for her family line to continue. Such tame birds: when not on her nest she would wander around looking for food, more or less ignoring me, as I appeared no threat to her. This morning I looked into the nest, and found that the eggs have indeed hatched, and the corpses of her little brood lie cold in the remnants of the shell. The female has vanished, no doubt the victim of a neighbourhood cat or a bird of prey. I confess a sadness that is not altogether rational, and have been contemplating mortality in more general terms.
I am at a time in life when my limited range of skills and talents have less and less value. There is not much that I can do with a poorly equipped toolkit and I seem to have slipped into an uneasy contentment, that disturbs me on a more or less daily basis. I watched Morgan Freeman and jack Nicholson in The Bucket List, the other day and feel the need to perhaps produce a bucket list of my own, while I still can; and maybe to amend that list on a week by week basis. Long term goals have never been my forte, and I have never been good at resolution keeping either, but again, this is not the first time, I want to make more of what days i have left. I have given this a little thought and by recording items here, at least I have a reference point and others might wish to add items to my list. So far I have the following ;-
To learn a poem - maybe more than one
To make something with my hands.
To write a short story.
To paint and actually finish a picture.
To learn a new skill.
To do something good for somoeone else.
To meet someone new.
The last one will probably be my greatest challenge as I am not at all good at socialising any more and have lost the need for the company of others.
I will do my best to begin ticking things off the list, as and when and if I can achieve those goals. In the meantime, life passes by and I will probably continue to make little impact on the world as a whole. I hope that my comfortable existence continues as it is, at least for now, but like the blackbird, I have no idea what is coming around the next corner.
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Never never land
When I was a kid, and it doesn't seem that long ago, if you wanted something, you paid for it with cash. If you hadn't enough cash, you couldn't have it and so you saved your pennies and halfpennies, your threepences and tanners, your bobs and two bobs, half crowns and so on until you could afford to pay. That way you knew the value of something and were more likely to take care of it. Of course there was hire purchase available, where you borrowed and paid off your debt week by week, but we were encouraged not to do that. Hire purchase was called the "Never never" for a good reason, and its use was a step on the road to financial disaster.
How the world has changed. Now we all have credit cards and many people are up to their necks in debts that they may never pay off. I know some whose credit cards are tiered so that each one is used to pay off the debt on the previous one. We borrow money for mortgages, the country borrows money for everything it seems, and at the neck of all this lies the poison that is our system. The real parasites of this world are not those claiming benefits, or making a few pounds on the side that the tax man does not see, but those who sit in plush offices, manipulating the markets, buying and selling debts, trading in things that do not even exist, gambling with money that belongs to someone else, secure in the knowledge that their six figure bonuses and huge profits on the side will be protected, however much they lose.
The wealthiest group in the world are those who make nothing. It is the greed of the hedge fund managers and their like, that allowed people with no income to borrow ludicrous amounts of money and thus produced the avalanche of financial crises that we are all now experiencing. The present government of course blame the previous one, but they know deep down that in such a poorly regulated system, no government can keep check on the criminal activity of the bankers that bleed us dry every moment of every day.
I have savings and no debts, but of course that is a disadvantage. My savings decrease in value and the fact that I own my house means that I will probably have to use that to fund any care that I need in my old age. Those who reach their dotage in debt, will of course have everything paid for them, and i suspect that in not many years to come, they will be the vast majority.
How the world has changed. Now we all have credit cards and many people are up to their necks in debts that they may never pay off. I know some whose credit cards are tiered so that each one is used to pay off the debt on the previous one. We borrow money for mortgages, the country borrows money for everything it seems, and at the neck of all this lies the poison that is our system. The real parasites of this world are not those claiming benefits, or making a few pounds on the side that the tax man does not see, but those who sit in plush offices, manipulating the markets, buying and selling debts, trading in things that do not even exist, gambling with money that belongs to someone else, secure in the knowledge that their six figure bonuses and huge profits on the side will be protected, however much they lose.
The wealthiest group in the world are those who make nothing. It is the greed of the hedge fund managers and their like, that allowed people with no income to borrow ludicrous amounts of money and thus produced the avalanche of financial crises that we are all now experiencing. The present government of course blame the previous one, but they know deep down that in such a poorly regulated system, no government can keep check on the criminal activity of the bankers that bleed us dry every moment of every day.
I have savings and no debts, but of course that is a disadvantage. My savings decrease in value and the fact that I own my house means that I will probably have to use that to fund any care that I need in my old age. Those who reach their dotage in debt, will of course have everything paid for them, and i suspect that in not many years to come, they will be the vast majority.
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
we're all just bricks in the wall.
