Green

A WALK IN THE PARK

If you're the kind of person who likes making lists (I am) and you've ever been on the lookout for a new home, the chances are that you've sat down and drawn up a list of criteria to try and narrow down the choices.  Must haves, nice to haves, maybe even a few things to be avoided, will be fed into the equation along with price and location.

When we were engaged on that search three years ago, one of the nice to haves, but an important one, was an interesting view, ideally with some trees and a bit of green.  Given that one of our other lines on the list specified being fairly near to the city centre, the options were greatly reduced.

So I still can't believe our luck in ending up with a place that's less than a half hour walk from Princes Street, and looks out, from every window, on to trees and grass and the odd bit of wildlife (I counted 15 magpies sitting in the nearest tree the other day) - even if that comes in the form of one of the cities larger cemeteries.  The place I documented in my "A Year in the Life.... of Death" photoblog. 

But there's a lot more green space nearby.  The nearest bus route runs along the northern side of the graveyard, and on the other side of that is Pilrig Park, home to a large children's play area, space for a football pitch, myriad dog walkers, and the 17th century Pilrig House.  And a pleasant route to take down to Leith, which is what I did a couple of days ago.  The trees might be bare, but the bright sunlight, blue sky and stark shadows gave the place a bit of visual drama, and I felt compelled to stop and take a few photos along the way. 

That clear sky and strong low sun stretched out the objects, and people, in the park.

With unexpected bonus of a shining river of....

mud.

From our balcony the park is only this far away - you can see the path from the above photos running up from the centre of the image.

I am a city person.  The idea of living in 'the country' no longer has the slightest superficial appeal to me, and the very thought runs waves of boredom through my brain.  But there remains something, perhaps even some primeval urge, to be said for having a tenuous link back to nature, and the green spaces in our cities are important in providing the sense of peace and connection that provides an antidote to all that urban busyness.  Edinburgh is well enough provided with tree lined places to walk, and even it's own pseudo wilderness right in the centre, with an extinct volcano to climb.  We were lucky to find ourselves so close to one part of that network, and the reminder it provides of just how essential they are to civilised living.

As if I'd stereotype Weegies....

Regular readers (who??) may be aware that we're big fans of the 'A Play, a Pie and a Pint' series that runs every Spring and Autumn.  Despite price increases it's still an amazing bargain, doing just what it says on the tin, and including some great new short plays.  Each one runs from Tuesday to Saturday, usually after a similar run the week before at Oran Mor in Glasgow.

But here was one, The Weir Sisters (review here), which wasn't making the trip along the M8.  And as it featured a friend of ours in one of the roles it seemed like a good excuse to return to Weegieland after several months absence.  I'd heard nothing but good things about Oran Mor as a venue, so I wondered if it would live up to expectations.  And how it might compare with our more  familiar haunt on Cambridge Street.

That comparison certainly started well, the Glasgow venue being in an old church, a fairly impressive building on a busy crossroads, and a big improvement on the Traverse's bland exterior.  So too the entrance lobby, a characterful space with cartoonish artwork on the walls, and the bar, a proper island bar in cosy wood clad surroundings.  But then....

Following the queue that snakes across the bar we go down into the performance area, and look to figure out the routine.  Sure enough the line takes us past a bar where we can choose from the list of drinks on offer, and round the corner to the pie section.  Then take the 'meal' and find a seat.  The seats are free standing, and you eat off your lap.  After a while the play begins.  And very enjoyable it was too.  But it's a rather different experience to the familiar Traverse one.

There's the choice of pies for a start.  Or rather the extreme lack of choice.  What we're used to is a list of, say, Scotch, haggis, veggie haggis, chicken and leek or macaroni pies, plus a veg tartlet.  while in OM there appears to be a choice of Scotch pie or..,. Scotch pie.  There's something unappetising looking that might be veggie, but that's it.  What we're used to is taking our comestibles to a table, and consuming them in civilised fashion, what we get is the juggling of items between hand, lap and floor, trying to keep pie from ending up underfoot.  No surprise when the sound of smashed glass rang out.  And what we're used to when we descend into the depths is tiered seating with good views from all angles, close to the action.  What we get is a distant view of the actors across a silver-grey lake of heads.

