Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Friday, 16 July 2010
TICK LIST
Scrap ID cards - tick.
Have a referendum on the voting system - tick.
Review detention without trial - tick.
Tackle the abject budget deficit left by the last lot - tick.
Vote yourself a pay decrease - tick.
Decrease the number of MP's - tick.
Review needless legislation to get rid of it - tick.
Get active public engagement in the above - tick.
Make efforts to regain participation in democracy - big tick.
Cut red tape to business - tick.
Fixed term parliaments - tick.
Reduce scale, cost and reach of government - tick.
Cap non EU immigration - tick.
A full and radical review of policing for the twenty first century - tick.
And others - tick, tick.
There's a lot to like about our new government. So much, in fact, that my default position of deep grousing and cynicism has shifted to feeling we're going to be quite well governed thank you.
The journalistic bent at the moment is to play what if games with each new policy announcement. What if this fractures the coalition?
But the really big game is the opposite. What if the coalition works? Because then I don't want the old parties back. I want the coalition and the combination of humanity and toughness it brings. And I don't just want it to remedy the profligacy of the last lot. I want its common sense ongoing.
Have a referendum on the voting system - tick.
Review detention without trial - tick.
Tackle the abject budget deficit left by the last lot - tick.
Vote yourself a pay decrease - tick.
Decrease the number of MP's - tick.
Review needless legislation to get rid of it - tick.
Get active public engagement in the above - tick.
Make efforts to regain participation in democracy - big tick.
Cut red tape to business - tick.
Fixed term parliaments - tick.
Reduce scale, cost and reach of government - tick.
Cap non EU immigration - tick.
A full and radical review of policing for the twenty first century - tick.
And others - tick, tick.
There's a lot to like about our new government. So much, in fact, that my default position of deep grousing and cynicism has shifted to feeling we're going to be quite well governed thank you.
The journalistic bent at the moment is to play what if games with each new policy announcement. What if this fractures the coalition?
But the really big game is the opposite. What if the coalition works? Because then I don't want the old parties back. I want the coalition and the combination of humanity and toughness it brings. And I don't just want it to remedy the profligacy of the last lot. I want its common sense ongoing.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
THE END OF THE AFFAIR
I'm not much of a praying man. But I did find myself praying for someone this week - a certain Mr. Raoul Moat. Like most of the nation, I followed his man hunt with some interest, and a childish glee that Mr. Plod was being evaded for so long. At the end, he was cornered on the banks of the river Coquet, having popped up undetected at the very epicentre of Mr. Plod's search area. It was at the point of the stand off that I left the story and headed for bed, and my equally child like act of prayer - God bless Mummy; God bless Daddy; God bless the poor people hurt by that man Mr. Moat; and God bless poor Mr. Moat. That, and the more worldly mental game of spin the bottle that was going on in my head. The options were shoot and be shot, surrender and be imprisoned, top yourself.
At the end, the pathetic spectacle revealed itself as what it truly was - the pained cry of a wounded animal. Eyewitnesses recount that, at the end, Raoul Moat cried out "nobody cares for me".
Sad.
And very sad that the last, infamous acts of his life were based on this dreadful, perhaps well founded, perhaps misplaced conviction.
At the end, the pathetic spectacle revealed itself as what it truly was - the pained cry of a wounded animal. Eyewitnesses recount that, at the end, Raoul Moat cried out "nobody cares for me".
Sad.
And very sad that the last, infamous acts of his life were based on this dreadful, perhaps well founded, perhaps misplaced conviction.
Monday, 21 June 2010
TOWING THE PARTY LINE
I don't like parties. I hate the small talk. I hate the falseness. And I hate myself at parties for tolerating what I should not tolerate in "meeting new people" - something which fills me with dread when the people are abject bores. I rarely go to parties. But just occasionally there has to be an exception. My daughter's birthday party, for example. And saturday night was one too, a very generous party thrown by a grateful friend and client of her indoors, at which her indoors was a guest of honour. I couldn't not go. And it was a very classy event, and an extremely generous act by the hosts. In no way do I want to be curmudgeonly about their generosity or grace.
But as usual it left me wondering - is it the people there, the inescapable nature of the event or is it me that's the problem?
A good friend of mine who is notably and admirably intolerant of bores has a rule. Ask someone six questions. If in that time they have not asked you a single question in return, you are dealing with an arsehole. Walk away.
Good advice indeed.
But as usual it left me wondering - is it the people there, the inescapable nature of the event or is it me that's the problem?
