Truth is a tool of discourse nothing else

Can there be something called a "truth" other than a scientific explanation.
Listening to a group talking about a number of subjects one is struck by not only the divergence of views but by the strength of the divergent views. As we listen to each person one is often struck by the vehemence and  the intolerance of the other persons view point simply because it is not their "truth" !
How can intelligent people differ in such an antagonistic way, not apparently being able to see the other point of view and getting very hot under the collar as different views are put forward.

"Truth" therefore is illusionary, there is no such thing. Your views are largely based on "hear say", and nothing more, it is a construct based on your background, culture, and your prejudice.
Given that people base their lives, their reasoning, on views that can not be called, the truth, they are in danger of becoming loose cannons, shouting off their opinions as truths.

It must open up the debate, of creating a more holistic society, willing to mix our ideas, not as a controversial punch up but as independent views which bring "more and more "opinions" into our own thinking".  
Of course it flies in the face of "establishment thinking" because their view, is the view of senior established figures and should be valued over and above the ordinary man and women.
It flies in the face of established groups such as, religious groups and their truth.  Also in the face of much of the current legislation and the laws that flow from that legislation.  The field of global finance and their ability to use accountancy practices to avoid paying tax. In the ability to buy a judgement through the use of clever lawyers who exploit the legal framework. 
All use their own interpretation of truth !!

Truth is a construct of language, truth is a tool of discourse and nothing more !!!      

Tick tock

Drink or drugs are the perfect palliative to the ticking clock. Without much to do, the clock becomes the centre of attention, time hangs heavy and the next event seems a long time away. The ache and pains, the slow rise and fall of the chest, these guardians of our very existence take on an all consuming importance as we watch the slow passage of time drift across the face of the clock.
With a trip to the pub, or a pull on a spliff, all those self induced visits to examine ones morbidity are suddenly blown away by an alcoholic  spin which puts the mind into neutral and makes self interest irrelevant. Conversation takes on heightened importance as the topics flow and the intelligence of ones circle expands with each new round of drink. The words of wisdom tumble out and are enthusiastically received by all and sundry. Friends are made in a second or two, inside an hour a lifetimes experiences have been traded and one begins to wonder how you had been without this group to support and listen to all those problems.    As you negotiate your way home, the glow, like an after-burn, takes one to the front door and there it ends.
A larger force moves into view and the clock on the wall starts to tick, once again.          

Less simply less

Watching the world series Triathlon series which takes the athletes to various locations all over the Globe. 

They are all, I would like to be there places, coupling the sea and beach with sunny sea-side suburbs to run and cycle through. Under a cloudless sky this weeks event was held in San Diego with its sun kissed landscape of boating harbours and palm trees It was the perfect escape from our cold grainy environment. 
The thought comes to mind why, having lived in places that are the equivalent, would one want to settle for anything less in the latter stages of ones life.
It is funny that we can be somewhat complacent, entering the final phase of ones life.   There is a sort of wonder that one is still around, feeling fairly fit, the only inhibitor is the mind set, "the get up and go". I keep on looking at bikes and ever smaller boats.



Would a life on Europe's waterways hold my interest, would the Spartan facilities on board be too much of a hurdle, would I miss my hot shower in the morning. 
Of course one is judging the pros and cons from a static position, without the added chemistry that the changing scenery of being "footloose" brings.   Changing scenery and the magic of the accidental vis a vis, conformity, 

When young the accidental confrontation, the necessity to think on ones feet, the possibility of not being in control, (an anathema to most people when they get older), is the juice that gives life to everything.
Chancing ones arm, taking the view that it will turn out ok, is not the attitude that an older person, who has experienced many unforeseen turns of fortune and is less able to turn events around in the time needed, who feels less gung ho, less courageous, less, simply less !!  

     