But this is Glasgow, and there is one area in which they are bound to outshine their smaller counterpart.  Here the drinks list gives a choice of a pint of ale, lager or cider, red or white wine (125ml measures if memory serves correct), soft drinks, tea or coffee.  There it looks subtly different.  To the pints list you can add Guiness, plus the choice of a couple of bottled beers, the wines include rose and come as 175s and.... erm, where were the soft drink options?  Weegieland, you do not disappoint....

But sorry Glasgow, your bus service is a bit crap....

Clever Mood

I'M IMPRESSED

I don't ask much from hotels.  Mostly they're just a place to bed down, get ready and have breakfast, a room for holidaying from.  When I used to travel for work I learned to only want three things from them.  A double bed (I don't fit into singles well), a shower I could stand up under (after experiencing so many fixed position shower-over-bath experiences where the shower head was about adam's apple level), and a breakfast that fuelled me up for the day.  And ideally a desk I could do a bit of work at. 

And nothing much has changed since.  I'm not a big fan of luxury.  But occasionally a hotel manages to surprise, and delight.  Such as one has this week.

OK, I don't get out much.  Probably half of you have seen this before.  Or maybe I'm just benumbed by Travelodges.  But the Rome Life Hotel has managed to make me smile.  It meets all the basics listed above, plus friendly, helpful staff and a good location for tourist shenanigans.  Additional marks for excellent WiFi.  And a special bonus for this week's new toy. 

Just a slightly elderly Samsung mobile, with a positively neanderthal variant of Android.  Ours for the few days we're here, and preloaded with the hotel chain's app.  Which, unusually, is actually useful.  And a free 4g connection to go with it.  They let you have some free international calls if you want them (I don't - we're on holiday) and have internet access as you wander round the city.  Google Maps has been getting a workout.

My favourite feature is on the drop down menu.  Click "Take me to the hotel!" and you immediately get directions/map back to base.  Reassuring if you have the navigational instincts of a homing bucket.

Take a bow Mood Hotels.

Where did Zoe come from?

This is Zoe.  In her favourite position.

It's her 8th birthday today.  Or thereabouts.  We first met her on the 29 November 2009, in RSPCA Southport, and were told she was about 8 weeks old, so it's near enough.  She was the runt of a litter of five, found sleeping rough with their mother in St Helens (is there any other kind of sleeping in St Helens?).  Her four slightly larger brothers pushed themselves at the glass when people came near, but she kept her distance, unsure of herself or her charms.

This is one of her brothers.

And that's little sis at the back....

Eight or nine months had passed since Millie, our last cat, had had to be put down, and by now we were feeling that the cat shaped hole in our lives needed filling again. One of the staff got her out for us to handle and she was soon sitting up on my shoulder.  Sometimes you just know when something's right.

So we filled in the paperwork, but then had a wait a few weeks while they checked that we lived somewhere appropriate, and until she was old enough to have her first injection.  And that's where Zoer came from.  But where did "Zoe" come from?

Over that time we visited quite often, getting to play with her a bit, hoping she might get to recognise us a bit.  Back then she was just 'little number 262' to us.

A name was required, but none of the options we came up with felt right.  One day, not long before she was due to be handed over to us, I'd gone on my own, spent some time with her, and walked out with a possible name in my head.  I called Barbara and.... Neither of us can recall who said "Zoe" first, but the other immediately said they'd thought of that too.  So Zoe it was.

Why?  I have no idea.  Neither of us knew a Zoe, or ever did as far as memory serves.  The only connection the name called up was Zoe Wanamaker, a good actor, but not a particular favourite of ours.  Maybe we'd seen something on TV, perhaps just a trailer, where her name had been mentioned?  Whatever, it's odd we came up with the same moniker independently and near simultaneously. 

So by the time she came home she was a confirmed Zoe, and we still haven't met another one since.  This was the first video of her emerging when she first arrived in this strange new place.  Cute,eh?  And she soon came back out....

She's still shy with most visitors, but remains playful.

Even if she all too often ends up like this.

I know my place. 

