Having respect for each other. Grenfell Tower

Subject: Having respect for each other. Grenfell Tower

"How can it be". "How can it be".

We often talk of the disconnect in society. We talk of a schooling system that creates a divide. We talk of a post code that creates a divide. We talk of a multicultural divide, a cultural divide. 

Listening to a BBC program this morning, a small group of tenant/survivors from Grenfell Tower, the tower block which went up in flames like a Roman candle two weeks ago, had been invited to come together to debate with officials (if they could be found) their ongoing horror.  It becomes clear that not only in the decisions to clad the building with a product that was suspect as far as the fire itself was concerned but in all subsequent decisions and day to day actions the authorities have been found unable or unwilling to cope.

How can it be that there is still no coordinated advisory group that the survivors can turn to for authorities answers.

How can it be that in such circumstances people are still being treated as individuals.

How can it be that hospitals do not have a list which they can release to say that so and so is being treated in hospital.

How can it be that if a person accepts help through the Samaritan good will of people the acceptance of that good will counts against them when the final account is drawn up.

How can it be that politicians still treat this catastrophe as a political football.

How can it be that the responsible council members have gone to ground and are not available. I suggest they are still pocketing up their pay cheque.
Here we have, at its rawest the divide in our country. 

The people in those flats were from a subset in our culture. They were not valued and still are not valued. The powers that be and this includes all of us who passes on the other side of the street when you see a homeless person begging or when you read and nod your head in your right wing newspaper of the benefit fraudster whilst at the same time speaking to your accountant to find ways to minimise your tax. 

Poverty is a virus and spreads throughout our community. With poverty comes disdain like a transmittable disease it distorts our humanity as we pull up the drawbridge and protect our own by ignoring the plight of those less well off than ourselves.

The appropriate Minister comes onto the program to speak to the group as a whole but then wants to split the group into individuals to discuss individual needs. A famous divide and rule tactic traditionally used as a method of defusing a situation. 

The politician waffles on with well heeled platitudes whilst the tenants are desperate to identify their problem. They are desperate to maintain their unity, they are desperate not to lose their homogeneity as a group. The spotlight is on a group of people, people who have known the inability of councils throughout the land to be sympathetic, empathetic to their predicament. Stay as a group, feed off each other as a group, watch out for each other, be as it used to be when I was growing up. Our neighbourhood didn't have much in material strength but it made up for that in the collected empathy and the respect we all had for each other.

Who oppressed the oppressors

Subject: Who oppressed the oppressors.

It's a funny old world. The changes which ring out every year are depicted as inevitable, a sign of the time, a consequence of past events.

The commentary is cleverly scripted to encourage support for the "oppressed". Oppressed people from all corners of the globe but uncannily, not from an area in any one of a number of country's within Europe.

The Oppressed arrive because they are oppressed. Little or no insight into why they are oppressed or by who. Oppressed people carry the holy grail these days, ever since they discovered it is possible but not easy, to trek from their tribally/religiously war torn areas into the relative tranquillity of Europe. Being "oppressed" gives them status, it unlocks doors it gives them rights. Being "oppressed" is a passport to anywhere and everywhere, a status of at least on paper, immediate unqualified assistance designated by no less a personage than the Secretary General of the United Nations.

Over time and dependent on numbers, the oppressed slowly become the oppressors.

The neighbourhoods which absorbed them begin to resemble the country they came from and the locals soon feel alienated in their own back yard.

They of course have no Secretary General to speak for them. Even their own politicians flee from representing their grievances for fear of being called racist. They are left to make the best of it, or move away.

The resentment which builds up in these communities of 'the newly oppressed' begin to air their resentment but eerily find their words used against them for being, 'Fascist' or 'Far Right' and demonised by the people who have least to worry but the most to blame, the middle class. 

The growth of discontent has been around for years but a "not in my back yard" mentality meant the problem was never seriously discussed. The politicians were scrupulous in avoiding the issue and the Government simply did what it always does when faced with social problems, it put its head in the sand and prayed it would go away.

'Human rights' trumps 'national rights' on the assumption that we are all human. But if the 'human rights humans' have an orchestrated plethora of support from all those "not effected" humans, (part of their confessional), then the oppressed humans who have become oppressed by the initial oppressors have little chance of getting a hearing from a crisis weary public.

There but for the will of god go I

Subject: There but for the "will of god" go I.

