Events dear boy

Its a new year, with all that the phrase entails. To some its the opportunity to start or complete a project that has been ongoing and engaging ones interest for some time. The intellect is there, the time available and one is looking forward to the advantages the changes will bring.
For others the time ahead is littered with uncertainty and anxiety as the months unfold. Each day is a trial as one hopes to avoid unemployment and the unpaid debts. The family are in their own cocoon each wrestling with their own dilemmas, the boyfriend, the school work, exams, bullying.
For some the issue is of getting old and being drawn inevitably into a conversation about ones own mortality. The need to fill the day with meaning.
Events dear boy, events. These events are what we crave and value. They make sense of the time-line which is our life's path.They are a milestone not the signpost, they carry no directional element other than that we were in such and such a place at such and such a time. Like a bubble diagram much beloved of the teacher to gather events into some sort of cause and effect sequence, events that are in step with other events but not linked.
Milestones,where you were when Kennedy was shot, are generational, a group of people tied by birth year progressing through a field of relevance, stimulated by current history, the era of tin pan alley and pop music, without that milestone you wouldn't belong to that particular pack.

As I close my eyes and think about my experience today I have to ask myself what part of me took part in the experience. When I visit the shops and integrate with the people there, their actions were part of my world of experience but they were acting out their own world of experience of which my being a part was just a matter of chance. I was not fundamental to their state of mind, nor they to mine.
If the world we call ours is made up of actions and interaction which are separate and unconnected other than through observation, what is it, of my world that is mine that I own individually. 
My mind alone has the power to recognise and provide conjecture as to the why and wherefore of the world around me. My mind could read any one of a number of conclusions to the scene and the interactions I have with all these inputs,visual,audio,smell which can be interpreted by me depending on my mental state. If my mental state is good then the events around me will be deemed good. And so in part we are brothers and sisters of a family called the 40/45ers, exposed to events over time that coloured our perspective on life. We are not alone with our troubles or our prejudice we have come through a life span in good company and we have a story to tell. 
Happy New Year

Overseas - Blighty

OVERSEAS                                          BLIGHTY

It was hot last night in bed                                                I was comfortable, with a little help from the blanket                                                                                                    

   
There's a noise in the garden, it might be a ***                 The noise last night was benign, no threat, go to sleep.

 Parked in the street, will it be there in the morning.         The car has been out on the street for weeks, not a scratch.

Those taxies are a law unto themselves.                             Thanks for letting me in.
  
Gosh it’s too hot, I'm sweating wish we had air con.           It’s cold today, turn on the heating, where’s  the sweater.

 The shacks makes me wonder how much longer.               The gardens are lovely.

The thing coiled up in the shed moved!                               The thing coiled up in the shed is used to water the plants!

That's the 3rd power outing this week.                                Not yet.

Bloody Government. corruption, nepotism,and theft.          Bloody Government. Sack him, he called the policeman a pleb!

 Mosquitoes. flies, and fleas.                                                 Cats fighting and snails that get under the feet.

The local radio/TV is largely irrelevant.                               Undoubtedly, the best in the world!!

The papers, for  advertisements, not the editorial.              Double undoubtedly, the best in the world!!

The food, we score highly, especially the steak !                  Improving and very varied. Our food reflects the population.

Shops, the experience is excellent.                                       Practical but not an extravaganza.
   

Omar Khayyam

There is a rumour in this house that I put off for tomorrow, what can best be done today !
 
Now the rights or wrongs of this statement ( I’m sure I don’t ) lead me to contend that we are all in too much of a rush, particularly after retirement, we carry the habits of a lifetime on into old age !
 
Usually the pressure was derived from within the working environment by another party who wished to develop their own career in some way or another.
 
As the doors of paid- employment bang shut behind us and we are cast out to pasture it seems very unfair that another sort of hierarchy is imposed.
 
The dreadful sound of a repeated mantra “what are you going to do today” or the equally dreadful, “have you looked at the *** yet“. There is no peace in the world.
 
Even the garden shed has a path to its door - there is no refuge.
 
Why must we be so busy. The weeds continue to grow, the paint will continue to peel as we poor souls draw closer to the final act.
 
These last years should be spent watching football on the tele, reading a book chatting to friends in the pub, relaxing, letting go - big sign DO NOT DISTURB !
 
Were all those years spent, confirming, there is no peace this side of the grave?
 
Old khayyam had it sussed
 
 
Awake for morning in the bowl of night
Has flung the stone that puts the start to flight
And low the Hunter of the East has caught
The sultans turret in a noose of light
 
Dreaming when dawns left-hand was in the sky
I heard a voice within the tavern cry
Awake my little ones and fill the cup
Before life's liquor in its cup be dry
 
And as the Cock crew those who stood before
The Tavern shouted open-then the door
You know how little time we have
And once departed may return no more
 
Come full the cup and in the fire of spring
The winter garments of repentance fling
The bird of time has but a little way to fly
And lo the bird is on the wing
 
A book of verse beneath the bough
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
Wilderness were Paradise enow.
 
