Colonialism and multiculturalism.

I was having lunch with a friend the other day when the subject of Colonialism and then Apartheid came up.
Always difficult subjects, there has been a tendency over the last ten or more years to decry Colonialism as somewhat despotic and the cause of much of the inability of a continent like Africa to function properly. Simmering below the surface lies the issue of racism and therefore the underplaying assumption that the people who took up service in the name of Colonial conquest were both racist and oppressors. 

From early times tribes have undertaken marauding expeditions into surrounding territory and in the case of the Mongul sweeping out of Asia and across Europe. Their goal seemed little more than a, conquest,  "because we can" philosophy, although I doubt one should call it a philosophy since the bloody triumph they obtained seemed to be for little more than than treasure and blood lust. Alternatively the Ottomans built their empire by convincing the tribes they defeated that being under the umbrella of the Muslim faith they were better off, more secure and had a stake in remaining part of the collective whole.

The British were never ideologically wedded to conquest, there's was a pragmatic need to expand their trade. It was driven by the need to supply the market in Europe through the acquisition of raw materials and, secondly to have a foothold in various countries to expand that market. 
They brought with them a piece of their own culture and much as we decry certain culturally strong practices in this country and the exclusivity these cultural practices bring, then we must acknowledge that in the far flung corners of the Empire, the cultural exclusivity, the architectural exclusivity, the formality of the administrative structure, the legal structure, the roads and the hierarchical structure of the British were all imported to a foreign land. 
The very fact that this led to a two tear structure in the society at large also led to the eventual downfall of the relationship between her majesty employees and the indigenous population.

If there had been a extending, welcoming hand given to the local population much as in the Ottoman Empire then the fall of Colonialism would not have been so sudden. 

It is often overlooked how quickly the British withdrew from the position of holding the reigns of power, to packing their bags and leaving on the next boat. 
If in hindsight, the hand-over had taken at least a generation, then the result would have enhanced the security of so much that had been done but the insistence of creating a 'nation state' with their own rulers was paramount. The was no administrative middle class to hold the structure together and the power, without the con-straining counter of a strong legal system backed up by an enforcement system, based of the law, was missing and the chaos that ensued in many countries was blamed on colonialism. 

The modern concern for human rights which to some, means freedom, irrespective of the consequences, placed the blame on the power and the subjugation of the people. The ideological format that all people are born free and therefore any controlling force, irrespective of its intentions, or the good it bestows, are inherently wrong.

Apartheid was, in one sense an internal form of colonisation in that it insisted on identifying its boundaries of culture and lifestyle by proclaiming that other cultures could not be assimilated. There are obvious links to the class infiltrated culture in this country, where barriers are imposed between people based on perceived class hierarchy which jealously excludes a large section of the indigenous society.

Anti-Apartheid became a clarion call to all those people who, as we have mentioned above, have, as their ideological foundation the basic right of equality for all men and women as their aim.
The fact that in the modern world, separation based on a whole raft of concerns is pandemic throughout the world, be it the Caste system in India or the religious mania practised by many religious groups, each seeks to differentiate by classification.
Apartheid and the creators of the "word" (but not, I hasten to add, the practice), the Afrikaner, were guilty.  We are all guilty, guilty of defining people within the tribe or outside the tribe, excluding those who were not of the ilk. The Afrikaners  belief that what he stood for and what his history had taught him, needed protecting and  must exclude all others.
From Jew to Muslim, from Chinese to Japanese, the exclusivity of the nation or sect has been upheld and lauded but in the Afrikaner, it went too far. It evoked a sense of shame in the white man and his prejudicial dealings towards the non-white races throughout the world. 

The Americans today as I write, are engaging in another bout of self incrimination in the town of Ferguson, the history of slavery bubbles below the surface and the inherited prejudice corrals people into their different pens.

Apartheid tried to do the same . 
Writ large it defined people, in law, as belonging to this tribe or that culture largely based on colour and tried to pen the differences into a political ideology that had, at its base the survival of what they, the Afrikaner cherished. 


In our Multi Cultural Britain we are trying another experiment. Based on the same ideology that all people are born equal ( a difficult proposition ). We have to ignore our specific individual histories our traits our culture and meld ourselves into the human melting pot from which will emerge a new enlightened human being, better able to cope with this Global (economic) World. 

Orwell couldn't have scripted it better. 

I would like to bet that other than the propagators of the scheme, who themselves have safely drawn back into their estates or the people who,  having arrived to take part in this experiment from overseas are the least likely to want to give up their identity, let alone their religious beliefs which seem to be the very thing producing 'another' barrier to integration. 
Only the indigenous natives will have to find succour in the knowledge that "what went around, comes around" !
Unlike the Afrikaner, we have been taught to have little value in our culture or in our history since the 'manufactures' of this malleable society have spent time and money disassembling the values of our past and our history and severely demonise those who would question their experiment !!!

Comfortable surroundings.