One of the problems of understanding anything is the gap we create in visualising ourselves faced with the circumstances of what we are considering.
Immigrants fleeing from a war zone can be viewed as a threat considering the numbers and the effect large numbers of immigrants from a particular area can have on the environment, your own, with the diverse foreign cultural baggage they bring.
Viewed as individuals it's different. Their scale becomes your scale, their problems are interpreted as similar to yours if, god forbid you were forced to flee.
We all see problems as a collective not an individual problem. Individuals can be helped and understood within our common humanity but when we see numbers we lose our ability to empathise.
I'm reading a book about Greece and its economic troubles. It's written by an American Greek who has studied the internecine conflict of tax avoidance on a countrywide scale and the conflicting claim of the need to pay for services and benefits which in Greece were very generous.
Yanis  Varoufakis has written a number of very readable books on the plight of Greece after its extravagance of entering the Euro and its subsequent bankruptcy when the loans were called in. His books depict a merciless Bundesbank evincing harsh, no nonsense treatment to a state on its uppers. In fact it was this picture which did as much for me to vote to leave the EU when the referendum came around, not wishing to be part of an organisation led by people with such a harsh, parsimonious values.
Anyway this book I am now reading by James Angeles sets out much of the other side of the story, of how Greek society had grown Used to being feather bedded, in part because it knew that the fat cats in Greek society avoided any kind of responsibility towards the state as an institution.
To add a further burden on their shoulders Greece is seen as a point of entry from Africa and the Middle East through Turkey or the perilous crossing over the Mediterranean Sea
His descriptions of the hopelessness of people caught in a bureaucratic nightmare, treated as subhuman, beaten and pilfered at every turn. It is only when one sees these people as individuals, mothers with children, children on their own does one slowly begin to understand.  Swapping places with the person who has cast themselves out from their tribal security, a society which itself had become insecure, why else leave, and face such  horror, it is only then can one find empathy.
Hope lives eternal they say and as these displaced baggages of unwanted flesh and bone, scour  the landscape  for a place to sleep, huger a constant companion, living in a maze of languages and bureaucratic hostility, we would do well to recognise the fact, there but for the "will of god" go I.

Cressida (Teflon) Dick

Subject: Cressida (Teflon) Dick

Having just watched the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Cressida Dick face the London Mayoral Committee to answer questions on policing in the capital I was drawn to compare her performance with her predecessor, Bernard Hogan-Howe.
He was a straight talking Yorkshireman who never seemed to duck difficult issues. He was at times controversial but seemed to be the sort of boss who would protect your back. Cressida Dick was presented with the job because the new mayor of London, Sadiq Kahn couldn't get on with Hogan-Howe. Being a slippery politician Kahn wanted a yes-man/woman and chucked Hogan-Howe out.
Cressida Dick had a huge black mark against her name, so much so, she left the Met and went to the Foreign Office. She had been officer commanding the shooting of the Brazilian electrician, wrongly identified as a suicide bomber who was shot dead in Stockwell tube station. As senior commander in charge of the operation she was severely criticised but cleared by the Court of wrong doing, although the Force as a whole was found guilty of unlawful killing.
That is no small charge against a police officer and yet she resurfaced with the top job, ousting a man who everyone acknowledged had brought order and discipline  to the force after both his predecessors had been accused of ineptitude.
Kahn is, as I have said a slippy character. Being a politician he needs to hear his own voice and seems to pop up all over the place acting as the reasonable interface of the Muslim community which is no bad thing in itself but is not necessarily part of the job description. His knowledge of policing is I would suggest minimal and Hogan-Howe's attempt to move against knife crime, the fastest growing crime in London, by increasing stop and search was the final straw of the libertarian mayor.
Perhaps as a Muslim member of the Mosque community his insight into the terrorist substructure is well placed to apply some pressure on Muslims to put their house in order but as I watched the new Commissioner today diplomatically field the questions I wondered what a rum game politics is if good people can so easily be moved aside for the convenience of ones own ego

The power of a cold shower.

Subject: The power of a cold shower.

There is a danger some days of not being able to get out of the chair !!
If your a sports fan there's the Formula 1 in Azerbaijan , if your into rugby there the early dawn in New Zealand with the Lions or an afternoon slot in South Africa to watch their game against France. There's boxing from the States, golf from Europe it's a never ending opportunity to move around the globe (unfortunately without the benefit of air miles) no jet lag, no dodgy hotel booking, or the long flight back. It's all done from my arm chair.
Couch potato was a term used for people who watched too much TV. It was a derogatory term used to disparage those people who felt good about themselves for being up and about in the fresh air.
Well to start with, today's air in not so fresh and the dreaded lurgi, the pollen count and a hay fever allergy is something to be avoided. There was also a type of fetish about this love of fresh air and its dreaded cousin the cold shower. It's as if pain is something which makes a man of you and the avoidance of discomfort makes you a wimp.
Well let me tell you, I travelled first class today and even the bacon butty which I had at half time was just what the doctor ordered.
It's hard to think how far we have come in such a short time. When I was growing up and TV came onto the scene, only one channel was available starting at 8.00 am with the signal being switched off at 11.00pm. It was broadcast initially from Alexander Palace and then from Crystal Palace in 1956. Black and white picture, the screen was only 9" and the electronics to allow us to see the picture ran on valves. The first 'broadcasts' from outside the country came from events, usually football, played in France. The figures on the screen were usually obliterated by atmospheric interference which looked like a snow blizzard with indistinct images we hoped were from the field of play. How simple were our tastes how easily we were satisfied to have this input of sport and culture into our living rooms.
Today we have 24/7 coverage a coverage that has become so commonplace that we barely appreciate it.  Perhaps it is time to return to the cold shower, it will if nothing else wake us up.