From Fringe to Fridge

MUSIC, FILM, COMEDY AND... HOCKEY

Monday - Fringe came to an end, and we fitted in a final couple of shows courtesy of the half price hut.  Tuesday - Return to the Fridge of Dreams, and a first chance to see some of the new players that will make up the Edinburgh capitals team this season.  Monday - Hot, sweaty rooms that have you wringing your shirt out.  Tuesday - Cold, cold and more cold.  Icy ice rink.

Contrasts.  Next Sunday I can indulge in the Asian exoticism of The Edinburgh Mela during the day, and the chilled and pie scented air of Murrayfield in the evening.  Life is never boring here.

I see some of my fellow Caps fans on social media over the summer, wishing their lives away until the rink opens it's doors and there's a puck getting battered about again.  That's not a problem I ever have to resolve these days  April - hockey ends for the season.  May - TradFest.  June - FilmFest.  July _ JazzFest.  August - Fringe, and all the other shenanigans that plonk several hundreds of thousands of tourists on top of us and turn entertainment into a stamina test.  And then.... hey, it's hockey season again.  I hardly missed it.

It helps to have the time to do all these things (being retired is a big part of that help...).  And, of course, it does need a bit of spare cash, and some financial planning.  (Being poor in this city is no better than it is anywhere else, and there are still way too many people who have to live lives of poverty in this, our grossly wealthy society.)  I fully recognise how privileged I am.  Part of that privilege is being able to live in one of the world's most beautiful cities, and take advantage of so much of what it has to offer.  Which, for the next seven months, will mostly mean Edinburgh Capitals...

Return to Brigadoon

The Edinburgh Fringe is gone from our streets, and there's eleven months of work getting ready for the 2018 extravaganza.  We get our city back and get on with life, and all the things there are to do here.  Yes, we really do.

You wouldn't think so to hear some of the acts who come here for August - especially comedians.  Too many appear to think of this place as some kind of comedy club Brigadoon, only coming into existence once a year for their benefit.  We get used to it, and they get laughed at in more ways than they'd hoped for.

Worse, to my mind, are the comics who see themselves as 'political'.  Most were sensibly avoiding the beyond-parody farce that is the current White House, but there were plenty having a go at the stinking potage that the UK is in right now.  The UK is, you may remember, a union of countries, and some of these comedians have terrible memories.  Like being unable to recall that they are performing in a different country, with a different political dynamic.  Andrew Doyle was the most obvious offender I saw this year, asking his audience if they'd voted Tory.... or Labour.... or Lib Dem.... or.... No, that was it, apparently we don't have any other options.  But what would I know, I only live here.  In Brigadoon.

My childish vanity

A CARTOON OF MY FORMER SELF

Motivation.  Sometimes we have it, sometimes we don't.  But I do know it changes over the decades.

In my twenties and thirties I exercised for fun, for the joy of playing sports.  In my forties I started going to a gym to try and lose a bit of weight and get some sense of physical wellness back after a very stressful year at work in '99.  And now?  Prevention.  Maintenance.

I exercise to try and stave off the time when bits of me start to fail.  My morning routine includes stretches to fend off upper back problems, exercises to strengthen my dodgy knees, and strange contortions to stop my lower spine returning to the S shape it decided to adopt at one point.  I try to improve my stamina, not with the aim of running a marathon or anything so daft, but to prevent the sense of impending heart attack I've experienced running thirty metres for a bus.  Less Olympics, more Arthritics.

Several years ago we found ourselves the less than proud owners of a Nintendo Wii console and associated Fit board.  In my quest for some flexibility (aka impeding muscle rust) this too has been resuscitated.  It is, at least, fun at times, and by contuinually thrusting at me my best previous scores it just about manages to dredge up the residue of my never-all-that-dynamic competitive spirit.  I'm being motivated by an urge to keep up with a younger me....

But the Wii offers a more direct route to seeming more youthful.  At the end of the Body test it generates a "Wii Fit Age".  This comes from the results of two random balance-type tests computed against my actual age.  Some of these tests I simply find a bit easier than others, so my score on any given day depends on what they are.  If I get the standing on one leg test I'm buggered.  But get two I'm reasonable at and this can be the result.

The rational me knows that this is entirely meaningless, the product of a random event pattern and an algorithm with zero scientific validity.  Only an idiot would pay it the slightest heed.

Then there's the other me.  The one that's narcissistic, puerile, desperately seeking validation, grasping at straws and very, very needy.  Does this alter ego respond to a misshapen computer character declaring that my body is in great shape for my age?....