Sitting in a comfortable armchair in a pub out in the countryside one is struck by the conviviality and relaxed atmosphere. The beer is excellent, the quite background folk song type music, the extensive menu of food or at least a menu that is quite sophisticated. The dark slate floor the scattered furniture a mixture of this and that signifying that the landlord is not of the chain mentality. It's pleasantly warm with an open wood fire burning merrily away the sparks disappearing up the chimney lend a fascination we all have for an open fire and the intrigue of the flames as they catch and burst into their short life as the wood is burnt away. Fire has always captivated man from his earliest beginnings in the cave, the shadows that were felt to be spirits dancing on the wall, captured in the earliest paintings.
 The TV is dormant thank god, no evil spirits feeding us with false illusions we are spared modern day intrusion.
 A couple over there are in animated conversation perhaps an unresolved dispute from the weekend or perhaps the build up to one not yet contemplated. These shadow disputes like the shadows from the fire plague us throughout our lives, unexplained they arise out of nowhere, unrequited they are part of the human identity.
 The sun is shining which is what brought me out in the first place and whilst I tip tap away having my own conversation with you, untroubled by any fear of an unfavourable response,even if I am misunderstood there's no harm done, no innuendo, no reason for conflict. Peaceful seclusion, with the opportunity to blast the world through the magic of the internet.

Following convention

Tolstoy describes on the field of battle how Prince Andrew Bolkonski having been hit by a bullet is knocked to the ground. In his semi conscious state he sees the sky and rejoices at its pleasurable importance amongst the carnage.
How intent we are in our drive to fulfil the obligations we make for ourselves, forgetting the world around us and the tiny importance we play in the moment. We inflate our importance we consume our thoughts with the trivia of our actions and then we wonder when life draws to a close and our importance is taken up by others, how we suffer. If we were to arrive at the conclusion that life has no meaning other than the one we wish to place on it then we would be much more careful when we first make our choice.
Of course we really don't know anything other than the actual moment we live in. The past is past and the future unknown, only the moment we are dealing with is real. If that is the case why do we follow 'convention' since each moment is personal and unknowable to anyone else.
If what we are doing is being done because our mind had a moments presentment to do such a thing why cloud the mind with the absurdity of 'joined up thought', since in reality there are theoretically no joined up moments, only the one you are living in now.
Presumption makes fools of us all but without the assumption that there will be a tomorrow where do we stand as we reflect on how much we miss by not understanding our own impermanence. 

Of course there is the presentment that in old age, things we take for granted become difficult if not impossible. Cutting ones toenails, climbing up to reach for something, running after and catching that proverbial bus ! The things we take for granted. Perhaps it's the inevitability of our growing weakness which speeds up our grasping for each moment, to fulfil it with what ever, knowing it may well be our last.

Yoga

I have just watched a program tracing the origins of Yoga, from its Indian Hindu base to the Americanisation of this meditative exercise regime. Dropping the term Yoga and merchandising the concept, taking care to patent the small differences to obtain intellectual copyright this is the essence of capitalism.
How far from the Science of the Soul, an inward contemplative exercise performed by assuming a series of physically difficult poses to enhance the contemplative aspect of centred thinking. The program, another excellent exploitative piece of journalism by AlJazeera took us on a journey visiting the different Yoga centres which have sprung up throughout the world, each favouring the local culture whilst keeping a traditional flavour.
 Only in America, the land of the brave and the eternal dollar has so much commercialisation been manufactured to fit the business model. The sleek, young entrepreneur in the States are busy carving out their individual business's, modifying here and there to create exclusivity and then, marketing that special exclusivity and its supposed unique outcomes which a gullible public are constantly queuing for.
The stretching and body-tying poses are part of a collective attempt to off set the inherent ravages of modern living. Physically and mentally Yoga stretches people in ways that normal exercise would not do and for the modern, time intensive way of life this oasis of contemplative repose is very powerful for the psyche

 
The modern exponent is a far cry from the hairy wild looking guru of India. With the accoutrement of the Lycra one piece suits these lithe, slim creatures are on show. The very word Yoga has a mystic ring and the club ( Lycra ) shirt lends kudos to the participant in a way that few other activities would.
There have been issues around the use of Hindu chants and the semi religious nature of the proper Yoga tradition particularly in that (god forsaken) American Midwest bible country where the Christians object to any suggestion that a foreign faith has a place on American soil. They insist in chanting verses out of the bible as they stretch into their Lotus position but it all sounds pretty incongruous compared to the unintelligible and un-knowable Hindu equivalent.
It's an industry with its heart in the right place and seeing that it has many benefits, especially for the heart I think we should let sleeping dogs lie.

Vive la Difference

Words are thrown across the table like a Ping pong ball in a match, trying to thwart the opponent and find some way to prevent a return. Unlike the table tennis match there are no rules and no umpire to guide the verbal joust and no one to decide the winner.
Of course it's the concept of a winner that is the problem since there is often no winner because each person challenging the other is working from a different agenda. As the words begin to flow there should be a hold to ask what are you wishing to attain and why.

