Victor Coombes RIP

I don't know why it occurred to me to write about death in my last blog, but by one of those coincidences that makes human life so special sometimes, within four hours of my posting it my father-in-law was dead.

I believe he probably suffered what is known in the trade as a "silent coronary". This is when, instead of the usual dramatic collapse with agonising chest pain that characterises a typical heart attack, in older people, sometimes the only sign that something has gone wrong is that they take a rapid and hard to explain decline: they become weak and breathless. And they don't usually live very long after such a reverse. And this what appears to have happened to Victor. My wife had seen him the previous day and reported his parlous state. The home decided to call the doctor to visit him the following day, and she very kindly phoned me to give me her opinion. She agreed  that a silent coronary was on the cards, but that in view of his age (he was 87) and his severe Alzheimer's, it would be unwise to subject him to the traumas of hospital admission. Not that even the world's best hospital could have done much for him if that had been the case.

So we have lost him, a man of infinite pep and optimistic energy, who could give me good run for my money on the table-tennis table even though he was 25 years my senior, a man who would put himself out for others without a second thought, a man who literally did not have an ounce of malice in him. And although in his latter years andas his memory loss kicked in he began to indulge in increasingly bizarre and sometimes irritating behaviour, he remained loved by all: by his family, friends, neighbours and his fellow parishioners at his beloved church, and even by the hard-headed staff at his old people's home.

An unsung hero; a hero of our time in a small, but very real way.

I'm gonna miss you, Vic

The Security of faith

I was chatting to my mum the other day about religion. In fact it has become an increasing interest of hers since the Alzheimer's kicked in, though whether those two things are directly related is hard to say. I simply make the observation. She will usually ask (presumably because she has no memory of previous conversations on the subject) if I believe in God. In the past I would have claimed to be agnostic, but of late, partly in order to give her a little comfort, I have professed, like her, to be a good Christian.

But just to have a bit of a dialogue, this time I asked her the hoary old chestnut of "Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?" Surprisingly, she had her answer ready straight away:
"That's easy. When good things happen, it's God's doing; when bad things happen it's the work of Satan"

How delightfully simple! I thought to myself, while keeping my own counsel..My mum then painted a picture of an eternal struggle between the forces of light and darkness, good and evil, with the 2 main players locked in a kind of perpetual derby match with the stakes being the very souls of the Human Race. My mum has never been a deep religious thinker, and now her severe memory loss has further curtailed her debating powers. But hers are not just the rantings of a sweet, but demented old lady. As I understand it, her views are shared by millions of Christians around the world. Indeed, I think Islam and other religions have this battle against good and evil as a central plank of their faith. How convenient! How neatly this sorts out all the doubt and uncertainty- which I suppose is the definition of faith itself. However, I suspect that as in all things, temporal or spiritual, the truth is far more complex and ambiguous.

For at least the last 30 years I have been learning to make friends with death, because as my Cherokee medicine man teacher explained to me back in 1979, death is always at our shoulder. That is to say, rather than developing a faith that gives me comfort against the fear of death, I have been trying to accept its finality, while acknowledging that that ain't such a bad thing. I have enjoyed the immeasurably great gift of life, and must accept that one of the pre-conditions of life of every kind is that it has a brief span, otherwise the Earth would fall apart and evolution would never have happened. Or to quote Damien Hurst:
"We're not here for a long time, we're here for a good time"
And, I might respectfully add, to know ourselves and the Universe we have been fortunate enough to experience. Go to it, and forget good and evil- it's a copout, man!

When triv aint trivial

It has been widely reported how the murdering thugs of Al Shabab started asking people in Nairobi the name of Mohammed's mother, and if they didn't know, were blown away in short order. The answer, by the way, is Aminah, and not Amanah, as stated by Matthew Parris on this morning's Andrew Marr Show. Do you think they'd have popped a cap in yo ass for getting the spelling wrong by one letter? I don't know, but I think Matthew should get his facts right and not endanger the lives of those hapless viewers who could in theory get caught up in such a tricky situation.
As it happens I had forgotten her name, but I could have told them that I have visited the site of her grave: a beautiful little mosque with a single minaret which nestles among an oasis of palm trees on the edge of a great salt pan in central Cyprus. It marks the spot where she fell off her donkey and died a couple of days later. Would that little piece of knowledge have saved me? Hard to say.