The Wall, arguably, Roger Waters' magnum opus, is a strange creation. It could be viewed as an introspective whinge about the hard life that has led to his millionaire status. There can be few people that have made so much cash out of expressing their hatred for the way that they were brought up and in particular for their mother.
However, the stage show was wonderful. Waters remains a consummate showman and has put together a remarkable staging of his work. His vast ego remains intact, as does his musical ability and incredible sense of timing.
I saw this production at the O2 last weekend, and was impressed by the venue almost as much as by the performance. I was less impressed by a number of my fellow human beings however. Having paid a minimum of seventy five pounds for a seat, one might imagine that people would want to enjoy every last second of the performance; alas there are many who find the urge to drink copious amounts of alcohol, far more important, regardless of whose pleasure they may be disrupting. To drink oneself silly is of course a human right (allegedly), but to spill expensive lager , to tread on the feet, and to block the view of fellow concertgoers is to my old fashioned way of thinking, totally unacceptable. Why pay such sums of money for a ticket only to spend the whole evening walking to the bar or the toilet?
Once again, I found myself despising the behaviour of my fellow man, reinforcing my own unsociability. Waters creates a wall between himself and the audience; and to a great extent I can see where he is coming from.
However, the stage show was wonderful. Waters remains a consummate showman and has put together a remarkable staging of his work. His vast ego remains intact, as does his musical ability and incredible sense of timing.
I saw this production at the O2 last weekend, and was impressed by the venue almost as much as by the performance. I was less impressed by a number of my fellow human beings however. Having paid a minimum of seventy five pounds for a seat, one might imagine that people would want to enjoy every last second of the performance; alas there are many who find the urge to drink copious amounts of alcohol, far more important, regardless of whose pleasure they may be disrupting. To drink oneself silly is of course a human right (allegedly), but to spill expensive lager , to tread on the feet, and to block the view of fellow concertgoers is to my old fashioned way of thinking, totally unacceptable. Why pay such sums of money for a ticket only to spend the whole evening walking to the bar or the toilet?
Once again, I found myself despising the behaviour of my fellow man, reinforcing my own unsociability. Waters creates a wall between himself and the audience; and to a great extent I can see where he is coming from.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Bin and Gone
It seems that the balance of world peace lies once again in the hands of two groups of religious fanatics. Watching the celebrations in New York yesterday, though understandable was quite nauseating. Ok so Bin Laden, a thoroughly disturbed individual, is dead, but the group that he represents is not and someone will rise to take his place and the rest of us will wait with bated breath to discover the horrors that the Arab world will unleash on the west. His assassination will appease the republican morons in the USA but will do nothing to defeat the growing and pernicious movements of the Arab desires to take over the world and defeat those who they perceive as unbelievers.
Christians as well as Muslims claim to be peace loving and yet here we have, bible belt USA murdering arabs all over the world, while arabs in their turn resort to equally cowardly attacks on innocent people, muslims included, all over the world. Killing their figureheads is like cutting the head off the medusa and does nothing to eradicate the toxin that is inherent within both cultures. The religious foundation simply underpins and justifies the violence, allowing adherents permission to use thuggery in the name of their own particular God.
If I were president of the USA, right now i would be feeling very nervous.
Christians as well as Muslims claim to be peace loving and yet here we have, bible belt USA murdering arabs all over the world, while arabs in their turn resort to equally cowardly attacks on innocent people, muslims included, all over the world. Killing their figureheads is like cutting the head off the medusa and does nothing to eradicate the toxin that is inherent within both cultures. The religious foundation simply underpins and justifies the violence, allowing adherents permission to use thuggery in the name of their own particular God.
If I were president of the USA, right now i would be feeling very nervous.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
The brainless in awe of the chinless.
The majority of people like to have a leader. To have someone to follow is a comfort as well as a way of abdicating responsibilty. Leadership is an essential skill and without leaders, society would cease to exist. Good leaders produce successful groups, whether in business or in sport or any other field, and when things go wrong it is the leaders that take the blame.
Unfortunately many people are so easily led that the media can exert a very powerful influence and can govern the way in which people behave. The press has been guilty in the past of whipping up hatred against many minority groups; gays, hoodies, black people and asians have all been subject to media initiated campaigns that have more or less instructed those who like others to think for them, to hate others without really knowing why.
The press can castigate a political party, reporting their own versions of the facts in order to turn the populace against them and thereby control the electorate and the outcome of elections. Advertisers spend ludicrous amounts of money to sell useless things to people, and it works. Human beings are gullible and potentially so very dangerous when following blindly.