A good friend of mine who is notably and admirably intolerant of bores has a rule. Ask someone six questions. If in that time they have not asked you a single question in return, you are dealing with an arsehole. Walk away.
Good advice indeed.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
BACK TO THE FUTURE
ME: How are you doing?
COACHEE: Not brilliant.
ME: How so?
COACHEE: It's that I wanted to see you about. My confidence seems to have taken a big knock, and it's showing at work. I'm worried that my boss is losing confidence in me, and my recent results haven't been great. I wouldn't say he's warning me, but the atmosphere is frosty between us, and he's getting impatient.
ME: I see. When did all this start?
COACHEE: a few weeks ago now.
ME: and have you any sense what is interrupting your flow of confidence?
COACHEE: well, the medical thing hasn't helped.
ME: medical thing?
COACHEE: yes, but I don't suppose it's relevant here.
ME: No? What is it?
COACHEE: Well I've been told I may well have cancer of the spine.
ME: Wow. That sounds pretty serious. Tell me about it.
COACHEE: I've had terrible back ache for some time now and it got so bad that I went to see the doctor. I was popping painkillers like they were going out of fashion, so in the end I went to the GP. He examined me and said he thinks it might be cancer of the spine. Since then, I've been going for all sorts of tests - quite uncomfortable and obviously worrying - but they can't seem to find what's wrong.
ME:I see. When did all this start?
COACHEE: the back pain?
ME: Yes.
COACHEE: About four months ago.
ME: .... and what was happening in your life at that time?
COACHEE: Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary anyway.
ME: Nothing?
COACHEE: Well, we were moving house of course. And I'd just learned the wife is expecting again. And my Mum was diagnosed with lung cancer, so she's been pretty needy. And my Dad wasn't well either, thinking about it. And my son was ill too for a while; we were quite worried about him. Actually it must just have been about the time when my wife lost her job too, though she's got another one now, thank goodness. And my other lad had just got into a bit of bother with the police. he was lucky to escape prosecution. Oh, and of course I'd changed my job role too - taken on these other areas of responsibility as you know.
ME: So nothing, eh?
COACHEE: Ha! I see what you mean. Quite a bit really.
ME: Anything else?
COACHEE: No I don't think so, apart from I got the new car then.
ME: That's your new sports car is it?
COACHEE: Yeah. Great car.
ME: Have you noticed that almost all the factors that you've described require you to be the support, rather than be supported?
COACHEE: I guess you're right.
ME: And even the most basic of holistic diagnoses would tend to associate lack of support as problems in the back.
COACHEE: Ah.
ME: How many miles do you drive?
COACHEE: About 40,000 a year.
ME: I used to have the same sort of sports car as yours.
COACHEE: Great aren't they?
ME: Yes. But they're ruddy hard - on the back.
COACHEE: Mmmmm.
ME: Show me exactly where your back pain is. (He does) You'll forgive me I hope for saying this, but the site of your pain is about eight inches to one side of your spine. I'm no doctor, but it's a bit difficult to see how that could be spinal cancer?
COACHEE: now I think about it, that's right!
ME: Look, again, I'm no expert in back problems, but I used to get them regularly when I drove a sports car big mileages. I'd be prepared to bet you a tenner that if you use a different car - your wife's for example, for a fortnight, you'll have no more back problem.
COACHEE: You're on.
By telephone a couple of weeks later:
ME: How are you?
COACHEE: Owing you a tenner it seems.
ME: Back sorted?
COACHEE: Yes, and the relief of that seems to have sorted the work issues too. My boss is saying now how well I'm doing. Oh, and I've changed my GP.
COACHEE: Not brilliant.
ME: How so?
COACHEE: It's that I wanted to see you about. My confidence seems to have taken a big knock, and it's showing at work. I'm worried that my boss is losing confidence in me, and my recent results haven't been great. I wouldn't say he's warning me, but the atmosphere is frosty between us, and he's getting impatient.
ME: I see. When did all this start?
COACHEE: a few weeks ago now.
ME: and have you any sense what is interrupting your flow of confidence?
COACHEE: well, the medical thing hasn't helped.
ME: medical thing?
COACHEE: yes, but I don't suppose it's relevant here.
ME: No? What is it?
COACHEE: Well I've been told I may well have cancer of the spine.
ME: Wow. That sounds pretty serious. Tell me about it.
COACHEE: I've had terrible back ache for some time now and it got so bad that I went to see the doctor. I was popping painkillers like they were going out of fashion, so in the end I went to the GP. He examined me and said he thinks it might be cancer of the spine. Since then, I've been going for all sorts of tests - quite uncomfortable and obviously worrying - but they can't seem to find what's wrong.