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I am being manipulated/motivated (delete as you think appropriate) by bunch of pixels with Pavlovian leanings.  But if that's what it takes....

It's easy to find a homegrown Quisling

OUR VERY OWN QUISLING

Yesterday, as part of the Edinburgh International Film Festival, I watched a Norwegian movie called The King's Choice.  It portrayed some of the behind the scenes events during three days in April 1940 when Hitler's Germany invaded and occupied the country.  The government, and royal family, went into hiding.

In Oslo Vikdun Quisling, a name now synonymous with treachery, declared himself Prime Minister, despite having no support in the parliament.  His political career was one of consistent failure, but he was head of the Norwegian fascist party which had links to the Nazis, and would go on to head the puppet government for the rest of the war.

Quisling branded himself a 'patriot', but was only interested in power and the chances it provided him to persecute those he saw as enemies of the state.  Like the Nazis this list began with the Jewish people and moved on down through left wingers and any groups considered likely to oppose the regime.

Nothing remotely like that has happened in the UK.  Quisling's equivalent back then, Oswald Moseley, never came close to power - but might have had the German invasion plans succeeded.  Now the rise of neofascism in Europe and more widely makes one wonder if any similar situation could arise.

Most major European countries have had the sense to reject the far right, as recent elections in Holland and France have shown.  So too in the UK, where ukip have faded as an electoral force.  But in the US....

Trump is fascist in all but name, something clear from the political appointments he made on taking office.  Fortunately the US constitution is a lot more robust than that of Weimar, and the country's democracy should survive in spite of the resident of the White House.  But if it didn't....?  A UK that had moved out of the protection of the EU would soon be in big economic trouble.  You can just about imagine a Trump government suggesting they provide a bit of 'protection'.  But they'd need a puppet in charge here.

Taking Quisling as the model, it doesn't take much to arrive at the obvious candidate.  A far right leader, obsessed with patriotism and targeting minorities, with an unthinking cult following and close links to the fascists offering their protective umbrella.  Niggle Fuhrage fits the bill in every way.  That's our modern Quisling right there.

Leadsom wants us all kept quiet

STOP POINTING OUT THAT WE'RE HOPELESS....

In a Tory government that's hardly brimming over with intellectual talent, Andrea Leadsom still manages to stand out.  It's some achievement to be seen as the most stupid of all in a shower of dimwits.  And it looks like she's determined on cementing that fully deserved reputation beyond all doubt.

Her latest 'brain'wave is telling broadcasters that when they report on anything to do with the ongoing farce to leave the EU they should be more 'patriotic'.  A couple of quotes seem appropriate at this point....

“Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious”
― Oscar Wilde

“The greatest patriotism is to tell your country when it is behaving dishonorably, foolishly, viciously.”
― Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot

It sounds like Leadsom wants the already supine BBC to become a bit more like the Currant Bun, Daily Fail and Desmond's ukip-propaganda shitrag.  All of whom will print any lies about the EU, and the ongoing 'negotiations', if it suits their hard right ideology.  So is this her speaking what there is of her ind, or official government policy?  Is this a sign of a government now running so scared that it wants to suppress criticism?

Anyone paying attention knows that the EU team hold all the cards, and any end result will be determined from their position of far greater strength.  And that the UK government, now fatally weakened after a botched general election, is looking more and more clueless as each day passes.  One year on from from the madness of the referendum result the consequences are becoming more obvious, with food prices rising and the poorest in society, yet again, bearing the brunt.  Minds are changing,  except with those extremists who refuse to let go of their prejudices.  The above-mentioned rags would never reflect that reality of course - and now the government want broadcasters to 'report' in the same way?  Mushroom management.

That Barnes quote above is the most appropriate here.  If you are going to serve your country then pointing out mistakes, questioning dubious decisions, exposing falsehoods are the most valuable contributions a free press can make.

There are calls for Leadsom to apologise.  They don't go far enough.  She should resign, and may needs to explicitly state that this approach is something she rejects.  Except I suspect it's what she really wants.  otherwise her desperate incompetence can't be contained for much longer.

