We awoke this morning to the news that, despite the apparent best efforts of the players involved, no agreement could be reached over the issues of flags and parades in Northern Ireland. I wonder whose fault it was? It should come as no surprise to learn that the two holdouts came from the unionist side of the divide. Why? Because it has usually been those people who have stood resolutely in the way of equality and justice in the Six Counties. I use the term "six counties" because that is how everyone in the South sees the situation.
In 1922, the Irish finally shook off the yolk of being an occupied territory of the British Empire. But the British hung on to the six counties of the north, claiming that the majority of the population there were British and wished to remain so. Of course they did. Britain had been carefully populating the region with its own even before Cromwell introduced his "plantation policy" 350 years ago. And from that time they grabbed all the best arable land and pushed the indigenous Catholics into the margins, denying them the same human rights the British immigrants enjoyed, modifying electoral boundaries (a process known as "gerrymandering") to ensure the natives were never able to win political power. And when they rose up in defiance, they were crushed by military might, as happened at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. This is the battle still commemorated today in parades and marches across the North, reminding the Catholics who is really in charge. And they insisted, as they still do today, that they march where they please. And where they please means right through the heart of Catholic communities, rubbing their noses in it, braying their hatred in the faces of the locals who have no option other than to take it.
Not everyone took it though. Protest began to grow among the republican people; fights broke out, heads were broken, people died. Still the prods demanded to march wherever they liked and wave their Union Flags wherever and whenever they felt like it. We may have had the Good Friday Agreement, they said, but we're still the majority and if the Papists don't like it they can go and live down south can't they? This is our land, and if necessary we'll die to keep it that way.
But there's a little problem the protestants have to face: They're dangerously close to not being the majority any more, and, OMG, they must be saying to themselves, what's going to happen when we are the minority?
There's a phrase very much in the vogue at the moment: "Moving forward". Normally I hate it, and have contempt for the people who use it. I feel that way because more often than not it is used to cover up the mistakes of the past, to divert attention from their culpability in any given issue. "Moving forward" has come to be synonymous with "Stop talking about the past and move on will you? What's wrong with you that you're obsessed with what's already dead and gone? " (besides which, the past embarrasses me and makes me uncomfortable, so leave it out). Hence we are constantly seeing officials using the phrase to shield their responsibilities from exposure.
However, despite all this I believe there is one place where they really should be "moving forward", and that's Northern Ireland. What they need there is some sort of Peace and Reconciliation Commission along the lines of the one introduced by Nelson Mandela in South Africa. If they ever decide to do that though, they'll find they have their work cut out.
I visited Northern Ireland three years ago and was horrified by the level of hostility and paranoia which seemed to pervade the very air of the place. I stayed in County Antrim, where there are very few Catholics, and the people there seem very anxious to keep it that way. One woman said to me:
"Protestants from Scotland have been coming here to live for 500 years, well before Cromwell's plantations, so..."
And she really did trail off after this pronouncement, as if that was all it was necessary to say. But there's a lot more to say. Like, hey, I'm sure you're right and all, but isn't it time to move on now? Because you may have been here for 500 years, but you pushed the locals aside and rode roughshod over their rights. So isn't it time you lived together in peace and harmony, and throw off the shackles of the past?
So I wish a happy New Year to you all, Catholics and protestants, Jews and Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists, tree huggers and Jedi knights. Next year let's try a bit harder to just get along, huh?
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
Monday, 30 December 2013
December book and film review
BOOKS
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, by Charles Dickens. A young man, cut adrift by the elderly uncle he was relying on for financial support, takes Horace Greely's advice and goes west in search of his fortune. But the "Land of the Free" turns out to be less inviting than he thought...
Containing all the usual ingredients of a Dickens classic; an innocent and beautiful waif, an insufferable youth who eventually learns some wisdom but at great cost, comedic characters, and of course, Dickens's favourite, the great hypocrite, Martin Chuzzlewit threatens to be the definitive Dickens novel. Personally I loved it, especially the nightmarish sojourn in America, where young Martin is fleeced, hoodwinked and generally conned from the moment he steps ashore in New York. I find this a little strange, because apparently Dickens actually liked America himself, and it was certainly good to him. He conducted several highly successful (and lucrative) tours there, reading from his books to rapturous audiences. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you...
THE GENERAL FROM THE JUNGLE, by B Traven. After decades of ruthless exploitation by the landowners and an uncaring dictatorship, Mexican peasants finally rise up in revolt against their masters. From among their number a leader is chosen to spearhead their fight against a corrupt and incompetent army. They are far better equipped of course, but to the soldiers it's just a job, but the peasants are fighting for the future of an entire generation... Viva la revolution!
