The Alternative Pope.

What good would it do for me to “call for peace” in the Middle East? Who, from ISIS to Assad, the Western Alliance, Palestine and Israel, is likely to listen? I could perhaps ask questions that in their answering might move intentions. Why are you fighting? Do you want to be motivated by hate when your prophet tells you to love? Do you see heroism in causing harm, worship in warships? Do you want more arms when all they will do is prolong the fight till your dying day? Do you want Power when all will fear you and no one will love you? Do you want land when you can’t till it on your own and those who do will grow to resent you? Do you want to spread your ideology if it can only be spread by terror and bloodshed? Do you want to defend yourself when defence only makes more enemies? Do you really believe that your comfort will come from creating discomfort, that love will come from fear? I’m a weak old man with nothing to tell you. You must decide for yourself what you want. 

This is why I'm Green.

Last weekend thousands protested in Spain’s major cities against new totalitarian laws. Not students or ideological radicals but very ordinary people with fresher memories than most of that term. But where Franco was a fascist dictator this seems to be the action of a bewildered, cornered government. One of the problems with democracy is that to gain power one must appease the electorate. This pretence of niceness is the basis of many failed marriages where underlying reality goes un addressed. Democracy thus tends to pretend government focusing on facile issues rather than long-term solutions to deep-seated problems. To me Spain exemplifies where you get to after a long period of pretend government. The government perceives it must continue to govern ‘for the sake of the country’ and the electorate, the wife in this case, has had enough of obfuscation. Spain’s new gagging laws and the public’s reaction become the equivalent of domestic violence, and England’s not far behind. The electorate, we, know there are issues needing to be addressed at a fundamental level, global warming, education, the wealth gap, corporate dominance and tax evasion, fracking, the NHS, mental health, housing etc, and that tinkering and spin are no longer enough. We are disillusioned with pretend government and where it’s leading us. Our government cannot see alternatives to what they’re doing, aren’t imaginative enough to grasp the fundamental problems or bold enough to forge solutions. Their only perceived option is to police our discontent. A divorce of sort is already happening with voting numbers falling but we do still need active government. In this situation a vote for any party that is not bold or perceptive enough to see the underlying problems and tackle them is wasted. That’s why I’m joining the Green Party. They may not win but at least my vote won’t be wasted. 

Becoming the Enemy of the Police?

A deeply emotional talk by an ex Israeli soldier from a family militarised by experiences of the holocaust. He described his army service policing Palestinians. Though brutal what disturbed him most was the inculcated assumption that that they, ordinary Palestinian men, women and children, were ‘the enemy.’ Any disobedience of Israeli rule was perceived as an act of war by this ‘enemy.’ His moral self came into conflict with his militarised self, and, mimicking this in reality, when he protested he was shot at and tear-gassed by his own army. After his army service his research showed that the Israeli arms industry was using the Palestinian conflict to develop and test new weapons and strategies of suppression. For a small ‘peaceful’ country Israeli arms exports are huge (10% of the world total in 2007) and contribute much to the country’s wealth. He moved to America and in a chance conversation with an NYPD police officer he mentioned he was ex Israeli army. The police officer replied, “Wow man you guys are bad ass. We’ve been over there doing training. (in methods of public suppression)” He was horrified. These police will have been trained as he was and come back believing the public are ‘the enemy’. From their fear of being vulnerable to another holocaust the Israelis have grown a huge arms industry dedicated to suppressing their enemy, ordinary Palestinians, and were now exporting both products and techniques of suppressing the public to police forces around the world; a perfect mirror of what happened to them in the German holocaust. My concern here is that the UK police are also being trained in Israel. 

How did This get in my Poetry Folder?

Fucked.

Talkin to the old Tit in the pub last night. Actually a bar, twopoundsfuckinthirty a Becks it was. About this fuckin’ fucked up fucker. Lovely bloke.

She says “we’re all fucked ain’t we Sweep”.

I says “Yea.” you know in that inevicable way like it’s true.

Then she says “So how come you’re alright?”

I finks. I says, “Well being fucked ain’t werf a fuck is it.” We larf. “I mean you fink you’re special, like the only fucker in the universe wiv a fuckin problem and you’ll be like ‘I ain’t goin to share this shit with anyone, I’ll look a right plonker.’”

She says “Yea, it’s bollocks ain’t it.” I give her a little cuddle.

“I mean once you can like put your hands up an say ‘OK, I’m fucked’ what happens? Every other fucker says ‘Thank Christ for that, I’m not the only one’, except for the really stupid bastards who’re so fucked they’re still holdin on to bein perfect, and you’re like ‘la, la, la’  cos you ain’t keepin it in no more.”

“Is that your secret?”

“Well it’s hardly a fuckin secret, I’ve just told you ain’t I.”

She smiles. “Yea but people are scared ain’t they?”

“Well walkin under a fuckin bus’ll kill ya, be scared of that. Anyway no one’s ever died of lettin it out, they might of died of keepin it in, not letting it out.”

“So how did you do it smart arse?”

“Well I figured you never let go of anything by keepin hold of it do you.”

“No?”

“Well you don’t do you? ,” I gets on a trot here, “Like you’ve got a bird; you hold it tight to stop it flappin about, but when it’s time to let it go you like open your hands,” I makes the gesture, “and it flies away. See it? See it go?” We watched it flap across the bar and out the window. Which was interesting seeing as how the window was closed.

“See how it stopped struggling when I open my hands and it like knew what to do, stopped struggling, stopped being frightened. That’s like all your fucked up stuff. Hold it tight and it’s a pain in the arse, open your hands and poof, out the window.”

“It’s that simple?”

“OK, so it is and it isn’t. But it is. Look, it’s just as hard as you want it to be. Yea that’s it, it’s as hard as you want it to be.” I turned to her, enthusiastic like, “it’s like what you really want, not what you think you want, that’s bollocks, look at what you really want. Do you want to hold that bird, stop it pecking your fuckin eyes out, stop it shittin in people’s beer, knockin ‘em overm flyin round the bar in a mad fuckin frenzy? Cos that’s what it’ll do won’t it? You know that’s what it’ll do. But it didn’t, did it? You saw it. Flew straight out the window, happy as fuckin Larry it’s got away. Am I right or am I wrong?” She was eating crisps. “See what you really want comes out of what you really know.” I’m like this is shit hot, answers to the Universe stuff. “If you know the birds just glad to get away, you’ll open your hands, won’t you? Till then you’re stuck holding the fucker. Well won’t you?”

“Yes Sweetheart. I love you. Know why?”

“Why?”

“Cos you’ve got a big fuckin dick.”      We larf.

The Power of Agreement.