Don't roll out the red carpet please

I COULD DO THAT

The Edinburgh International Film Festival is now underway and I'm looking forward to spending much of the next week or so stuck inside a cinema. At time of writing I've only seen two so it's early days in the marathon, but it's already been enjoyable.

Watching movies as part of festival is a different experience to regular cinemagoing. You don't have to sit through endless ads and trailers, it's straight into the feature. The people who attend are generally a bit more passionate about their viewing, so you know you're going to be part of an attentive audience. And often there's the presence of directors and/or actors who've come along to see how audiences will react to their work.

Often there will be a Q&A session with some of those involved with the film directly after the screening. Sometimes best avoided if you have another film to see soon after. Sometimes best avoided because the speakers aren't always as riveting as they seem to think they are....

But by and large this is a plus. The greatest pleasure is watching the actors doing what they do best, what they are paid to do, and actually acting up there on the screen. Often it's interesting to hear what they have to say about the creation of their characters, the behind the scenes stories of what was involved in shooting some of the more difficult scenes, the development of the story. I saw Richard E Grant last night and he had a deep well of entertaining stories to tell. Later in the week I am genuinely looking forward to seeing and hearing Sheila Hancock.

But there's one aspect of this I just don't get at all. The red carpet. Fans, and photographers of course, stand for ages awaiting the arrival of a car. The actor gets out of the car, maybe waves a bit, and walks into the building.

I want to see them acting. I will often enjoy listening to them talking about acting. But do I really need to see how well they can walk from a car to a door? It's not like it's a special skill they have they can do better than anyone else. I could get to see that demonstrated at any office block of a morning. I mean, I could do that. Couldn't you?

Elementary?

The Victorians loved their statues, didn't they?  "Eminent men."  Now mostly forgotten.  The Georgians gave us their fair share too.  Edinburgh is littered with them, invariably holding a book or a scroll or some device denoting their profession.  They get photographed a lot, and squeezed into selfies, because that's what tourists do.  We're not short of them either.

A couple of statues get rubbed as well.  Most famous is Greyfriars' Bobby, the wee dog across from the National Museum, who has a perpetually shiny nose, touched for 'luck' by gullible visitors.  Even more bizarre is the shiny toe of renowned rationalist David Hume, who would have hated to know he'd become the object of superstitious practices.

But there's one statue to someone even more famous, albeit fictional.  It's on a busy enough road right enough, but just that bit off the regular tourist trail.  In summer it's partly concealed by the trees on either side, so that even passing on the bus it's hard to get a glimpse.  The portrayal owes a bit more to Hollywood than to the original texts, but that does at least serve to make the character instantly recognisable when you do get to see him.  The deerstalker and pipe are pretty obvious clues, not requiring any great powers of deduction.

So what's London's most famous make-believe sleuth doing stood by the edge of Picardy Place? There's a further clue less than a hundred metres away, in the shape of a pub called the Conan Doyle.  Holmes' creator was born at 11 Picardy Place.  And although much of his schooling took place down in England, he returned to his birthplace to study medicine at the university.  One of his tutors there is generally credited as the inspiration for Sherlock's forensic approach to tackling crime, based on the techniques of observation, deduction and inference that Doctor Joseph Bell used in his approach to medicine (at that time regarded as an unusual way of working).

In the later part of his life the author became obsessed with spiritualism, and the city also has The Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Centre dedicated to this rather less popular aspect of his character.  I'm not sure what Holmes would have made of that.

Out of the Fridge and into the summer

THERE'S ALWAYS NEXT SEASON

It's been a long time since I last had a hockey-free Sunday, but today sees the start of the long wait for the new season in September.  Way back in last September I was able to write on here with the usual sense of bouyant optimism that's only possible before reality sets in.  Where I said that Caps fans weren't a demanding bunch and outlining our very low-level ambitions....

"If we could qualify for the knockout stages of the cup; if we could finish in the top eight of the league and have a chance to make it to the Playoffs; and, most importantly, if we can beat old rival Fife Flyers then we'll consider that a successful season."

That was followed by a post in November when the guys achieved the first of those three aims, in dramatic fashioned against the aforementioned Fifers.  The optimism was still strong within us.  But Caps can always find a way of confounding expectations.

