A day in East London

The moss growing between the roof slates, dank heavy clouds overhead, a drizzle of rain and a cold wind make a stroll down the East Ham street a bleak business. Row upon row of terraced houses, little brick enclosed portico's, no garden only the trees protected by the council, standing like sentinels along the pavement, a concession to nature.
The street is also lined with cars, some with badges which provide the resident, not a space to park only a reprieve from the ever watchful traffic attendant.
There is a stillness in this street, the people who live here are out at work, fearing to lose their parking space, they commute by bus and so the car is stationary until the weekend for a trip over to Aunty Maud's in Whitechapel. 
In the daytime there is no sense of confrontation. The people wandering around are either old or out of work, they too seek a quiet life but at night things change and it wasn't so long ago I arrived to find the street cordoned off by the police to investigate a murder.
From all walks of life in this East End melting pot, people from all over the world, from societies where life is cheap, who live cheek and jowl with others but have through necessity learnt to accept the isolation amongst many but who, can never the less, look after themselves.
A woman approached me begging for a pound to buy a ticket for the bus. She may have been genuine but most likely not, perhaps she is happy with a slug or two from the bottle store, no matter, the pound was the least I could contribute to the complexity of living in a concrete jungle.
 Come 4pm the roads get crowded, just in time for me to head home. First the A404 and then the M11 taking me up into the fields and open country of Bishops Stortford.  I thank my lucky stars to live in the environment that I do, the blend of countryside and a small market town where, within a short compass I can touch all manner of variables which keep the soul alive. A far, far cry from the depressing uniformity which is the East side of London.

Quota recognition

One of the greatest impositions in this  century is to be called a racist or sexist

To be accused of either is difficult, since the crowd shouts you down if you try to defend your position. Society at large having bought the argument hook line and sinker, anyone tainted is solidly decried and soon cast out into the wilderness. 

With the Awards season in full swing, (soon its the Oscars), the awards for Writers and Actors and Actresses who excel is under way . It seems to me that the fact that the film industry has a separate award for the male role and the female role speaks to the issue of the tussle which is fought every year, particularly by the feminist groups for the need to have more women nominated and by the Black Actors Guild, that more black people male and female should be in the running for the top awards.

This spread of dissatisfaction has now reached the writers and it is being argued that both Black and Female authors are under-represented and that a system of preferential voting should be adopted to right what is seen wrong.
When faced with the figures, the number of women coming forward to be nominated and the number of Black actors who also feel they are under represented seems to hinge on the fact that  less than a quarter in each category apply and therefore the well to draw from is less, seems to carry little relevance with their spokespeople.  When the feminist/racial flagship is under way and the wind of public approval is blowing up their skirts no amount of reasoning will dent their cry or cause. No amount of reasoned bookkeeping analysis will convince them that they aren't being discriminated against and their clammer, that we change the rules is as usual listened to by the craven rump of what used to be representative of White Male opinion. Even as I write the phrase, I feel a shiver as I anticipate the weight of condemnation for even voicing "our" position. 

Society is being asked to weight Black and Female applications to ensure that we have at the Academy prize giving that much sort after line up, a multi cultural, multi sex (including some wildly deviant cross dressers) multi hotchpotch which is what society has become cloned to admire.
The argument for weighted preference can only further distort our sense of value. The only criterion should be talent and nothing else, unless we wish to further eroded our belief in the system judgement.  If we continue to tinker, under pressure from people who's whole raison d'être is to plug a cause, then the outcome will only further entrench a sense of everything being rigged to sustain an ideological endgame.

The cause might have had some weight years ago but with the equal opportunity arguments won its now up to the individual to show their metal and win because they have the requisite talent and for no other reason.
Money and influence will always, as in all walks of life, give some people a leg up but I would have thought in the field of 'fine arts', talent is easily recognisable.

Rumours

When we hear rumours that the Free Masons are corruptible, that the Muslims are out to rule the world, that the Jews control world finance and pursue a Jewish agenda, that the Africans living in Africa are lazy, that women entice men just to fulfil their urge to have children, that fish can't fly and birds can't swim, that this form of prejudice is endemic and in part is the result of the plethora of stations and news sheets who's purpose is to entertain rather than inform.

Many people carry these stereotypes and are inclined to believe and form these opinions, labelling and tagging if for no other reason than "there can't be smoke, without fire".
But how much do we really understand about the forces in the world around us and how much of what we might like to understand is withheld, hushed up. We are prevented from finding answers because it is politically incorrect to ask. 