Several years ago my son told me a story about a man searching for wisdom and happiness. He travelled the world searching until he was told of the wisest person, a hermit living in a cave high in the mountains. He made the harsh journey and asked his question. The hermit said the answer was to agree with everyone you meet. The man became angry saying that was a ridiculous answer, to which the hermit replied, “Yes, I see that it is.” Funny, yes, but thought provoking. It came to mind after seeing a snippet of Nigel Farrago and Russell Brand on Question Time that eschewed agreement at all costs. When one looks at one’s mind’s fluidity disagreement produces a gridlock of some entrenched position, one is reduced to continually rehearsing a dialogue with oneself. One instinctively feels any sign of agreement would be used to create a weakness in one’s defences, but alone in a castle one cannot find happiness or wisdom. Agreement though is not being beaten in an intellectual battle it’s an incremental step in awareness. When ‘the map is not the territory’ no one of us sees the territory only our map of it and finding some agreement with another person might well put a little extra detail to it. That’s not to say agreement is acceptance. If one simply accepted another’s opinion one would only join in a possible mutual error. True agreement is a willingness to find one’s mind’s fluidity and thus continue one’s journey towards wisdom and happiness. Nigel Farrago and Russell Brand did not move forward in this respect, yet I found some agreement with both of them. Does that make me wise? If you say no it’s likely I’ll agree with you. 

TTIP and ISDS.

This evening I spent an hour watching the Commons Select Committee discussing TTIP with the Head of the TUC and a spokesman for the CBI. (look on BBC catch up under S) The TUC, a woman, was balanced and spoke well. The CBI man attempted to intimate by groundless assertions that it was all a jolly good idea but didn’t convince anyone. The whole hour was vacuous in that they had no, that’s zero, facts to work on and they could not see the treaty because of secrecy. Every concern many of us have about TTIP and ISDS could not have been written more clearly between the lines. America is a bully; it’s how they operate. The CBI man basically said if we want an agreement with the big dog we must bend over and get shafted, otherwise they won’t sign it. My agent would have laughed. I was appalled that a dozen intelligent serious people did not show disgust and anger at this banal level of interaction. In any meeting I’ve been involved in to be so unprepared, so devoid of facts and arguments and relying solely on groundless assertions one would have been laughed at, torn to shreds and most likely sacked. Here's a suggested defense against an ISDS action.

Your Honour, this case is between Philip Morris (PM) and the British Government (BG) under the ISDS framework of the TTIP Agreement. PM is suing the BG for loss of future earnings over its restriction to only plain paper packaging for all cigarettes. PM believe this will reduce sales.

BG. Do you agree that PM have no right to sue me as an individual if I decide to give up smoking or change to another brand or choose to spend my money elswhere? That after all is the essence of a free market.

PM. Yes.

BG. Dou you agree that Britain is a democratic country?

PM. Yes.

BG. As such is it correct that the British Government, having been voted into power by a democratic election is mandated by the electorate to implement laws in accordance with the wishes of the majority of that electorate?

PM. Yes.

BG. Is it correct that under a democratic system the majority decision is taken to form the decision of the whole?

PM. Yes.

BG. In this case you believe this decision will result in a reduction of cigarette sales. Do you agree that this was the underlying reason for the British Government’s decision to implement this law? Realistically there can surely be no other explanation.

PM. Yes.

BG. As such the government’s implementation of plain paper packaging reflects the mandate of the electorate as a whole to reduce smoking: Do you agree?

PM. Well yes but..  (BG. Shut up, I’m talking)

BG. It hardly needs stating that the electorate consists of individuals and that each of those individuals, as you have previously agreed, has free choice to buy or not buy PM cigarettes without fear of litigation. If then these individuals have mandated the British Government, under the accepted norms of our democratic system, to reduce smoking and the government has acted on their behalf by implementing plain paper packaging the government’s action can be said to represent the decision of individuals, which as you have previously agreed is totally acceptable in a free market. 

Your Honour as the plaintiff is in total agreement with the defendants case I suggest there are no grounds for this case to go forward.

Ebola. Send in FedEx.

Living not far from Eyam and Wikipedea I’m aware the Black Death killed 45% of the European population in four years. Eyam because there’s a boulder in the middle of a field with holes in it. They were used to put coins in in payment for food and were probably filled with some form of disinfectant, a way to isolate the inhabitants. The current west’s response in contrast is to provide hospital beds to care for the victims. It’s how we do it these days and we’re proud of our medical technology but it’s like chasing the virus rather than starving it of new victims. We do have an advanced logistical mindset and in a sense sending in FedEx might give better results. By creating pre isolating measures rather than post isolation after the virus has had chance to spread we can beat it. As it’s incubation is typically three weeks to death or survival with only the last week as communicable creating a fire wall of pre isolation  whilst still isolating, caring for and where necessary disposing of bodies seems far better than just the latter. For example if each family group is told to stay home and delivered ‘clean’ food for three weeks though some will become ill the virus has nowhere to go. It’s what they did in the Black Death and it makes perfect sense. And we’ve got the logistic capability to do it. Like a local leader said, “we have to break our customary habit of shaking hands.” In this case it might not be medical rocket science. 

Wikitics.

With the rise of corporate money in politics, the spread of trade agreements like TTIP, the attempt to bankrupt the State of Virginia by a corporate land grab it’s clear democratic power is now subservient to corporate power. This power structure equates to the pre-democratic times where Kings, Barons and despots ruled the lives of common serfs. England, France, Russia etc have all had bloody revolutions to remove them. OK this is slightly different in that the suppressing armies are legal teams, tax accountants, managers and shareholders but the effect is the same and no doubt the results will be too. It’s amazing that people queuing up for the guillotine aren’t paying more attention to historical precedents, but then who would when it’s all going so swimmingly. By overpowering the legal systems, democratic governments and tax systems they’ve become free to milk the cow of the world. So how to break the mould before a bloody revolution? In the face of this ubiquitous power a head on approach is likely to fail; a more judo approach is necessary. Firstly our legal system is basically social. It recognises that society exists even if Thatcher didn’t, and many actions of corporate individuals in pursuance of corporate profit are directly harmful to our society as a whole. So can we serve them with ASBOs? If a farmer can be ‘given an ASBO and instructed to keep his geese from damaging his neighbour's property’ surely Monsanto can be ASBOed for threatening the whole farming industry. They may be doing it ‘lawfully’ but can they be challenged on the more fundamental grounds of causing social harm or using the law in an antisocial manner? Alternatively in the American Psychiatric Association’s directory of mental disorders, DSM 5 2013, the clinical definition of ‘antisocial personality disorder’ might well be used to show that may corporate heads and board members are sociopaths needing at least therapy if not sectioning. It’s clear that the legal and psychiatric sectors have become solely focused on the lower classes and studiously avoid the antisocial behaviour and personality disorders of the wealthy and powerful. If companies such as Coca-Cola or McDonalds can be proven to provide food that promotes wide spread obesity can they, irrespective of their legal position, be deemed antisocial? Can their key personnel, in pursuing that direction, be deemed to be acting antisocially and prohibited from taking an active part in running the company? Can information on Donald Trump be gathered to prove he has acute antisocial personality disorder and be deemed unsuitable to hold a position of authority? From the recent cases of sexual abuse it’s clear it was known about for years with nothing said because the abusers were powerful but in the end they were prosecuted. So how can we apply the law to the top end of the market? Oh I never got on to politics, which is what Wiki(poli)tics was about. 

