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.

ZEN TODAY

Age tenderises meat.

FATHERS AND SONS

At an airport I watch fathers and sons, queueing, as they go on their holidays.

The fathers say stop that. Think about your behaviour. I’ve told you not to do this. Stop it now. I have told you about this before. This is your last warning. Listen to me. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Stop doing this. Stop doing that. If you carry on like this. Stop this silliness. Grow up.

And these big men tower over these little boys. And the little boys cower, or glower. And the men frown and growl. And sometimes they grip the little boys. And sometimes they even – just a little – shake the little boys. This is to make them see sense. And sometimes the little boys cry. And more than once the men say, man up. And I guess that means grow up. Become a man. Become a big man. Be like me. A man. A big man. Like me.

SWEETIES

At first choir practice was sixpence. But in 1971, when money went decimal, it went up to 10p. Cash in hand. Not bad. It was enough to buy yourself something at the shop. There was a MACE shop which smelt of a mixture of washing powder and ham, which is what it sold. But you could get crisps there too. You could try a new flavour each week. Pickled Onion, savoury onion, cheese and onion. There was a lot of onion.

But if you wanted sweets you went to the sweetshop. It was a purist sweetshop, and it only sold sweets. Crisps or drinks? Go to the MACE.

The sweetshop was run by a cripple. One of his legs was a lot shorter than the other. He could get around, bent at an odd angle, but he had to wear a built up surgical boot. He limped dreadfully.

When we went to the sweetshop, we would crowd in. Someone would ask for one of the more exotic types of sweets, sold in jars, one on the top shelf. Then the crippled sweetshop man had to get his step ladder to get at them, and contort his broken body to reach up and bring down the jar. It took him ages. During this time you could steal quite large amounts of the more expensive chocolate bars, which were displayed at a convenient height for children to reach.

BUDDHISM 1.02

 

A friend of mine went to a retreat, held at a Buddhist centre, in the countryside. He went there with his partner and his niece, 9 years old, who they thought might enjoy the calm, meditative environment and the nice grounds. It was one of those retreats where there is a big name guru – Kelsang this or that – and, at a point in the retreat, the attendees could have a personal audience with the guru. It was a lovely warm day, and the gardens were beautiful in the sunshine. When the time came for the personal audiences, the people were asked to queue for their turn in a corridor, until the guru was ready to receive them. It was a long queue and a long wait so the little girl went out to play in the grounds and enjoy the sunshine. After a long time waiting, my friend went to check on his niece. She was fine, playing happily under a tree with the guru.

 

 

BUDDHISM 1.01

 

I was sitting with some Buddhists and they had this book about attachment. Attachment, they were saying, is the cause of all suffering. In the book there was a kind of quiz – how attached are you? Or something like that. And there we were, rating ourselves. So I took the book, and got in my hand a dozen or so pages, and ripped them out, and then for good measure ripped them into pieces. It was delightful how quickly angry the Buddhists became. A lady called me a bastard and threatened to kick me in the bollocks. I felt it prudent under this threat to leave the room and go to another. So I went. Laughing.

 

 

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LISTENING TO?

GATE

I was following you

Had been all afternoon
As we walked
And you talked
And all I could do
Was the helpless act of listening
And we reached a gate
Darkened by laurel
A robin was singing
And I was thinking
God, if I were your therapist
I wouldn’t know where to start
And you turned to me
And said
“These talks.
These talks we have.
They do me so much good.”

DRAGONFLIES

There was this guy

Not a bad boss, but fired me,
Kicked, propelled me,
Shook me from the corporate tree,
Without knowing
How grateful I was to fall,
How much opportunity
Then lifted above my horizon -
New dawns, new suns -
New ways of being me.
And truthfully I think
He’d been better firing himself
Which, eventually, he did,
Going out of offices,
Tripping way beyond those corporate walls
And into Andalucian hills
To a lake
Of his dawn’s finding,
Seeing on a branch
A dragonfly
Attacked by wasps
(Which, with his meditation beads,
He shooed)
Chanting, picking up that lifeless thing -
That still stick of blue green life
Apparently extinguished.
And, not knowing what to do,
Went on chanting
Till the wings chirred,
The dragonfly rose
Flew again to the lake
And like a victory roll made off
Into some new, blue future.
Like that guy found.
Like I, fired, found.
Dragonflies,
All three of us.