Tomorrow is a perfect example - More of the aristocracy are getting married in order to produce more aristocratic mouths for the public to feed. The media have hyped the event to the extent where it seems that the vast majority will be glued to their TV sets so as not to miss a second of the procedings. There are flags and bunting in the streets and parties organised, real money spent on worthless trinkets and trivialities and the whole of the fashion industry now hangs on whatever clothing hangs from the royal bride to be. What a lot of nonsense!
Unfortunately many people are so easily led that the media can exert a very powerful influence and can govern the way in which people behave. The press has been guilty in the past of whipping up hatred against many minority groups; gays, hoodies, black people and asians have all been subject to media initiated campaigns that have more or less instructed those who like others to think for them, to hate others without really knowing why.
The press can castigate a political party, reporting their own versions of the facts in order to turn the populace against them and thereby control the electorate and the outcome of elections. Advertisers spend ludicrous amounts of money to sell useless things to people, and it works. Human beings are gullible and potentially so very dangerous when following blindly.
Tomorrow is a perfect example - More of the aristocracy are getting married in order to produce more aristocratic mouths for the public to feed. The media have hyped the event to the extent where it seems that the vast majority will be glued to their TV sets so as not to miss a second of the procedings. There are flags and bunting in the streets and parties organised, real money spent on worthless trinkets and trivialities and the whole of the fashion industry now hangs on whatever clothing hangs from the royal bride to be. What a lot of nonsense!
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Having recently spent a wonderful week with my grandson, I have come to the conclusion that people of a certain age should be prevented by law from becoming parents. Being around a child is physically and emotionally draining as well as all consuming. It is hard work being a parent, and even harder as one gets older. Children need, and demand attention, they learn from constant interaction between the world and those around them, and it is a parent's duty to put the needs of the child first. For many this comes naturally but that does not make it any less of a full time and very difficult job. There are no opportunities to throw sickies, or to take a long lie in when you have been up half the night changing beds, mopping up sick or changing smelly nappies. Babies need routines and you change these at your own peril.
I love Oscar in a way that I never imagined possible. He is simply amazing and I will do everything that I can for him, but I know that I could not cope with his demands on a 24 /7 basis. I am too old and lack the energy, and yet there are women of my age who still wish to become mothers, and men older than myself who still become fathers. To me it seems sad and strange that a parent should not have a chance of watching their child grow up and to put a child at risk of becoming an orphan at an early age seems irresponsible to say the least. Parenting is a massive responsiblilty and should never be taken lightly, and yet is it a biological function that we take for granted, most parents rushing into that territory without thinking things through. I guess that if it were possible to think through the issues fully, to imagine the pains of birth, and the trials and tribulations that come with it, then parenting would very soon go out of fashion. For those over 60 however, there is no excuse.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Sadness
It is raining and I find myself at a loose end. It is a time of change for me and I am not comfortable with some changes, however I have to remind myself that I have been lucky and have no cause to complain.
I just finished a wonderful book; reading it that is, I don't think that I have a book in me. Jostein Gaarder's The Solitaire Mystery. He is a Norwegian philosopher/theologian who writes about philosophy in terms that even I can understand. Rather akin to a modern Alice in Wonderland, he looks at the world and at belief, through the eyes of a child, and it is through the eyes of innocence that the world looks wonderful and mysterious and fascinating. As I get older, this is much harder to recapture, and my experiences with other people amplify my cynicism to the extent that I am finding it harder and harder to believe in anything or anyone. A valued friend and colleague once said to me - "The only thing that you can rely on others to do is to let you down." By and large he has been proved right. So I find myself withdrawing again and looking for hints of that wonder and amazement that only the natural world can provide.
William Blake - Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
I just finished a wonderful book; reading it that is, I don't think that I have a book in me. Jostein Gaarder's The Solitaire Mystery. He is a Norwegian philosopher/theologian who writes about philosophy in terms that even I can understand. Rather akin to a modern Alice in Wonderland, he looks at the world and at belief, through the eyes of a child, and it is through the eyes of innocence that the world looks wonderful and mysterious and fascinating. As I get older, this is much harder to recapture, and my experiences with other people amplify my cynicism to the extent that I am finding it harder and harder to believe in anything or anyone. A valued friend and colleague once said to me - "The only thing that you can rely on others to do is to let you down." By and large he has been proved right. So I find myself withdrawing again and looking for hints of that wonder and amazement that only the natural world can provide.
William Blake - Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
Thursday, 24 March 2011
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
A birthday
Oscar is one year old today. How quickly the time flies and how rapidly he changes. This time a year ago he was still keeping everyone waiting and i was convinced that he had to be a girl. Now he is a personality in his own right and is developing so many skills that will see him through his life. Happy birthday little man.