A gripping little tale, Traven's first book about war is tight and at times horribly detailed. We get inside the minds of the peasants and their antagonists in a vivid and sometimes terrifying way. And for me it illustrates what I have always believed about leadership: that leaders should be dragged out, kicking and screaming if necessary, and made to lead, rather than allowing the ambitious to climb the greasy pole all the way to the top, which is the way it happens here and around the world. People who want power should in no way ever be allowed to have it, and this is Traven's most powerful message.
CONSTABLE: THE PAINTER AND HIS LANDSCAPE, by Michael Rosenthal. John Constable, Britain's favourite painter, was born into a moderately wealthy landowning family in Suffolk in the late 1700s and was most fortunate to be indulged in his hobby of painting, a hobby which became his life's great passion. His intention was to show the noble efforts of the rural labourer in providing food for the nation, and the beauty of the landscape created by their efforts. The result is a number of iconic images which have entered the national psyche in a way no other British painter has achieved. Prints of The Haywain and Flatford Mill can be found in schools, office buildings and private homes up and down the country to this day.
But did Constable really get inside the lives of the workers? I think not. He regarded himself as a hard worker, and certainly in artistic terms he was as productive as any we could name, but did he really think, even on his busiest day, that his energy output came anywhere near the workload of the average farm labourer his paintings so lovingly depict? I doubt he gave it a single thought.
Michael Rosenthal is an astute critic as well as an accomplished writer, lending this book more readability than you find in most art books. And the prints in my copy were sumptuous.
NAPLES '44, by Norman Lewis. In the aftermath of the German occupation of Naples, a young British officer is seconded into the intelligence services to help keep law and order in the now impoverished city. He soon finds, between the local mafia and the desperate measures taken by a population on the verge of starvation, his job is next to impossible. But he tries...
Norman Lewis has established a reputation as one of Britain's most insightful travel writers, and many people consider this book his masterpiece. As indeed it is. Written in a delightfully self-deprecating style, he tells stories of great tenderness and the most horrible savagery with the same cool voice. Like the young corporal who, in attempting to prevent children jumping on the back of lorries and pilfering everything they can carry, lurks inside the truck, waiting for someone to grab the handrail at the back. When a hand appears he hacks at it with a hatchet. Our hero puts a stop to his brutal technique when he hears of it, but not before several children have lost fingers. A quite marvellous read, so good I read it slowly in order to savour every single word.
FILMS
THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY (2006) D- Ken Loach. As the IRA struggles for independence from Imperial Great Britain, ordinary folk who have no particular political agenda are dragged into an increasingly vicious struggle. Winner of the Palme D'or at Cannes in 2006, Loach finally won recognition for his consummate cinematographic skills, and perhaps also for his unswerving commitment to the cause of the weak and powerless in society. The film itself is harsh and uncompromising, indeed, as harsh and uncompromising as the struggle the film describes. And, lest we forget, that struggle is not yet over. For the six counties of the north remain under British dominion, carefully loaded with British supporters to ensure "democracy" keeps it that way...
KING LEAR (1971) D- Peter Brook. A foolish King decides to retire and divide his kingdom among his ungrateful daughters. He lives to regret his folly. Big time...
Peter Brook's bleak, unforgiving interpretation is brought stunningly to life by Paul Scofield's King, playing out his agony in a landscape that was shot in southern England, but which seems almost Arctic. The wind screams, flags are ripped, one almost feels the cold harshness of the landscape in one's bones as the tragedy marches towards its grim conclusion. Watch out for the famous scene where the King, having been rejected by his daughters, goes off in a strop straight into the heart of a great storm. Unforgettable stuff.
THE ACT OF KILLING (2012) Documentary, D- Joshua Oppenheimer. In the 1960s, Indonesia felt itself threatened by the spread of communism. So the government under Sukarno and later, Suharto commissioned a number of special, autonomous squads to go out and "bring them to justice" This meant torturing suspects to betray their fellows, then assassinating them, one by one. Hundreds, perhaps thousands died in this way. Somehow the director Oppenheimer tracked these men down, and, even more incredibly, persuaded them to speak on camera about their unspeakable crimes. Completely unrepentant to this day, these men clearly believed communism was the devil's work and that any means necessary were justified to rid Indonesia of the Red scourge. The result is an horrifying account of torture and murder unprecedented in its unabashed frankness Not for the faint hearted...
A ROOM WITH A VIEW (1986) P-D Merchant/Ivory. Around the beginning of the 20th century, a diverse group of Brits in a Florence Pensione interact in a very British way. And when they return to leafy Kent the interactions continue. Can Lucy overcome her idiocy and marry the right man, and do we care? Of course we do, because the players are skilled enough to involve us, (they include promising newcomers Helena Bonham-Carter and Julian Sands, alongside old stalwarts like Maggie Smith and Denholm Elliott) and most importantly, the story is told with all the finesse we have come to expect from the Merchant/Ivory team. Superior stuff.
OZ THE GREAT AND POWERFUL (2013) D- Sam Raimi. A second-rate magician is transported via a tornado from Kansas to a strange and garishly coloured world, inhabited by witches, some of whom are good, others not so nice...