Cause for Concern?

In the last month my blog views in Russia have been four times that in the UK, 196 to 54. Have Russian mice found an interesting new source of cheese? It’s confusing. Am I providing English language lessons to a proletariat eagerly preparing for their upcoming European holidays or being crawled over by state spiders? I mean I don’t mind humans of any hue reading this stuff but the thought of being fodder for mere trawling algorithms is depressing. I begin to feel like a fish. Maybe they’re impatient for insightful critiques of our excellent TV programs like X Factor and Big Brother. (British humour) Well I think Putin should buy a Premier League football team. It’s taken three or more years but I’ve noticed Abramavich’s once pouting childish face slowly change to almost adult joy. He’s actually enjoying himself now here in Blighty. Forget Ukraine Vladimir, buy Bolton Wanderers. It’d be a great chance to get your shirt off on the training ground, and they’re all against homophobia now. I’m sure you could join the Village People if you really wanted to. In truth I think we Brits appeal to the Russian sense of humour. That’s why they’re still wondering how on earth we won the war. I mean Hitler was the serious type and Churchill was a depressive comedian by comparison, it should have been no contest. But don’t underestimate the power of happiness over aggression, it’ll win every time. So happiness to all in Moscow and Nizhny Novgorod, Kiev and Donetsk. Make it so.

Looking Back.

I’ve just been wondering how I’ve changed over the years. Looking back at old photos, trying to remember etc I don’t think I have much. I mean the I that I am was pretty much in place when I was ten, and a lot of that was what I was born with. So in terms of personal progress forget it, I’ve been dweebling around on the eddies of circumstance unchanged for seventy years. Sure I’d like to claim a little increase in maturity but even that feels a little dubious. No I’m a prefabricated building ageing with the weather, losing paint and guttering rather than adding to it. I mean I’d like to lay claim to some improvement, but what? I think it’s ‘in relationship’. I’m more in relationship with circumstance, be it things, people, events and even myself. There’s less fear, less drama and from that comes easier meetings. And the drama and fear are the result of holding some quintessential honesty at bay. So am I more honest than I used to be? Yes? Well no not really. So what then? I’m struggling here, have I been a complete waste of time? Ah there’s a glimmer there. Surely I haven’t just got better at wasting time? OK I want to say no but yes in a funny way. I did used to waste time badly by not relating but now I’m somehow better at it. I still meander in a wasting time sort of way but I waste a lot less time doing it badly. So there you have it, my seventy-year personal progress, wasting time more productively by losing fear and drama to be more in relationship with everything. And the ‘I’? Well that’s just me.

Professionalised.

‘Professionalised’ It’s my offering as a novel and necessary addition to the Oxford English Dictionary, though I’m thinking a ‘z’ might add a better derisory bite. It stems from the Ashya case, but aren’t we all to some degree professionaized by walking through an office door and taking an income from it. Even as a toy designer, the most benign of professions, I slanted myself to the creation of young rabid consumers to pay my wages. Whether it be self protection, self advancement, self comfort or profit we wear the mores of our profession like a blinkering coat, and as an adjunct to it a scarf of justifications, of necessary rules, restraints and behaviours. I have on occasion opined a fourth way, the third already taken by some airy-fairy political bollocks, and the first two being capitalist slavery and Bolshevik mindless equality, i.e. slavery. This fourth way is, in a phrase, “Do what you like for nothing.” It is in fact a secret Conservative policy who, having given up on productive industry, the welfare state and effective government, are leaving us in the hands of unpaid charity workers. I realise it’s hard to accept the Conservatives as radical progressives but the facts speak for themselves. High unemployment, zero hours contracts, internships and the growing reliance on charities all point to paid employment becoming a thing of the past. Thatcher didn’t do it for the money she loved it and she’d want us to do what we love too. Screw that immoral screen-watching job in the city and become a postman, or conversely, if your feet aren’t up to it any longer, take an accounting qualification. If teachers love the kids but hate the education system do it the way you want for nothing or become a farmer. We all want to contribute for the sake of our own self worth and the rise in mental ill health, depression and suicide stem from the current payment system stopping us contributing that worth in a misguided effort to ‘earn a living’ instead of ‘creating a life.’ So vote Conservative and watch the edifice crumble, we’ll all love it on the scrap heap together. And when some billionaire comes round offering us money for a loaf and some sprouts we can tell them to fuck off.

Difficult to tell.

It’s hard to imagine that young Muslim men are going to Syria and Iraq for the right reasons. In England they see poverty and finance taking great wealth for itself, mealy-mouthed politicians and an aggressive foreign policy in the Middle East. They feel unheard and powerless to create a more caring and fare society. Their religion says they must fight for what’s right, so they go. It’s a malignant fairy tale that’s been told to our own young lads in 1914, to German lads in the 30’s, American boys since the 70’s. Many when they get there find a different truth, brutality and depravation. Not the opportunity to care and heal divisions but the necessity to hate and kill. What was offered in the friendly sanctuary of a UK mosque becomes a grotesque dream, a brotherhood of death and devastation. Obama may deplore the brutal killing of two journalists but the US’s ‘shock and awe’ tactics in Iraq, Israel’s bombing of Gaza only prove our brutality can be greater and deserving of a response. Yesterday a video of a grey bedraggled traumatised puppy that snapped and growled at every offered hand. With much patience and gentle kindness it allowed itself to be held and stroked. With more it was bathed and became a beautiful white fluffy puppy full of such excitement in its new life it could barely contain itself. It encapsulated our true desire and the way to achieve it. In its brutal fight to create a Sonni Islamic state ISIS is creating enemies faster than it can reload its weapons. Even moderate Sonnis are now against it. So should Cameron stop ‘radicalised’ Muslims from coming back or might they be traumatised, disillusioned assets in our struggle against snappy growling hatred? Difficult to tell. 

TV Money School.

Glazing out over TV adverts I noticed a pattern. Obviously, though not necessarily beneficial to the viewer, 60% are about the virtues of spending money; never ending happiness, undreamt of joy, attraction to the opposite sex, that sort of thing. The other 40% are how to acquire said money. These include PPI repayments, injury insurance claiming, lotteries and gambling and payday loans. The gist is get money for nothing and spend it all. Now call me old fashioned but I earned money, saved it and only spent it on what I deemed necessary. I noticed there were no advert about not spending, on saving and on working and acquiring the skills to earn it. The impression is it will come in as a cheque from ‘Injury Lawyers for You’ and go out on a myriad of products to make you or your bathroom look ten years younger. But there seems something a tad unsustainably about this scenario. For one why bother going to school after you’ve learnt to fill in a claims form and enter six numbers on a lottery ticket? Why earn money when you can get it for free or can borrow it? Why save money when nobody’s explained the concept? And for, I think this is four, why resist the urge to spend when everyone wants you to buy everything? And everyone else on TV lives in Kensington and can afford to spend money like it’s golden rain. But of course reality kicks in and you feel shafted on the way to Lidl’s for a tin of beans. ‘Why can’t I get £5,000 for twisting my ankle on a discarded Magnum wrapper from Waitrose?’ along with a thousand other rhetorical questions. Is it that you’ve been set up to think that way by adverts? But here’s the rub. All those cunningly conceived ads are beginning to backfire. Nobody’s got any money to spend anymore apart from the top 5% and they can’t eat more than one restaurant meal a day or buy a hundred times the average amount of toiletries. And companies can’t find skilled workers because they’re too busy filling in bogus claim forms, and you don’t need to work or know stuff when you can get money for nothing. I know that because I learnt it at TV Money School.