Never shout fire in a crowded theatre.

Subject: Never shout fire in a crowded theatre.

How mad are we in this country.
Due to the findings regarding the terrible fire in the block of flats in Kensington and Chelsea, specifically the cladding which had been erected to make the block more modern and more in tune with the surrounding properties, suddenly there is an awareness of other blocks of flats around the country which have been clad with the same material and therefore pose a similar risk. So far so good.
The fact that the Fire regulations and the specifications regarding construction material had been ignored and that the Fire inspectorate seem to have been negligent in doing their job we now have the ludicrous situation where, in a neighbouring London borough the Fire authorities have, with the borough councils approval, chased residents of four high rise blocks out of their flats in the middle of the night. Not because there "was" a fire but because "if" there was a fire you would have the same catastrophe.

You can see the legal minds working. We are at fault in not overseeing the specification, the regulations, and the subsequent installation. We are guilty of gross inaction and therefore the thing to do is to act, irrespective of the hardship and chaos our decision, to act on the minute with immediate effect. Never mind the fact that for over three years the residents in the stricken block had offered their opinion that the flats were a death trap and the fire authorities has chosen to do nothing. Now we can show how proactive we can be. Out, Out, Out. 2am in the morning Out, Out we don't care, Out. It beggars belief that on the coattails of a massive blunder they would wish to repeat the blunder in such an insensitive way.

With only 4 blocks at risk why not post fire wardens in all the blocks so that if the very unlikely fact that a fire would start they had trained people to lead the people to safety.
Evacuate the flats systematically in the morning, allow the collection and removal of personal belongings and handle the situation with sympathetic humanity.
There is a strain of thinking amongst those in power in this country that the underclass are vassals in some feudal landscape unfit to any sort of consideration and of course, the threat of litigation bears even more heavily on their dark hearts.

Kiwi dominance

Subject: Fw: Kiwi dominance.

 

 

It's hard to type if your a South African, it's hard to type if you are an Australian, it's hard to type those words if you are a Lions fan. "New Zealand rugby is the best in the world".

How can a collection of tiny islands situated in an angry sea at the foot of the world with a population of only 4.56 million, half the population of London, be so good at Rugby. 

Rugby is a game which, like all games is played to a set of rules, rules which are the same for both sides. Fitness, technique, motivation, are all in abundance within the teams who come to play them and yet they all go home with their tails between their legs well beaten. 

It's not the money such as you get when you gather players from all four corners of the world in the top professional soccer teams to claim supremacy. In fact the money poured into the English club rugby football set up which produced results by claiming the game from the ranks of being an amateur game into one truly professional and yet we still see today the gap, the gulf between the Kiwi's and the rest.

It can be summed up in self belief but that's not to say each of the Lions don't have self belief. It can be summed up in team spirit and cohesion but that's not to say the Lions lack either of them. What is it then. Is it instinct perhaps, that sense of playing a game which comes so naturally that the skills are the manifestation of something within. To adjust to each fleeting circumstance with an instinctive reflex action is not something learned on the training ground. Perhaps it's genetic, perhaps it's learnt because enough of your schoolchildren s are displaying those instinctive skills and, that like osmosis you absorb them, they become second nature, not only as being possible but become that important mental attribute, an expectation.

A bunch of burly burly farmers who rejoice in their collective power to outplay anyone who comes up against them, who relish the awe we all have to watch them and to know in their hearts that this is "their" game and we all better get used to the idea.

Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir.

Subject: Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir.

