COMMENT
Poor old Kenneth Clarke got himself into an awful pickle yesterday when he stepped into the minefield of sexual politics. For once, his jocular, laid-back style did not endear itself to the nation, which rose up as one to condemn his position that all rapes are not the same. Yet he is quite correct to say this, and indeed it is already recognised in law, where the range of punishment varies between 5 years and life in prison. Take these 2 examples:
1. A couple, who are already sleeping together, have a meal at home, have too much to drink and begin kissing and cuddling. The man wants to take it further, but the woman has cold feet and says no. But the man insists, and they have sex anyway, against the woman's will. Is this rape? Yes, of course it is.
2. A woman is walking home late at night when a masked assailant jumps out of the shadows and rapes her at knifepoint. Is this rape? Once again, of course. Are they "the same"? Of course they're not. While the former scenario might attract the minimum sentence, the latter might tend more towards the maximum.
The real problem here is that the concept of radically reducing time served if a suspect pleads guilty early in the proceedings should never have been attached to rape, which is, after murder, the most serious crime a human being can commit against another. And it should be remembered that the proposal comes purely from a desire to reduce the prison population and has nothing to do with appropriate punishment for any given crime. Ken Clarke was wrong to treat this most serious of subjects in such a light-hearted way, especially when he suggested that the media likes rape because of its "sexy" appeal, but the essence of what he said is perfectly valid.
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
driven to distraction
At the end of yesterday's surgery I was asked to field a phone call from a patient asking to speak to a doctor about her anxiety state. I consulted the notes before ringing her back and found she has generated an enormous amount of work for my colleagues since Christmas. 24, married, she lost a grandparent and a sister some years ago and, to summarise, had never adjusted to their deaths- a "morbid grief reaction" we might call it.
Something must have happened around last Christmas time, because she suddenly got a lot worse. I noted she had received all sorts of help from counsellors, psychotherapists, psychiatrists and (perhaps ominously) other less conventional healer types, including ones with christian backgrounds and even someone who "channelled" her dead relatives. What more I could add to this panoply of help that had clearly done no good thus far, I who had never even met her, was not clear, but I dialled her number and she picked up straight away. There then followed a 30 minute conversation where I did my best to give some common sense advice to a person who in no way understood the nature of her problem and worse, was in a serious state of denial as to its origins.
Every suggestion of mine (such as "I'd just kick back this afternoon; stay in, take some of your emergency stash of diazepam and watch mindless tele") was questioned, very politely rejected or forgotten about no sooner than I made it. For instance, just moments after I had offered the piece of advice offered earlier, she asked "So, do you think I should go to the gym, then?"
But I had resolved not to truncate the conversation, but to "let her run out of steam". This proved, for me at least, to be a disastrous error. For when the dialogue finally came to a natural end I found myself completely drained, and indeed have not yet fully recovered. My wife, as so often, provided a possible explanation. Now I work only 1 day a week, I have allowed my usual emotional defence ramparts to fall into disrepair, rendering me vulnerable to emotional damage. In an earlier incarnation I would have decided after 10 minutes (as I did yesterday) that the conversation was going nowhere and instead wind it up quickly with "I'm so sorry, I have to go, an emergency call has come in and I must deal with it now."
As it was, although she thanked me effusively for my help, saying something like "You're the first doctor who's ever really listened to me", I felt so angry with her I could have slapped her from here to Tuesday and screamed at her: "Look. You want to talk about loss? Let me tell you about loss. This isn't about loss, it's about that loss throwing your own fear of death into sharp relief. So let's cut the bullshit and get on with our lives, shall we?"
I must protect myself more carefully in the future. And what did happen around Christmas that plunged her into that crippling spiral of fear and panic? I never did find out...
Something must have happened around last Christmas time, because she suddenly got a lot worse. I noted she had received all sorts of help from counsellors, psychotherapists, psychiatrists and (perhaps ominously) other less conventional healer types, including ones with christian backgrounds and even someone who "channelled" her dead relatives. What more I could add to this panoply of help that had clearly done no good thus far, I who had never even met her, was not clear, but I dialled her number and she picked up straight away. There then followed a 30 minute conversation where I did my best to give some common sense advice to a person who in no way understood the nature of her problem and worse, was in a serious state of denial as to its origins.