Heads I win, Tails you can’t.

As Princetown’s academics prove America is not a democracy anymore, rather closer to an oligarcy, I wonder where we go from here. It seems the rules have changed while we’ve not been paying attention. The rules are now being made by the top 1%. It will soon be illegal to refuse to buy whatever they are making a profit on. If I don’t buy enough Coca-Cola’s in any one year they will be able to sue me for loss of income. If I refuse to purchase X dozen disposable nappies reasoning my children are pushing forty they can still charge me for restricting their future profits. This is heads I pay them, tails I pay them. It sounds ludicrous but if we’ve let them make the rules you’ve got to admit it’s a pretty neat rule. Imagine going to B&Q and the auto check-out machine says, “In order for us to maintain our projected profit growth for the current year your purchases must total £523.30. As your current total is £252.50 you must spend a  further £270.80 or incur a loss of profits charge of £221.15. This charge will be automatically deducted from your account on the 31^st December 2016. Thankyou for shopping at B&Q.” So there’s your choice, buy stuff or get charged for not doing. You can’t opt out because that’s the law, you can refuse but you’d end up in court. And anyway who are you to unfairly restrict corporate profit? A terrorist? So how can we put the shoe on the other foot? Interesting problem. OK their legal logic is it’s unjust to restrict the corporate right to earn a profit; if there is profit to be made I am legally obliged to let them. Now under the common law’s recognition of quid pro quo, where something of value must be exchanged for something else of value, this concession between corporate and individual must be exchanged for a similar concession between individual and corporate. Might this be, “It is unjust to restrict the individual’s right to take readily available goods even if said individual doesn’t have the money to pay for them.” That seems to even things up heads and tails wise. 

Taking it Out on Me.

Well not me: There’s been a rise of 70% in youngsters, 10 to 14, self-harming in two years. So how do I identify with that? A spokeswoman said, “It is the pressures of the modern world and some of these pressures are unprecedented.” Something about that reading irks me. It quietly condones “the pressures of the modern world” as noble and being unable to cope with them as failure. It’s a view of ‘us and them’ from our adult ego protecting itself. Where we as adults create situations these youngsters are in the hands of the situations we create. And we have created the toxicity, not pressure, that they are responding to, and not in ‘the modern world’ but a malignant world of our making. They are only manifesting ‘the toxicity of the malignant world’ of our adult creation. The answer is not in helping young minds cope with their problems but to blast the cancerous cobwebs out of our old minds. Not a few poorly performing parents, the next scapegoats on the list, but our minds. How are we in a miriad of different ways providing a toxic environment for this next generation? Kids often blame themselves because they haven’t sufficient understanding of what is being done to them and self harming, ‘taking it out on me’, is a perfect example. As a Rogers organism all they know is something is wrong. It’s up to us as adults to see the toxicity we’re creating and put it right. 

How to be the Centre of Attention.

Right now you’re probably thinking along traditional lines, telling jokes at a party, singing ‘I did it her way’ or disrobing due to surfeit of alcohol. Of course old school always works but TV has rendered them a bit samie what with East Enders and Big Brother etc. It’s all a bit keeping up with the Kardasians who, though I haven’t seen it, are probably congenitally programmed to grab the spotlight of one’s awareness like an oncoming drunk driver. But there are more subtle ways. Last week at Spirit Camp I decided to wear a mini skirt. It felt delightful, very free and flappy compared with the masculine tubes of shorts and jeans. It may sound feminine but, as I realised later, it was close to the look of the Indian braves I used to shoot as a kid; both apropos the occasion and decidedly macho. And it caused me much attention especially from women, who, instinctively knowing the greater availability offered by a skirt, took to sexually harassing me. Luckily as the gender roles were reversed it was mutually pleasurable rather than grounds for prosecution. But there’s an even subtler way to be the centre of attention. Buy a pair of reading glasses and leave the little sticker on showing the strength. Honestly it’s like moths to a flame. People have been queuing up to tell me I’ve left the sticker on. “I know!” I’ve had to explain countless times I bought two pairs, ‘2’ and another ‘2.5’ and to know which was which I’ve left the sticker on. It’s simple enough but no, it causes attention like you wouldn’t believe. I tell you if Paris Hilton ever appeared with a sticker on her glasses she’d break twitter and when Madonna wants to make a come back, forget the ice-cream cone bras girl, leave the sticker on your glasses! 

Just a Thought.

America, Australia, South Africa and Israel show the propensity for one social group to subjugate another to the point of near extinction. It only takes a rhetoric and its beliefs to take hold. These historical cases hinge on the influx of immigrants of a different culture crushing the indigenous people. It seems those who choose to displace themselves bring with them a far greater need to exert their presence and claim to the territory than those who call it home. As in all these cases the incomers push the indigenous to the periphery and when they resist they’re labelled rebels and persecuted. They become poor, suffer from a great cultural malaise and labelled nare-do-wells who have brought their plight on themselves. The new order can then wash its hands of them. Originally this wasn’t a conscious policy, it was just how things panned out, but as it worked so well in marginalizing the poor and bringing more wealth to the rich it might now be deemed a rationally effective policy. In fact the writings of Ayn Rand advocating it has been widely read and lorded by major industrial and political figures. In doing so Rand moved the game from a geographical basis to the worldwide global economy. Instead of the European Founding Fathers marginalizing the Native American Indians global corporations have it in their sights to marginalize the people of the world in the name of good corporate economics. And it’s superficially true. Either you work and consume and create their profitability and wealth or become ‘nare-do-wells who have brought their plight on themselves’, and, as mechanisation requires fewer and fewer people, the numbers left to become depressed, drunk and marginalized will increase. I say superficially because this tightening spiral of wealth is unlikely to realise it is a noose around its own neck. Whether or not it is overthrown it will create a wealth of no meaning, dollars of no value and a happiness of no significance. Currently our ‘austerity’ measures are having the desired effect. The populous will be trapped into servicing their debts on lower wages and with diminishing state support. The wealthy will be cocooned in their own health, education and policing services, but as unpaid debt rises and demand falls in line with the proportion of those able to pay, circulating money will slow dramatically. The wealthy will find they can’t meaningfully circulate enough amongst themselves. They will find the services they rely on for support are no longer supported by the myriad of wider social services they have let fail. Universities with no students, private hospitals with no trained doctors, private schools with no trained teachers, even failing farmers without the necessary education. Surrounded by the starving zombies they themselves have created they will be trapped in ghettos of a wealth that rapidly becomes meaningless. Their ethos becomes unsustainable but generations of comfort leave them incapable of change. And all this because we are allowing sociopaths to make the rules, people with corporate rather than human values. Just a thought. 