If you live in Bishops Stortford or Bishop Auckland's the world around is familiar and hopefully comforting. It's made up of people and their families, their ventures and adventures. We take it all for granted.  How else could we get through our day without the confidence that the world is a good place and the confidence which that implies.
This is true as individuals and is also true as a nation. As a nation we watch the changes which take place on the national stage assuming that the powers that be know what they are doing. We have to have faith in them much as, (in extremis) did the Germans in 1930 place their faith in Hitler's vision of the future.
The figurines on the parliamentary benches used to be drawn from the ranks of successful business people (including trade unionists and municipal councillors) people, with a few exceptions, from a class of skilled professionals, lawyers, accountants, of economists and social scientists.
Today there is a growing coterie of people who one can best describe as professional politicians, people who studied politics, becameadvisers to politicians and then become politicians themselves. Because they are the trained political class within the general intake of people who enter parliament to do and effect what they feel right for the country, this political class are trained to rise like doctors in a hospital or accountants in an accounting firm to the top. And so at the senior end of parliamentary decision making regime we now have  the opposite of what used to be an eclectic body of people who could draw on their wide and varied experience. Instead we have the 'prefect' who knows the house rules and how the game is played but little else.

This diminution of talent has gone unnoticed. We have moved through a time warp  where much of the parliamentary decision making passed to Brussels. The expertise for negotiating trade deals, the legal intricacies of formulating law to cover treaties is no longer in-house. We have become House Captains to a Headteacher who has bigger fish to fry. We have become parochial, inward turned and insular.

Our skills sorely missing we have had to turn to Jenkins of the lower third to lend a hand as we hand the chief negotiating role to a man from New Zealand. Thank god they have short memories after what we did to them when we joined the EU, selling the trade we did with New Zealand down the river so we could join the sparkling new school run by an intolerant French Headmaster, Charles de Gaulle. Swallowing our pride or what was left of it we said yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir and signed on the dotted line.

So we emerge like a newborn child, fresh from the womb, innocent of the world around and hoping no one will give us a spanking !!! Like any new child we will bruise our knees and bloody our nose but we can grow into something different.
I'm not holding my breath though since the effort to eradicate the rot in the foundations of this country will be stymied every inch of the way by the self interest of the Establishment and its Etonian classmates.

Finsbury Park

Subject: Finsbury Park

Is there any difference between the Finsbury Park incident and perhaps the London Bridge incident where in both instances the perpetrators chose to run down innocent people on the pavement.
Both were racially motivated hate crimes. One against Muslims one against non Muslims one calling for the death of Muslims the other for the death of people who did not belong to the faith. One seems to have been more impulsive in that apart from using the van as a weapon he carried no other weapons and succumbed to being overpowered without much of a struggle, the other was a definite killing mission with knifes drawn and a rampage amongst the people stabbing at random. Death to themselves was part of the package necessitating the police to shoot them to stop them.
The one, as I say appears to be motivated by a random act of retaliation for the spate of killing which has gone on, not only in this country but world wide. An amateur who had taken the law into his own hands, a response to a trend of Islamic terrorism which seems well organised and funded and has at its heart a disgust for people who are not of the faith and not only the faith but a specific sect within the faith.
The "far right" as they describe the people who define their own hatred in terms of a specific group have never been particularly specific. Over time they have shown contempt for most non white people, they have been contemptuous  of liberal authority, or as they would put it, the appeasement of being conciliatory to others who don't fit a specific stereotype. As disdainful as they are they are not specifically terrorist, their marches are an overt example of their intolerance, nothing more and whilst there have been in the past examples of extremism and violence, particularly in Germany and currently in Greece it has never been condoned by the public at large.
Of course  Islamic terrorism is not condoned by the ordinary Muslim but there are references in the Koran which do condone violence and reparation. With a religion so closely tied to the believers on the ground, the ordinary men who attend the mosque every day, a religion which is a part of their life in a way Christianity is not part of the ordinary Christians life style and observance, that in this total absorbance of holy text and mission, then we must realise that the jahidi is much closer to the congregation through scripture than the "far right" can ever be to mainstream society.

Reality

 

Subject: Reality.

Is there such a thing as 'reality' as it pertains to humans or are our individual realities so personal that we are stupid to imagine a common all encompassing thing called reality.
The dictionaries definition of reality is :- "the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them".
Since we see things through our own senses, which in themselves are limited, can there be a finite description of reality or is everyone's reality personal.
People strive to attain a sense of reality to make sense of their lives. They study texts and philosophise on the context of the universe and the minds role in understanding the universe but given we have that fundamental flaw, that we see things through a prism of our own making, we distort all our findings with our own prejudice, can we ever be anything but massaging the way we want things to be which often is far from reality.
If this is true, fact can become fiction and fiction always has a second-class tag attached because we feel it is tainted with a secondary individual's perspective. We value fact as if it were a true, idealised rendition of something which we wish to fix in our attempt to understanding of the world around.
But what if there are no facts only approximations. What if our worlds eye is so distorted it's no more use than a 'fairy tail' in trying to pinpoint what we would call fact.
If we are awash in assumptions is it not worth reining in our dedication to finding out truth and actuality and instead take everything with a pinch of salt,  better still, stop opposing ideas that are different to our own and learn to be a little more humble perhaps even more sanguine about the chaotic world around us.