If Hollywood likes anything more than a sequel it's a prequel, and here we have the forerunner to The Wizard of Oz. The producers have tried hard to recreate the atmosphere of the original, despite being handicapped by the original film's owners, Warner Bros, denying them permission to use all sorts of devices from its progenitor. Thus we are only shown subliminal views of the Yellowbrick Road, the Munchkins are nowhere to be found (perhaps a mercy, come to think of it), but within these constraints Sam Raimi and the production team worked wonders in producing a kind of Technicolor, art-deco look to the film which is most attractive. James Franco turns in a sound performance in the title role (they wanted Robert Downey Jr, but what can you do?) and Mila Kunis is excellent as the Wicked Witch of the West. On the whole, I think we can say the whole $200 million spent on the film does appear on the screen. Creditable.
SIGHTSEERS (2012) D- Ben Wheatley. Having lost her beloved puppy, a young girl abandons her mum to go on a sightseeing tour of Britain with her boyfriend. It isn't long before people start dying in places they've visited. Horribly. First a litterbug is taught a lesson in civics by being run over. Then a nice middle class gentleman tourist the boyfriend Chris decides is a stuck-up snob gets pushed over a cliff. The couple then steal his dog, which reminds the girl of her own puppy, but when he is allowed to befoul a stone circle and they are chastised by another tourist, he ends up with his head flattened against one of the standing stones. It gets worse...
We have already seen Ben Wheatley in action this year with A Field in England, but this is a simpler, even more savage tale than that. Some have said it is reminiscent of Mike Leigh's Nuts in May, only far, far darker. and I'd say that's about right. The film was "devised" in a manner not dissimilar to Mike Leigh's celebrated method, with all the main players being given writing credits.
Scary, man, but kind of fun too.
MONEYBALL (2011) D- Bennett Miller. In 2001, the Oakland As baseball team is languishing at the bottom of the league. With limited funds at his disposal, the general manager (played by Brad Pitt) tries to assemble a team which will turn the tide of defeat. He decides on a new and untried method, relying on a kind of American version of Statto to analyse the statistics and thereby determine his choices. Going against 100 years of tradition where the talent scout ruled, slowly but surely, the team begins to win matches. Soon they are approaching an unprecedented 20 wins in a row in the major leagues. Can they do it?
Based on a true story, Moneyball was tremendously popular and critically acclaimed in the US, though it enjoyed less attention beyond those shores, basically because hardly anyone here understands how big league baseball actually works. But the fact remains this is a very good movie, held together strongly by Brad Pitt in one of his best roles. Worth a try.
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, by Charles Dickens. A young man, cut adrift by the elderly uncle he was relying on for financial support, takes Horace Greely's advice and goes west in search of his fortune. But the "Land of the Free" turns out to be less inviting than he thought...
Containing all the usual ingredients of a Dickens classic; an innocent and beautiful waif, an insufferable youth who eventually learns some wisdom but at great cost, comedic characters, and of course, Dickens's favourite, the great hypocrite, Martin Chuzzlewit threatens to be the definitive Dickens novel. Personally I loved it, especially the nightmarish sojourn in America, where young Martin is fleeced, hoodwinked and generally conned from the moment he steps ashore in New York. I find this a little strange, because apparently Dickens actually liked America himself, and it was certainly good to him. He conducted several highly successful (and lucrative) tours there, reading from his books to rapturous audiences. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you...
THE GENERAL FROM THE JUNGLE, by B Traven. After decades of ruthless exploitation by the landowners and an uncaring dictatorship, Mexican peasants finally rise up in revolt against their masters. From among their number a leader is chosen to spearhead their fight against a corrupt and incompetent army. They are far better equipped of course, but to the soldiers it's just a job, but the peasants are fighting for the future of an entire generation... Viva la revolution!
A gripping little tale, Traven's first book about war is tight and at times horribly detailed. We get inside the minds of the peasants and their antagonists in a vivid and sometimes terrifying way. And for me it illustrates what I have always believed about leadership: that leaders should be dragged out, kicking and screaming if necessary, and made to lead, rather than allowing the ambitious to climb the greasy pole all the way to the top, which is the way it happens here and around the world. People who want power should in no way ever be allowed to have it, and this is Traven's most powerful message.
CONSTABLE: THE PAINTER AND HIS LANDSCAPE, by Michael Rosenthal. John Constable, Britain's favourite painter, was born into a moderately wealthy landowning family in Suffolk in the late 1700s and was most fortunate to be indulged in his hobby of painting, a hobby which became his life's great passion. His intention was to show the noble efforts of the rural labourer in providing food for the nation, and the beauty of the landscape created by their efforts. The result is a number of iconic images which have entered the national psyche in a way no other British painter has achieved. Prints of The Haywain and Flatford Mill can be found in schools, office buildings and private homes up and down the country to this day.