Friday, 18 March 2011
In motion
Since my last post, a tentative approach to an estate agent resulted in hands almost being bitten off in the rush to get the house on the market. Within a week we have become a commodity and have already been peered at and poked at six times. Having strange people wandering around the house is a little like having your private parts examined by the doctor, and don't you just hate it when they say - "Oh dear!" in that tell tale tone.
I have been asked if, next time there are people viewing the house, if I would kindly not be there. I don't know what i am supposed to do; go for a walk maybe or perhaps go and sit on the swings in the park while people I don't know and don't want to know are breathing on my furniture. Of course I will comply as it is what is expected of me, but I will not pretend to like it.
Of course, all the details, including full colour photos, are there on the net for anyone to peruse so now I can be violated remotely by anyone who knows where I live, and of course by those who randomly find me on their computers. It is a strange feeling, rather like being given a massage by a large hairy person of indeterminate gender.
Of course it has also meant that we need to look for somewhere else to live. Our target area is 150 or so miles from here and so our searching has to be remotely controlled and that in itself is far from easy, though i have to say that Google maps makes it a lot easier to eliminate possibilities. It has been a reminder that I am a bit of a social misfit and that I have prejudices that are based on past experience of neighbours from hell, and there lies a huge issue when it comes to choosing a house.
For now there is a long list of properties that all look much the same, and until we can make the trip physically, it will be hard to make a shortlist and impossible to make a choice. Having said all that - someone needs to give me enough money to enable me to move.
I have been asked if, next time there are people viewing the house, if I would kindly not be there. I don't know what i am supposed to do; go for a walk maybe or perhaps go and sit on the swings in the park while people I don't know and don't want to know are breathing on my furniture. Of course I will comply as it is what is expected of me, but I will not pretend to like it.
Of course, all the details, including full colour photos, are there on the net for anyone to peruse so now I can be violated remotely by anyone who knows where I live, and of course by those who randomly find me on their computers. It is a strange feeling, rather like being given a massage by a large hairy person of indeterminate gender.
Of course it has also meant that we need to look for somewhere else to live. Our target area is 150 or so miles from here and so our searching has to be remotely controlled and that in itself is far from easy, though i have to say that Google maps makes it a lot easier to eliminate possibilities. It has been a reminder that I am a bit of a social misfit and that I have prejudices that are based on past experience of neighbours from hell, and there lies a huge issue when it comes to choosing a house.
For now there is a long list of properties that all look much the same, and until we can make the trip physically, it will be hard to make a shortlist and impossible to make a choice. Having said all that - someone needs to give me enough money to enable me to move.
Monday, 28 February 2011
To move or not to move
Living on an island has both advantages and disadvantages. By and large the advantages outweigh the alternative unless of course you want to go anywhere. The mounting cost and the inconvenience of the ferry is becoming a real issue and the time is coming when the pull of the mainland is beginning to exceed the magnetism of life overseas.
The prospect of selling and buying all over again does not appeal though, and as spring begins to wake up, i am seeing all of the things that need doing before even considering putting the house on the market.
Apart from the upheaval, there is the gamble involved in moving to somewhere new. At present I enjoy a great deal of isolation, peace and quiet. Interactions with neighbours are minimal and I can go for days without seeing anyone. There is no traffic noise, no sounds from the neighbourhood and a house that by and large suits my needs. To find somewhere that meets those specifications, would be most fortunate, and I realise that many compromises must be made. I am not sure that I want to renovate another house. My body and mind are not really up to that and there is no bottomless pit of cash either.
What is clear though, is that ties to the Island are becoming fewer and further between and that this is probably the right time to consider a final move. Over the next few months I must give this serious consideration as I am sure that there will be things that I have not thought about.
The prospect of selling and buying all over again does not appeal though, and as spring begins to wake up, i am seeing all of the things that need doing before even considering putting the house on the market.
Apart from the upheaval, there is the gamble involved in moving to somewhere new. At present I enjoy a great deal of isolation, peace and quiet. Interactions with neighbours are minimal and I can go for days without seeing anyone. There is no traffic noise, no sounds from the neighbourhood and a house that by and large suits my needs. To find somewhere that meets those specifications, would be most fortunate, and I realise that many compromises must be made. I am not sure that I want to renovate another house. My body and mind are not really up to that and there is no bottomless pit of cash either.
What is clear though, is that ties to the Island are becoming fewer and further between and that this is probably the right time to consider a final move. Over the next few months I must give this serious consideration as I am sure that there will be things that I have not thought about.
Sunday, 27 February 2011
My ear still rings
On Friday night, I put aside some of my prejudices and went to see a band called Fleetwood Back. Now i am not normally a fan of tribute bands and I am not convinced that my mind has been changed as a result of that experience.