Why were we so myopic

Subject: Why were we so myopic.

Almost stealthily we are going bankrupt.
As the pound continues to fall in the currency free market against most currencies, particularly the dollar that phrase the "pound in our pocket" which Harold Wilson coined as the pound remaining the same, is clearly a deceit since what you can buy with it is eroded week on week. 

£3.40 to the dollar when I was a lad  it has fallen to .88 pence to the dollar today.
Reminiscent of the devaluation of the Rand ten years ago and going back further when the Reichsmark lost its value completely after the war and was replaced in 1948 by the Deutschmark which supported by the Americans became the linchpin in rebuilding Europe.
When I was growing up the value of the pound on the currency markets was critical. We had a fixed rate of exchange in those days and to announce a rate change downwards was tantamount to declaring economic war. The secrecy leading up to a devaluation was paramount since speculators would have a field day knowing the value was about to fall. Events led us to decouple the pound from its fixed rate, initially coupled to gold and then to the dollar and we allowed its value be determined by the market and how the market valued your economy.

Decoupling the rate of exchange meant that the British government could look the other way as we progressively devalued, decade on decade. The benefits of having a cheaper currency was always proclaimed an 'opportunity'. Our goods for export were cheapened and therefore were more attractive to the overseas purchaser. This advantage was supposed to stimulate our productive well being but somehow we never grasped the nettle of investment to capture a larger stake in those markets and instead became complacent, happy to see our competitors shackled with their own relatively expensive currency to ours, we sat back and banked our winnings.
Today we are beginning to resemble a South American economy known for its flight of money and depreciating market share. We have never grasped the idea that you repair the roof when the weather is good. Investment in skills and machinery to to keep making goods efficiently was not an agenda which we saw as profitable, rather import cheap labour to offset the worsening efficiency, loosen regulations, indulge in a financial industry which was up to all kinds of jiggery-pokery, since finance didn't need capital investment, other than for super high speed computer power to exploit the fractional variations in currency values across the financial time frame. This was not work it was 'exploitation' but we are famous for that.
Nothing made of value, no investment in the skills required to work the machinery or repair it, no attempt made to retain the skill base a century of trade and enterprise had brought and which to this day the electric motors and the cranes used throughout the world were until 30 years ago made in Great Britain, not I hasten to add manufactured 30 years ago but rather 30 years older than that, 60 years ago and still going strong.
What fools we have had in government  and in our boardrooms, what Lilliputian foresight   Where were the equivalents of the Siemens, Krupp's and Bosch in this country. 

Where was the managerial foresight, why were we so myopic.

Irrispective of how the words come out.

Subject: Fw: Irrespective of how the words come out.

 

 

What is politics. We know the political class have a poor name in which ever society you live but is it politics which makes for the bad name rather than the human being who distorts the essence of politics.
Politics is the application of mind to secure a social economic outcome which is meant to benefit society. Without the formulation of political ideas, often based on political philosophy which merges into ideology, we wouldn't create comprehensive guide lines and formulate plans to get things done.
Socrates in his discourse was for ever peeling away at the onion, removing the layers trying to discover if the person arguing a political point could sustain his point under analysis. His dialectic method was clinical not rhetorical his aim to train the political class to examine their premise. Today we practice tautology which is the opposite. We repeat the mantras over and over as if by saying it, is the same as doing it.
Politics and the classical democratic assumption that it is a way to find the 'will of the people' is flawed since it starts with a premise that I the politician know what's best. Of course it could hardly be any other way unless you run successive referendum, putting everything to the vote (as in Switzerland) each time the political machine wants direction. I suppose so long as the questions were framed in a way that doesn't try to enlist an outcome, at least true majority rule is the will of the people or at least a majority of them.
Politicians lie. Well yes their job is on the line to convince you of their argument, they have to sweeten the pill to keep your interest and support and so deceit becomes second nature and it's that straight faced obfuscation when we yearn for a yes or no answer which infuriates us the most.

Michael Fallon comes on to defend government policy and you can see the mind turning over, turning to deflect or ignore the question, With the "urban political" working overtime you wonder what makes up the character of the person who can twist the truth to mean anything.

I suppose diplomat comes to mind, that smooth polished exterior, the glib phrases, the apparent lack of rancour, the smile.
In our ordinary lives we posses few if any of the skills of a politician or diplomat. We call a spade a spade and find intrigue difficult to stomach. We more than any understand the society we live in and it's needs and failings. Ours is not 'show time' where, as the curtain rises it's all smiles and Boheme,  a facade, a face to distort the true situation.
So for us politics is a means to an end, it represents a civilised way of addressing problems which society needs addressed.
For the politician it's a business, the business of re-election and the arcane attraction of Westminster and power.
Politicians are not the nation state, nor is the government, they are but representatives of the people who live here. Perhaps we give them too much power to much respect on the assumption that they have "our" best interests at heart when clearly they have 'their' own interests at the centre of all their actions and statements irrespective of how the words come out.