A lesson that stayed with you all your life

I have been reading a book written about the Chinese, post Mao. Amongst many remarkable things, the thirst for education has set the Chinese apart as parents brow beat their children into the need to progress through education. In this country we have been led to believe that any enforcement of our will on our children is a bad thing. We can negotiate but the willingness to embark on the educational high road has to be theirs and it might even be viewed as child abuse to bully them into doing things they don't want to do !!!
The Chinese, the Japanese, have no such qualms and the parents spend much of their time insisting that their children learn for the opportunity to advance.
It got me thinking of the attitude of many of our kids in the UK, towards matching their opportunities here with the conflicting claim of having the proverbial "good time". 
In my day, oh such a long time ago, we understood the balance and followed the example of our parents to take the only opportunity we had, as "working class" youngsters, to gain the foundations of higher education through "night school". 
My Dad was an exemplar of this route to expanding his opportunity. He had been put in an orphanage at 12, (economic pressure on his mother)  and then having had to go to work at a very early age, night school was his only option. Not having much money he would walk through the streets roughly 5 miles in and 5 miles out, from the suburbs to the centre of town to attend Bradfords Technical College.  As an indicator of the times he lived in he also did a course in Russian since, for the working class, what was happening in Russia, Communism, was considered a worthwhile alternative to the Capitalism that so many lived and suffered under.
His "copper plate" hand written notes were a joy of a logical exposition as each subject, particularly mathematics, each broken down to its basic component, transformed and then rebuilt into an equation to address the physical problem.  Through "Night School" he obtained the not insignificant qualification AMIMeE, which is equivalent to an Engineering Degree.
Bradford was a typical Northern town.   Industry, particularly the Woollen Industry was at the heart of Bradford and the Technical Collage was the heart of the educational input to Industry. The College, an imposing Victorian building clattered to the sound of feet as the students rushed to their classroom for the 7pm start.
The "seriousness  business of education" was reflected by the serious demeanor of the students attending. There was no sense of entitlement, no sense that this was something to take for granted, it was an "opportunity" and one had to grasp it with both hands. The building was built on a scale and with materials that were designed to last.
The staircases were wide and majestic, the lecture rooms were large, high ceiling rooms, some with tiered seating. 


A blackboard and chalk were the means to put over the theorems, no white boards no, interactive equipment. 
One thing they had (worth more that any computer derived image) was the hands-on experience given by the full sized machinery, generating plant, anything that the person being educated would need when out in the workplace.
It was for real and one is often struck today by the disconnect when youngsters are introduced to most things through the keyboard of a computer There is a world of difference between reality and the symbolism effected through the computer. At Night School one could feel the texture, one could be in awe by the size and the power of the equipment one would find in the workplace and very quickly discovered the damage that could be done by a thought-less act, no quick fix through the delete key.  
You were ushered into becoming a responsible adult, a lesson that stayed with you all your life !!!             

So many winners and loosers

You will all be aware of the rotten lead up to Spring and Summer we have had over here.
The unremitting grey sky's and the cold wind blowing in from Northern Europe. At last the sun has come through and we can smile again.


One element in the seasonal chain is the frenzy of frogs that pop out of nowhere, having disappeared throughout Winter, to fill the fish pond with their elemental desire to procreate. Then they are gone, where to no one knows.
Into this world and Why not knowing.
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing.
And out again as Wind along the Waste
I know not Wither, willy-nilly blowing.


They have left their mark, thousands of frog spawn waiting to hatch and reinvent the miracle once again. The fish also wait, in anticipation for a food that beats into a cocked hat the diet of fish food I throw them. Its all part of a food chain which makes sense to the recipient and a nonsense to the scrap of cells which are going to be eaten.

If all this is part of a "big plan" then he must be a Conservative with so many winners and losers.  

The pensioners dilemma

How do you start your day ?
If you are in work then much of the decision is out of your hands. Someone else has set the time line, someone else has decided where you should be and when. But what if you are retired ?
The alarm goes off, fortunately one has the option to ignore it. There is the book on the bed side table which you put down last night but it might draw one in to an extensive time consuming read and the time involved is still measured by habits of a lifetime. The Protestant ethic make great demands on us as we mentally conflict about simply doing nothing, or at least doing what we want to do, which may well be the same thing !! Get up, get washed, do something !!

What is this "something" which has to be done.
Gardening duty, house cleaning, repairs to this and that, shopping, reading, writing, day dreaming, playing golf, photography, watching sport, visits to a museum,restaurant, cinema, walking the dog on the moors, even the pub.
When you write it down there are a hundred things to do but some how, the direction of what and which, seems a little sterile if the bug hasn't bitten, much earlier, when one belonged as a "fully paid up member of the human race" !!
Of course I forgot, there's always the tele' our window on a world of action and events. A picture of other people engaged in doing "something" !! 
How is it that all these other things seem to be substitutes.
When they were an addendum to ones main purpose, earning a living, providing financial security, engaging ones ego in the rat-race of business.
Throughout childhood and into early adulthood there was competition for ones attention. There was the discovery of who we are and how well we could compete with others.    Sport, class work, real work and girls !!

Girls made the world go round in our teens and our 20s.   Unquestionably unfathomable they trailed their allure into our lives and made us doubt the simplicity of our raison d'etre. They were the reason to go out. They were the instrument of torture as we tried to get their attention. They were the introduction to a misery we had never experienced, as we tangled with the complex issue of rejection.