How sweet is mortal sovereignty - think some
Others - How blest the Paradise to come
Ah, take the cash in hand and waive the rest
O the brave music of the distant drum.
 
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon
Turns ashes - or it prospers and anon
Like snow upon the desert's dusty face
Lighting a little hour or two is gone
 
And we that now make merry in the room
They left, and summer dresses in new bloom
Ourselves must we beneath the couch of earth
Descend, ourselves to make a couch - for whome
 
Ah make the most of what we yet may spend
Before we too into the dust descend
Dust into dust and under dust to lie
Sans wine, sans song , sans singer and -sans end
 
Alike for those who for tomorrow prepare
And those that after some tomorrow stare
A Muezzin from the tower of darkness cries
Fools your reward is neither Here nor There
O come with old Khayyam and leave the wise
To talk, one ting is certain, that life flies
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies
The flower that once has blown for ever dies

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and saint, and heard great argument
About it and about : but evermore
Came out by the same door as in I went.

With them the seed of wisdom did I sow
And with my own hand laboured it to grow
And this was all the harvest that I reap
I come like water, and like wind I go.

Into this Universe, and why not knowing
Nor whence like water willy-nilly flowing
And out of it, as wind along the waste
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

What without asking, hither hurried whence
And without asking, whither hurried hence
Another and another Cup to drown
The memory of this impertinence !

The community of the Reference Room

As a young man, staring out from an old scull I sometimes catch my reflection and its scary !!  
Its not the reflection of the shaving mirror I'm used to that, somehow with that reflection, I contrive to believe that my looks are still attractive, there is a twinkle in the eye and of course the years have brought a sense of satisfaction, endowed as I am, with a tale or two to tell.  
No its that "other face" caught unaware, not yet ready, introspective, perhaps unsure.

How we grow into  the later image of our parents. I am my Dad, caught at a time when he was probably troubled by nagging doubt, a twinge of pain that kept recurring, a little unsteady on his feet, perhaps a touch of blood pressure. He must also have considered the future and what it held, not in a maudlin way but as a practical summation of the situation and the issues, getting old brings. Its only a fleeting moment but it reveals more of the truth than the concoction we contrive to project to others.

My Dad was in his late 30s when I came along so we never had that close, "elder bother" link that some father son relationships have. I was doing "kid" things and he was busy doing "dad" things.
He was academic in outlook, head in a book or a quality news paper, ear cocked to a piece of serious music. 
He used to take me to the Reference Library and I would sit and contemplate this world of hushed silence and musty filing systems. The people who used to use the reference room, a large space lined with books, big solid ornate tables and noisy chairs, were from across the social spectrum. Many were students escaping from the noise and disturbance of their family home, others, people perhaps in business who wished to look up a tax problem. There were the lovers of books and the written word for whom a day out amongst the tomes of history, geography,and science were as a day to the races is to a gambling man.
Then there were the men of no fixed abode. They came off the street for a place to find some warmth and a little rest.   Some were well read, they had the time and their education, not formal, was spread across every subject under the sun. The only draw back, given their limited means,  they smelt of yesterday.

I mentioned the filing system. A card for every book kept, in logical sequence, devised for and by the Librarian. The holy grail that made everything accessible. There was a logic and a trail to follow, the sections and subsections led to a request form to be filled in and handed over the enormous desk behind which the librarian and his team sitting waiting. On receipt they would to scurry off with your piece of paper, into the bowels of that part of the library where the bulk of the books were kept.  If it was a project and needed many points of reference it needed many books and the reason for the stout tables was plain, as book upon book was delivered.

Today we have at our fingertip every book every piece of reference material, gathered and sorted by our friend "Google". We are led with highlighted links into pathways we could never imagine, sub plots of knowledge, the events and the people who made the events happen. I had only asked for X but was treated to Y & Z for a better perspective. Its marvellous, but I do miss the community of the Reference Room.        

The athletes did the rest.

How quickly we move on and forget.
I have just been watching re-runs of various Olympic competitions, cycling, rowing, athletics. I had forgotten the atmosphere, the noise, the tension, the emotion and the excitement. It was immense as the drama played out, could we do it again, another win and yet another.the excitement in the voices of the commentators the thrill of seeing their friends and athletic colleagues pull out the stops, lay it all on the line and offer the last drop of energy the last drop of mental commitment.We ordinary mortals can't understand the stress at this level of competition, we could only marvel at the events as the wins unfurled and we continued to win and win and win.The expressions of wild elation from those slight, wispy figures in the women's double sculls, we've done it we've done it, we are the champions!! The expression on the lass in the bow her face was pure poetry, can it be true, it is true we've done it !!  My own throat was full, my eyes were wet with tears as I relived the emotion of the moment. The athletes were the centre piece but a close second came the spectators who cheered and cheered. The country had come alive, had woken to the fact that we could win and win in style.The opening ceremony dashed aside our natural pessimism and the athletes did the rest. 