A series of injuries in December, most notably to our star netminder, saw Edinburgh freefall down the league standings.  From looking a comfortable seventh we soon found ourselves back in familiar position at the arse end of the table.  We still put in a lot of strong performances, but ten minutes of brain fade here and there meant wins couldn't be had.  Caps got some form back after New Year, and stayed in (arithmetic) contention for a playoffs spot until three weekends from the end of the season, but faded at the very end to a slightly distant last place.  But hey, only eight points adrift of ninth.  That might not sound good to you, but it's a huge improvement on last year!

So that was aim number two put out to grass.  And, obviously, we didn't finish above the rivals from over the water.  But we can still claim some successes.  That game in November meant we qualified for the knockout stage of the cup and they didn't.  And in ten meetings the results turned out even, with five wins apiece.  Three of our five came in Kirkcaldy, a barn where we hardly ever get a result, so that was a big plus too (if we ignore the fact we lost to them three times at home as well).  The Flyers looked like a very ordinary team at times, only having the best nettie in the league gave them the position they achieved.

There were other big positives as well, at least compared to last year.  None of the players we began the season with had left by the end, none had suffered season-ending injuries.  They could be hugely entertaining at times, with a greater depth of attacking options than we were used to.  So it's ironic that having a star defenceman as coach did nothing to improve the record when it came to giving away soft goals.  But there were plenty of guys in the lineup we'd be delighted to see returning for 2017-18, even if there's disagreement among fans as to who they should be.  Most notably our captain, Jacob Johnston, who seems to have divided opinion more than any other.  For the record, I'd be one of those who'd love to see him back in a Caps jersey and thought him one of the outstanding players on the squad.

The club itself felt as though it had moved forward in other ways too, especially in communications.  As fans we were kept better informed than before, and that was a huge plus in making supporters feel more involved.  Credit to Mr Gent.   There were a lot of efforts put into attracting new supporters, and numbers did increase, albeit to nothing like the levels needed to help the team become truly competitive.  There's still plenty of space to fill in the Fridge of Dreams.  Ice hockey remains one of this city's great undiscovered pleasures.  It's a shame, for the fans we do have are (in my wholly unbiased opinion) the best in the league.  Loud, enthusiastic, we'll keep shouting win or lose, don't fade away when the results aren't going so well, and will stay behind to cheer our team off the ice.  We may be small in number but atmosphere there is aplenty.  (Never more so than in the comeback against Fife in THAT match in November, still my favourite memory of the season.)

I finished off my spectating season taking in a match featuring the 'baby' Caps who play in the Scottish league, and last weekend in Nottingham watching the semis and final of the EIHL playoffs.  No Caps, but plenty to cheer about, an interesting fans forum where we could ask questions of some of the team owners who dictate the shape of the league, and, in the final, one of the greatest hockey matches you might ever see.  Definitely worth a watch if you can spare the time (it does go on a bit....).  You can see it here until 8 May.

Now it's time for speculation and, eventually, signings, as summer passes on.  There are doubts about the future, rumours that Caps (along with Fife and Dundee) might leave the EIHL and join another league, rumours that our coach could be A, or B, or C, or ....  Time will pass, the waters will clear and one day we'll know what's happening.  But as long as there's a decent standard of hockey to watch in Murrayfield then I'll be there, back in my seat and ready to shout.  My name is Blyth and I'm a Capsaholic.

We can't risk these people committing more atrocities

WHEN ARE WE GOING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THESE PEOPLE?

Another terrorist outrage with innocent people being killed on the streets of Britain.  When is our complacent government going to act?  Why can't they read the signs that show, all too clearly, who are the people to blame for this horror and clamp down accordingly.  You only have to look at the last couple of politically inspired murders to see there's an obvious pattern there.

This time the killer was a fifty two year old man who was originally known as Adrian.  Government spokepersons, and the supine mass media, insist on describing Adrian as "British".

"British", eh?  A convenient euphemism used to hide the inconvenient truth.  Adrian came from Kent and it that means only one thing.  Adrian was ENGLISH.

Adrian had a history of disturbed behaviour, but appears to have been turned towards extremist violence through the hate speech of various individuals, and the ready availability of  internet radicalism where lies and distortions can take in those who are easily led.