But did Constable really get inside the lives of the workers? I think not. He regarded himself as a hard worker, and certainly in artistic terms he was as productive as any we could name, but did he really think, even on his busiest day, that his energy output came anywhere near the workload of the average farm labourer his paintings so lovingly depict? I doubt he gave it a single thought.
Michael Rosenthal is an astute critic as well as an accomplished writer, lending this book more readability than you find in most art books. And the prints in my copy were sumptuous.
NAPLES '44, by Norman Lewis. In the aftermath of the German occupation of Naples, a young British officer is seconded into the intelligence services to help keep law and order in the now impoverished city. He soon finds, between the local mafia and the desperate measures taken by a population on the verge of starvation, his job is next to impossible. But he tries...
Norman Lewis has established a reputation as one of Britain's most insightful travel writers, and many people consider this book his masterpiece. As indeed it is. Written in a delightfully self-deprecating style, he tells stories of great tenderness and the most horrible savagery with the same cool voice. Like the young corporal who, in attempting to prevent children jumping on the back of lorries and pilfering everything they can carry, lurks inside the truck, waiting for someone to grab the handrail at the back. When a hand appears he hacks at it with a hatchet. Our hero puts a stop to his brutal technique when he hears of it, but not before several children have lost fingers. A quite marvellous read, so good I read it slowly in order to savour every single word.
FILMS
THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY (2006) D- Ken Loach. As the IRA struggles for independence from Imperial Great Britain, ordinary folk who have no particular political agenda are dragged into an increasingly vicious struggle. Winner of the Palme D'or at Cannes in 2006, Loach finally won recognition for his consummate cinematographic skills, and perhaps also for his unswerving commitment to the cause of the weak and powerless in society. The film itself is harsh and uncompromising, indeed, as harsh and uncompromising as the struggle the film describes. And, lest we forget, that struggle is not yet over. For the six counties of the north remain under British dominion, carefully loaded with British supporters to ensure "democracy" keeps it that way...
KING LEAR (1971) D- Peter Brook. A foolish King decides to retire and divide his kingdom among his ungrateful daughters. He lives to regret his folly. Big time...
Peter Brook's bleak, unforgiving interpretation is brought stunningly to life by Paul Scofield's King, playing out his agony in a landscape that was shot in southern England, but which seems almost Arctic. The wind screams, flags are ripped, one almost feels the cold harshness of the landscape in one's bones as the tragedy marches towards its grim conclusion. Watch out for the famous scene where the King, having been rejected by his daughters, goes off in a strop straight into the heart of a great storm. Unforgettable stuff.
THE ACT OF KILLING (2012) Documentary, D- Joshua Oppenheimer. In the 1960s, Indonesia felt itself threatened by the spread of communism. So the government under Sukarno and later, Suharto commissioned a number of special, autonomous squads to go out and "bring them to justice" This meant torturing suspects to betray their fellows, then assassinating them, one by one. Hundreds, perhaps thousands died in this way. Somehow the director Oppenheimer tracked these men down, and, even more incredibly, persuaded them to speak on camera about their unspeakable crimes. Completely unrepentant to this day, these men clearly believed communism was the devil's work and that any means necessary were justified to rid Indonesia of the Red scourge. The result is an horrifying account of torture and murder unprecedented in its unabashed frankness Not for the faint hearted...
A ROOM WITH A VIEW (1986) P-D Merchant/Ivory. Around the beginning of the 20th century, a diverse group of Brits in a Florence Pensione interact in a very British way. And when they return to leafy Kent the interactions continue. Can Lucy overcome her idiocy and marry the right man, and do we care? Of course we do, because the players are skilled enough to involve us, (they include promising newcomers Helena Bonham-Carter and Julian Sands, alongside old stalwarts like Maggie Smith and Denholm Elliott) and most importantly, the story is told with all the finesse we have come to expect from the Merchant/Ivory team. Superior stuff.
OZ THE GREAT AND POWERFUL (2013) D- Sam Raimi. A second-rate magician is transported via a tornado from Kansas to a strange and garishly coloured world, inhabited by witches, some of whom are good, others not so nice...
If Hollywood likes anything more than a sequel it's a prequel, and here we have the forerunner to The Wizard of Oz. The producers have tried hard to recreate the atmosphere of the original, despite being handicapped by the original film's owners, Warner Bros, denying them permission to use all sorts of devices from its progenitor. Thus we are only shown subliminal views of the Yellowbrick Road, the Munchkins are nowhere to be found (perhaps a mercy, come to think of it), but within these constraints Sam Raimi and the production team worked wonders in producing a kind of Technicolor, art-deco look to the film which is most attractive. James Franco turns in a sound performance in the title role (they wanted Robert Downey Jr, but what can you do?) and Mila Kunis is excellent as the Wicked Witch of the West. On the whole, I think we can say the whole $200 million spent on the film does appear on the screen. Creditable.