Charles Aznavours song, "She", summed  it up beautifully !!!

Brave enough to enter

I'm watching the London Marathon with a slightly morbid thought, will we have a repeat of the Boston bombing.
The London event has picked a delightful day with the sun out.
It is truly amazing to see the massed runners waiting at the start of the event, a sea of humanity, shuffling forward slowly to cross the start line, as they do so, their timing chips activated, their race begins.
Why do people punish themselves in this way, what is it in the human physic that seems to enjoy the call of the herd. They have no chance of winning of course, the men and women who do, belong to a different universe they aren't really human. They come from countries that in other respects are way behind but in long distance running they are superstars.
So why do Mr and Mrs Bloggs set off to punish themselves in this way. The camaraderie, the knowledge that "taking part" is one of the most important stimuli for humans. To have a sense of their individual importance in the wider scheme of things, in a world in which we are often made to feel inconsequential. Weeks of pounding the streets with club mates come together with other runners from all parts of the UK. It becomes a club run of gigantic proportions. The support from the runners around when as you hit the wall, the collegiate spirit established through humour as well as grim pathos.        
The Olympics were a revelation. The self imposed restraint that dictates the English blew away.  When I hear recordings of the Games, the sound of the crowd, is a spine tingling emotion. It was unimaginable to hear the near hysteria of the people cheering the athletes on. Today the crowds were out again, clapping and cheering all around, lining the streets, acknowleging the people who have been brave enough to enter.     

I'm a sucker for a pagent

I'm a sucker for pageant, shall I switch on or make my mark by ignoring the occasion. Such are the weighty decisions when you are  retired.
The pageant won at last and as the screen warmed up (remember those days  the image slowly revealing its self and when switched off, the diminishing effect as everything centred down an electronic hole in the centre of the screen) The Queen and her buddy the Duke were entering St Pauls. Its always noticeable to me how her usually stony face is relieved to find a minister of her church in front of her. The age old conflict between Church and Ruler is now a thing of the past but I think she keeps a friendly eye on them just in case !!
The gun carriage arrives wending its last mile through the streets, people applauding a few throwing flowers. My mind is thrown back to Princess Diana and her funeral, the crowds, the flowers the emotion you could cut it with a knife. This was a "peoples" funeral in the sense that Diana had been rejected by the aristocracy and had found a home with the people. Mrs Thatchers funeral was a funeral of the upper-class, stiff and self-centred. Little emotion showed in the ranks of the establishment, their breeding ruled it out. There was no haunting refrain from Elton John, no swelling sound as the congregation, gathered in the streets, took voice to say goodbye to someone they had never met but who had clearly born the weight of being outcast, they were as one.  
Mrs Thatchers coffin born by strong shoulders and led by a huge bulk of a man, the Regimental Sargent Major, polished like a stone, stiff and resolute, you wouldn't want to mess with him. The slow assent of many steps to the entrance of the Cathedral slowly, step at a time, the coffin angled (has she slid to the end) the procession moved down the isle, the great and the good (mostly great) seated around waiting to be seen. As they left, held back like Chelsea supporters after the match, to come together again, in the various hostelries for a chat and a pink something or other.      

A political scandal

Today is the first day when the much  heralded crackdown on benefit scroungers comes into place.
We have been fed a diet of vitriol by our media and, the political elite, of the damage these scroungers are doing to our already damaged economy.
The real damage of course was done by the reckless trading of the banking elite who "continue" to trade enormous sums of money ( propped up with quantitative easing ), from a depleted economy but in which the volumes on the trading floor still attract massive bonuses.
 
Our attention has been deflected by a campaign of caustic statements about the damage the benefit payment system does to our deficit economy with the added weight in the interest we pay on the borrowing needed to bridge the gap.

So today we start to shorten the deficit by cutting the benefit. So soon we will be on the road to recovery???
In fact Treasury have announced that the savings will amount to £110,million !!! Yes, the cost of 10 state funerals !!!

The savings are minuscule when set against the total benefit bill of £90 billion, the largest part of which is the pension commitment.
The Universal benefits also claim a large segment of the benefit pot. Many recipients of the Universal payment are the well off with "child benefit" they don't need, "winter heating payments, they don't need, transport benefits, they don't need but in my personal experience they claim without a thought !!!

So what we have is a cap on 0.5% of the problem (with the inherent deprivation it will cause to the families effected) and we ring the bells to proclaim we have made a significant move to solve our deficit !!!  Lies, lies, all lies.
Yet again we are led by the nose. Soften up the public with stories of real cheats and then encompass the genuine benefit claimant with the same tag. Job done.     
"Joe public", gullible as always, believes what he reads in the Sun, and the daily diatribe on TV, of the parliamentarian.