Our prejudice is often based on ill conceived preconceptions, arrive at by being gullible.

We believe without questioning, too afraid to contest a view because of pressure from our peers, too lazy to try to form our own opinion. Too busy to even think.

I wonder sometimes, this age were everyone is busy. "Busy doing nothing working the whole day through trying to find lots of things not to do. We're busy going nowhere isn't it just a crime we'd like to be unhappy but never do have the time".

The hours spent watching TV, not all of it wasted I grant you, especially if the programs are informative, educational or pure entertainment but imagine the time wasted watching the adverts. 

Adverts which are repeated every few minutes, their dreary receptive message on which, as you sit glued to the chair, you fixate, the mind freezes and you become to all intents and purposes a zombi.

I'm too busy to read. I'm too busy to walk. I'm just too busy.

Of course a single parent with two small children, struggling with 2/3 jobs hardly has time to breath and my heart goes out for them. They are busy in the act of survival but for most of us we have the time but we convince ourselves that only 'activity' is pure and wholesome, not being active is sloth and unwholesome. 

For me it's the activity that goes on between the ears that counts and whilst the adage "a healthy body leads to a healthy mind" has some truth in it, and the buzz of being fit, the endorphins and the adrenalin which stimulate the brain are all positive, it also seems to me that the training which starts when you are growing up, to be perceptive of your surroundings and of others around you is the building block for a busy mind. Without this perception, the need to know more about the "value" not just the price, is crucial to living successfully through every stage of your journey through this life.

"When life looks least like what it's supposed to look like , it may then be most like whatever it is".

The power of razzmatazz

We are agog at what is happening in the USA. How an ultra right wing demagogue Donald Trump seems to be running away with the Republican vote in his appeal to strong leadership and a kiss arse attitude. On the Democratic side, Bernie Saunders, an avowed socialist, something so rare in the US, a country which believes in small government, the very opposite to socialism has been running neck and neck with Hillary Clinton.

Both Saunders and Trump are seen as being part of an anti Establishment move which seems to be gaining lots of traction in America.
Listening to the C Span phone-in, the people ringing in, the ordinary voters have a fair share of disgruntled opinions regarding their view of the States and how its position has declined regarding the rest of the world. They are angry conservatives and want someone to shout for them, Trump is their man. 

The other group who also hate the Establishment and reflect  the grass roots vote coming from that demographic. Saunders has captured, the more thoughtful electorate who see the big C Capitalism rowing away from the population at large as jobs and wages drop whilst the rich become richer.
The people in America, (as we in this country), are prone to analysing everything from their self specific position with little regard for their neighbour. Many who came on the phone hate the Clintons seeing in them a glib self promoting act who, like Tony Blair managed to hoodwink us with the salesman's promise.
Of course democracy is its self on trial since "the people" just might elect Trump. I suppose the image of Ronald Reagan, a bit actor taking on the most powerful job in the world turned out in some ways the better hand since what he lacked in diplomacy he made up in a vision that said "we have the money let's be single minded and use it to bankrupt the Russians in the arms race"
We often are carried away by the issue of class. In America the Harvard educated rich family background which often becomes a dynasty is the norm and the assumed default position for putting our faith in leadership. Here in the UK its Eaton, Oxbridge and a first in Classics !
Listening to Boris Johnson with his Toffs accent and a clearly blessed opinion (when he can be persuaded to utter one) from so many in our Establishment and Commentariat one wonders if we haven't taken leave of our senses. Like Trump, for Boris it seems like a game where the importance of the work entailed in running a country are swamped by egos that are so large the light of day never impinges.
I am amazed by the gullibility of the British Public, to be sucked into celebrity culture and the suggestion that Boris Johnson could become Prime Minister, is made possible by the fervent churning of media attention. The man is not a fool, he's a comic. He plays himself to a tee from the hand ruffling his mane to his imbecilic childish grin and mocking turn of phrase on all matters of importance.
He is an embarrassment as he bumbles his way across the political stage especially so, when, as the Mayor of London he represented London in China, more with an image of a Shakespearian fool than a person to represent us as a political leader.
There again, he joins forces with Trump in being unsuited to have the interests of the common man at heart. The very reason democracy was invented, one man one vote each vote carrying the same weight of influence is being stood on its head by popularism and the power of money and razzmatazz.

Sixty seconds worth and distance run.