SIGHTSEERS (2012) D- Ben Wheatley. Having lost her beloved puppy, a young girl abandons her mum to go on a sightseeing tour of Britain with her boyfriend. It isn't long before people start dying in places they've visited. Horribly. First a litterbug is taught a lesson in civics by being run over. Then a nice middle class gentleman tourist the boyfriend Chris decides is a stuck-up snob gets pushed over a cliff. The couple then steal his dog, which reminds the girl of her own puppy, but when he is allowed to befoul a stone circle and they are chastised by another tourist, he ends up with his head flattened against one of the standing stones. It gets worse...
We have already seen Ben Wheatley in action this year with A Field in England, but this is a simpler, even more savage tale than that. Some have said it is reminiscent of Mike Leigh's Nuts in May, only far, far darker. and I'd say that's about right. The film was "devised" in a manner not dissimilar to Mike Leigh's celebrated method, with all the main players being given writing credits.
Scary, man, but kind of fun too.
MONEYBALL (2011) D- Bennett Miller. In 2001, the Oakland As baseball team is languishing at the bottom of the league. With limited funds at his disposal, the general manager (played by Brad Pitt) tries to assemble a team which will turn the tide of defeat. He decides on a new and untried method, relying on a kind of American version of Statto to analyse the statistics and thereby determine his choices. Going against 100 years of tradition where the talent scout ruled, slowly but surely, the team begins to win matches. Soon they are approaching an unprecedented 20 wins in a row in the major leagues. Can they do it?
Based on a true story, Moneyball was tremendously popular and critically acclaimed in the US, though it enjoyed less attention beyond those shores, basically because hardly anyone here understands how big league baseball actually works. But the fact remains this is a very good movie, held together strongly by Brad Pitt in one of his best roles. Worth a try.
Friday, 27 December 2013
What's with this Santa Claus thing anyway?
How old were you when you discovered Santa wasn't the real deal? I was six, and I think my analytical, "enquiring" mind, as people referred to it at the time, was already having existential doubts, because I went to my brother, four years my senior, and asked him:
"This Father Christmas thing, is it really true?"
And I got the dread response, no, it wasn't. Something died inside me that day and I was never quite the same again. I never really trusted my parents from then on, and why should I have? They foisted an untruth on me, a ridiculous one at that, and my plastic, childish mind took it all on board without question. After that I was far more cautious about what they, or anybody else told me, and I was right to do so.
Why do parents do this? Why do they want their children to believe in a piece of hokum that they know to be false? To put a little "magic" into their lives would I suppose be the commonest answer, but why? Is it because there is something lacking in their lives, especially in a world where religion, in the west at least, takes a back seat to vampires, zombies and Marvel comics Avengers? I have an alternative: Why not tell them about the wonders of the Universe, something far more amazing and wonderful than any myth?
Despite this, the whole Santa Claus culture remains undeniably fascinating, having a great deal to do with spiritual faith. Like God, we are invited to accept the existence of an invisible, yet omnipotent being. He clearly has God-like powers: he can deliver a present to every child in the world in one night, a feat that makes feeding the five thousand look like a cheap party-trick. He can look into our souls too:
He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake
Even more than that, he knows if you've been good, and whether your conscience is clear. Is Santa Claus God? Discuss. And when you're done, have a good festive interval.
"This Father Christmas thing, is it really true?"
And I got the dread response, no, it wasn't. Something died inside me that day and I was never quite the same again. I never really trusted my parents from then on, and why should I have? They foisted an untruth on me, a ridiculous one at that, and my plastic, childish mind took it all on board without question. After that I was far more cautious about what they, or anybody else told me, and I was right to do so.
Why do parents do this? Why do they want their children to believe in a piece of hokum that they know to be false? To put a little "magic" into their lives would I suppose be the commonest answer, but why? Is it because there is something lacking in their lives, especially in a world where religion, in the west at least, takes a back seat to vampires, zombies and Marvel comics Avengers? I have an alternative: Why not tell them about the wonders of the Universe, something far more amazing and wonderful than any myth?
Despite this, the whole Santa Claus culture remains undeniably fascinating, having a great deal to do with spiritual faith. Like God, we are invited to accept the existence of an invisible, yet omnipotent being. He clearly has God-like powers: he can deliver a present to every child in the world in one night, a feat that makes feeding the five thousand look like a cheap party-trick. He can look into our souls too:
He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake
Even more than that, he knows if you've been good, and whether your conscience is clear. Is Santa Claus God? Discuss. And when you're done, have a good festive interval.
Saturday, 21 December 2013
Suffering: the new dirty word
My wife attended a meeting recently to do with her work as a music therapist. Present were various professionals including social workers. At one point my wife mentioned a client who "suffers from Alzheimer's disease" and was immediately called out for the use of such a pejorative word.