You don't have to live next to me, just give me my equality.

Subject: You don't have to live next to me just give me my equality.

Music speaks louder than word although if it is a song the words are an integral part of the performance. The pathos of a song or the exuberance of a song depends on the artist finding a motif for the the story. From the backing cords to the timing, from the counter rhythm and synchronisation to the underlying feeling expressed, not only in the lyric but in its intensity and emotion.

Nina Simone possessed all the ingredients to not only make a statement about her race but also about her womanhood. Listening to the song, "4 women" she challenges us to think about the circumstance which produces a stereotype but which underlaying the stereotype is the condition and the circumstance which produces this conditional outcome.

My skin is black.

My arms are long.

My hair is woolly.

My back is strong.

Strong enough to take the pain 

inflicted again and again.

What so they call me 

My name is AUNT SARAH.

In her lyric she depicts three other women. The mixed race girl she calls SAFFRONIA ,

the prostitute she calls MY NAME IS SWEET THING. And finally with anger and emotion breaking in her voice MY NAME IS PEACHES.

It's a depiction of race and the roles women who 'suffer their birth' play, a part often written for them by others.

Simone speaks for her race at a time when no one wanted to know and it was dangerous to do so. He famous ultra critical theme "Mississippi God Damn" hits where it hurts and should make any white person with a modicum of sensitivity feel embarrassed. She launches into this diatribe against race laws in the Deep South with a barely  concealed bitterness. She hammers the piano keys to a crescendo, emphasising  point on point the iniquity of  racial inequality. 

Google the lyrics, You Tube the song. 

"You don't have to live next to me just give me my equality", says it all.

Women's rugby

Subject: Fw: Women's rugby

 

 

Continuing my theme on sport and the role it can play in identifying a need amongst men, we may have to recognise a side of our nature which because of the feminising of society we may wish to reignite.
I had a choice. Continue watching the women's rugby test between England and New Zealand or swop to the men's game, England versus Argentina. Normally it would be a no brainier, the men's game is the real thing, the women's game is pedestrian and played in such a way, no one gets hurt.
I had somehow stumbled into the New Zealand game, played in New Zealand by parting with £10 for a weeks viewing of Sky Sports. The Lions / New Zealand games were my main objective along with the motor sport and the boxing clash between Andre Ward and the Russian Sergej Kovalev.
Anyway my scepticism was heightened when the Kiwis began to replicate the Haka.
It was more like a ladies choir, the words were there and the grimacing but there was no fire in the belly, no testosterone to fuel the passion. The English team are attractive, not the beefcake on sticks but genially attractive women. Being labelled a misogynistic man
I thought this might be interesting to see how they coped with tackling and the physical aspects of this hard contact sport. Surely it would be pedestrian and hardly full on.
I couldn't have been further from the truth as they hurled their bodies into the tackle or scrimmaged for the ball. Their rolling maul technique was very impressive and had the New Zealand team struggling to stop them. I was impressed by both sides but it was the Rugby technique that had been drilled into the English team which was impressive and a tribute to the professional side of this team. New Zealand on the other hand were a collection of amateur players and it showed. The New Zealand players have a natural flair for a game which means so much within the NZ community.
There was an amusing sight which reminded us that women have that aspect to their character which sets them apart. The game had come to a halt as someone was being repaired from injury. Standing around in a group, suddenly the bobs of hair tied up on the top of their head were loosened and hair cascaded down shaken out and readjusted.
I was, as always, reminded of the instinctive difference between us. Girls are brought up to take care and consider their appearance whilst men, of my vintage at least, appearance was incidental, although with the plethora of gels and creams for men on the market make this statement somewhat out of date.

Hair do or not, I was fascinated by the quality of the rugby. I suppose it missed the brutality of the men's game, more like a top class youth game where the violence is reigned in. That's not to say that the tackles were, in anyway softer or the scrummaging less vigorous. Anything but and the game was just as attractive.

The England / Argentinian game came on, I was drawn to that game but soon switched back to watch the remaining half of what was turning out to be a thoroughly enjoyable and fascinating game of rugby.

Where was their feminist side

Subject: Where was their feminist side.

Watching the Maori All Blacks do their traditional war dance/chant I was reminded of last nights discussion with a Feminist in the pub where we had a disagreement over the rights and wrongs of wolf whistling. She was quite incensed at my rational that if women dressed provocatively to be noticed they shouldn't cry foul if people she had little time for were also inclined to make their pleasure felt. We had been speaking of the rise to prominence of women in the political ranks now holding the leadership in all but the Liberal party and it is whispered that that post, now that Tim Farron has resigned, will also fall to a woman, Jo Swanson.