The real reason for the selective cuts is not financial but political, as the politicians of "the right" seek to undermine society in furtherance of the aims of the recently departed Prime Minister.
Her funeral will cost a "tenth" of the savings that will be claimed in attacking the recipients of benefits !!!  

What a mad world we live in !!          

Shush !!

Who's kidding who ?  There is always talk that Alex Ferguson had the authorities in his pocket and has had many footballing decisions go his way through the force he commands in the Premier League.
Today we saw the power of that "other" Mr Woods, Tiger, holding the rule makers, in this case the rule breakers, to evade the rule which states that your drop, after an unplayable shot, has to land within a reasonable distance of where the shot that went wrong was played.   He knows the rules.   His comment earlier, that the young 14 year old Chinese must "know the rules" when he was asked what he felt about the penalty handed to the young Chinese of one point, for being too slow in his play. The fact that the speed of play is largely determined by the speed of those playing in front and therefore perhaps, the whole field should have been penalised ?
Be that as it may, the Tiger certainly knows the rules and when he admitted that he had gone back on the position of where the drop should have been taken by a couple of yds !!
As they say a yard is as good as a mile especially if you are Tiger Woods and the organisers, knowing that the crowds would be down if he was relegated, decided that the turnstiles were more important than the rules.
He got a two stroke penalty for breaking the rule, acknowledging he broke the rule and then signing his card with an incorrect score which is another misdemeanor. The youngster had one stroke taken away for slow play which I question because he had no way of controlling.
 
Perhaps it was the only way the Americans could get one back on the Chinese ?  

Mrs Thatcher

Mrs Thatcher has died and all the world rush to commemorate her memory - well not quite.
To some she was a deal maker who could make things happen. A person who had the steely resolve to push her ideology regardless of the cost. Unfortunately her idealism was limited to those who would succeed - those who didn't were expendable.
This type of Tory-ism had last seen the light of day, pre-war when "noblesse oblige" was part of the way things were,  the class divisions were entrenched and the society was based on "entitlement" -   not by today's benefit scroungers but by the established upper class - born to rule.
She is known as a grocers daughter,to symbolise her lower middle class background but this was no corner shop.
A  successful father, a leading light in the local politics of his town, he nurtured her in both business and politics, far from the millions of people who were struggling to make ends meet.

Parliament had a special session calling back MPs from all over the country to eulogise and genuflect towards this ideological prima-donna.  Many Labour MPs stayed away to acknowledge their dislike of Mrs Thatcher and the few who turned up were low key in their praise. But one, Labours Glenda Jackson, struck out with a writhing tirade against the Iron Lady reminding everyone in the Commons of the damage that Mrs Thatchers policies had inflicted on large swathes of the UK.  
The Tories were apoplectic, hearing Jacksons tirade but it reminded me of the ideological divisions that used to exist between the parties before Tony Blair captured Labour and castrated the concept of socialism,  realigning Labour into New Labour, a middle of the road, Tory look alike !!            

Loneliness

Sitting in my car waiting for a client to arrive I have been listening to a program on the increasing problem of loneliness in society here in the UK.
Loneliness occurs when we lose the ability to communicate on a level that infers understanding and connection, not simply the noise of words passing through space.
We all have something to say !
Usually we stop short of opening up to others in conversation because of our up-bringing, because we are unsure if our revelations will be misunderstood, whether we will be viewed weak. Yet in reality, we have more in common with our fellow man and women than we could ever believe. The unity of friendship be it religious or standing in a crowd shouting for the same team is universal.

But why do we need people, what is it inside our mind which becomes troubled when we only have our own company.
Does the noise of other people comfort us by blanking out our own thoughts. Does our own insecurity blast out too many demons, inject too many unanswerable questions. Silence is golden but only for a while and then it begins to hang heavily.
I suppose ones surroundings play a large part in the discomfort of not having someone to pass a comment to.
If the environment is remote words, seem out of place and the peace that the silence brings, in part reminds one of how inconsequential we are in the grand scheme of things. But transpose that silence to a place where there had, in the past, been continual interaction, then the silence is visceral.
I suppose one way is to surround ones self with the routine of artificial company. The radio in the morning, the TV at night. After a while, these programs become the hook that pulls you into becoming absorbed with content, other than you own dilemma.
Of course its not the same. One could find ones-self shouting at the screen if the issue is dear to your heart and the blighter just doesn't understand but somehow when you get to this stage, its perhaps better your on your own !!  