ME:I see. When did all this start?
COACHEE: the back pain?
ME: Yes.
COACHEE: About four months ago.
ME: .... and what was happening in your life at that time?
COACHEE: Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary anyway.
ME: Nothing?
COACHEE: Well, we were moving house of course. And I'd just learned the wife is expecting again. And my Mum was diagnosed with lung cancer, so she's been pretty needy. And my Dad wasn't well either, thinking about it. And my son was ill too for a while; we were quite worried about him. Actually it must just have been about the time when my wife lost her job too, though she's got another one now, thank goodness. And my other lad had just got into a bit of bother with the police. he was lucky to escape prosecution. Oh, and of course I'd changed my job role too - taken on these other areas of responsibility as you know.
ME: So nothing, eh?
COACHEE: Ha! I see what you mean. Quite a bit really.
ME: Anything else?
COACHEE: No I don't think so, apart from I got the new car then.
ME: That's your new sports car is it?
COACHEE: Yeah. Great car.
ME: Have you noticed that almost all the factors that you've described require you to be the support, rather than be supported?
COACHEE: I guess you're right.
ME: And even the most basic of holistic diagnoses would tend to associate lack of support as problems in the back.
COACHEE: Ah.
ME: How many miles do you drive?
COACHEE: About 40,000 a year.
ME: I used to have the same sort of sports car as yours.
COACHEE: Great aren't they?
ME: Yes. But they're ruddy hard - on the back.
COACHEE: Mmmmm.
ME: Show me exactly where your back pain is. (He does) You'll forgive me I hope for saying this, but the site of your pain is about eight inches to one side of your spine. I'm no doctor, but it's a bit difficult to see how that could be spinal cancer?
COACHEE: now I think about it, that's right!
ME: Look, again, I'm no expert in back problems, but I used to get them regularly when I drove a sports car big mileages. I'd be prepared to bet you a tenner that if you use a different car - your wife's for example, for a fortnight, you'll have no more back problem.
COACHEE: You're on.
By telephone a couple of weeks later:
ME: How are you?
COACHEE: Owing you a tenner it seems.
ME: Back sorted?
COACHEE: Yes, and the relief of that seems to have sorted the work issues too. My boss is saying now how well I'm doing. Oh, and I've changed my GP.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
A SHORT HISTORY OF.........GRENADES
I bought a grenade yesterday. Not a purchase I make every day of the week. I was joking with the chap behind the counter about whether I could claim it against tax. He rightly said that when the taxman sees the word grenade he is unlikely to be sympathetic.
The object I bought yesterday is probably a bit heavy for a grenade - 2 or 3 lbs, but it should do the job. I bought it to split wood. It is a pyramid shaped device made of very hard alloy. You put the spike end in logs, hit it hard with a lump hammer and Bob's your Uncle and Fanny's your fire fuel.
It was not always so. Grenades and I have history, which came to mind at this purchase.
Years ago, in my murky past, I learned to throw them. You would stand in the grenade bay facing the sergeant instructor. You would pull the pin with your left hand, and show him it, so you didn't throw a dud. A surprising number of people panicked and did just this. No boom. Once the pin was out, you would extend your left arm in the direction of the target (an old tractor tyre) and throw the grenade overarm with your right. The arm of the grenade would fly off, thus initiating the three or four second fuse. One or two cackhanded people actually dropped the grenade in the bay. That was what the sergeant was there for. In that event, he would grab you by the shoulders and push you back, into the side bay, specially designed for the purpose. The grenade would then explode in the main bay, harmlessly. I say harmlessly, but not quite. If any duffer were to drop the grenade, their humiliation would be complete as the entire squad would come and have a look at the damage. It was instructive. Shrapnel embedded itself in the brickwork of the bay walls. It took little imagination to see what it would do to a human body.
About the same time, a friend of mine, who was also an artillery officer, had a small collection of grenades in his rooms at University. They were second world war Mills bombs, made safe of course. He and I both held "positions of responsibility" in our hall of residence, and had rooms opposite each other. So other students used to come to our rooms for various halls of residence reasons. A favourite game we had at the time was to gaily toss these grenades to each other, much to the alarm of anyone who came in. I remember once one of the foreign students - a chap called Mr. Yipp, if I remember correctly - came in. He looked astonished to see the two of us playing catch with a grenade. "Don't worry," said my friend, "It's not dangerous till you pull the pin." He pulled the pin. Mr. Yipp's eyes widened. "No, no, no," my friend soothed, "it still isn't armed, till you release the arm." Mr. Yipp sighed in relief. Then my friend made a show of fumbling the thing and dropping it on the floor. A quick look at each other and then he and I were running out the door, and down the stairs. Before we had got to the next floor, Mr. Yipp, absolutely terrified, had past us!