But what if, having realised their life-or-death question had become known to a wider world,  they moved the goalposts and started asking a different question next time?
In case they do, there now follows Pelagius's quick guide to avoiding death at the hands of Al Shabab:

Mohammed, born Mecca 570 CE, died Medina 632 CE.
Favourite out of 11 or 13 wives: Aisha, in whose house he died. A mausoleum now marks the spot; interestingly, it only narrowly avoided destruction by a band of Wahabi extremists in 1925- which shows that nutjob Islamist militants are not a new phenomenon.
First line of first Sura of the Koran:
In the name of God the eternally merciful, the especially merciful
(NB- suras are 7 lines long and you might wish to memorise all 7- see Wiki for this and other trivia that may save your life one day).

I cannot tell a lie (Liar!)

As a previous "user of mental health services" I was recently asked to take part in a large-scale research project designed to look for genetic markers as predictors of mental illness. So my blood was taken and submitted to a detailed DNA analysis, while I was given a lengthy personality inventory to complete. Among the many questions included, was this one:
"Have you ever told a lie?"
I answered yes, as every honest person would, but I recognised the question for what it was: a "lie question" These are questions salted in amongst the other questions which are actually designed to tell if the responder is truthful. Another technique is to ask the same question, but in a way which requires first a yes and then a no answer in order to remain consistent. The questions are worded very differently so that they are not easy to spot at first glance.

We all tell lies, most of us every day. Sometimes it is the kindest thing to do; after all, even Jesus was probably circumspect about his answer when Mary Magdalene asked him if her bum looked big in that gown.

Lying comes as second nature to politicians; fortunately it is fairly easy to spot the dissembling and evasive. Sometimes though, it can be utterly outrageous, as, for example when President Assad appeared on American television to announce that the problems in his own country were caused largely by imported insurgents. It is true that Syria has proved something of a magnet to foreign Jihadists, but to look straight into the eyes of his interviewer and deny that the war in Syria began as a popular protest against the autocratic and brutal regime operated by Assad and his supporters has to strain the credulity of even the most trusting of observers. His great friends the Russians have come forward to say they have strong evidence to suggest Al Qaida was behind the sarin gas attacks: is that a lie too? We don't know yet, but all will be revealed before too long, I suspect. But we'll have to endure a great many more lies before then...

So Assad loses his chemical bombs. Then what?

I don't know about you, but that moment when the Russians, having heard John Kerry said the only reason the US wouldn't attack Syria would be if they gave up their chemical weapons and the Russians said: "OK, we can arrange that, no problem" was one of the greatest, and even the funniest, in modern political history. You can imagine the Yanks going "Say what??", while Putin and his pals pour each other another vodka and say: The Americans; they're so stupid; they know absolutely nothing about diplomacy".

But let's look at the situation right now. Assad has agreed to hand over his chemical bombs, though he has always maintained it wasn't him who launched them in the first place. The Russians say they are looking at powerful evidence suggesting that it may indeed have been agents from Al Qaida behind the attack, in order to provoke exactly the sort of response it got from the US, France and Britain. The truth, I suspect, will be very hard to get at.

My point is this. Let's say Assad does actually hand over all his chemical weapons. The next step should be for every other country to do exactly the same thing. The "civilised world" thought it was completely unacceptable for Assad (or whoever) to use his weapons; isn't it equally unacceptable for any other country to do the same? So why are we, the Americans and doubtless a dozen other countries, jealously holding on to their own supplies, just a tiny fraction of which would be enough to kill every human being on Earth? Destroy them all. Now. And when we've done that, we can start on the biological weapons, and even, (Heaven forfend say the war-mongers) the nukes as well...

No I'm Steve Glascoe!

It's true. I have decided that now is the moment to reveal my identity to the wider public. In a step which will cause cries of who? around the cyberworld, I can reveal that Dr Pelagius is in fact Dr Steve Glascoe, part-time GP, Cardiff resident, sports fan and occasional participant, green eco warrior (I'm my own harshest critic, as you can see) and all-round nerd, although, hang on, nerds are smart, so maybe it isn't that great a description.

So readers, you are free to divulge my true identity to your friends, if indeed they are the slightest bit interested. I have mulled over the possibility of going over to wordpress from blogger; a well informed friend tells me that they fought it out and blogger lost. However I am sticking with this site for the foreseeable future. Never fear, should I change sites I shall keep you informed. For the moment, continue to follow me right here to follow my fractured take on modern life and its effect on yours truly.