The memory of the tortured attempt at compromise  in the discussion, characterising women and comparing them to men came to an abrupt halt this morning with the sight of the Maori advancing slowly down the pitch tongues rolling out of their grimacing mouths. Grunting and chanting their call to contest, slapping their thighs, crouching ready to leap into action with all the physicality 18 to 22 stone men can muster. It was a far cry from the pragmatic, feminist argument about responsibility and consideration. It was about testosterone fuelled men's stuff and the hairs on the back of my neck rose as they always do to see this display of 'masculine' power.

We are rapidly being emasculated by the twin drive of feminine issues and political correctness.  To listen to the apologists for being or having opinions which glorify competitive sports like boxing is to understand how far on the back foot we have gone in our willingness to concede and claim our feminist side.
The game wasn't pretty, plenty of grunt from the Lions who controlled the scrum in the second half and scored push over tries. Muscular, tough, combative, the lads loved it as they shook hands after the match, all the niggles forgotten only respect for the opponent as they troupes off the field, steam rising from each of them, a communal bath to ease out the bruises and the hope they did enough to be picked for the test match next weekend.

The Dalits are expendable

Subject: The Dalits are expendable.

It's revealing that the money set aside to assist the dispossessed families from the burnt out block of flats in London is 5 million pounds which is equivalent to the purchase price for "one" of those flats not a mile away. 

It sort of lends perspective in this land of democratic equality regarding the gulf which has been allowed to grow between the rich and the poor. Dalits (untouchables) in the land that fostered the Mother of all Parliaments, where representation was meant to prevent exploitation, where the rule of law and the regulations which are bound up in legislation, can be exploited for profit. Where the regulations which we all had faith in are but an uncomfortable impediment to a section of our community. Regulations which are now called "guide lines" by the planners, guide lines to circumvent when it suites the powerful lobby who make decisions on our behalf. 

Lives in the Favelas of Brazil  or in the shacks lining the road in the Cape have a different value to those in the high rise apartments in Rio or the manicured homes in Rondebosch and in any society where the disparity of wealth is so acute. Wealth brings a blindness as people enclose themselves in a consumption cycle, buying and displaying, like so many peacocks, oblivious of everything around them other than their next possession.

The Dalits in Grenfell Tower lived their lives coming and going some acutely aware of the failings in the safety arrangements in the flats. Writing of their fears they posted their detailed document to the Council and to the Housing body which had been set up to act as a buffer between the Council and the Dalits. 

Years, generations, of prejudice form like a callus over the unreality of the way some people live their lives. In the council offices they are aware of the priorities set from on high and with HR cutting back, the man or woman sitting at their desk doesn't want to become embroiled in the nitty gritty of making a case for the Dalits and potentially endangering their job.

And so we have the unsightly picture of the Prime Minister playing catch up, first in her misjudgement of only being seen to speak to the leaders of the rescue services and not the tenants and then being upstaged by the 'Queen of all people' who mingled quite informally with the people who had lost everything and were being housed in a hall nearby.  Eventually the 'Vicars Daughter' remembered her fathers sermons and came out, in her prickly, stiff way to visit the injured in hospital. 

At least she got in to see them. The hospitals have barricaded themselves behind regulations not allowing a search for the missing as a father or mother wait for information to know if their son or daughter is being treated in that particular hospital.

The inhumanity of privileged information and the rights of confidentiality are laid out like a bear trap preventing the near hysterical, grieving relative from clarifying whether  someone is there being treated or not. This is no time to talk of 'patient confidentiality', there are dozens if not hundreds of dead charred bodies awaiting discovery why not at least release the information of those who made it out.

Of course if you are  Dalit you know to stay in line. You can't expect much help from the politicians who have passed the buck for years on safety in the high rise blocks.

The professionals such as the Fire Chief who should have been proactive with the Council and with Government as to the potential failings of fire protection. The Architect and the Structural Engineers, the Contractor who was "allowed" to choose the less fire retardant cladding on the basis of cost. So many people scurrying around looking for cover.

Only the Dalits will pay, as they always do. They are immune to justice since being so far down the chain no one of influence cares, except perhaps this time, the wrong done against them is so great that "the people" won't let matters rest and perhaps we will see heads role this time, tall heads not low hanging fruit. 

Building regulations which are such an inconvenience to that powerful lobby the Building Contractor, who time and again take short cuts, with the connivance of the politician who wants as always the most from the least and being a chancer at heart is prepared to prevaricate when things that need doing are deemed expensive. 

The Dalits are after all, expendable.