One thing that the evening reinforced, was my increasing intolerance of the general public. Events like this tend to focus my mind on what is happening around me rather than what I am there for, and as always the audience was complete with its fair share of dick heads. I know that I am easily niggled but what is it about some people that gives them the right to be completely unaware of or uncaring about others. Every public event seems to me to be the same in this respect. There are always those that turn up late, and you can guarantee that their seats will be in the middle of a row, ensuring the disruption of as many people as possible. The same people will probably want to go to the toilet part way through as they didn't have time to go before, and yes, they are the last back after the interval. There are those who insist on keeping their smartphones on; ostentatiously reading their precious texts, oblivious to the bright glare that draws the eye of everyone within twenty metres. There are those that insist on singing along, out of tune and often with the wrong words. Some like to bob up and down in their seats in, or out of time to the beat, and those who leap to their feet at every available opportunity.
Why do I always end up sitting next to the guy who sits with his legs spread as wide as they will go, invading my space and forcing me to spend my time with my knees pressed together and straight in front of me?
The band on friday were of course living in a fantasy world where they make their living pretending to be someone else. They had made great efforts to dress like and even look like their heroes, and from a distance the appearance was pretty authentic, though I confess that when I first saw the faux Stevie Nicks, I thought it was the fat guy from Gavin and Stacey in drag.
Performancewise, they were competent. What they lacked in subtlety they made up for in enthusiasm and sheer volume, and they did get better as time passed. Such a pity though that they did insist on entering into dialogue, in which they stayed in character and a false American accent, badly done is enough to make anyone cringe.
Anyhow - the audience gave them a standing ovation, partly because the band had urged everyone to stand up for the final "Go Your Own Way", but on balance they probably deserved it.
I guess that I am just getting old.
One thing that the evening reinforced, was my increasing intolerance of the general public. Events like this tend to focus my mind on what is happening around me rather than what I am there for, and as always the audience was complete with its fair share of dick heads. I know that I am easily niggled but what is it about some people that gives them the right to be completely unaware of or uncaring about others. Every public event seems to me to be the same in this respect. There are always those that turn up late, and you can guarantee that their seats will be in the middle of a row, ensuring the disruption of as many people as possible. The same people will probably want to go to the toilet part way through as they didn't have time to go before, and yes, they are the last back after the interval. There are those who insist on keeping their smartphones on; ostentatiously reading their precious texts, oblivious to the bright glare that draws the eye of everyone within twenty metres. There are those that insist on singing along, out of tune and often with the wrong words. Some like to bob up and down in their seats in, or out of time to the beat, and those who leap to their feet at every available opportunity.
Why do I always end up sitting next to the guy who sits with his legs spread as wide as they will go, invading my space and forcing me to spend my time with my knees pressed together and straight in front of me?
The band on friday were of course living in a fantasy world where they make their living pretending to be someone else. They had made great efforts to dress like and even look like their heroes, and from a distance the appearance was pretty authentic, though I confess that when I first saw the faux Stevie Nicks, I thought it was the fat guy from Gavin and Stacey in drag.
Performancewise, they were competent. What they lacked in subtlety they made up for in enthusiasm and sheer volume, and they did get better as time passed. Such a pity though that they did insist on entering into dialogue, in which they stayed in character and a false American accent, badly done is enough to make anyone cringe.
Anyhow - the audience gave them a standing ovation, partly because the band had urged everyone to stand up for the final "Go Your Own Way", but on balance they probably deserved it.
I guess that I am just getting old.
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Another rant
Within any culture, there are ways that people go about their lives and many behaviours are specific to particular groups and have developed for logical and sound reasons. Cultures have evolved along with the multitudes of discrete populations, and are fundamentally the reason why we have boundaries and borders. Quite rightly, nations are proud of their cultural heritages and will strive to protect their ways of life.
Time passes however and the world has changed. Borders are largely more permeable and the flow of people from one country to the next is diluting populations and aspects of individual cultures are absorbed and blended, or should be. There are however areas of total inflexibility where countries are dominated, not by a naturally evolved way of life, but by ideas thrust upon them by zealots, fearful of having freedom of thought and speech, just in case their facile and ludicrous edifice should be torn down in a deluge of logic.
In Pakistan, a teenage boy has been jailed for something that he wrote in an examination paper. He is being held under blasphemy laws that have no moral or logical basis. They are so corrupt that anyone can accuse another without having to provide evidence, and once accused there is no defence. I have heard this defended on cultural grounds. We have a huge immigrant population that is growing disproportionately and though I applaud a multicultural society, it would seem that a significant portion of these people do not wish to integrate into our culture but simply to propagate their own, and many would like to introduce their own laws. There will come a time when they are a majority group and such laws as those in pakistan could find themselves dribbling into out statute books. Within any country dominated by one religion there is no scope for tolerance nor is there any flexibility. There is just one set of rules and that was written a long time ago in a part of the world that has remained unaltered in many ways since medieval times.