Every suggestion of mine (such as "I'd just kick back this afternoon; stay in, take some of your emergency stash of diazepam and watch mindless tele") was questioned, very politely rejected or forgotten about no sooner than I made it. For instance, just moments after I had offered the piece of advice offered earlier, she asked "So, do you think I should go to the gym, then?"
But I had resolved not to truncate the conversation, but to "let her run out of steam". This proved, for me at least, to be a disastrous error. For when the dialogue finally came to a natural end I found myself completely drained, and indeed have not yet fully recovered. My wife, as so often, provided a possible explanation. Now I work only 1 day a week, I have allowed my usual emotional defence ramparts to fall into disrepair, rendering me vulnerable to emotional damage. In an earlier incarnation I would have decided after 10 minutes (as I did yesterday) that the conversation was going nowhere and instead wind it up quickly with "I'm so sorry, I have to go, an emergency call has come in and I must deal with it now."
As it was, although she thanked me effusively for my help, saying something like "You're the first doctor who's ever really listened to me", I felt so angry with her I could have slapped her from here to Tuesday and screamed at her: "Look. You want to talk about loss? Let me tell you about loss. This isn't about loss, it's about that loss throwing your own fear of death into sharp relief. So let's cut the bullshit and get on with our lives, shall we?"
I must protect myself more carefully in the future. And what did happen around Christmas that plunged her into that crippling spiral of fear and panic? I never did find out...
Sunday, 15 May 2011
back to earth with a sneeze
Although I had an enjoyable and productive few days in Amsterdam, pleasing myself in that most fascinating of European cities, as well as completing first drafts on 2 short stories, for much of the time I "wondered if I was going to develop a cold". The odd sneeze, a runny nose; often these things come to nothing in the event, but almost as the holiday came to an end, and I sat on the plane between 2 enormous gentlemen, both of whom had to ask for extenders to their seat belts, it came on as we reached cruising altitude. My left eustachian tube blocked completely, thereby preventing my middle ear cavity from equalising pressure with the outside atmosphere. Therefore the pressure in my middle ear is still at about 10,000 feet.
In consequence of which, apart from the standard low level nuisances a cold provides, as I write these words I am more or less deaf in my left ear, though it is emitting a loud and persistent hiss; this being accompanied by an unpleasant sense of fullness deep within the ear, which feels as if my eardrum is going to implode at any moment. There is because there is now a partial vacuum in the chamber that contains the 3 tiny "auditory ossicles", and to remedy this problem, automatic mechanisms in the body have secreted a serous fluid into the normally dry cavity, causing a fluid layer to be formed, which moves on every turn of the head, bringing about a vertiginous sensation.
It is a phenomenon we are all familiar with if we fly with any regularity: sooner or later we have to get on board a plane with a cold. I can only feel grateful that the last time it happened to me was nearly 6 years ago. In my experience it usually takes as long to disperse as the cold itself; about a week. So I am in for a miserable few days. Also I could do without some of the other associated cold symptoms. This morning I farted vigorously, but my rectal cells, normally reliable sensors which can tell the difference between gas and solids, became stupid and I shat myself. Thank goodness I was in the house and alone at the time...
In consequence of which, apart from the standard low level nuisances a cold provides, as I write these words I am more or less deaf in my left ear, though it is emitting a loud and persistent hiss; this being accompanied by an unpleasant sense of fullness deep within the ear, which feels as if my eardrum is going to implode at any moment. There is because there is now a partial vacuum in the chamber that contains the 3 tiny "auditory ossicles", and to remedy this problem, automatic mechanisms in the body have secreted a serous fluid into the normally dry cavity, causing a fluid layer to be formed, which moves on every turn of the head, bringing about a vertiginous sensation.
It is a phenomenon we are all familiar with if we fly with any regularity: sooner or later we have to get on board a plane with a cold. I can only feel grateful that the last time it happened to me was nearly 6 years ago. In my experience it usually takes as long to disperse as the cold itself; about a week. So I am in for a miserable few days. Also I could do without some of the other associated cold symptoms. This morning I farted vigorously, but my rectal cells, normally reliable sensors which can tell the difference between gas and solids, became stupid and I shat myself. Thank goodness I was in the house and alone at the time...