The female in Parliament

Subject: The female in Parliament

Having just watched a high pitched slanging match between the leaders of the Scottish Independence Party, the Scottish Conservative Party and the Scottish Labour Party all women, it strikes me that the tone of representatives of Women's Rights need some moderation and a modicum of updating. Given that the British Prime Minister is a woman, the leader of the DUP, who currently controls the parliament in Northern Ireland is a woman, as is the leader of Plaid Cymru in Wales, then the claim that 'women are not represented' is clearly bogus.
The Woman's Lib revolution which protested the rights of women over men in obtaining (by fair means or foul) nomination for more political seats in Parliament  is still in full swing, as are the changes to allow women suckling babes in the chamber,  a shorter political day and more family friendly hours, came about because women demanded it so they could partake in debates whilst at the same time be in the front line for their children's needs.
It was always suggested that women would bring a softer tone to proceedings. That they are supposed to be more conciliatory, less tribal, less ideological.
Listening to the shrill slanging match conducted in the Scottish Parliament today I was left wondering, where had those feminine traits of compassion, apple pie and motherhood gone. Let loose on a building site they traded insults like the best navvy. Personal stuff, delivered in a torrent of rancour, spite, hatred, malevolence and deep animosity which I might suggest represents those other traits which women sometimes display when they feel threatened.

A disaster waiting to happen

Subject: A disaster waiting to happen.

There are landmark moments when even the complicity of the politician is not enough to explain why, in the 21st century, a building in the centre of London, which we are often reminded, is one of the "great cities" in the world, should go up in flames like a Brazilian favela. In no time the fire spread right across the building, flames consuming something which burned like a candlewick bedspread, something which shouldn't have been part of the structure of a high rise building.
Work had just finished on the "refurbishment" of this tower block. Tarting up would be a better description. Cladding had been applied to hide the concrete structure which dated the building. A school to one side had been similarly cladded and I have seen many buildings in Newham with the same makeover.
The block contained 150 flats housing between 600 and 700 people, people from a sub-socioeconomic strata who's concerns are rarely heard. (Eat your bread and dripping sandwich and be thankful).
The council responsible for the housing of these people is one of the wealthiest councils in Britain, Chelsea and Westminster and of course the flats were something of an anomaly to where their real interests lay. Having recently walked through the wealthier part on my way to listen to the Karmapa I can vouch for feeling I was in a different part of the universe with Bentley's parked on the street and Gucci and Prada the main lines in the shops with small flats selling for 3,4 5 million.
What chance the resident association when the Borough is dealing with issues of dog mess on the pavement. What chance has a partition handed to the council detailing with  flaws in the fire escape issues, the lack of an alarm for the building, the emergency stairwell lighting not maintained, and vitally no sprinkler system for at least the flats higher up the building where the fireman's hose pipes couldn't reach and were hopelessly inadequate.
Towering Inferno, the 70s block buster depicted the inadequacy of building design back then and it seems we have learnt nothing from it.
Money is at risk and builders and architects build to a clients affordability. Of course the affordability of having a small footprint in a rich expensive Borough is never considered when you can have a win win situation, a cheap as chips building set on a postage stamp sized plot.
The variable is the people who will occupy the flats. They are not the millionaires who occupy the blocks just down the road who's own safety arrangements are the best in the world. Heaven forbid if we killed one of them, imagine the litigation.
No the Borough has an image problem. Let's clad the building and encourage greenery all around. Let's not pay too much attention to the worthiness of the cladding "who's was the cheapest quote ?" And let's not envisage the fire service arriving blockaded by flowerbeds and bollards.
What chance getting through to people who have come up through the private education system and wouldn't recognise a sprinkler if they saw one, other than in the vast lawns around their country retreat.
How is it that my daughter has to jump through all kinds of safety hoops to let her house to 5 students, has to have annual inspections and yet a high rise building housing hundreds of people slips through the cracks.
The fire chief applauding her team who fought the fire should have been the main proponent of the regulations that are on the books. I remember in South Africa the Fire Chief was god when it came to getting authority to open a public building. His word was scripture. How come this female fire chief was not insisting on access to the building or ensuring the alarms were in place and working.
Bills have been floated in Parliament regarding the need for a sprinkler system in high rise buildings but the political will is missing. How many politicians will feel the fear of living in a high rise block of flats, none.
The cladding was combustible,  no doubt about it watching how quickly the fire spread. Who passed the installation of combustible material when one knows of the ridged controls effective in the furniture industry.
Which Architect said okey, when one of the reasons we use an Architect is to monitor such things.
Already the Council are trying to find space behind their pawning of the running of the building to another company. "Outsourcing their responsibility" a common term these days of multi interlocking arrangements where nobody is responsible other than on pay day to ensure the cheque gets into the bank.