We need to prevent the continuation of ghettos and do more to integrate all of these groups into OUR culture before it is too late.
Time passes however and the world has changed. Borders are largely more permeable and the flow of people from one country to the next is diluting populations and aspects of individual cultures are absorbed and blended, or should be. There are however areas of total inflexibility where countries are dominated, not by a naturally evolved way of life, but by ideas thrust upon them by zealots, fearful of having freedom of thought and speech, just in case their facile and ludicrous edifice should be torn down in a deluge of logic.
In Pakistan, a teenage boy has been jailed for something that he wrote in an examination paper. He is being held under blasphemy laws that have no moral or logical basis. They are so corrupt that anyone can accuse another without having to provide evidence, and once accused there is no defence. I have heard this defended on cultural grounds. We have a huge immigrant population that is growing disproportionately and though I applaud a multicultural society, it would seem that a significant portion of these people do not wish to integrate into our culture but simply to propagate their own, and many would like to introduce their own laws. There will come a time when they are a majority group and such laws as those in pakistan could find themselves dribbling into out statute books. Within any country dominated by one religion there is no scope for tolerance nor is there any flexibility. There is just one set of rules and that was written a long time ago in a part of the world that has remained unaltered in many ways since medieval times.
We need to prevent the continuation of ghettos and do more to integrate all of these groups into OUR culture before it is too late.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Farewells
I have written before about my friend Elizabeth Green, who I have got to know well over the last few years. She was a neighbour, and her dour and overbearing husband meant that we had little to do with either of them until after his death. Since moving away, I have been visiting Liz frequently and enjoying hearing about her life. She was evacuated during the war and spent much of her childhood away from her parents and acting as a surrogate mother to her younger sister Alice. She went to art school in London just after the war and eventually went into teaching. She was forced into marriage because in those days living in sin was not permissible for female teachers. Though she loved John in her own way, neither of them wanted to be married and their relationship was shall we say different. John fell downstairs one night in a drunken state and broke his neck. After that he was housebound and became a burden that she wasn't prepared for. After a number of years of suffering he died and Liz was left in her large house filled with paintings and arthritic hands that ensured that there would be no more paintings to be done. In recent years she has spent her days in front of her TV, chain smoking, becoming more and more agorophobic and waiting for the inevitable.
This week there was a gas leak in her house and she had to be evacuated...again...... This time to an old folks home and from there to hospital. Like a fish out of water she became confused and disoriented and sadly last night she died. I will miss her.
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
It is later than you think
Douglas Adams, in his Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, said that "time is an illusion- lunchtime doubly so."
Yesterday saw the funeral of my aunt Joan. I didn't attend; instead I will talk about her for a while. She was my fathers older sister, and lived for 88 years in the house where she was born and grew up. She was a spinster with her own hairdressing business, fiercely independent, right wing, and very difficult to get on with. Joan fell out so easily with everyone in the family and eventually alienated herself to the extent that only near neighbours would visit to make sure that she was still alive.
Joan was found unconscious on the tiled floor of her unheated home in the depths of winter and was taken to hospital where she came round and refused food, water or treatment of any kind, and died more or less as she had lived-alone.
Her rented house had not been properly maintained, the windows and doors rotting and draughty, the roof leaking and carpets and furniture mildewed and mouldering. Cupboards were stuffed with clothes and shoes that had once belonged to her parents, and nothing seemed to have been thrown away in years. My long suffering Sister who had visited her regularly and suffered abuse for her efforts, assisted neighbours in clearing the house, knowing that her small estate had been willed to those neighbours, and organised the funeral. I toyed with the idea of attending but as i never visited when she was alive, I could see no point in making the long journey to say goodbye to her corpse. I can do that from here. I do not feel guilty. We choose our friends but family is thrust upon us. My remaining Aunt on my father's side is also very ill and she is as mad as a bag of cats. I will not be attending her funeral either.
My dear friend Liz is 84 years old and yesterday had to be evacuated from her house because of a serious gas leak. She was transferred The stress and lack of opportunity to smoke brought on a funny turn and so they have transferred her to hospital, oddly to the last ward that I was in. I suspect that Liz will not be going home again. It would appear that the house needs a lot of work to make it safe and when that can be done I have no idea. Her relatives are either very old or far away or detached from her and I suspect that many are just waiting to inherit their share. Liz is a lovely human being and sadly losing her memory very quickly. I know that I will miss her when she goes and hers will be a funeral that I will certainly attend, should I be in a position to do so. However one can never be certain. Joan I will not miss, as we had no relationship to speak of; the sad thing of course is that she had no real relationships at all in her life and that there is no-one left to miss her.