A different agenda makes all the difference, it substantially effects the way each person plunges deeper into ever more angry retort and innuendo and often issues are dragged up that are not relevant but are used to undermine the person on the other side.
Certain television shows develop this animosity for the public to gawk at, two people tearing themselves to pieces in a frustration of trying to obtain a hearing and hopefully some sort of understanding, egged on by the shows host ridiculing one or other of the participants. These shows have high ratings revealing the base instincts people have when faced with a gladiatorial conflict. Baying for blood describes the process. One sees it in the fight game where someone is having their head knocked off their shoulders and the crowd yell for more. In the Coliseum in Romans times they were always setting their citizens against each other or, against wild animals in mortal combat with barely a chance of survival. The crowd loved it, the more gore the better.
I find it abhorrent but millions differ from me. Should I find this strange, should I become frustrated by my apparent lack of connectivity with my fellow man or should I rejoice that mankind is diverse and Vive la difference.

Great role models

One of the best and I mean the best formats of informative, intuitive TV media broadcasting has been the insightful  build up of the goings on behind the scenes of Formula One. The personalities, the drivers the owners the controllers of the sport has been extremely interesting especially given the status of these people, made up of course by the very same media machine.

When Jenson Button and Louis Hamilton were partners in the same team they simply bubbled with fun and exuded that rare ingredient, great skill, operating in an environment that was very exclusive.  Their media fed high spirited jousts, off the track were great to watch and one bonded with them through the simple good nature which they so obviously felt towards each other. The contrast of the Mark Webber, and Sebastian Vettel contest with the obvious, bad blood between the drivers which lent a Machiavellian story of intrigue in their respective garages and the disrespect to management orders by Vettel simply added so much chatter to the race its self. The impassive poker faced Kimi  Raikkonen, the dark swarthy good looking but temperamental  Fernando Alonso, these are the players with their homes in Monaco and the obligatory yacht in the harbour, it all fascinates us as we push our plastic boat with a toe in the bath.  Jenson has oceans of charisma and exudes a friendly blokeyness that endears him to us all. His interview with David Coulthard taking him through his career was for me a perfect piece of television, it exemplified the nature of this man, a real role model in every way. 
I think the show is fuelled by the confidence, the high testosterone, the sheer glamour of everything performing at the top end, both the technical nature of the cars, the enormous engineering achievement in every detail and of course there is the nationalistic element, a Brit and a German going head to head.

Ka mate (It is death) Ka ora (It is life)

Boy oh boy I would love to be there.
What an occasion My emotions are close to tears as they always are listening to the marvellous singing of the Welsh anthem, from a crowd who singly and certainly collectively know, not only the words but know their part in the tradition they play in their support of their team. And then, if this was not enough, came the Haka.

The Haka seems to vary depending on the occasion and this one was one of the best I have seen. 
Standing in two rows the All Black players await the call to arms. Ka mate, Ka mate (It is death, It is death) Ka ora, Ka ora (It is life, It is life). A deep throated challenge from the team, crouching down on one knee, they hurl their taunting call toward the opposing team who stand a few yards away impassively waiting.  Ka mate, Ka mate, the sinew bursting to the surface, the tension palpable, Ka ora, Ka ora, deep throated, the masculinity and the testosterone is paramount as the tension rises. A deep throated growl from these huge specimens of manhood as they  rise to a standing position faces twisted mimicking the representation of their ancestral spirits, tongue splayed to the side they continue to taunt the opposition. Today it is theatre but when Cook stepped ashore it was for real.
The game. Wales played well and held a slender lead until the last quarter but as always it's the last quarter, just when the opposition are feeling the strain that the All Blacks kick in the extra gear and pull away to a comfortable win. We are used to it by now and might even be persuaded  to switch channels and watch "Come Dancing", thereby missing the anguish.

Parents.

Having been out to supper and a glass of wine later the evening took on a colourful hue and caused me to reflect :-

 
Old people can be very embarrassing to young people.

Oldies have attitude, old people have foibles, characteristics that make their offspring's toes curl.
Why is it that those close to us, in terms of family can upset our offspring and make them wish we, the older person wouldn't do whatever we are doing and yet, people who are also close, their behaviour is acceptable as a 'character characteristic', to smile about and find amusing.
It's not a serious misdemeanour, just a bit of an innocent giggle and yet when a parent is involved the embarrassment surges to the surface in a way that any pal doing the same thing we wouldn't raise an eyebrow or a comment. Why is there such an emotional difference.
It's as if our own idiosyncratic demons are too firmly entrenched in our family members and whilst our friends are, if needs must, throw away elements in our lives we can't do that with family.
Family genetics reflect our most hidden characteristics and maybe it's this embarrassing resemblance or, perhaps a feeling that own character is being challenged by the behaviour of the of the oldie. Perhaps it's the pedestal the younger person idealistically and subliminally places the member of family on. Or the image of someone, if out of character, how it plays into ones sense of how they should behave.
Behaviour is both individualistic and part of the judgemental baggage we carry around. We care for the person who is acting out of character and the image they portray is important to us. Perhaps  we need to reinforce our self esteem by having rock solid foundations best formed by at least one parent, when that parent doesn't come up to the mark then we worry.
Parents are a worry anyway, its a role reversal since just as most parents worry about their children, children worry about their parents and this is especially so as parents grow frail.
The child is unable to halt the inevitability of old age and feels impotent, they are frightened by consequences of seeing someone they love, who has been a life long support, grow weak and need their support !!
The responsibility is heavy, especially as people live much longer and grow degenerately weaker these days. 