The Islamic Terraces.

Iraqi Sonnys kicked off the second half before the international ref found his whistle and the Sheas are already back defending their box. The Islamic Football league plays the glorious game with IDEs and rocket launchers as if in some futuristic dystopian blockbuster. Roosevelt’s warning about the military/industrial complex isn’t far off the mark even though he didn’t have the Arab states in mind at the time. It is though reflected in Islam’s conflation of religion, state, law and jihad. It fills the terraces with those who worship the game, are zealous club supporters and have full permission of the manager to use anything sharp or explosive they can lay their hands on. Turn and turn about Shia’s, Sonnys and Alawites have grabbed state power to suppress whichever is the other two. It’s the bad years of football hooliganism with added incendiaries. So it’s difficult to know who you’re dealing with with Muslims. Some see it as a religion akin to Christianity, some as the best foundation of state and legal system, and some as their fundamental right to make war with whomever they choose. This intellectual amalgamation of war and peace into one unified whole is a 1,500 year old example of double-think, but then throughout history almost all factions have at times pursued war in the name of peace. The only surety is that oppression sooner or later will come back to bite you when the tide of time turns. So what’s the answer? Well if you haven’t already guessed, it’s all seater stadiums. 

Don’t put your daughter on the course Mrs Worthington.

Apparently student complaints about their university education has increased 10-30% and a solicitor specialising in legal cases has seen his enquires rise from two a week to ten a day according to a BBC program last night. And these aren’t middleclass teenage gripes about poor coffee in the refectory. One chap was faced with an unannounced 100% rise in his tuition fee for year two, 23 out of a class of 27 complained of ridiculously poor content and paying £250 for ‘special materials’ they never got. Another signed up to a local uni for easy travel and was informed the course had been moved to another college forty miles away. The list went on. Every student lucky enough to get some redress had to sign a gagging order as part of the settlement. Official reports of bad practice excluded the names of the universities concerned. The picture is of middleclass establishments forced into the cut and thrust of commerce unable to reconcile the ethos of education with the necessity to cover costs by bums on seats. Their rhetoric is of providing an ‘exceptional educational experience’ whilst their actions are to do whatever’s necessary to satisfy their huge overheads. Twenty years ago I suggested Ford should go into FE. Their capacity to design and manage a quality, functional mass-market product seemed much needed, but perhaps I was wrong. University education is about letting your mind wonder and also wonder, being curious, contemplative and argumentative, even objectionable. Though underpinned by acquiring necessary knowledge it’s about what you will do once you’re standing on the shoulders of giants. All this requires a gentle reflective atmosphere to produce fruit and only suited to the most fertile minds. But where many polytechnics have become universities by renaming in essence universities have become polytechnics focused on the mass-market teaching of trades. And at £27,000 a pop plus expenses. Anyone with a university education will consider this utterly stupid, not because we got ours for free but because mass training needn’t cost anywhere near that much when it’s the student doing most of the work, and the resulting product, a degree, doesn’t have anywhere near that market value. It’s a £1,000 coffee percolator. So don’t put your daughter on the course Mrs Worthington. 

Worms Postponed.

I’ve just awoke from a sad depressing dream. I was being cruelly spurned by my nearest and dearest. Even Graham Portermouse, my best friend at school, made a surprise appearance after a gap of some fifty odd years. I was about to go down the garden, and probably far further, to eat worms. It rather made nonsense of the current glib advice to, “just be yourself, act naturally.” It’s rather lovely but anthropologically, which as it happens sounds worryingly like the psychological study of my ex wife, we wouldn’t have spent eons evolving a brain the size of a planet if it was that easy. We would be limited to socialising in small hierarchical family groups governed by the dictates of gene proliferation. Even a dog wouldn’t come near unless we discarded a morsel-clad bone. No our large brain is testament to the complexity of being ‘in relationship.’ And I guess there are times, like last night, when it cries enough, the war is lost, it’s worms for tea. Well breakfast chronologically. Far from ‘being myself’ I am in a whirl of considerations, lost in a melee of conflicted reasoning for what’s best to do. I’ve been at it for seventy years and thus acquired far too many misconceptions to mention. I’m jammed in the cleft of a viciously clefted stick. Unlike an alligator who acts naturally and lives in a swamp the best I can hope for is to unravel enough misconceptions to be happily acceptable jointly to myself and others, and that’s no mean feat. At this point, namely 7.30am, I make a coffee and return to the attic to a fluttering of wings, a thump on the window and Britney magically appearing from under the bed beadily looking for her escapee. I’ve only been gone five minutes and nature ‘acting naturally’ has taken over. But anyhow I’ve done enough art, music and theatre to know something magical occurs when all this conjecture is put aside. Something true is recognised across these isolating boundaries of considered reasoning. We needn’t be as facile as a sportsman’s interview after the match. Anyway the coffee’s drunk, the bird is in here somewhere keeping quiet, Britney’s locked out and scratching at the door, the sky is blue and all’s well with the world, though it’s getting a tad cold with the windows wide open (for the escapee). So it’s toast for breakfast, worms postponed. 

UKIP And Cats.

My views on immigration are reasonably middle of the road; liberal tinged with self-preservation. But sometimes a line must be drawn. We have four cats, Dave, Domino, Betty and Britney, which considering this is a mouse household shows an admirable appreciation for diversity, but it seems four happy, well-fed cats tend to attract others. There’s Cocky Black Cat, a stray who despite biting lumps out of Dave and costing us £70 at the vets on antibiotics and pain killers, is slowly playing on our sympathy, and Pretty Cat who’s obviously owned but lonely and just comes round for the crack. And then there’s Pip an asylum seeker from Royston who wants to come on compassionate grounds seeing as Martynmouse doesn’t let him in the house since ??? moved out to live with the lovely Asian couple across the road because he pees everywhere. That would be seven and definite grounds for me voting for Nigel Farage in the upcoming MEP elections. I mean they’re all unemployed, our NHS budget wouldn’t stretch to the vet bills, none of them speak English and we already buy cat food by the hundredweight. Fright quankly Mothermouse already complains when Domino chooses to bless our favourite possessions with the mark of his own territory. Nope I’m applying zero tolerance to our immigration policy; from now on it’s one out, one in. 

Lansarote 2014.

