Sacred Cows

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

Decision day

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

Google

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

On writing

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

Protest everything.

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

Charity shops

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

There are two types of people

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

Back to school

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

Bank Holiday

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

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

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

Fussy eaters

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

A week like any other

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rebellion

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

Brahms and Lists

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

British Values

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

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

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

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

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

Addiction and its friends

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

Post op

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

Eurovision

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

Superstition

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

Jeremy Clarkson

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