Yesterday saw the funeral of my aunt Joan. I didn't attend; instead I will talk about her for a while. She was my fathers older sister, and lived for 88 years in the house where she was born and grew up. She was a spinster with her own hairdressing business, fiercely independent, right wing, and very difficult to get on with. Joan fell out so easily with everyone in the family and eventually alienated herself to the extent that only near neighbours would visit to make sure that she was still alive.
Joan was found unconscious on the tiled floor of her unheated home in the depths of winter and was taken to hospital where she came round and refused food, water or treatment of any kind, and died more or less as she had lived-alone.
Her rented house had not been properly maintained, the windows and doors rotting and draughty, the roof leaking and carpets and furniture mildewed and mouldering. Cupboards were stuffed with clothes and shoes that had once belonged to her parents, and nothing seemed to have been thrown away in years. My long suffering Sister who had visited her regularly and suffered abuse for her efforts, assisted neighbours in clearing the house, knowing that her small estate had been willed to those neighbours, and organised the funeral. I toyed with the idea of attending but as i never visited when she was alive, I could see no point in making the long journey to say goodbye to her corpse. I can do that from here. I do not feel guilty. We choose our friends but family is thrust upon us. My remaining Aunt on my father's side is also very ill and she is as mad as a bag of cats. I will not be attending her funeral either.
My dear friend Liz is 84 years old and yesterday had to be evacuated from her house because of a serious gas leak. She was transferred The stress and lack of opportunity to smoke brought on a funny turn and so they have transferred her to hospital, oddly to the last ward that I was in. I suspect that Liz will not be going home again. It would appear that the house needs a lot of work to make it safe and when that can be done I have no idea. Her relatives are either very old or far away or detached from her and I suspect that many are just waiting to inherit their share. Liz is a lovely human being and sadly losing her memory very quickly. I know that I will miss her when she goes and hers will be a funeral that I will certainly attend, should I be in a position to do so. However one can never be certain. Joan I will not miss, as we had no relationship to speak of; the sad thing of course is that she had no real relationships at all in her life and that there is no-one left to miss her.
Thursday, 6 January 2011
The sound of music
It is sad to see the demise of HMV. There was a time when most high streets had a selection of stores that sold music in its various forms; and then along came HMV and the others fell by the wayside. The chain is likely to close a number of its outlets in the not too distant future and this means that some towns will no longer have over the counter music available.
The music industry has been in trouble for a while and the blame has been laid on illegal downloads. Why would anyone buy what you can get for free? Companies have tried various measures to combat this type of piracy and because the practice is so widespread, none of their curbing efforts have been effective.
People blame the demise of the record shop on Internet shopping, and of course it is easier and cheaper to buy music that way. I know that I always buy music and movies from Amazon or Play.com from the comfort of my office, not that I would describe myself as significant in the cash flow crisis that is dragging HMV down.
I have always liked music. It is an important part of my life albeit as a receiver. In the old days when I was alive, the music industry was flourishing; singles cost around 35p and each week a vast and varied range of new singles hit the shelves. Top of the pops was highlight of everyone's week and the charts were based on actual sales. Albums would cost One pound 50 and the covers were works of art worthy of hanging on the wall.
I saw the Beatles on stage, it cost 25p for the ticket and later, at college we hired Status Quo, already a known band, for forty pounds - Yes forty pounds for the band, and for that they played all night. I paid 20p to see Cream and the same to see many other bands; even then it wasn't a lot of money. Bands would play small venues and none complained that they were not making a living. Most of them did that for years, learning their trade and selling the occasional record, and yes there were the odd one hit wonders with little or no talent but to stay in the game you had to be a musician. Bands would often pay for the love of it and of course there were many even then that thought they should always do so. The Isle of Wight festival in 1970 saw 600,000 people arrive, many of whom had no tickets and baulked at paying three pounds for the three days. There were riots and the clash between business and ordinary people marked the beginning of the slippery slope.
Then of course big business took over and the stadium concerts began, and with a hike in size came a hike in costs and the spiral of profits soared. I paid 60 pounds to see Genesis along with thousands of others at Twickenham. All of that band are already wealthy - what is that all about?
There is musical talent around today but there is little that shouts out to be purchased. Much of what is on offer these days comes from synthetic kiddie bands whose talents are minimal but sufficient to slake the uneducated thirsts of todays kids. The rise of Hip Hop and Rap provides an anti-music that is fashionable among the politically correct and is anathema to those who like melody or lyrics that are comprehensible.