"We don't use the word 'suffer' any more", she was politely told. My wife is much more civilised and restrained than I am, and it is perhaps just as well they didn't try that line on me. I would have responded, with some warmth:
"You can't say 'suffer' now, huh? Tell me something. Have you ever actually met anyone with Alzheimer's? And you didn't notice they were suffering? Exactly what kind of idiot are you?"
But that's me. As a doctor, I've been used to saying people are suffering from cancer, TB, depression or whatever. I know some people make a better fist of "suffering" than others, and I know disabled people often don't wish to be identified in terms of the disease that disabled them. I understand that and support it. But suffering is real, and to deny that people are, is just failing to accept reality. For instance, I have asthma and eczema. They are conditions which wax and wane in their severity. When they're in remission I'm fine, and not suffering at all. But when they kick in, I do suffer, and no politically correct social worker is going to tell me I don't. It's real life. man! Get used to it, and be happy if you're avoiding suffering right now!
"We don't use the word 'suffer' any more", she was politely told. My wife is much more civilised and restrained than I am, and it is perhaps just as well they didn't try that line on me. I would have responded, with some warmth:
"You can't say 'suffer' now, huh? Tell me something. Have you ever actually met anyone with Alzheimer's? And you didn't notice they were suffering? Exactly what kind of idiot are you?"
But that's me. As a doctor, I've been used to saying people are suffering from cancer, TB, depression or whatever. I know some people make a better fist of "suffering" than others, and I know disabled people often don't wish to be identified in terms of the disease that disabled them. I understand that and support it. But suffering is real, and to deny that people are, is just failing to accept reality. For instance, I have asthma and eczema. They are conditions which wax and wane in their severity. When they're in remission I'm fine, and not suffering at all. But when they kick in, I do suffer, and no politically correct social worker is going to tell me I don't. It's real life. man! Get used to it, and be happy if you're avoiding suffering right now!
Sunday, 15 December 2013
Vapo, vapo man
I wanna be your vapo man! That's right! Pelagius has joined the increasing numbers of smokers changing to "vaping"; the practise of inhaling water vapour laced with nicotine. Minus the tar and carbon monoxide, it is reckoned to be far safer than actually smoking a cigarette, cigar or pipe. Whether it is completely harmless is a question that will need a lot more research to establish, though simple reason dictates it must be safer.
I tried doing it in a restaurant the other day, and nobody said Jack to me, though there are apparently moves afoot to ban it in public places, on the grounds, not that it may be harmful to others, which I doubt, but that it continues to encourage the use of a highly addictive drug. This I cannot argue with, and would be happy to confine myself, like homosexuality, to be restricted to its use only by consenting adults in private. Meanwhile I have halved my cigarette intake overnight, and am working on reducing it still more. We'll see what happens...
STATE FUNERALS
I like a nice state funeral. The first one I remember is Winston Churchill's. I was only 14 at the time, but I still remember the cranes of London's docklands dipping low in respect as the funeral barge processed down the Thames. That and Richard Dimbleby's sombre, immensely noble commentary.
There was Diana's of course, though I didn't watch that live, preferring instead to play a round of golf. (though I did wear a black loop in my lapel) I wish I'd seen her brother, the Earl Spencer's speech in the Abbey, when the audience began (much against established protocol) to applaud, a theme which was then taken up by the crowds outside. What a moment in history that was!
However, the one I recall most vividly was Indira Ghandi's funeral in 1984. My wife at that time declared her desire to watch the whole thing and as I watched with her, I, and the rest of the world could look on in wonder at the quite marvellous Hindu method of despatching their dead. They are cremations, of course, and carried out in the open air where everyone can see everything. For me the most wonderful moment came as the corpse burst into flames, and one of the holy men cast fragrant herbs and spices onto the pyre.
"This presumably carries a spiritual significance in the Hindu faith" said the commentator to the resident Indian "expert".
"Oh no", he replied. "That's just to mask the smell of burning flesh."
I tried doing it in a restaurant the other day, and nobody said Jack to me, though there are apparently moves afoot to ban it in public places, on the grounds, not that it may be harmful to others, which I doubt, but that it continues to encourage the use of a highly addictive drug. This I cannot argue with, and would be happy to confine myself, like homosexuality, to be restricted to its use only by consenting adults in private. Meanwhile I have halved my cigarette intake overnight, and am working on reducing it still more. We'll see what happens...
STATE FUNERALS
I like a nice state funeral. The first one I remember is Winston Churchill's. I was only 14 at the time, but I still remember the cranes of London's docklands dipping low in respect as the funeral barge processed down the Thames. That and Richard Dimbleby's sombre, immensely noble commentary.
There was Diana's of course, though I didn't watch that live, preferring instead to play a round of golf. (though I did wear a black loop in my lapel) I wish I'd seen her brother, the Earl Spencer's speech in the Abbey, when the audience began (much against established protocol) to applaud, a theme which was then taken up by the crowds outside. What a moment in history that was!