The object I bought yesterday is probably a bit heavy for a grenade - 2 or 3 lbs, but it should do the job. I bought it to split wood. It is a pyramid shaped device made of very hard alloy. You put the spike end in logs, hit it hard with a lump hammer and Bob's your Uncle and Fanny's your fire fuel.
It was not always so. Grenades and I have history, which came to mind at this purchase.
Years ago, in my murky past, I learned to throw them. You would stand in the grenade bay facing the sergeant instructor. You would pull the pin with your left hand, and show him it, so you didn't throw a dud. A surprising number of people panicked and did just this. No boom. Once the pin was out, you would extend your left arm in the direction of the target (an old tractor tyre) and throw the grenade overarm with your right. The arm of the grenade would fly off, thus initiating the three or four second fuse. One or two cackhanded people actually dropped the grenade in the bay. That was what the sergeant was there for. In that event, he would grab you by the shoulders and push you back, into the side bay, specially designed for the purpose. The grenade would then explode in the main bay, harmlessly. I say harmlessly, but not quite. If any duffer were to drop the grenade, their humiliation would be complete as the entire squad would come and have a look at the damage. It was instructive. Shrapnel embedded itself in the brickwork of the bay walls. It took little imagination to see what it would do to a human body.
About the same time, a friend of mine, who was also an artillery officer, had a small collection of grenades in his rooms at University. They were second world war Mills bombs, made safe of course. He and I both held "positions of responsibility" in our hall of residence, and had rooms opposite each other. So other students used to come to our rooms for various halls of residence reasons. A favourite game we had at the time was to gaily toss these grenades to each other, much to the alarm of anyone who came in. I remember once one of the foreign students - a chap called Mr. Yipp, if I remember correctly - came in. He looked astonished to see the two of us playing catch with a grenade. "Don't worry," said my friend, "It's not dangerous till you pull the pin." He pulled the pin. Mr. Yipp's eyes widened. "No, no, no," my friend soothed, "it still isn't armed, till you release the arm." Mr. Yipp sighed in relief. Then my friend made a show of fumbling the thing and dropping it on the floor. A quick look at each other and then he and I were running out the door, and down the stairs. Before we had got to the next floor, Mr. Yipp, absolutely terrified, had past us!
Friday, 21 May 2010
TWITTERINGS
The house is surrounded by birds.
Swallows are back from their African holiday. Or is it the other way round?
"Let's go to Laytham, you know how the chicks love it."
"What again? We go there every year. What about a change?"
A starling family has got in and nested under the eves just above the family bathroom. My ex father in law called them rats with beaks. Not far wrong. They're buggers for puncturing the sarking felt and finding a way in. And their brood keeps up a constant boring cheep, whilst I am on the khazi. Quite upsets my prime reading opportunity.
Her indoors did an unusual mowing marathon. But the dandelion clocks are indefatigable. The goldfinches are gorging.
But yesterday, there was a real surprise. A bird sat on the family room window sill. I entered the room, and he looked at me almost guiltily. He was a sparrowhawk, and he must have heard my sharp intake of breath. One glance. One guilty "I have just been a-killing" glance, and he was gone. A beauty. A thrilling, killing beauty.
Swallows are back from their African holiday. Or is it the other way round?
"Let's go to Laytham, you know how the chicks love it."
"What again? We go there every year. What about a change?"
A starling family has got in and nested under the eves just above the family bathroom. My ex father in law called them rats with beaks. Not far wrong. They're buggers for puncturing the sarking felt and finding a way in. And their brood keeps up a constant boring cheep, whilst I am on the khazi. Quite upsets my prime reading opportunity.
Her indoors did an unusual mowing marathon. But the dandelion clocks are indefatigable. The goldfinches are gorging.
But yesterday, there was a real surprise. A bird sat on the family room window sill. I entered the room, and he looked at me almost guiltily. He was a sparrowhawk, and he must have heard my sharp intake of breath. One glance. One guilty "I have just been a-killing" glance, and he was gone. A beauty. A thrilling, killing beauty.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
PATER NOSTER
Our Father which art in Heaven.
Why did you fuck off in the first place?
And why have you stopped paying the maintenance?
Why did you fuck off in the first place?
And why have you stopped paying the maintenance?