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
live from amsterdam
Greetings from the great medieval capital of the Netherlands from whence I file my dispatch today. A very pleasant plane journey of barely an hour saw us climb through a delightfully fluffy cumulus base, before rising above it to see a vista of cloud streets that extended hundreds of miles to the norht-east. The pilot had promised us rain on our arrival, but in the event conditions were fine and I was able, despite my anxieties at having to handle such arrangements without the assistance of my wife, to secure a train ticket from a touch-screen dispenser (although I think I bought 2 by mistake)and find the right train to Amsterdam Centraal, this in the face of someone who insisted that a particular train was the right one and that I should accompany him onto it, although it had "Utrecht" marked clearly on its side. Once I had sat down an announcement came on in English to warn that
"This is NOT the Amsterdam train: the Amsterdam train is next"
I got off with some alacrity, though the passenger who had given me incorrect counsel appeared unmoved and remainedwhere he was.
I have promised myself to do 8 hours of writing in the 3 days I am here, and I have already written about 1400 words in about 3 hours, so I am a bit ahead of schedule. Tomorrow I am off to the Van Gogh Museum, which I have not visited in 14 years and has been ceompletely re-done in the interim. Should be fun...
"This is NOT the Amsterdam train: the Amsterdam train is next"
I got off with some alacrity, though the passenger who had given me incorrect counsel appeared unmoved and remainedwhere he was.
I have promised myself to do 8 hours of writing in the 3 days I am here, and I have already written about 1400 words in about 3 hours, so I am a bit ahead of schedule. Tomorrow I am off to the Van Gogh Museum, which I have not visited in 14 years and has been ceompletely re-done in the interim. Should be fun...
Saturday, 7 May 2011
doing business with the enemiy
There was a loud thunderclap last night, which announced the first proper rain we have seen here for nearly 6 weeks. After its sustained overnight dousing, this morning the garden seemed to glow with verdant loveliness. There have been intermittent "pulses" of rain throughout today as well, quickly making up for the recent deficit. What does it mean? Has the jest stream changed course? It has been protecting us so far, sending the weather systems around Britain rather than over it. But it could still turn on us again, spoiling the summer. Let's hope to Christ it likes u this year...
COMMENT
Earlier this week, the Palestinians achieved what I thought was going to be as good as impossible; namely the uniting of Hamas and Fatah. And naturally Israel's leader Benjy Netenyahu has said he won't work with any organisation that has Hamas in it. Say will what you will about Benjy, by the way, but he is a bloody intelligent, charismatic and sexy man who definitely has the Israeli people behind him. And their attitude is understandable to some extent. Hamas has steadfastly refused to recognise the state of Israel and has made no secret of its desire to throw all the Jews back in the sea where they came from, if it could.
However, regardless of the long lasting and deep-rooted enmity which exists between these groups, the fact is that they must sit down and talk at some stage, because that's what you have to do sometimes. The British sat down and talked to the IRA, even though the latter had killed many British policemen, soldiers and civilians in horrible atrocities. Nelson Mandela sat down and talked with the Boers, even though his people had been oppressed and cast down by them for generations.
If they can do it, the Israelis can. And if Hamas could recognise Israel's right to exist, it miht help a bit
On Thursday I went up to the damp, miserable little hovel that is our local church and voted in the elections. I voted for the labour guy, mainly to get the Lib-dem incumbent out, just to punish them for their perfidy over the past year (it worked I am please to announce).
On the voting paper for choosing an electoral system, I put a cross against BOTH options, and then put a neat bracket round them and added the word in neat capitals:
NEITHER.
COMMENT
Earlier this week, the Palestinians achieved what I thought was going to be as good as impossible; namely the uniting of Hamas and Fatah. And naturally Israel's leader Benjy Netenyahu has said he won't work with any organisation that has Hamas in it. Say will what you will about Benjy, by the way, but he is a bloody intelligent, charismatic and sexy man who definitely has the Israeli people behind him. And their attitude is understandable to some extent. Hamas has steadfastly refused to recognise the state of Israel and has made no secret of its desire to throw all the Jews back in the sea where they came from, if it could.