Doncaster is undoubtedly the best airport in the world. I flashed my Thompson flight tickets and we were off. Granted I had to assume a sort of dismembered arms lotus position for four hours but even that added to the play value of consuming the in-flight meal. We landed at Alicanti and all was going swimmingly. As it wasn’t a Thompson holiday the rep didn’t want to know, and as I hadn’t printed out our holiday details I only had my fast fading memories of booking it to go by. It was a Late ‘something’ holiday in, I seem to remember, Costa Tegese and location ‘something with a Sol in it.’ No one including Mothermouse was impressed with this information. She being a lovely person suppressed thoughts of mutilation and opted for making me fully aware that going on holiday with just a boarding pass was the action of a really stupid person, and when that really stupid person is your own husband it could, if one wasn’t supremely kind and understanding, drive one to being very angry indeed. I asked various rushing-about-people to no avail. I went back to the Thompson rep who remained detached. Luckily a young chubby chap next to her, who I’d previously dismissed as just there for a convenient oxygen supply, offered me the magic key, “that desk over there does that sort of thing.”  The woman Spanish, tanned but somehow ugly was terse. “Low what?” “Lowcost (or was it Last Minute?) holidays.com.” She looked at me tersely questioning the one fragment of information I was pinning my hopes on. “Name?” With the euphoria to match the recent birth of my first grandchild she found me on her list. “Outside and wait on the left.” Though this was excellent news ‘waiting’ still seemed fraught with the possibility of dying lost and alone. Did her list truly have the power to save us from package holiday extinction? It did. “Bay 6.” I glimpsed ‘Sol Apartments’ on her flailing document as she pointed to somewhere over there. Another travel save! If Mothermouse knew my travel history she wouldn’t have left me to book it; it doesn’t read well. She later pointed out it was Ariccefe not Alicanti, “Alicanti’s in Portugal.” 

I owe my mental health to Barry Bucknell.

I owe my mental health to Barry Bucknell. He was the guy who did DIY programs on TV in the fifties. If you ever had a real wood door covered in sheets of hardboard that’s down to him. He would explain each project and have all the bits cut to size, shaped and pre-drilled so he could build a wardrobe in seconds. I was too young to do them back then but it’s how I’ve approach life to this day. Think, plan, draw, measure and bingo a futon base. I wonder where that went? But it’s not just projects. There’s something about his approach that seems to weld the ‘now’ firmly between the past and the future. The past is the one I made earlier, the future is the one I’m going to make, and the now is where I put it together. It pre dates Eckhart Tolle’s ‘Power of Now’ but is a practical example of it. It does two things to elevate one from the ravages of destructive emotions. One, it occupies the brain with practicalities and two it avoids mewling over one’s history or the imponderable anxieties of the future. The past wardrobe is evidence of my capacity to be successful and the future wardrobe is solely dependant on putting it together in the now. All that remains is to get on with it. If it goes to plan I can enjoy my positive emotions and if it doesn’t I’m not a failure it’s just something I overlooked in the planning stage. If after several attempts I prove it was just the wrong thing in the first place and I feel sad there’s always a set of Ikea Snorku shelving units to get me going again. I don’t get depressed because there’s always something to achieve and always the now to achieve it in. And if all that fails I can get pissed. What could be simpler? OK so I might have mild asperger’s but hell nobody’s perfect.

Crimea River.

The Crimea to Ukraine is not unlike the Isle of White to the UK, almost an island off its southern coast. Its land connection with Ukraine is less than five miles wide and its eastern tip is the same distance from Russia by sea. Khrushchev gave it as a present to Ukraine from Russia when the USSR was a happy family. Ukraine itself is larger than Germany, Switzerland and Belgium put together and on the west borders six Eurovision contestants. Whilst currently its history is changing daily the run of it is classic. There seems an inevitability to the escalating conflict. At one level presidential rhetoric lays claim to their country’s interests in the guise of what’s best for Ukraine. At another their paid unnamed forces flex their muscles. At yet another powerful Ukrainian individuals thrust forward to represent partisan factions. And at the lowest level voiceless citizens wait to endure their fate. Polarisation occurs and some form of attrition begins, be it counted in lives, limbs, cost or social welfare. After sufficient loss it will end. Such is the lesson of history, yet the game is played again. In this primeval primate dance the stressed zeitgeist factionalises into multiple animosities. The alpha male’s whoops direct their secondaries into mindless action as the females and their young cower in a dance of genes, the alphas to proliferate, the secondaries to emulate and the females to protect. It’s as if genes power a persona that is at odds with personhood in a role-play as much aggrandisement as it is fictional. There currently seems to be three world epidemics, poverty, poor mental health and countries in conflict. It’s easy to see the link between poverty and mental health in the poor but not so easy when it comes to the rich and powerful. Is there a corollary between being frightened by too little and empowered by too much? How might we evaluate and identify the mental health issues of this elite? It’s for sure not on anyone’s clinical agenda. And imagine how difficult it would be to implement its findings in the face of the alpha genes. No it’s probably best we stay as primates and have a war. It’ll settle things like it always has. 

Monsignor Willy.

Rome may try to lay claim to Catholicism but for me it’s Ireland. There’s a certain surrealism about the Irish and Catholics that transcends any construct I might fondly apply to the human race. Like the meanderings of dotage or the news from an altered universe I have no idea what they’re going to do next, or for that matter why they’ve just done it. Last evenings dinner was no exception. As a hundred and fifty of us sat down to our meal Kevin introduced our honoured guests, Tony Curry and Monsignor Willy. Unfortunately anything vaguely smutty sets Mothermouse off so the image of a stiff-backed reverential purple robed French penis was too much to bear. Under the table she texts her daughter, “At St Wilfreds do…. The bishop is called Monsignor Willy. I need help” and receives a reply, “There is no way out of it mum you’re trapped in a sitcom episode. Innuendos will only get worse from here. Good luck!” After the meal and Mothermouse shamelessly lusting after our handsome young waiter, who in return gave her an extra helping of bread and butter pudding, we are treated to Tony Curry’s life as a footballer. Tony, as with anyone who’s led an interesting life, was not that interested in talking about it so Kevin, assuming the role of a News of the World reporter, prompted him through the highs and lows of it, extracting anecdotes like teeth. After thirty minutes Mothermouse was playing with her phone, by an hour she was eating it, and when Kevin asked for questions we were both silently shouting, “No, please no questions!!” In response to the third Tony had to explain that after doing a synchronised roly-poly with a teammate they, in post roly-poly exuberance, kissed and that that was how he became a gay icon in Sweden. You can’t write this stuff. We donned our cloaks of invisibility and weedled our way out through the tables. From the foyer we heard Kevin ask if anyone wanted to sing. Pardon? Really? But sure enough two ladies were happy to do their operatic party pieces unaccompanied into the mike. The Catholic mind is a marvel to behold, to be sure.

Quick Change.