HMV's biggest problem is not the pirates or the internet, it is a shortage of anything worth selling that has brought them to their knees.
The music industry has been in trouble for a while and the blame has been laid on illegal downloads. Why would anyone buy what you can get for free? Companies have tried various measures to combat this type of piracy and because the practice is so widespread, none of their curbing efforts have been effective.
People blame the demise of the record shop on Internet shopping, and of course it is easier and cheaper to buy music that way. I know that I always buy music and movies from Amazon or Play.com from the comfort of my office, not that I would describe myself as significant in the cash flow crisis that is dragging HMV down.
I have always liked music. It is an important part of my life albeit as a receiver. In the old days when I was alive, the music industry was flourishing; singles cost around 35p and each week a vast and varied range of new singles hit the shelves. Top of the pops was highlight of everyone's week and the charts were based on actual sales. Albums would cost One pound 50 and the covers were works of art worthy of hanging on the wall.
I saw the Beatles on stage, it cost 25p for the ticket and later, at college we hired Status Quo, already a known band, for forty pounds - Yes forty pounds for the band, and for that they played all night. I paid 20p to see Cream and the same to see many other bands; even then it wasn't a lot of money. Bands would play small venues and none complained that they were not making a living. Most of them did that for years, learning their trade and selling the occasional record, and yes there were the odd one hit wonders with little or no talent but to stay in the game you had to be a musician. Bands would often pay for the love of it and of course there were many even then that thought they should always do so. The Isle of Wight festival in 1970 saw 600,000 people arrive, many of whom had no tickets and baulked at paying three pounds for the three days. There were riots and the clash between business and ordinary people marked the beginning of the slippery slope.
Then of course big business took over and the stadium concerts began, and with a hike in size came a hike in costs and the spiral of profits soared. I paid 60 pounds to see Genesis along with thousands of others at Twickenham. All of that band are already wealthy - what is that all about?
There is musical talent around today but there is little that shouts out to be purchased. Much of what is on offer these days comes from synthetic kiddie bands whose talents are minimal but sufficient to slake the uneducated thirsts of todays kids. The rise of Hip Hop and Rap provides an anti-music that is fashionable among the politically correct and is anathema to those who like melody or lyrics that are comprehensible.
HMV's biggest problem is not the pirates or the internet, it is a shortage of anything worth selling that has brought them to their knees.
Monday, 3 January 2011
A fresh start?
I don't make new year resolutions as a rule. They are far too easy to forget and rarely do I maintain the enthusiasm for new things.
I am sure though that the number of people in their lycra shorts and new trainers, that I see jellying their way around the morning streets, have decided that this will be the year that they leave the couch and burn off some of the adipose tissue that has accumulated during the previous years. I am sure that the lycra will not wear out and that the spanking new Nikes will get little use after the first few days.
I went for a walk on January the first and my faith in my fellow man took yet another dive as I ploughed my way through streets littered with vomit, beer cans, broken bottles and rejected food containers.The way of life of so many of us has become ugly and utterly self absorbed. LIttle thought is given to others, and the notion of being nice or polite to fellow citizens seems to be a trait that is very rapidly vanishing. We have become obsessed by the present, by the here and now, and by the accumulation of material things that at the end of the day have little or no worth. We all die and no-one counts the black plastic bags that those goods end up in.
Having said all this, I realise that by withdrawing from society is not an answer. By doing so I am abdicating any responsibility for what goes on the world, and that in itself is irresponsible and self destructive. So this year I am determined to reverse my implosive tendencies and try to spend more time with more people - No doubt it will last no longer than the lycra shorts.
I am sure though that the number of people in their lycra shorts and new trainers, that I see jellying their way around the morning streets, have decided that this will be the year that they leave the couch and burn off some of the adipose tissue that has accumulated during the previous years. I am sure that the lycra will not wear out and that the spanking new Nikes will get little use after the first few days.
I went for a walk on January the first and my faith in my fellow man took yet another dive as I ploughed my way through streets littered with vomit, beer cans, broken bottles and rejected food containers.The way of life of so many of us has become ugly and utterly self absorbed. LIttle thought is given to others, and the notion of being nice or polite to fellow citizens seems to be a trait that is very rapidly vanishing. We have become obsessed by the present, by the here and now, and by the accumulation of material things that at the end of the day have little or no worth. We all die and no-one counts the black plastic bags that those goods end up in.
Having said all this, I realise that by withdrawing from society is not an answer. By doing so I am abdicating any responsibility for what goes on the world, and that in itself is irresponsible and self destructive. So this year I am determined to reverse my implosive tendencies and try to spend more time with more people - No doubt it will last no longer than the lycra shorts.
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