However, regardless of the long lasting and deep-rooted enmity which exists between these groups, the fact is that they must sit down and talk at some stage, because that's what you have to do sometimes. The British sat down and talked to the IRA, even though the latter had killed many British policemen, soldiers and civilians in horrible atrocities. Nelson Mandela sat down and talked with the Boers, even though his people had been oppressed and cast down by them for generations.
If they can do it, the Israelis can. And if Hamas could recognise Israel's right to exist, it miht help a bit
On Thursday I went up to the damp, miserable little hovel that is our local church and voted in the elections. I voted for the labour guy, mainly to get the Lib-dem incumbent out, just to punish them for their perfidy over the past year (it worked I am please to announce).
On the voting paper for choosing an electoral system, I put a cross against BOTH options, and then put a neat bracket round them and added the word in neat capitals:
NEITHER.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
OBL RIP
COMMENT
Gotcha! the American murder squad must have cried as they burst in on the world's most wanted man, who had, it turns out, not been hiding in the inaccessible mountains of southern Afghanistan, but in a comfortable compound within sight of a Pakistani military academy.
After 9/11, GWB coined that famous expression from the Old West:
"Wanted: dead or alive", to describe his status, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Thousands of US citizens had just been murdered in the most outrageous terrorist attack of all time, and their countrymen were out for blood.
Yesterday morning, Sky News showed a photo of his bloody, battered face against an older photo and we were left in no doubt. Later in the day he was sealed into a weighted body-bag and dumped in the ocean.
Right after 9/11, I was of the opinion that the attacks were an expression of rage against America's unswerving support of the Israeli cause, and a steadfast refusal to recognise the human rights of the Palestinian people. Consequently, I had a sneaking approval of the demonstration. Later, when it began to emerge that the philosophy of Al Qaida, owing much to the Wahabi brand of Islam that grew out of the Arabian peninsula, was to convert the entire world to their brand of blinkered Islam, I began to have second thoughts. It seemed they would stop at nothing to bring about this conversion, up to and including murder, even of their fellow Muslims, if they chose to go another way. And thus the libertarian in me was roused. I am a big diversity man: let any and all beliefs and religions flourish, so long as they permit me my right to my own views.
And so from tacit support of Al Qaida I turned to resolute opposition of their aims and methods.
Now he is dead, does it matter? Images of his beautiful face, with those gorgeous, liquid eyes, adorn the walls of Muslim homes all over the world, where he will be mourned and lionised for years to come. His death makes no difference though. His great act was accomplished and with spectacular success; the evil Americans brought to book for their crimes against Islam, meaning that even had he died on 10/11, his great coup ensures that his name will live in history for as long as it is written.
The Americans may be dancing in the streets now (just as they did in Jerusaem on that fateful day 10 years ago), but in reality nothing has changed. I suspect that, like the Nazis and Japanese militarists before them, Al Qaida will have to be crushed utterly before the world can enter a new phase of peace and reconciliation.
Gotcha! the American murder squad must have cried as they burst in on the world's most wanted man, who had, it turns out, not been hiding in the inaccessible mountains of southern Afghanistan, but in a comfortable compound within sight of a Pakistani military academy.
After 9/11, GWB coined that famous expression from the Old West:
"Wanted: dead or alive", to describe his status, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Thousands of US citizens had just been murdered in the most outrageous terrorist attack of all time, and their countrymen were out for blood.
Yesterday morning, Sky News showed a photo of his bloody, battered face against an older photo and we were left in no doubt. Later in the day he was sealed into a weighted body-bag and dumped in the ocean.
Right after 9/11, I was of the opinion that the attacks were an expression of rage against America's unswerving support of the Israeli cause, and a steadfast refusal to recognise the human rights of the Palestinian people. Consequently, I had a sneaking approval of the demonstration. Later, when it began to emerge that the philosophy of Al Qaida, owing much to the Wahabi brand of Islam that grew out of the Arabian peninsula, was to convert the entire world to their brand of blinkered Islam, I began to have second thoughts. It seemed they would stop at nothing to bring about this conversion, up to and including murder, even of their fellow Muslims, if they chose to go another way. And thus the libertarian in me was roused. I am a big diversity man: let any and all beliefs and religions flourish, so long as they permit me my right to my own views.
And so from tacit support of Al Qaida I turned to resolute opposition of their aims and methods.