Being there is seldom enough when all you remember was a much better balance in your relationship but since we have no hand in the way life, at its edges pans out the best advice is to stand back a little and support the process, not try to stop it since that is impossible !

Impermanence

Impermanence. How the state we are in is not continuous. How our conception of who we believe we are, is fraught with misconception.
  1. Death is permanent
  2. The time of our death is unknown.
These are two facts, undeniable facts, facts that can not be denied. They are, along with our birth, the truths which can not be ignored and if we were to use our mind genuinely to consider what is important, then our death has to be as important as anything we do in our life.
We are absorbed by the factors that surround us in our daily experience. The good experiences and the bad ones are the factors that grasp our attention, they form our thoughts and our conversation, they are what we conceive we are, what we have become used to in believing who we are. And yet death tells us that our importance in the face of death is a much more important factor than all these occurrences.
If death is so important why don't we give death more consideration during the time we are alive. Why do we not, as we develop a love of ourselves, the notion that as much as we are in love with the things we do and the love we have of ourselves for doing them, they are all impermanent and death makes a mockery of our sacrifice to them.
The recognition that we die raises a profound conundrum. How can a life full of enriching experiences, full of learning, full of loving and caring come to an end on the buffer of death. What has been the purpose, is there a purpose or has it been simply a cultural practice.
Man has found these questions impossible to live with without offering an alternative.
"The end" without the possibility of rebirth in some form or another is pretty stark and mankind has struggled with death for as long as contemplative thought has been around. 

The thoughts at death as we pass out of this world must be immensely important in so far as our previous life is concerned, not in so far as how others see us but in our achieving an easy exit (if there is such a thing). Our living mind as we slip away should have had a 'tutorial' on what this moment is likely to be like so that the presentation of death is not one of fear but one of reflected peace.

Wales. Hen Wlad FYI Nhadau. The old land of my fathers is dear unto me !!

From out of the car window I see a grey wet, rain sodden sky without a break to the horizon. The fields are soaked and the sheep, bedraggled creatures standing forlorn on the hillside. The coat insulating them from the rain has taken on the dirty grey of the polluted air, washed out of the sky by this continuous downpour. 
The beauty of the countryside in summer is transformed by the early winter and as one drives further into the countryside, especially into areas that have been blighted by the dismemberment of the coal industry, 30 years ago, leaving neighbourhoods shorn of work and the ability to have any sense of self respect,or the chance to resurrect themselves to a meaningful place within society. 
Unemployment has produced a generation of people brought up on a Culture of a life on Benefit. Not short term assistance as imagined by the creators of the Welfare State but a lifetime crutch which simply emphasises the unholy misalliance between capital and labour. 

The slag heaps bare testimony to the productivity of these men of the valleys but our memories are distorted by the media campaign of Margaret Thatcher, vilifying these men and their communities, fearful of their collective passion. 
Of an industry which saw its place in the fabric of the nation even when plans were afoot to write out their contribution. 
No one had told them and their inward tribalism protected them from the knowledge and as the might of a Nations Police Force descended on their actions,  the game was up !!
So much of yesteryear is part of the Welsh landscape, both geographically and politically.
One sees it in the triumphal singing at the start of a rugby match, a nation where the male voice choir is a bedrock in some communities, a coming together at community level, a sense of their past and of their unique history signified by their language and poetry.
Under Milk Wood has to be the most socially delightful piece of literature ever written as it traces the workings of a small Welsh town and the activities of its inhabitants. Richard Burton's reading of the work is mesmerising, his deep voice rising and falling with a melodic cadence that binds one in a spell, hearing the goings on and the tittle tattle between the players of this most human drama.
A ray of sunshine has broken through the clouds and, as I listen to Vaughan Williams playing over the radio the sun has brought to the wet streets a respite to their grey countenance. Sunshine reflecting off the puddles swells the light and makes the heart swell with it. 

The distant, distinctive squawk of the seagulls reminds us of the port and of the days when Swansea was busy with trade. Now the town is a little sad waiting for a call to become thriving again whilst, in the meantime the City Council is tarting up the streets and allowing developers to regenerate the waterfront. It's one of the pleasures to sample the small bistros and smart restaurants which have sprung up in the development area. 
The yacht harbour is a ringing endorsement of new money and the natural bent of people living on the shore line have to get on the water. The sound of the halyards ringing on the aluminium masts, these expensive toys quietly waiting their masters pleasure at the weekend, a testimony to the fact that whilst some sections of society take a back seat, others surge ahead in their place.
Wales is, first and foremost a collective society.   Unlike the individualism that identifies the South of England, Wales is a collective, a body of interactive people who celebrate their individuality in many ways and flourish as they play their own specific role within the larger UK Plc.

Visit to the Optometrist

Yesterday it was a visit to the dentist. Today I went to the Optometrist. The motivation was that,through advancing age, (notice I have been banned from using the word old until I reach 80) one is acutely aware of the diminish state in all areas of ones body. The legs ache, the back has its days and the head, oh the head, where do I start. Well let's start with the eyes and my reason to having my eyes tested.
If I have a bias, it's towards my Optician, my lovely daughter who adds to her list of querulous oldies by taking me in !! Opticians today are a fast food business with gadgets to blow puffs of air in your eyes and then blind you by taking a flash photo of the eyeball, and that's before you are ushered into the "expert". 