I shall sign off now, your faithful correspondent from the provinces- Steve Glascoe at your service!

Making the guilty pay

Sky news has been given full access to the workings of an A and E department in Nottingham this weekend, and in what will come as a surprise to no one, it became clear as the evening progressed that many or even most of the cases being attended to were directly or indirectly a result of intoxication.

"These people should pay!" was the feeling expressed by many within the team providing help for them, and online polls suggest 72% of the general public agree. Really? That's the answer? Because if you think it is, then we must widen the net much further. What of obese people, whose over-indulgence constitutes what is called a "significant co-morbidity factor" for many life threatening (and expensive to treat) diseases? Diabetes, heart disease and strokes are just the top three of a very long list. Yet I haven't heard them being called to account and asked to fund their own care. Come to that, how about rugby players or participators in any one of the huge array of high-risk activities human beings are drawn to?

On Friday there was a massive pile-up on a foggy road in Kent. Blessedly, no one was killed, though dozens of people were taken to hospital to have their minor injuries attended to. One of these "victims" was interviewed at the scene and with remarkable candour admitted that she'd been driving too fast for the conditions, and added that pretty much everyone else around her was doing the same thing. I can't believe that first thing in the morning these drivers, most of them commuters on their way to work, were drunk, but their actions were certainly selfish, reckless and stupid. The average visit to A and E costs something over £300. Should we bill those responsible for the pile-up? If we're going to bill the drunks, we should bill them too.

Chapeau, Diana Nyad!

What a woman!. Diana Nyad became the first person to swim the 110 miles between Cuba and Key West, South Florida without a shark cage last weekend. This stupendous achievement, after four previous failed attempts in which more than once she was almost stung to death by jellyfish, illustrates the incredible resilience of the "weaker sex", and goes to prove the fact that as distances increase, the results of men and women begin to converge.

Her extraordinary feat also highlights the naivety of people who believe there are limits to human achievement. Who would have thought, just a few years ago, that anyone, man or woman, would be capable of such an amazing achievement? I heard a commentator on Eurosport recently, speaking during the World Athletics Championships, stating his firm belief that no one would ever run a marathon in under two hours. I imagine someone probably said, prior to 1968, that no one would ever jump over 29 feet. Then Bob Beamon came along and re-wrote the record books and forced us to re-evaluate the nature of human performance.

I was lucky enough to speak to Sir Ranulph Fiennes a few years ago, just after he and Bob Stroud trekked across the Antarctic landmass. This feat, massive in itself, was, naturally, performed during the Austral summer. I asked him about the possibility of doing the same thing during the winter, when the sun does not rise above the horizon for six months and temperatures dip to 80 degrees below zero and hurricane force winds add a further wind-chill up to 50 degrees.
"Nobody's ever done it", he replied, "And nobody ever will".
Twenty years on and no one has yet contradicted him. But can we really be sure that some day, an intrepid team (I've got it in my mind they will be Japanese or Chinese), superbly equipped and resourced, won't do just that? When it comes to human beings, never say never...

August book and film review

BOOKS

THE FIRE ENGINE THAT DISAPPEARED, by Maj Sjowell and Per Waloo. Volume five of the celebrated series of Swedish crime novels featuring the detective Martin Beck. In this offering, said by some to be the best of the ten, Martin Beck takes a back seat while one of his colleagues, Gunnar Larson  takes centre stage. Larson is an old fashioned cop, somewhere between inspector Regan of The Sweeney and DCI Gene Hunt from Life on Mars. He is tasked with solving the murder of a small time crim who works for a bigger organisation involved in stealing cars and exporting them. His methods seem unorthodox and even shocking to us today, though we should remember that the series was written in the 60s.

The strength of these books is their raw authenticity and in particular the emphasis on the private lives of the detectives, a feature which endeared the world to a certain Mr Wallander a generation later. Be in no doubt: crime fiction owes an enormous debt to the husband and wife team from Sweden, who wrote alternate chapters to create a seminal series of powerfully written tales of the dark side of life in Scandinavia.

PEER GYNT, by Henrik Ibsen. A young Norwegian man, somewhat of a fantasist (in the opening scene he spins a tall tale about himself which he has actually lifted from a famous Norse legend- his mother believes him but no one else does) is finally ejected from his village in disgrace and forced to find his way in the wider world. In so doing, he learns that a man must be himself and continue to become himself until his dying day. Along the way he encounters the Trolls, who would make him their king, though he must first have his eyes put out...