Now he is dead, does it matter? Images of his beautiful face, with those gorgeous, liquid eyes, adorn the walls of Muslim homes all over the world, where he will be mourned and lionised for years to come. His death makes no difference though. His great act was accomplished and with spectacular success; the evil Americans brought to book for their crimes against Islam, meaning that even had he died on 10/11, his great coup ensures that his name will live in history for as long as it is written.
The Americans may be dancing in the streets now (just as they did in Jerusaem on that fateful day 10 years ago), but in reality nothing has changed. I suspect that, like the Nazis and Japanese militarists before them, Al Qaida will have to be crushed utterly before the world can enter a new phase of peace and reconciliation.
Sunday, 1 May 2011
april book and film review
BOOKS
DISSOLUTION, by CJ Sansom. One of those "historical whodunnits", this one centring around a series of murders in a monastery about to be torn down by Sir Thomas Cromwell's men in the late 1530s. This sort of format is becoming very popular, and there is certainly a lot of interesting historical detail. The overall result for me, however, was not completely satisfactory. But if this sort of thing floats your boat, go for it.
JEFF IN VENICE, DEATH IN VARANASI, by Geoff Dyer. "Non fiction novels" are rapidly becoming all the rage. In an afterword, the author explains that, despite the first person narrative, Jeff is not Geoff, if you follow me. The result here is a spectacular piece of work, part travel writing, part journey into the dark side of the human psyche. To my mind Geoff Dyer's writing is reminiscent of Maupassant, in that although it is of the highest quality, it is also quick and easy reading- and that is a very rare combination. Highly recommended.
THE RAGGED-TROUSERED PHILANTHROPISTS, by Robert Tressell. Talk about journey into the dark side. A crew of tradesmen do up a gentleman's house in the years around the turn of the 20th century, shamelessly exploited by the bosses who don't give a toss whether their men live or die slowly of starvation, as long as the work is finished on time. An essay in the evils of capitalism, it has become a bible for socialists for nearly a hundred years. I was nearly half way through it before I understood the meaning of the title. It's the men themselves who are the philanthropists, generously donating their strength and indeed their very lives to their employers, because they've got no bloody option. Tremendously moving and powerful stuff, and still highly relevant even today.
FILMS
HARRY BROWN (2009) D-Daniel Barber. Michael Caine shows once again what a class act he is, with his extremely skilled portrayal of an ageing ex marine, driven to exact terrible revenge on a local band of yobs who are terrorising the neighbourhood. The scene where he visits his wife in hospital to find she has just died literally brought the tears to my eyes.
THE PASSIONATE FRIENDS (1948) D-David Lean. 2 old friends meet and and love blossoms. Only problem: the girl is already married and her husband is not a happy bunny when he learns of developments. David Lean made a number of small scale human stories like this around this time, the best known of which being "Brief Encounter". Despite the low-key atmosphere, Lean's inherent understanding of the art of cinema draws you in.
MADELEINE (1949) D-David Lean. The story of Madeleine Smith, who was accused, but not convicted, of murdering her lover in 19th century Glasgow. Did she do it? The verdict (warning: spoiler alert) was that unique Scottish compromise "Not Proven" Once again, Lean, master of the crisp black and white look, creates an absorbing and beautifully shot film.
COLONEL REDL (1984) D-Istian Szabo. Klaus-Maria Brandauer plays the loyal officer in the army of a fading Austro-Hungarian Empire who is forced by circumstances to spy on his friends. But the moral compromises threaten to tear him apart. Powerful, gripping cinema.
THE CAVE OF FORGOTTEN DREAMS (2010) D-Werner Herzog. Herzog, perhaps the world's leading director, narrates this fascinating documentary about cave paintings recently discovered in the Ardeche region of southern France. It's filmed in 3D, and despite my normal reservations, for once this gimmick does seem to help in portraying these extraordinary images, which use the natural contours of the cave walls to enhance the sense of movement in the animals so vividly depicted, and which still produce a potent emotional impact 30,000 years after they were painted. Excellent.
F.I.S.T. (1978) D- Norman Jewison. Sly Stallone stars as the union man who fights to improve the conditions of his fellow workers, but as his star ascends in the union hierarchy, he discovers that power corrupts... In this tale, perhaps based on the Teamsters Union, Sly shows us he isn't just a tough guy but can actually act.