A personal journey

To be able to read is a privilege. Reading transports one from the immediate surroundings into a world created or described by an author who themselves have been moved by what they saw or wished to create as a story. The fertility of the authors mind and the skill, with language to capture the images they want us to see is, in essence one of the most important advances that mankind has undertaken in its history. 

Where would we be without the written word to pass on our knowledge and develop a civilisation fit for our children.
I have been this last couple of weeks transported back to the 1930s following the journey into the Australian outback of Ernestine Hill and her book, The Great Australian Loneliness, a tale of the people she met who richly provided a story of endeavour and hardship, a shift of mindset far from the paradigm we consider a normal way of life.
When we think of Australia we think of Sydney, its bridge and opera house, we think of the long rolling surf sweeping in onto pristine beaches, we think of chipper Aussie batsmen and bowlers out to prove how good they are and not at all reticent to tell us !! But there is another Australia, which starts 50/100 or so miles inland and stretches 2/3000 miles to the east, the Interior. It is exemplified by a people with not only a tenacious spirit but a life long desire to escape the corral of city existence and make their own mark on the life they choose to live. 
The book was written in the 30s  and portrays an even more remote outback than the present day. Much of it concerns the North, that vast space, untrodden except by Aborigine who form, to this day, a link into a prehistoric past a world of magic images, of superstition, of unworldly values where the ancestors play an immediate role in todays events and the famous "go walkabout" is the quest to reconnect with something more important.
She takes us into the world of the drover, the sheep sheerer, the fencer, the stockman. She introduces us to the heroic, isolated settler, the vital camel train delivering mail and provisions. She describes the lonely existence of, mainly men but also some women, who know no comforts other than a basic dwelling with no communication for months at a time. The fence repairer who sets off on horseback on a trip of 3 months, alone, to check the thousands of miles of fencing. The miners scratching for gold or opals living a most rudimentary existence, year in, year out.

Only through reading can we gain perspective. A perspective which gives us a measure of our own existence when set against others, a measure of our fellow man as we ponder our own fate in this our personal journey.       

The real culprits

 

This is the week that the focus fell on identifying the malcontent's who have inherited our Benefit System.    Who it is claimed use, for their own benefit,the System by manipulating the rules and avoiding the common understanding, that claimants have to be deserving.

The Philpot family apparently exemplify the benefit scrounger. A clearly dysfunctional family with a very unpleasant man who dictated two women, each prepared to accept living and supplying this man with a sexual platform to produce children by the bucket full. 

The Tory's have been quick to link the dreadful tale of the Philpot's, with the claimants of benefit assistance  and in doing so, to demonise all benefit claimants

It has been a tactic of the Tory's to link our economic condition with the strain that the benefit culture has imposed on our borrowing requirement. There is no doubt that the complex array of benefits that we, as a civilised country, feel are necessary to insure the financial problems that effect people throughout their lifetime, do not bring more trauma  than necessary. 

Problems arrive on our doorstep which are often no fault of our own. We can fall ill, we can become unemployed, the wage earner dies and leaves a family to carry on somehow, all these events can be traumatic and society such as ours has the view that "the whole", "care for the few" for a period of time, until the situation repairs its-self. 

The concept, which came into being after the second world war and has gone through many formats, becoming more and more complex as the New Labour government sort to define the different type of claimant.

The politicians and the media seek to project a story that most of our financial woes are due to the burden these claimants put on our finances. We see the Chancellor, hurriedly dismembering the essential bridges that society has come to accept as part of the country we believe in.
There is no doubt work to be done to reduce the bill by, for instance, re-examining the way that private landlords have made a packet out of tenants,who's rents are paid through the benefit system.
Having sold off, (under Thatcher), all the post war stock of rented houses, held on the Councils books, used, to house the poor,  the Councils have been actively  discouraged by central government from borrowing on the open market to build new stock, the council now has to turn to the private sector, who obviously have little or no social conscience and make what ever they can out of this social dilemma.

Needless to say there has been little or no comment from anyone about the gigantic hole in the counties finances resulting from massive tax evasion. 

The huge problem of "laddering" by the global industries as they produce a complex web of interlinking companies to hide the profit and therefore the taxes due.

The money laundering that is part and parcel of the off shore tax havens, and owes much to the demise of Cyprus.

Our horse meat scandal illustrated the length of the chain of the producers and the many counties that finally assembled the product, never mind the financial trail as each account moves through boarders and different financial conventions.

The global economy has produced a monster whereby the tax revenues that society needs to, protect its citizens, repair the roads, build the hospitals etc etc.is missing. How convenient to blame the underclass !!

The silence is defining, from the opinion makers, from the political class from the elite, from all the beneficiary !!