Every subjective opinion as to whether that image is 'clearer' or, has more 'definition', it's always a matter of degree. 
It is of course "your degree", "your opinion" based on what you contend you actually see. I use the word contend because every thing is 'conditional' and try as you might the question of, "is that better or worse", is not easily answered.
I happened to use the word, "it seem to have a better contrast" to describe the image I was seeing, but this is outside the vocabulary of the pressured practitioner since it evokes a whole new set of parameters from a "is it clearer or less clear" dialogue they wish to peruse.
In the hands of an expert we are easily brow beaten into submission and try to guess what they would find acceptable.
"I think that's clearer" is a no no. I "think" ! What does that mean. Black or white is the answer they are after with no shades of grey. "Can I see through that other lens, the one before the last one". Why ? "Well I thought it might be clearer". Might, what do you mean might ? The eyes mist over or is it perhaps the brain shutting down as a matter of protection. Look to the right, look to the left, dyslectic one quivers a millimetre the wrong way but in a torment of indecision, not understanding clarity from definition and defiantly not venturing into the realm of contrast one is terrified to look the wrong way. It's the same when asked to look at her right ear and then at her left ear. One is pained to point out that the equipment now obscures that ear. It would be churlish to mention this, it would only diminish the patient in the practitioners eye.
I wonder what they, the practitioners eyes are like. Clearer this way or that, or are all patients just seen as myopic and batty.
 

The son who never came back.

A sea of veterans matching on to the sound of the band, on to the swirl of the pipes, on to a distant memory of fallen comrades. The bands play the well worn soldiers songs who respond with one voice singing the songs they sang when moving down the road leading to the trenches. A deep bond built into and between them, born of fear and tribulation a fellowship which can not be broken, an alliance of the living for the dead.
 It's a funny thing the past. It holds our memories of the actual life we lived, along with memories and aspirations of the life we wished to have lived. The people we knew and thought we knew the dreams of attainment the attachment and the dis entanglement of relationships, these are all the province of the mature citizen and whilst today the spotlight is on the fighting men and latterly women, their memories dismembered by the acute strain put on these people, people who were asked to risk their lives, but who came from a class of people, the amateur, out of character since these men were largely conscripted from civilian life.
 The act of living is the act of dying and between these two posts our memories are the fabric of who we are. They reflect our passage and, if we are sufficiently at ease with them they amount to who we are and the standards we hold, therefore memories are important.
Maturity has, of right, plenty to draw on. Youth, still girding its loins, will fight the battles and gain the experience which will, in the end, identify that person.
One of the reasons we ask our youth to wait and harness its time and energy is that 'improvisation' is not enough to run anything. 

Littered with memories

A sea of veterans matching on to the sound of the band, on to the swirl of the pipes, on to a distant memory of fallen comrades. The bands play the well worn soldiers songs who respond with one voice singing the songs they sang when moving down the road leading to the trenches. A deep bond built into and between them, born of fear and tribulation a fellowship which can not be broken, an alliance of the living for the dead.
 It's a funny thing the past. It holds our memories of the actual life we lived, along with memories and aspirations of the life we wished to have lived. The people we knew and thought we knew the dreams of attainment the attachment and the dis entanglement of relationships, these are all the province of the mature citizen and whilst today the spotlight is on the fighting men and latterly women, their memories dismembered by the acute strain put on these people, people who were asked to risk their lives, but who came from a class of people, the amateur, out of character since these men were largely conscripted from civilian life.
 The act of living is the act of dying and between these two posts our memories are the fabric of who we are. They reflect our passage and, if we are sufficiently at ease with them they amount to who we are and the standards we hold, therefore memories are important.
Maturity has, of right, plenty to draw on. Youth, still girding its loins, will fight the battles and gain the experience which will, in the end, identify that person. 

One of the reasons we ask our youth to wait and harness its time and energy is that 'improvisation' is not enough to run anything. 

A bridge leading to Wales.

Setting out on a journey can be a daunting task especially if there is more that one person going on the trip.
Luggage is the first dilemma facing the party since there is no doubt, men and women differ as to what they need when away. Men are usually pretty casual about packing and welcome the freedom from the dress code that work imposes by taking the bare minimum. 

Women on the other hand pack everything plus the kitchen sink in the belief that they must be able to meet all eventualities and evaluate these eventualities by including the full range of female support gear which a woman needs to meet fellow humans. The disguise she adopts between the bedroom and her exit from the front door is remarkable and there are few women who would travel light. 
The next issue is the time to depart. Now this is again where the men and women differ.
A man who has unburdened himself from the routine of the daily commute wishes fervently to avoid the rush hour traffic and suggests an early start since an early start will get him sooner to his destination where he can begin to relax (remember he is probably going to do the driving).
The women on the other hand has the not inconsiderable task of getting ready and so an early start is probably not on.
At a ratio of three items to one her suitcase weighs a ton and, with the other "must have" items accompanying the suitcase the car boot is soon full.
With the cheery comment that he will buy some gear when he gets there he satisfies himself with his shaving kit and the camera, anything to get the show on the road.
Have you pumped up the tires, is there water in the screen washer, when did you last check the oil, a Nasa Apollo countdown procedure comes to mind as the questions are fired until the, "drive on" command is given. The last salvo is probably, did you turn off the heating as you pull around the bend on the start of the journey.
There will be the necessary pit stops, for food and at least one or two for bladder relief. What ever you do don't ask for any map reading advice since direction and car sickness seem to run together. But we're off and these minor irritations are soon smoothed out as the open road induces drowsiness in the copilot and the car quietly  settles down to consume the miles and the petrol in equal amounts. 