There's no eggs and bacon for him ?

The rain beating on my window woke me up. It was two in the morning and as the wind and rain raged outside I felt like the pig who built his house with bricks. The weather has been atrocious in the UK we seem to be at the mercy of high and low pressure areas drawing air in and out over the surface of the globe bringing the wind and the rain. We feel smug and secure, a house built in the 50s on high ground and above all, paid for !!

Not far away a different situation as a homeless guy draws the plastic sheet around him trying to keep his bedding dry. His home is a canvas bag, increasingly sodden as the night drags on, its a long time before dawn. He had hoped to settle in the station waiting room or at least under the protection of the bus shelter but the authorities moved him on.


The smell of my cooking at breakfast time, bacon sausage and eggs usually causes acrimonious comment from Marie but then when one has heard it all before and with Angela staying, I thing I will risk it !!!


Our friend on the canal bank has no aroma stigma to contend with. He is on a different planet, inhospitable and very wet. He would admit to being a free spirit but at what cost!  Breakfast will be what he can find in the "takeaway" bins, the left overs. 
He is a leftover, the Tories would describe him as a ne'er do well perhaps a scrounger, certainly a man down on his luck. 
He also had a house and a family but things went wrong when his firm laid him off. Divorced he was turned out of his home onto the street with few opportunities, there's no egg and bacon for him !!!   

Of course the scale of things in Africa fuelled by a high birth rate makes my illustration seem puny. 
Having read my history, The Mississippi/Louisiana scandal, The South Sea scandal, The Tulip scandal right up to the Dot Com and recently the Derivatives scandal linked to abnormal credit, were all manufactured scandals. Manufactured by people in power, people of influence who hood winked millions of gullible folk into a gamble which, until it burnt out, raised for a few, many millions of pounds.
The power of capitalism seen during the second world war, to mass produce ships and armaments, the many many millions spent on building ever taller buildings as a signiture for some super rich oligarchy to tell the world, we are the richest. The phenomenal wages paid to footballers, the grotesque bonuses paid to the traders in the financial centre's, all the result of the lop sided bias that unfettered capitalism brings to society and you say - what can we do ???
If we had the "will" we could do a lot, but self-aggrandizing gets in the way and our own effacement in the plight of the poor is a large contributor to its on going blight on our social conscience.   

And what next

And what next ? The build up to Christmas and the day its self now passed, what do we have to look forward to.

For those in work there is the routine of someone else's call to activity, hopefully stimulating as well as rewarding but for many there is no call.
For the unemployed, the drift into inactivity is soul destroying. Another round of job applications or job centre visits to search for something. Notice I stress the term job. A job is far less satisfying than a career which indicates some sort of progression. A job is usually fixed and defined in narrow perimeters, probably repetitive and often poorly paid.A job is a means to an end (to pay the bills) and not an end in its self. There can be the self satisfaction of doing the job well but in general there is not a great deal of character development as there is in a career in which one is seen as a team player, consulted and valued.
So for the majority the on coming year is quite a dreary prospect in so far as the bulk of our time, other than sleeping, will be spent. No wonder so much store is put on the parties, football, the summer holiday anything outside work. This is very sad and a major factor in our poor performance when asked to compete with other nations in industry and commerce.  Its shown in our schools and the attitude of the kids towards learning and achieving goals.
For the bulk of them there is no pay off for hard work, they see only a job and not a career!!
Why can't we begin to treat our workforce with respect and encouragement. Why can't we take them into our planning, let them have a role in deciding how things should be done, how economies can be made, how to do their own specific job and to reward them by acknowledging their contribution, their ownership of what they do. If productivity increases set, aside some of the increased profit by increasing the wages, recognising that sustainable profits come from a contributing workforce, its not just down to management.

And then there's the old folks, how do they look to the future and the year ahead ?   If incapacitated and in pain there's no easy answer other than close family and friends to be there, supporting. Most of us are not in that category. Our main inhibitor is our lack of confidence and an inability  to see that, other than some frailty, we are much as we were but with the time now to do some of the things we wanted to do.
Get out pencil and paper, log those places and they may be local, where you've wanted to go.  Start that hobby, walk that trail,photograph the wildlife, write the book and visit places and friends as if there's no tomorrow - there mightn't be one !!!!