However, the one I recall most vividly was Indira Ghandi's funeral in 1984. My wife at that time declared her desire to watch the whole thing and as I watched with her, I, and the rest of the world could look on in wonder at the quite marvellous Hindu method of despatching their dead. They are cremations, of course, and carried out in the open air where everyone can see everything. For me the most wonderful moment came as the corpse burst into flames, and one of the holy men cast fragrant herbs and spices onto the pyre.
"This presumably carries a spiritual significance in the Hindu faith" said the commentator to the resident Indian "expert".
"Oh no", he replied. "That's just to mask the smell of burning flesh."
Saturday, 7 December 2013
Evan Davies: all is forgiven
Hitherto I have not formed a good opinion of the newish resident member of the "Today" team. An economist by profession (you may have seen him on Dragon's Den; I haven't, cause I don't watch it), he clearly buys into the whole capitalist machine. But this morning he redeemed himself, in my eyes at least. The news was of the far-reaching agreement achieved by the 153 members of the World Trade Organisation. We could hear cries of hysterical applause from their ranks in the auditorium as the agreement was sealed. But when a spokesperson was wheeled out on air today, Evan asked him:
"This seems a very good deal for the richer countries, because they have been able to secure much more open markets for their goods to be sold in the poorer countries, but there appears to be no such reciprocal agreement to allow poorer countries to export to the richer ones. Isn't that wrong?"
No it wasn't, according to the spokesperson; Evan had just got it wrong.
Evan Davies getting something about money wrong? I don't believe it. We know when someone's been nailed, and it happened this morning.
The WTO has been accused of being a rich man's club, looking after its own interests while the "developing world" (which is what we used to call the Third World, but that name referred to the 3 divisions: the west, the communist bloc and the remainder of the poor countries, but now communism's gone phut it doesn't work any more) can go screw itself. And this morning's report shows nothing's changed.
"This seems a very good deal for the richer countries, because they have been able to secure much more open markets for their goods to be sold in the poorer countries, but there appears to be no such reciprocal agreement to allow poorer countries to export to the richer ones. Isn't that wrong?"
No it wasn't, according to the spokesperson; Evan had just got it wrong.
Evan Davies getting something about money wrong? I don't believe it. We know when someone's been nailed, and it happened this morning.
The WTO has been accused of being a rich man's club, looking after its own interests while the "developing world" (which is what we used to call the Third World, but that name referred to the 3 divisions: the west, the communist bloc and the remainder of the poor countries, but now communism's gone phut it doesn't work any more) can go screw itself. And this morning's report shows nothing's changed.
Friday, 6 December 2013
The greatest man of his age
95 years. In his life, who could compare with our man (that's right, our man, your man, everyone's man) in terms of the net good achieved for humanity? I think the answer fairly definitely is no. Would you give your life or your freedom for your beliefs? I'd give a lot, but I wouldn't do that. He did. He survived on his natural intelligence, total commitment and sheer persistence.
I remember Vorster saying, like Hitler, that his cruel regime would last a thousand years, and in the dark days of the 70s and early 80s, when Reagan and Thatcher said they were perfectly happy to do business with it, I feared he might have been right. But we underestimated the raw power of Mandela's appeal to the world to help him free his people.
When Nelson was freed in January 1990 my second wife was alive, though only just. Within three months she was dead, but she said she was so glad she lived to see that day. She also lived just long enough to have seen the Berlin Wall knocked down, another marvellous and, to us in the safely cocooned west, unanticipated event. This was another huge event she lived to witness, but now, 25 years on, it is hard to say which of these great occasions was more significant. It's close, but in simple human terms Nelson clinches it, with his modesty, self effacement, his quiet but massive determination, his refusal to allow vengeance to rule following the fall of the whites, he was the man.
He is the man!
I remember Vorster saying, like Hitler, that his cruel regime would last a thousand years, and in the dark days of the 70s and early 80s, when Reagan and Thatcher said they were perfectly happy to do business with it, I feared he might have been right. But we underestimated the raw power of Mandela's appeal to the world to help him free his people.
When Nelson was freed in January 1990 my second wife was alive, though only just. Within three months she was dead, but she said she was so glad she lived to see that day. She also lived just long enough to have seen the Berlin Wall knocked down, another marvellous and, to us in the safely cocooned west, unanticipated event. This was another huge event she lived to witness, but now, 25 years on, it is hard to say which of these great occasions was more significant. It's close, but in simple human terms Nelson clinches it, with his modesty, self effacement, his quiet but massive determination, his refusal to allow vengeance to rule following the fall of the whites, he was the man.
He is the man!
Thursday, 5 December 2013
people or profit? Cameron makes up his mind
On the side of profit, of course. He's just been in China with one of the largest trade missions ever mounted from this country to that. There were quite a few small business owners along for the ride, but many of the party included Cameron's own pick of his most powerful and influential friends.