In my distant youth it was invariably the first sighting of Blackpool Tower that heralded our destination (a little later, the first sight of the Med and later still the Indian Ocean) now it's the bridge leading into Wales !!

To blog or not to blog,that is the question.

Like an active child, my mind hops around to explore this or that issue and gives me the opportunity to express these thoughts in my blog.
The blog is a mind saver since it forces the casual observer to supplement his opinion with some sort of reflective process on the causes of what he sees or hears.
Every problem, every apparent success has a background which reflects many constituents, many forces and cultural differences, each has a reason for effecting the course of events and with prejudice, free to evolve we are all on a learning curve.
The act of expressing an opinion makes the intelligent person ask of them-self, what they would do if the roles were reversed. Under those conditions there is a natural softening of the way we might criticise things and the process of writing and sometimes reading is cathartic.

Some people would say that words are a poor relative of action and that writing about something is pretty esoteric which of course it can be but, raising an issue and writing about it has the chance that the publicity will be the fuel to combust a flame in others.

 

Ode to the gods.

To live is to suffer anxiety.
A crimson sun broke through the clouds chasing the shadows bringing warmth where previously non existed. A new day, a day which could be full of tribulations of innuendo and criticism or a day full of cheer of friendly banter and support. It's all in the lap of the gods. 

How useful those gods were each with a definite clearly defined purpose each held responsible. If something went wrong, you knew where the problem lay the god of so and so had been made angry by some sleight and the repair was in your hands in the form of a prayer or an offering. Specific responsibility lay elsewhere not, per se, on your own shoulders !
Now we are our own god we understand that it's all our own fault and the blame stops here. There is only one solution and it lays in our own hands. Imagine the weight of responsibility that thrusts on our shoulders. To be at fault for much of our demise to carry the shame of our own ineptitude to slink under the threat of more ridicule, this is the result of casting off the image we had of gods and the part they played in our lives !

at the dentist.

Has Wales upset the gods, it's always crying (raining) here !!
I have just returned from the dentist and have a mouth deadened by Novocain. Being a canny Yorkshireman, I won't be going for a pint for fear of spilling the precious liquid, sacrilegious !!
Visiting the Dentist was in the past fraught with the fear - we were going to be hurt by the things a dentist has to do to do his job.
I go back to the 40s/50s when, because I had some sort of deficiency, it caused my teeth to deteriorate and a visit to the dentist was something I had to bear. In those days before the advent of high speed drills and effective pain killers the whole process was unpleasant.

My Dad, before the war told of an extraction he had without pain killers. Not much money around he thought he would save money on the gas, which in those days was the method of relieving the pain. The dentist took hold with his extraction tool (pliers in lay-man language) and began to pull. As the tooth loosened so did the pain and down he went in the chair lower and lower shrinking from the cause of the pain, he ended up on the floor with the dentist in pursuit.

In my case it was the exposure to the vibration of a belt driven, slow revolution drill bit as he hacked away at the enamel,or from the gas mask which was clamped on full face, no soothing conversation to put you at ease, the dentist, a big chap compared to me a little chap, simply held it in place as I struggled to get air and only got gas !!! 

No a visit to the dentist usually filled one with dread.

Modern dentistry is a far cry from those days. The interaction between the dentist and the patient is based on the trust we place in him not to hurt. From the discussion of what he is going to do in the treatment, to the subtle approach of the needle from behind so you only catch a late view as it enters the mouth. "Does that hurt" was not in the vocabulary of my childhood dentist but your comfort is paramount with today's compassionate, business savvy professional.  

An unspoken threat

Listening to Question Time on the TV the question was asked, "what should we do about the young jihads who fight and identify themselves with ISIS".
The usual comments were heard, coming from 'middle class' people who seem have their heads in a bubble, far removed from reality.
A member in the audience questioned our foreign policy and suggested that much of the disengagement of these young people in our society was due to the governments attitude towards certain countries, largely in the Middle East, mainly Muslim and for whom the local British born Muslim feels they have a religious connection over and above their national allegiance. 

No one is prepared to admit that we have become a country not of one national identity but a country of a number of quasi national identities. This situation is unique in our history and raises many serious problems for the future as the different segments in the society struggle, initially for special recognition and eventually for supremacy. 
It's a question which is never voiced but it's one that needs addressing unless we are so supine that we are happy to see a total overthrow of our sense of law, the rights of women, and much of the claim we make for being fair minded and inclusive. There are other cultures at play that have far different views to our own on many matters we feel are sacrosanct.