ME AND ORSON WELLES (2008)D-Richard Linklater. An ambitious young man lands a small part in the Mercury Theatre's production of "Julius Caesar" in pre-war New York. He threatens to carry all before him, until he attempts to snag Orson's girl... A thoughtful and intelligent piece of movie making, with sound performances in all areas.
DISSOLUTION, by CJ Sansom. One of those "historical whodunnits", this one centring around a series of murders in a monastery about to be torn down by Sir Thomas Cromwell's men in the late 1530s. This sort of format is becoming very popular, and there is certainly a lot of interesting historical detail. The overall result for me, however, was not completely satisfactory. But if this sort of thing floats your boat, go for it.
JEFF IN VENICE, DEATH IN VARANASI, by Geoff Dyer. "Non fiction novels" are rapidly becoming all the rage. In an afterword, the author explains that, despite the first person narrative, Jeff is not Geoff, if you follow me. The result here is a spectacular piece of work, part travel writing, part journey into the dark side of the human psyche. To my mind Geoff Dyer's writing is reminiscent of Maupassant, in that although it is of the highest quality, it is also quick and easy reading- and that is a very rare combination. Highly recommended.
THE RAGGED-TROUSERED PHILANTHROPISTS, by Robert Tressell. Talk about journey into the dark side. A crew of tradesmen do up a gentleman's house in the years around the turn of the 20th century, shamelessly exploited by the bosses who don't give a toss whether their men live or die slowly of starvation, as long as the work is finished on time. An essay in the evils of capitalism, it has become a bible for socialists for nearly a hundred years. I was nearly half way through it before I understood the meaning of the title. It's the men themselves who are the philanthropists, generously donating their strength and indeed their very lives to their employers, because they've got no bloody option. Tremendously moving and powerful stuff, and still highly relevant even today.
FILMS
HARRY BROWN (2009) D-Daniel Barber. Michael Caine shows once again what a class act he is, with his extremely skilled portrayal of an ageing ex marine, driven to exact terrible revenge on a local band of yobs who are terrorising the neighbourhood. The scene where he visits his wife in hospital to find she has just died literally brought the tears to my eyes.
THE PASSIONATE FRIENDS (1948) D-David Lean. 2 old friends meet and and love blossoms. Only problem: the girl is already married and her husband is not a happy bunny when he learns of developments. David Lean made a number of small scale human stories like this around this time, the best known of which being "Brief Encounter". Despite the low-key atmosphere, Lean's inherent understanding of the art of cinema draws you in.
MADELEINE (1949) D-David Lean. The story of Madeleine Smith, who was accused, but not convicted, of murdering her lover in 19th century Glasgow. Did she do it? The verdict (warning: spoiler alert) was that unique Scottish compromise "Not Proven" Once again, Lean, master of the crisp black and white look, creates an absorbing and beautifully shot film.
COLONEL REDL (1984) D-Istian Szabo. Klaus-Maria Brandauer plays the loyal officer in the army of a fading Austro-Hungarian Empire who is forced by circumstances to spy on his friends. But the moral compromises threaten to tear him apart. Powerful, gripping cinema.
THE CAVE OF FORGOTTEN DREAMS (2010) D-Werner Herzog. Herzog, perhaps the world's leading director, narrates this fascinating documentary about cave paintings recently discovered in the Ardeche region of southern France. It's filmed in 3D, and despite my normal reservations, for once this gimmick does seem to help in portraying these extraordinary images, which use the natural contours of the cave walls to enhance the sense of movement in the animals so vividly depicted, and which still produce a potent emotional impact 30,000 years after they were painted. Excellent.
F.I.S.T. (1978) D- Norman Jewison. Sly Stallone stars as the union man who fights to improve the conditions of his fellow workers, but as his star ascends in the union hierarchy, he discovers that power corrupts... In this tale, perhaps based on the Teamsters Union, Sly shows us he isn't just a tough guy but can actually act.
ME AND ORSON WELLES (2008)D-Richard Linklater. An ambitious young man lands a small part in the Mercury Theatre's production of "Julius Caesar" in pre-war New York. He threatens to carry all before him, until he attempts to snag Orson's girl... A thoughtful and intelligent piece of movie making, with sound performances in all areas.
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