Written as an epic poem with a complex structure of rhyme and metre, most of which is unfortunately but inevitably lost in translation, nonetheless we find a marvellous tale of mystery and imagination- think Sinbad meets Baron von Munchausen. The project must have been too much for Ibsen, however. Subsequently he confined himself to prose, going on to produce some of the greatest plays ever to come out of northern Europe.

FILMS

WADJDA (2012) D- Haifa Al Mansour. In the Saudi city of Riyadh, an eleven year old girl dreams of owning a bicycle so she can race with her neighbour's son who already has one. Two problems: a) she hasn't got any cash, b) little girls aren't supposed to ride bicycles (something about if there was an accident a girl could lose her virginity). Then there's a competition at her school to memorise the Koran, with a cash prize for the winner and our heroine realises she could maybe raise the money by winning it. A landmark in cinema in that this is the first film ever to come out of KSA made by a woman. And a very fine film it is: funny, touching, deeply subversive (one wonders how it ever made it to the screen) and ultimately a triumph. Wonderful.

SALMON FISHING IN THE YEMEN (2011) D- Lasse Hallstrom. A western educated Yemeni sheik with a passion for fly fishing wants to build a dam in his country complete with a salmon run. Only problem: there aren't any salmon in the Yemen, and there never has been. Still, throw £50 million at the project plus the enthusiasm of salmon expert Ewan McGregor and it might just work...
A professionally made job in the style of  The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, this somehow fails to work, partly because of the major plot issues: for instance, at one point Emily Blunt's BF of just 3 weeks, (thought to have been killed in action but apparently not) is flown in for a tearful reunion which is in fact a government photo-op- even though he's apparently engaged in top secret work in Afghan) I mean, come on!

CLEANSKIN (2012) D- Hadi Hajaig. A personable young Asian Brit is radicalised and persuaded to take part in a suicide bombing of a visiting American diplomat. The problem for the secret service (headed up by a ruthless Sean Bean and his even tougher boss, Charlotte Rampling) is that he has no criminal record and completely off the security radar, hence the description "cleanskin" Can MI6 catch him in time? A tough, violent and worryingly authentic film (one of the deaths seems to have strong parallels with the strange demise of weapons expert Dr Kelly) which maintains its pace pretty well throughout.

UNTOUCHABLE (2011) D- Olivier Nakache and Eric Tolidano. An immensely wealthy but paraplegic French plutocrat interviews for a personal assistant. Against the odds, he gives the job to a streetwise black youth who manages to inject his boss with some of his own joie de vivre. One of those heart-warming, life affirming movies for which the French have become famous (see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly et al) and made with considerable style and verve. Creditable.

ALAN PARTRIDGE: ALPHA PAPA (2013) D- Declan Downey. A DJ at Radio North Norfolk (Colm Meaney),angry at being fired, takes the staff hostage. In a possibly unwise move, the police offer Alan up as a negotiator. Probably should have thought that one through...  Hilarious romp which maintains the standard we have come to expect from Steve Coogan's creation, which, along with Basil Fawlty has emerged as the greatest comedic character to come out of Britain in the last 60 years. Tremendous fun; also notable for the emergence from the shadows of his normally mouse-like assistant, Lynne.

MARIA FULL OF GRACE (2004) D- Joshua Marston. Maria is working in a flower plantation in Bogota for approximately nothing an hour, and is desperate to find a way out. Then it occurs to her to become a drug mule. She is immediately pulled over by customs at JFK , but they don't X ray her once they find she is pregnant and let her go. But the dealers in New York still want their packages and are quite prepared to slit her open to get them...
A strong movie, disturbing and frighteningly real. Highly watchable.

BUDRUS (documentary, 2009) D- Julia Bacha. Budrus is a Palestinian village unfortunately situated next to the Israeli separation wall. In 2009 the IDF decided they needed to move the wall for "security reasons", thereby placing an impenetrable barrier between them and the olive grove on which the village relies for its livelihood. Faced with no other option, the villagers decide to embark on a programme of non-violent resistance. Even the Israeli soldiers seem to recognise the injustice of what they are engaged in, but orders is orders... In a true-life story that closely parallels the fictional film  The Lemon Tree, somehow the director was permitted extensive access to the Israeli players as well as the Palestinians, and the result is an outstanding piece of documentary film making, demonstrating with devastating clarity the gross injustices perpetrated against the peoples of the West Bank on a daily basis. Stunning.