It's a conundrum which can't be answered. All the minutes and hours which have elapsed since we emerged howling into the world. All those minutes and all those missed opportunities !!
What would we have changed, or is the question academic since we were influenced by events rather than opportunity.
Looking back I often wonder how I got from here to there. There was no plan of action, no specific evaluation of what you were to do other than in the broadest of terms responding to things as they unfurled.
But what if it had been different, what if as Kipling says "you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run" how would life have panned out.

I was watching a film made about the lifestyle of a rich stock market trader and how his day is made up of jetting around the world, holding conferences and spending his life in 5 star hotels. The essence was on making money and look what money can buy. 
Watching, I wasn't impressed by its frenetic pace, or, "its 'New York' it must be 'Thursday" message. The Hurley Burley man, rushing around knowing the price of everything but the value of nothing, at least in the philosophical sense, since he seemed fixated on the mollycoddled lifestyle of scotch and canapés and the interminable sameness of hotel living.
If, as you set out on life's journey you had an agenda to make every minute count you would be consumed by the passage of time and the ticking clock. Every achievement would be qualified as simply a notch on the road as you moved to your next appointment with your own 'contrived' destiny.
Mr Bumble, that's me. Not knowing which side of the road I'm on or which direction the traffic is flowing makes life a rich series of chance happenings. Nothing too important that it can't be avoided, nothing too special that if something else were to crop up I'd do it. Life in other words remains a mystery not an event. If success came along it was even more special since it wasn't planned and if failure happened then it was no special deal since one hadn't planned it or put too much hope on the outcome. It's a bit like taking part in an out of body event watching yourself and reflecting on the small nuggets of pleasure which are amplified because you hadn't expected them. You set off with something in mind and end up at a different place doing something you hadn't even thought about but still reflecting on how mystical this life can be if you open up to it.

A question of degrees

Ever wondered why the most popular TV programs are not your own favourites. 

The antique road show and their cousin the bric a brac auction where "tat" is offered for sale and prices are quoted for piles of rubbish. Another popular series are the cooking shows, where  virtually every day there is a celebrity chef doing his thing titivating our over extended stomachs to try more.

House buying is another boring way to pass your time as glamorous, pseudo estate agents pass banal commentary from room to room repeated from house to house program to program. They make even the second hand car salesman sound glamorous.

The cops squaring up to the drunken imbeciles who populate our town centres. Shows depicting the poor in all their decrepit glory. And the ever popular 'escape to another country' where the sunshine and beaches will be the balm to make you happy.

But other than the last which is pure escapism, why do we rate and watch this banal mind -boggling sameness, week in week out.
Why is the Jeremy Kyle show and the equally hideous Big Brother, both shows showing people at there worst, egged on to further exhibit even more outlandish behaviour. 

Have we progressed no further than the Roman amphitheatre where slaves were pitted against wild animals or the Edwardian peep shows were people used to pay to gawk at deformity.
What is it in our make up that turns to the outright ungracious.

I suppose It is ridiculous to carp at the programs shown on our TV when, on another channel, the dreadful scenes of the bombardment of Aleppo brings home how lucky we are to live here.

Our loss

The sight of the Flying Scotsman steaming across the 'Ribblehead Viaduct' brought tears of emotion as one reflected how we have thrown away our past glory. This lump of machinery is a living example of the skills that used to exist and have been allowed to decay in a few decades as we lost our senses and took the easy route, like a hopeless gambler in the banking  casino.
From motor cars to railway locomotion, from cloth to porcelain someone decided that our hard won skills were of no value, rather a flutter on the movement of the price of a currency was where our future lay.
It has always been the case that interim generations absorb defeat and create new opportunities. But as one who grew up used to seeing a map of the world, covered in red signifying our influence, who on his travels saw the heavy machinery made in the workshops and factories based across this small island, who could travel through the cities and see the architecture repeated, city after city a footprint of our achievement across the world it's hard to listen to the politicians praising our last and only commercial enterprise, the retail shops who supply this consumer mad society. It's like watching a mouse on a wheel rushing nowhere. Where do we get the cash to spend on products we have to import if we don't export and gain earnings ourselves.
Borrowing on near to zero interest rates can only last until the rates go up and we see how really bankrupt we are.
The opportunity to borrow to invest in educating our youngsters in skills for jobs so that we could complete the orders for tasks that are needed world wide. If we as a nation had taken the opportunity to modernise our working environment and taught management the value in their company lay in the skills and the interface between shop floor and the executive. If we had understood that the human wastage which goes on generation after generation is not only scandalous but erodes the fabric of our nation into a two tier affair where the better off lampoon the poor with TV programs depicting Benefit Recipients as cretins.