 This very morning it’s quiet in the streets of Kiev. President Victor Yanukovych is nowhere to be found, the police have disappeared and the protest leaders are in control. The dramatic images of Independence Square http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/ukraine-whats-happening-and-how-will-it-end-9139199.html (scroll down) have a look of apocalypse about them. I knew seventy or so protesters were killed, the police used live rounds etc but I wasn’t prepared to see an apocalypse. I’m struck by incredibly limited vision of news cameras. Like our own eyes only having a small circle of actual acute vision news photographers are always looking for the best shot to ‘show’ the story, at least the news story they’re focused on. So in a sense the momentum of the news story dictates the focus of their lens. It’s likely in Kiev just a few streets away from Independence Square life, or at least the look of it, is quite normal. What the protesters have created in that square, consciously or not, is a film set for the media. Black smoke from burning tyres smudges the buildings, central monument and protesters into a homogenous acrid grime and makes the clean police uniforms look even more alien and sinister. Somehow like a boy coming in from football covered in mud the look belies the simplicity of a bath to put things right. How this situation will evolve I’ve no idea but I find it interesting that you only need to create the look of devastation the width of a wide-angle lens to tell a story, a story that the media will flock to and that might to even make a president flea. Whatever our technology or status all of us are narrow vision-ed emotional beings: show us the pictures and we will create the narrative. 

Billiard Maths.

When I get down to play a shot I don’t really have a clue what to aim for. Obviously if you want the object ball to go right you hit it on the left side, but by how much? So I thought I’d work it out. Here’s the diagram to instantly improve your game. At the top the object ball (dark) is hit by the white ball (light) to go off at 50*. The large (light) circle shows the centre of the white ball as it hits the object ball. When the white ball approaches from a distance to get a 50* angle between the white and object balls you need to aim its centre line approximately half the radius away from the edge of the object ball. To get 30* you aim for the edge of the object ball. The bottom (dark) object ball and vertical lines show the different distances from its centre to get the angles from zero to 90*. It’s relatively easy to estimate the fractions of radius required but they’re not a simple proportion because we’re dealing with circles. This is fine when the white ball approaches from a distance but when it’s closer you have to take into account the angle between the ball centres and the line of the white ball to hit the object ball off to one side. This gets bigger the closer they are together and the lines of number show what you need to take off from the basic lines at closer distances. So for example where aiming for the edge of the object ball at distance gives 30* at 1 foot it only gives a 25* angle (30 – 5) or at 6 inches 20* (30 – 10). So to use the diagram estimate the angle required and distance, calculate where you need to aim the centre of the white ball centre as a fraction of the object ball radius required. Either that or just hit the bloody thing and hope for the best. I have yet to try this whole thing out. 

The Driver’s Door of Life.

Anyone who owns a Renault Scenic will know that though brilliant in most respects, our Dorothy being a spiffing example, they have no control over their windows. It’s a borderline personality disorder. I’ve witnessed a parked one beeping its horn with the front windows going up and down like a frantic semaphore signaller all on its own. They can be up when you park it and down in the morning, go up and not down, down and not up and generally work or not work according to the whimsical will of some automotive deity. Anyway I took her in for an MOT yesterday knowing and ignoring that the driver’s window is currently not working and hasn’t worked in months. It was strange then that it was three inches open and immovable when I picked her up. Not very secure especially to the overnight rain. I set about it this morning but couldn’t get one particular bolt out. No socket would fit. I decided to take it to the garage figuring they got me into this mess. The man was very helpful, he dashed inside for a socket: it didn’t fit. He disappeared again and came back with a handful: none of them fitted. He went in again to find some extra slim sockets that would do the trick. While he was away I remembered a snippet from a forum that further enhanced the Scenic’s reputation for electronic bewilderment. I opened the door and then tried raising the window. It worked. When he arrived back with several more sockets, none of which worked by the way, I sheepishly pointed to the closed window. He thought for a minute and suggested a very logical possibility; a break in the wire that bends when the door opens. He obviously doesn’t know Scenics very well. It’s apparently more likely to be dampness in the Temic module, which must be true because I read it on the Internet. OK so what the hell is the Temic module? 

Sherlock Fingers Gove.

Glancing at my monthly page views I notice per country the numbers equate roughly to the size of their surveillance operations, USA 123, Russia 88, China 12. The UK at 108 looks a bit high for GCHQ but I still wonder if I actually have any bona fide readers who are reading this for fun and not simply trawling it for insidious intentions. But then Israel is conspicuous by its absence when even Estonia has 2, with 3 Serbs and 2 Ukrainians. I can honestly say I am no threat to Ukrainia or Uzbekistan but I’m seriously pissed off the secret services of the world aren’t taking me more seriously. I even peppered one post with all the trawl words I could think of and still no action. No knock at the door by men in dark glasses wishing to interrogate me. Seriously I’m getting lonely out here. Perhaps they’ve realised intelligent people aren’t a threat. We’re unlikely to get off our thinking chair to strap bangers round our vital organs. I mean it’s counter intuitive to blow your balls off for the sake of a belief occurring at the other end of your body, far better to blow your brain out to solve the problem. No I think the SSs are more likely to keep real terrorists in the public eye so they can keep tabs on them. Like Michael Gove. He’s far from intelligent and no right to a place in British politics but there he is apparently voted in by the people of Surry Heath time after ti… Wait a minute, who ever heard of Surry Heath? Where the hell’s that! What is it, like just to the left of Watership Down? On Google maps it’s not even a place, it’s just a council office on Knoll Road, GU15 3HD. See! It’s a front, a safe house where they keep the really dangerous terrorists where they want them. Gove is not the fun loving idiot politician we think he is, he’s an Al Qaeda stooge intent on bringing the UK education system to its knees in retaliation for our invasion of Iraq. There is no Watership Do..., sorry Surry Heath constituency; it’s all a front. And they say I’m not Sherlock Holmes. 

Today’s Musing.

Richard Attenborough told me this morning, well me along with the several other people watching Life on Earth at 8.30 on a Saturday morning, that the humble dragonfly relives millions of years of evolution in a single night. It emerges in a frankly disgusting process from a slug to a brightly winged flying object similar to what NASA, GE, the CIA and NSA are currently working on. More of that later. But what an amazing thought, that the nine-month gestation period of my week old granddaughter was not growth from egg to embryo to Anwen as I had always imagined but the whole evolution of human kind occurring again in a massively condensed chronology, that her process from fertilisation to birth followed the progress of countless generations in the development of our species. Could each of her seconds equate to a million years of our metamorphosis? As cell begat cell might some ancient memory of division, assembly and purpose be creating humanity anew yet again in this beautiful baby? Enough of these rhetorical questions, you get my point. When American Indians use the phrase, “For all my relations” I begin to wonder if they’re asking me to consider these eons re-enacted in my own gestation. Interesting thoughts. Back to the NASA et al. They’re developing flying surveillance robots the size of a pack of cigarettes that can watch to see if we have a gun in the pocket of our pyjamas. I’m wondering if this God-like desire to watch over us is actually an aspiration in that direction. Are we reaching for his status? Did god dabble in such techery before he developed his omnipresence machine? But then he’s a liberal now; he’s long since past through his smiting phase. These days he’s far more, “Sure, I don’t mind if you want to do that but quite honestly if you ask me I wouldn’t if I were you.” I mean that’s just passive aggressive; at least you knew where you were with smiting. Maybe when the NSA develops omnipresence and Apple makes an app for it we’ll either all be in the cast of each other’s East Enders or have left this physical plain altogether. 

Sherlock Stiffmouse.