Thursday, 13 May 2010
READING LIST
A short reading list for aspirant zen students:
On Having No Head - DE Harding
Instant Zen 10,000 Ways
The Heart of Understanding - Thich Nhat Than
The Art of Happiness - Dalai Lama
The Inner Game of Tennis Timothy Gallwey
No death, No Fear - Thich Nhat Than
The Art of Peace - Morihei Ueshiba
Stillness Speaks - Eckhart Tolle
The Outsider - Albert Camus
An Introduction to Zen Buddhism - DT Suzuki
Everything Being Nothing - Tony Parsons
On Having No Head - DE Harding
Instant Zen 10,000 Ways
The Heart of Understanding - Thich Nhat Than
The Art of Happiness - Dalai Lama
The Inner Game of Tennis Timothy Gallwey
No death, No Fear - Thich Nhat Than
The Art of Peace - Morihei Ueshiba
Stillness Speaks - Eckhart Tolle
The Outsider - Albert Camus
An Introduction to Zen Buddhism - DT Suzuki
Everything Being Nothing - Tony Parsons
Saturday, 8 May 2010
WELL HUNG
My take on the General Election result is this. People want change. They view all politicians as being more or less as bad as one another. Countless doorstep interviews with constituents have collected this view. Hence the result - a preference for change, but an uncertainty as to who will provide it.
The prospect of a Conservative / Lib Dem coalition is an interesting one. Nick Clegg has come of age in the campaigning, even if his party was once again defeated by the first past the post system. Under PR, they'd have 150 seats. One could see him as a senior Minister. Likewise, the humane presence of Vince Cable in Cabinet has to be preferred to the odious George Osborne. Whilst full PR might not be the answer - and indeed in my view is not radical enough - electoral reform is most definitely wanted. No one outside the arms industry really wants Trident like for like replacement. Its huge cost burden could and should be ploughed back into redressing the apalling public sector debt that is the legacy of Labour's project. But a seat at the top international defence table shouldn't be given up lightly either. Europe might be a sticking point. One could see differences on taxation being bridged. The Liberals would push the Tories to be more humane. The Tories would push the Liberals to have sharper teeth. Cameron could prove by a formal coalition that he really does stand for change. Clegg likewise. So, a muddle. But potentially not a bad one.
But, to quote the old song, why are we waiting?
For several weeks if not months a hung parliament has been a real prospect. You'd think that with that truck coming down the road at you, you might just decide to get out of the way rather than wait around to get run over. You'd think that contingency planning would be such that one quick phone call would do it.
"Nick, we're on plan B then."
"OK David."
"See you later."
But it isn't. We're dawdling in the middle of the road till the tyre marks are on our neck, at a cost of about 10% of the FTSE value, so - far from academic.
And that pivots me back towards my usual despondency.
Mainly, these people just aren't up to the strategic, forward looking and imaginative act of truly governing in the national interest rather than the smaller, "business as usual" game of point scoring party politics.
The prospect of a Conservative / Lib Dem coalition is an interesting one. Nick Clegg has come of age in the campaigning, even if his party was once again defeated by the first past the post system. Under PR, they'd have 150 seats. One could see him as a senior Minister. Likewise, the humane presence of Vince Cable in Cabinet has to be preferred to the odious George Osborne. Whilst full PR might not be the answer - and indeed in my view is not radical enough - electoral reform is most definitely wanted. No one outside the arms industry really wants Trident like for like replacement. Its huge cost burden could and should be ploughed back into redressing the apalling public sector debt that is the legacy of Labour's project. But a seat at the top international defence table shouldn't be given up lightly either. Europe might be a sticking point. One could see differences on taxation being bridged. The Liberals would push the Tories to be more humane. The Tories would push the Liberals to have sharper teeth. Cameron could prove by a formal coalition that he really does stand for change. Clegg likewise. So, a muddle. But potentially not a bad one.
But, to quote the old song, why are we waiting?
For several weeks if not months a hung parliament has been a real prospect. You'd think that with that truck coming down the road at you, you might just decide to get out of the way rather than wait around to get run over. You'd think that contingency planning would be such that one quick phone call would do it.
"Nick, we're on plan B then."
"OK David."
"See you later."
But it isn't. We're dawdling in the middle of the road till the tyre marks are on our neck, at a cost of about 10% of the FTSE value, so - far from academic.
And that pivots me back towards my usual despondency.
Mainly, these people just aren't up to the strategic, forward looking and imaginative act of truly governing in the national interest rather than the smaller, "business as usual" game of point scoring party politics.
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