Cautious thought

When I reach for the "send" button, having crafted 600 plus words,  attempting to elevate one persons understanding to a level where, conversation takes over. 
(I often have to give Virgin a nod to expect a heavy load of incoming emails to prevent them crashing. Up to now we have been lucky and my in-box hasn't been swamped with blog hungry correspondents questioning me, or my reasoning, or simply suggesting a reasoning of their own to the problems which are common world wide. I am always happily surprised by the breadth of knowledge and your willingness to spend time getting thoughts down).{I wish}.[Another of those dreams]. 
A blog is one persons perspective. many blogs begin to reveal a trend of thought outside the Washington Beltway or the Westminster Bubble and are valuable in supporting our flagging perspective on human relations.

The world is heavily unbalanced not only in the centuries old problems of being born to a poor family in Africa or India, for which there seems little one can do but hope that through education people limit their progeny and so better fit the economic prescription forced upon them by a lack of food due to the poor soil and harsh climatic conditions.
'Aid' seems to make matters worse, even efforts to counter diseases like malaria only increase the stock of people brought into the horrific position where there is no chance of self sufficiency. The cycle of poverty and deprivation ensures that we will continue to see the desperation of people living there.
For ourselves our own future is held in the hands of a few. The bankers and the politicians who wield almost total power through the Global Economy, the Central Banks and their ability to make far reaching decisions such as Quantitative Easing, now being withdrawn as I write, the consequences of which are unforeseen but will in one way or another have an effect on every household across the globe.
It could and is argued that, since most of it is out of our hands why bother to concern ourselves with it, que sera, but as in almost anything, knowledge  is strength to your arm. or at least to your brain and the mind, and we are better able to understand our condition if we know the reasons behind the changes however apoplectic we are, we can cool ourselves with cautious thought.
Maybe that's another Buddhist trait ?              

Why not the Muse.

The issue of what constitutes attraction and why being attracted to someone is a reason for people commit themselves to a lifetime together is not usually questioned, let alone understood.
Why is it that a man is attracted to a female and visa versa. Is it sex or is it something else, something deeper inside of us, part of the missing jig saw which makes up our psyche.
The need to communicate and to reveal ourselves to someone is strong, it is cathartic. Why is it easier to form this communicative bond with a women than with a man. Why do we instinctively feel at ease with a woman and find ourselves more open than with a man.
Of course it depends on the subject matter. Work and sport are best discussed with a man. Evolution and the extent of the universe are best discussed with a man. Politics and the overall worldly condition are things men will happily discuss. What's left you might say but its what's left that makes the women's contribution so special. Their contribution is about us and them its about that hidden side to our character the soft caring empathetic side which, when we are touched to speak of it, brings a sense of participation that is missing in the arcane discussion we have with men. 


With men there is more of a contest going on whilst with women, perhaps foolishly, we let our defences down and are more willing to be open. Perhaps it's Freudian, an instinctive urge to associate with our mothers rather than our fathers, which is repeated throughout our lives. Perhaps it's the never ending mysticism we have for the female of the species, never to understand them, we are drawn like a moth to a flame in the impossible task of trying know !
Of course sex is the 'cherry on the cake' but the attraction is often not initially sexual but rather an ease with which one builds the bridge to talk and beyond talking,really communicate.
Why does our psyche place so much importance on communication. Why do we need to express our feelings, our hopes and aspirations why can't we just place that side of ourselves under wraps like the aristocracy and society used to, one hundred years ago and stay stum.
Is there an inherent weakness in our character that seeks confirmation as we progress through life, each turning point,needing affirmation,so why not to the Muse ? 

Stuffed shirts.

I'm sure I have said before. One of the reasons for writing a blog is, like the old fashioned practice of blood letting, to purge the system of the ills I see around me.

I Have just watched a parliamentary program from one of the committee meetings which Parliament holds.
The Committees interview people from the Business sector, the Civil Service and people representing organisations which play a part in running the country at large. It's unusual to invite someone from another country, someone not under the jurisdiction of the Crown. This evening it was the a Mayor of Calais.
There has been a growing problem in Calais as asylum seekers from a number of countries in Africa risk their lives to cross the Mediterranean into Greece or Italy and then make their way to Calais to cross the Channel to arrive in the UK.
The Parliamentarians are of of a stock who, for reasons of breeding or political persuasion don't wish to be challenged on long held beliefs, irrespective of the truth or otherwise, substantiating those beliefs.
The question of why the migrants were prepared to risk death to get to the UK was answered simply by the Mayor. "Because of the ease of obtaining substance (benefit grants) and of obtaining work outside the official workforce" in other words illegally.
Rubbish said the politician would anyone travel and risk so much for £37 pw.
"Yes said the Mayor to these people £37 is a lot of money". But what about the cost of living here. "They don't take that into their calculations said the Mayor".

