SCORE

To score a day:

Add up all the people you touched.
Add all the people who touched you.

SHOOTING THE BOLT

In 1981 I met a young Officer in Cyprus.

He died yesterday.

Here are the circumstances.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/prince-william/12121838/Henry-Worsleys-death-inspires-surge-in-donations-to-his-charity-page.html

Here, very poignantly, is his last message to the world:

http://shackletonsolo.org/2016/01/22/day-70-shooting-the-bolt/

IN THE END THE BEGINNING 2

I have called him Father ever since we met, though the truth is I was separated from my real Father, and my real Mother when I was very young.

I can truthfully say that there has not been a day since that separation when the cries of my Mother have not rung in my ears, as a waking thought, at the close of a day, or in troubled sleep, when the twitching of my limbs is the external sign of my silent recall of that event. Not always exactly silent. Sometimes I whimper in my sleep.

But my adopted Father has been wonderful.

Seeing him, being with him, dispels that infant pain. It is no exaggeration to say that I delight in his company. If, occasionally, he goes away, I await his return with an eagerness which takes over my whole body. When he returns I run to him in joy. His attention is pure joy to me - a joy which fills my whole attention.

He has cuddled and coddled me, and at the same time, seen me grow hard and lean, keen eyed and vigilant. He has put food before me every day. He has washed me, played with me, taken me on adventures with him, taught me the ways of the world around me, cleared up after me when I have made a mess, brought me little presents, forgiven me my failings, trained me, nurtured me, walked with me, loved me. He has given me a fantastic start in life. I could not have asked for more.

He has been unfailingly kind.

Even now, he has set before me a meal at this unusual time. He must be pleased with me indeed. This is  a real treat.

I am relishing it.

I lift my head from my food and turn my loving eyes towards him in thanks. Then, appreciative, I continue eating.

This meal is

NOT A BAD MANTRA

ALL MEN ARE EQUAL

Son:  I've got a gig, in London's West End

Dad: Oh, good.
Son: There'll be lots of important people in the audience at this one.

Dad: Like whom? can anyone really be more important than anyone else?

Son: Oh, shhh.
Dad: I thought you socialists believed in egalitarianism.
Son: You know what I mean, Dad.

Dad: No, son, I don't.

MAN BITES BLOG

I once had a lesson from a journalist. It was about "what is news?".

The journalists showed us two headlines. One said DOG BITES MAN. That is not news, said the journalist. The other said MAN BITES DOG. That is news, said the journalist.

Yesterday I found myself debating this. The motion was the more successful you are, the duller you are.

It ought to be true, and from personal observation, seems to be.

Success has as its lodestone the mainstream. But oddity is the commodity which makes something interesting, newsworthy.

Success also tends you towards self satisfaction, away from the creativity of re-examination.

The two are poor bed fellows.

QED.

The above makes me feel pleased to have had so many failures!

TO HOLLYWOOD

A boy used to come to my place. He loved the orchard, the freedom of the countryside. He liked messing about in our wood and meadow. He liked driving my old Landrover, and the rather knackered tractor we had at the time. He liked lighting fires and cooking outdoors. He became a friend.

When he turned adult I wrote to him a letter, having, by a kind of mutual agreement between us, become appointed as his "moral guardian". This letter contained a very private form of wisdom (not very deep), dressed in the considerable affection I had and still have for him. Unbeknown to me, the letter became a treasure of his.

Later, contemplating his career options, he came to see me for advice. Naturally he got very little. But what did emerge was that his absolute love was film making. In the face of more sensible options, I advised him to follow his heart and passion.

Today, that young man had his latest film nominated for an Oscar, an achievement neither of us could have dreamt of as we talked back then in the grounds of my house.

I bathe in admiration for him and his success.

I hope to see him on the Red Carpet. I hope to see him grasp the golden statuette.

ZEN TODAY

If you are here
How are you lost?

Wealth.

And then?

We dream of the freedoms wealth will give us.

Wandering is free. Hills are free. Byways are free.

We chain ourselves to dreams which, if only we unlocked ourselves from the dreaming, are there for the taking.

ENTREPRENEURIALISM

People talk a lot of guff about entrepreneurs and entrepreneurialism.

An institutionalised version of this guff, are the various agencies, set up to, supposedly, help entrepreneurs.

An example is a nationwide competition to find the best entrepreneurs, then flood them with help from leading academics and speakers from all sorts of fields of government.

My view? This is likely to promote failure.

The true entrepreneur is a strange animal, not given to seeking or receiving help readily. Almost addicted, in fact, to doing things his or her way. Whose very drive for self determination will propel them to success, and away from the "help" offered by people who, in all probability, have never really done it for themselves.

An HR supremo in a big Company talked some more guff to me the other day about encouraging entrepreneurialism amongst his employees. I listened politely, biting my tongue. Not saying - they're employees for a reason. Not saying - finish all their contracts as employees and see who emerges as entrepreneurs. Not saying - give them a share in the outcomes of their ideas, then you'll see who is an entrepreneur. Not saying - this University course you are about to give them on entrepreneurialism - don't bother.

After all, what do I know?

There are professors of entrepreneurship. There are people with degrees in the subject. There are people with Masters and Doctorates in it.

And I have none of these qualifications.

READ ME ; WRITE ME

I saw a thing where a very well known author went into a school and gave the kids a talk. Some kid asked “what advice would you give kids who want to be authors?”

The advice was “read as much as you can”.

It didn’t chime with me. Surely the advice should be “write as much as you can”.

 

 

 

HEALTH AND EFFICIENCY

Health and Efficiency magazines were an important part of my upbringing. The magazines were wholesome organs of the naturist tendency. But to mucky minded boys in 1970’s Britain, they were the nearest obtainable thing to hard core porn.

Of course, no reputable newsagent would sell them to 11 year olds, and so they had to be stolen. The way of doing this was to find the Beezer comic, which was notable as the only broadsheet comic available at the time. Then, by hook or by crook, you got yourself up to the top shelf and filched down an H&E. You put it inside the Beezer, paid for the comic, and left. It is surprising that you ever got away with it. The deep crimson blushes must surely have been what any poker player would recognise as a “tell”, but somehow amongst my circle there was always an availability of Health and Efficiencies for private enjoyment.

The pages contained black and white and sometimes even colour pictures of naked people enjoying volleyball, and on swings. The swings pictures were especially valued, as sometimes, with complex origami, the pages could be reformed, so that the naked man and the naked woman swung together, then away from each other. You could speed up this movement into a blur of swings and buttocks.

This is what is known as education. Without Health and Efficiency, God only knows what might have become of me.

I have fathered three children. It’s all down to health and efficiency.