Gone was any admonishment of China's treatment of the Tibetan people, China's "lebensraum", where China's writ runs deep, and the indigenous way of life is being steadily eroded away to nothing. But what does DC really care of them, when billions of pounds of exports are concerned? So he has kept his own counsel on the subject of human rights, lest some other even more cynical nation state gets in under our noses and steals our trade.
The other night I watched a fascinating and moving documentary on the life of Ai Wei Wei, designer of the "Bird's nest" stadium for the Beijing Olympics, but who became so disillusioned by the way people came last when the authorities were planning the Olympiad that he boycotted the games altogether. Entitled "Never Sorry", the film showed him making the middle finger salute which has become his trademark, to all the icons of Chinese culture: Tienanmen Square, the Forbidden City, the government buildings and so on. He's saying, Fuck you Chinese state: I'm not buying into your totalitarian crap. We even watched in awed horror as he raised a priceless Neolithic vase above his head and then dashed it to the ground, symbolically reflecting the destruction of Chinese culture that goes on every day in China, but which remains for the most part unreported.
Yet he was allowed to make this film, banking on his currency as an undeniable hero of the Chinese People's Republic. They have locked him up in the past, of course, but they left him alone for the making of this film at least. But it struck me that had he been a North Korean the project would never have got off the ground: he would have been under permanent house arrest years ago, or worse. However bad China may be, we can be sure of one thing. It's even worse in North Korea- God help them.
Gone was any admonishment of China's treatment of the Tibetan people, China's "lebensraum", where China's writ runs deep, and the indigenous way of life is being steadily eroded away to nothing. But what does DC really care of them, when billions of pounds of exports are concerned? So he has kept his own counsel on the subject of human rights, lest some other even more cynical nation state gets in under our noses and steals our trade.
The other night I watched a fascinating and moving documentary on the life of Ai Wei Wei, designer of the "Bird's nest" stadium for the Beijing Olympics, but who became so disillusioned by the way people came last when the authorities were planning the Olympiad that he boycotted the games altogether. Entitled "Never Sorry", the film showed him making the middle finger salute which has become his trademark, to all the icons of Chinese culture: Tienanmen Square, the Forbidden City, the government buildings and so on. He's saying, Fuck you Chinese state: I'm not buying into your totalitarian crap. We even watched in awed horror as he raised a priceless Neolithic vase above his head and then dashed it to the ground, symbolically reflecting the destruction of Chinese culture that goes on every day in China, but which remains for the most part unreported.
Yet he was allowed to make this film, banking on his currency as an undeniable hero of the Chinese People's Republic. They have locked him up in the past, of course, but they left him alone for the making of this film at least. But it struck me that had he been a North Korean the project would never have got off the ground: he would have been under permanent house arrest years ago, or worse. However bad China may be, we can be sure of one thing. It's even worse in North Korea- God help them.
Monday, 2 December 2013
Christmas comes earlier every year, don't it?
This year, the day after Remembrance Day, ie the 12th November, my next-door neighbour put up her Christmas decorations. She wasn't alone. Within a week they were up all over the place. By the end of that week a local shopping street did its big Xmas thing, with the lights, even a petting zoo complete with reindeer- and all a week earlier than last year.
I am not so naive as to wonder what this is about, at least from a commercial perspective. But the ordinary citizens who buy into a Christmas that begins in the second week of November: what are they on? Could it be something to do with an issue I discussed a couple of weeks back, namely, letting go? Or in this case, an attachment to something that hasn't even happened yet?
When I was a kid I started to get excited about Xmas once the advent calenders started to appear. Opening each door was such a delightful process, though even then there seemed to be an awful lot of them to open before the great day of the presents finally arrived. I say, preparations for the Big Day should not begin until December has dawned. This still gives everyone 24 days (surely adequate for anyone who hasn't got some serious form of Xmas OCD) to get their acts together, and by everyone I include the stores. Stop trying to make us feel all Cristmassy no sooner than we've binned our poppies- it's crass, man!
I am not so naive as to wonder what this is about, at least from a commercial perspective. But the ordinary citizens who buy into a Christmas that begins in the second week of November: what are they on? Could it be something to do with an issue I discussed a couple of weeks back, namely, letting go? Or in this case, an attachment to something that hasn't even happened yet?
When I was a kid I started to get excited about Xmas once the advent calenders started to appear. Opening each door was such a delightful process, though even then there seemed to be an awful lot of them to open before the great day of the presents finally arrived. I say, preparations for the Big Day should not begin until December has dawned. This still gives everyone 24 days (surely adequate for anyone who hasn't got some serious form of Xmas OCD) to get their acts together, and by everyone I include the stores. Stop trying to make us feel all Cristmassy no sooner than we've binned our poppies- it's crass, man!
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