The politicians were bubbling with indignation, we have academic studies and there has been a report !!!
"Your studies and reports are not what I hear from the migrants"replied the mayor.
And so it went on the British hiding behind their reports and their studies,insulated as always in their predetermined convictions, separated from actuality by the job they do, afraid of the truth because of the implications.
Their self satisfaction as the representatives of the British electorate, a position, not only of power but of a predilection and certainty of their own self serving truth. It's almost impossible to get them to think outside of the box. How can we have an easy system when so many of my electorate tell me they are having difficulties. How can our academics be wrong. "We'll said the Mayor all you have to do is to listen to the stories of the migrants who have landed in Britain and the tale they tell their friends waiting in Calais to join them".
Heads well and truly in the sand as usual they didn't want to hear. It was impossible for them to admit that what they had spent their lives proffering to all and sundry was incorrect and that the perception of the migrant themselves counted for far more than their own prejudice.
"Order Order" went the Chairman as he ended another session of Committee proceedings. The form and the theatre were more important than the substance and far more important than attempting to come to a conclusion.
"Can the Committee 'visit' you again in Calais, Madam Le Mayor"
Another free-bee on the House (sorry on the taxpayer).
Stuffed shirts every one of them.

Divine will or man made catastrophe

It's a relief to throw off the duvet. It's 2 am and I have woken because I'm hot. 
First of November and I'm too warm in bed. Global warming or just an unseasonal warm night ?
We've recorded the warmest Halloween ever recorded and although today was forecast to be the start of something more the norm,lower double perhaps single figures, the gods seem to have another twist in their tail.
The argument that its due to Global warming brought on by man's over-use of fossil fuels and its effect on the ozone layer is well documented. The clear retreat of the polar ice cap and the effect this has on the air currents in the stratosphere with the attendant change in the distribution of weather is portrayed on our TV screens as ice cliffs crumbling into the sea and stranded polar bears clinging forlornly to scraps of an ice flow, shrinking by the day.

Statistics have always bedevilled mankind, as figures and massive amounts of data can be manipulated to make a story to fit any theory to prove a point. 
The penalty for getting it wrong is dire of course. To reduce our use of carbon and switch to wind and other forms of producing electricity.is not just expensive but it puts the nations that move from traditional fuels to non fossil, at an economic disadvantage when using this energy to produce goods that are priced out of the market compared to coal fired electricity. China particularly is belching millions of tons of so called green house gasses into the air each day and the Americans, well aware of this, refused to sign the Kyoto Agreement limiting all countries in the world to a percentage in line with their industrial capacity.
The size and the effect of climate change , on a countries population, its ability to produce food and the availability of water can be catastrophic. A planet which is becoming over populated and urbanised is at high risk of violent flash points as people struggle to stay alive.
The Good Book will put down to Divine Will, perhaps suggesting a punishment for defying the word of god.
The vast majority will have no solace in these words and perhaps will reflect, at least those of us who emerge out at the other side, how poorly we were served by our leaders, both in business and politics,if money and short term gain is once again to lead us into another man made catastrophe.

An open door.

The concept that people who have problems at home in their own country and who manage to arrive in this country have a moral right to stay here because of the fear that they will be persecuted on return to their home country has to be revisited. Given that the opportunity for mass transportation of people across the globe has created an enormous issue, can we afford to become the destination of millions who are at risk across the globe.
Can you imagine it. Swathes of people, from the homosexual persecuted  in many Muslim countries to political minorities in countries that have no concept of "inclusiveness" and who's remedy to these people who do not fit the national norm is to kill them.
As horrible as that scenario is can we be a refuge, can we, a relatively overcrowded country expect of ourself, through some sort of misguided philanthropy to be the safe haven for all and sundry.
If we do then we will have to rigorously redesign the Welfare System and the social commitment we offer since we can't, at this moment in time afford the current weight of claimants let alone be the destination of the downtrodden across the Globe.

How do we evolve

How do we evolve. How do we throw off our past belief. How do we resolve our old prejudice and of course ask the last question. Should we ?
There is no doubt that our default position is to do nothing since change is difficult especially changing our selves. The society we live in is dynamic it represents the strong influence of youth and the break away from convention.
Respect for the past is often most valued by those who have had a past and memories which flow from a different era. Can the weight of something more current, more in tune with contemporary ideas not be valued with equal commitment.
The argument about the Elgin Marbles and whether they belong in Greece or, are they better kept in the British Museum. The argument of the Colonial Era being a despotic period. when the British supposedly  corrupted and pillaged the world and, as part of the spoils of this period, removed certain artefacts to London.
The issue is that these items of antiquity should now be returned to their rightful owners. Questions of care are raised.  Is it in the capacity for these nations to step up to the plate, or are we being our usual  patronising self suggesting the can't.  Our Colonial forefathers thought of many of their protectorates in a patronising way and yet of course, growing up believing Colonialism as a representation of its day. 
In many ways Colonialism brought stability and the rule of law to places where non existed, much as the Roman Empire did in Europe and the East, epochs ago. 
I do not feel that the period was bad. It was formative and some of its constitutional influence lingers on in the countries that are now independent. I will not go with the flow, as it were, with the modern trend to trash elements of the past because they do not worship at the alter of "Inclusiveness " or for that matter "Exclusivity"  Nations are different and have travelled their own historical road to reach where they are.
People from those nations have the national baggage which lies deep in the psyche of each person rendering it almost impossible to have a proper meeting of mind. Now this is an anathema to a young person brought up in this country. The youth, drip fed to reassemble the society in such a way that difference is ignored and anyone drawing attention to the suggestion that difference should be acknowledged and celebrated, is demonised.