It has a ring to it don’t you think? I’ve just had this sudden realisation; I am Sherlockian. I mean I’ve long been a disciple of the rational calculation, like when the crew of the Star Ship Enterprise encountered thirty-foot gorillas brandishing sharpened telegraph poles were all set to risk life and limb to reclaim the slain body of their junior chiropodist officer under the aegis of spurious noble emotions, I was going, No! Tell ‘em Spock! No we high capability sociopaths have no desire to dabble in the brown waters of human emotion. The answers lie in observation and deduction. A dead body no longer has the required attributes of a chum. But alas we are branded heartless by the herd. And our powers of deduction are not appreciated. Only last night in the midst of an exquisite diatribe constructing the subtle nuances of some social phenomena, I forget what exactly, I was rudely cut short by comments such as, “you ramble on and on till we just lose interest.” Lose interest?! Where would the world be if Heisenberg’s audience lost interest? Did Plato get bored listening to Socrates? OK it may get boring listening to the expostulations of a brilliant mind when all PC Lestrade wants is someone to handcuff but someone has to do it. But thanks to the wonderful portrayal by Benedict Cumberbatch our human side can be glimpsed. We are not ‘showing off’ as Dr Watson puts it when we become enraptured by our own brilliance but must, as he suggests, curtail the exposition of it. It just becomes too much for the average brain to take in. But oh the loneliness of not being able to share it. Alas, like Spock, it is a cross even we rodents must bear nobly. Please do read my 5,000 word exposition on the magnificent aroma of various cheeses. 

Disputation Rules.

Paulinemouse always hold a NYE party on the first Saturday after it. Many Christians. Normally it takes me more than a bottle of wine to be scintillating but only two glasses with Christians. They do have a tendency to hold back. It’s a meek and mild thing. And the Anglo Greek element adds spice. It’s clear that where Greeks indulge in and enjoy an overt dispute we English approach them more covertly. Our weapons are concealed, indignation, disdain, the moral levers and emotional pulleys of offensiveness and being offended. To a Greek this is just not playing the game. They are Olympians and we are slippery oiled pigmies. Just such a dispute arose between Greek Lukemouse and a vegan feminist regarding the misogyny of the Greek inheritance system. Lukemouse entered the ring a dogged muscular wrestler, the woman a delightful faultless fairy, a contest of such dissimilarity that no joy or winner could ever form the outcome. Lukemouse tried to explain that ‘what is- is in Greek society’, that what has been carved in stone by countless generations is not open to personal bendiness. The woman having seen countless Disney princesses and clutching an imaginary wand, suggested that change required nothing more than a mere twinkle from its tip. Lukemouse explained the practical necessity of patriarchy when it comes to the fragmentation of poor farming land. The woman explained that patriarchy was the scourge of mankind and the impoverishing slavery of womankind. Lukemouse countered that in patriarchy it is beholden of men to look after women. The woman gave short shrift to this particular fairy tale. Right was clearly on both sides by this time like chaplains ministering to both armies. The woman left indignant and offended and I didn’t help matters by saying, “Shame, I was enjoying that”, to which I got an ironic, “Well that’s good isn’t it.”  I guess both won by their own version of the rules but it kind of showed how different our rules can be. 

P J Harvey's Today Program.

PJ Harvey’s editor-for-a-day-ship of the Today program has proved controversial. With poetry, music and considered pieces by experts it resembled R4’s other program, ‘Something Understood’, rather than their usual quick fire three-hour morning news marathon of despair. The BBC’s version of balance resembles the automatic altercations that arise in an inebriated pub dispute where alcohol fuelled egos disagree purely for the sake of proving they exist. And in watching such one’s brain wobbles from the constant head rotations of a compelling tennis match. A majestic lob is countered by a crosscourt backhand freakishly foiled by a sneaky drop shot. It’s a Centre Court show where the listener marvels at the play but never really gets to know the score, other than, that is, the number of deaths involved. Obviously being dead is something not even egos find debateable. Questioners and answerers alike spew out little more than an albeit stylised stream of consciousness, their attempts at context reduced to wild simplistic extrapolations as if every news item is the butterfly wing that might usher in worldwide catastrophe. It’s the twitter-ification of news by self-regarding professionals. News can be seen as ‘what’s just happened’, as in ‘I’ve just been to the toilet and wiped my arse’, or in a broader, more considered and informed context. PJ’s editorship moved the program in this direction. The machine gun rattle of micro-moment claim and counter claim gave way to, how can I put it, thought. It may have appeared left leaning but only because ‘left’ still holds a distant echo of ‘with regard to the needs and rights of ordinary people.’ Be careful who you invite today; tomorrow might need to be different. 

Despair and Fulfilment.

Today’s Today program focused on the findings of a Prince’s Trust survey. That three quarters of a million unemployed 15 to 24 year-olds see nothing to live for. Around a quarter have self harmed and or contemplated suicide. That’s pretty devastating, but what does it mean? True being unemployed makes you feel useless compared with those 9to5-ers ‘needed’ to fulfil some paying roll in our social fabric, but a few weeks serving in McDonalds will prove employment’s not a guaranteed route to personal salvation. But even McDonalds provides context, social connection and occupies one’s brain, so it stops rumination. Perhaps rumination is the problem. Then again Mandela had ample time to ruminate in prison and he came out OK It struck me many years ago that it’s not good to stare at the meaning of life because it’s all too easy to see right through it. Better to clean the drains and enjoy it. So these youngsters have time to ruminate on, well nothing. They see themselves living without the necessity to live. So maybe it’s the loss of necessity at the root of things, but then where does necessity come from? Necessity to do what? I mean it’s not necessary I write this but I feel the desire to. So does desire trigger the whole process? Ah but I have the wherewithal to fulfil my desire, computer, internet access etc. If my desire was to win the lottery or become famous, well that’s another matter. So the desire coupled with the means of achieving it is the key, or at least having a desire that matches the possibilities of what one can achieve. OK so these youngsters have desires outside their means of achieving them: In a sense two non-overlapping zones. As a society we have given them a set of desires and a set of capabilities that don’t match. Their ‘mental problems’ don’t come from disability but from trying to resolve the irresolvable situation we have put them in. TV and the media focus their desires on things to buy yet virtually shun thoughts of being capable. Education, desperately trying to prove itself capable, overlooks its role in creating capability in its students. Its subconscious message is, “Please learn this shit so we can look good.” Its message to students is, “Learning is a load of effort for no real world result.” Many parents thankful for the respite care of TV similarly divest themselves of their role in creating capability in their children. All these factors result in the non-overlapping zones of desire and capability. There is nothing these youngsters want to do that they can do. This isn’t just about employment and earning money. Drawing, painting, writing, singing, climbing, fishing, cooking and cleaning and a host of other things can be enjoyable and don’t cost much but aren’t in their desires zone, and equally there are a host of skills not in their capability zone. It’s not important what the zones contain but that they overlap. If they don’t you’re literally useless to yourself, when they overlap completely you can equally literally do anything you want. One is despair, the other fulfilment. Will think further and come back to you. Happy New Year.