Notice the pattern here?  See the blindingly obvious similarities between this man and the previous perpetrator of a similar act?  Thomas Mair, the murderer of Jo Cox, has so many traits in common with our Adrian.

So the government needs to act now and come down hard on these people.  Gullible, fifty-something, English men with a history of hatred and bigotry are now a clear danger to our society and our way of life.

The authorities could always start with ukip's youth wing....

Vote Yes for democracy

YES, PLEASE

No big surprise, given the stubborn intransigence of May, that the Scottish Government announce plans to have IndyRef2.  They've tried everything possible to come to some kind of compromise agreement, with Westminster refusing to budge from their one track minded position.  What happens in the next few weeks will be fascinating for anyone with an interest in politics.  Article 50 and Section 30 providing the centrepiece.

As the First Minister made clear the circumstances of 2014 have changed radically.  A decisive vote to remain in the UK has been followed by a far more convincing majority to stay in the EU.  Which union takes precedence?  That isn't really the question.  More to the point, what does Scotland want it's future to look like?  And maybe even more importantly, what might we want to avoid?

It's obvious that the May government isn't going to listen to our elected representatives, so there's a convincing argument in that alone.  Do we want to be a country with a voice or not?  But I think it's how May treats the UK as a whole, at least over the Brexit fiasco, that's the more greatest long term worry and a sign of the UK becoming a deeply unpleasant state.

Democracy is built on the separation of powers to provide checks and balances, to prevent the emergence of dictatorship.  Executive, legislature and judiciary must be able to prevent each other having too much power.  Even if the actual structure in place is less than perfect, the principle they embody is an essential one.  So it's not encouraging to see the executive, the May government, challenge the right of the judiciary to ensure that the rule of law is maintained, as happened when they challenged the High Court decision that parliament must be involved in invoking Article 50.  And have subsequently gone on to override the spirit of the ruling, which was endorsed by the Supreme Court, by introducing a laughably inadequate bill that attempts to sideline the legislature in the Brexit process.  Aided by a spineless Labour Party leadership who have provided no real opposition in this matter.

May, in attempting to avoid parliamentary scrutiny, is acting like a wannabe dictator (shades of Trump).  If that path continues, and there seems little sign of it being blocked, it provides, for me, the most compelling reason to vote Yes.  Bring it on.

The story of my life?

CAPTURING THE PAST

Since the start of 1975 I've  endeavored to keep a daily diary, writing a few mundane lines about my day, and  the occasional comment on my state of mind or the wider world.  That's over 42 years worth of trivia, and still going.  There are a few gaps along the way, the longest of about six months, but there is, or rather was, a physical book for each calendar year.

That takes up quite a bit of space, for something that gets consulted only on rare occasions.  So when we started to think about downsizing, which resulted in our move to our current home, this mountain of paper looked a likely candidate for culling.  Except that that's my past life, since I was in the dying days of my teenage years, and does have a certain amount of interest and, very occasionally, some practical use as I try to pinpoint events in the past.  So I took a decision that comes with both positive and negative consequences.  I would data capture the entries into the digital world, and thereby discard the pile of books.  But over four and a bit decades I do seem to have poured out a lot of words....

At least I have an end point to aim for.  When I started on this path, in early 2014, it seemed sensible to also digitise each new day's entry as I went along.  And to capture the earlier months of that year so that it was complete.  So everything from 1 January 2014 is present and correct.  Progress at the other end is less encouraging though.

There have been spells when I've neglected the task, so the momentum has been far from linear.  Recently I decided to sit down and work out, roughly, how long the project might take.  At the rate of progress I'd managed up until that point I'd be around 80 when I finished.  I might not live to 80.

A few calculations suggest that to be finished around the time I turn seventy I'm going to have to type up around five to six entries per day.  With some entries being no more than a brief paragraph, whilst others can cover two or more pages of A4 in tightly packed script, that isn't a very meaningful measurement.  It's not helped by the appalling handwriting, which can require a bit of textual detective work to interpret at times.  If I had any sense I'd stop now.

Except that I did mention that there were also positive outcomes to this exercise (as well as the glacially slow reduction in the pile).  A cliche I know, but as we go through life we do become different people in many ways, but also retain some essential elements of our personality.  Wading through my daily existence from all that time ago is like reading a novel in which I am the central character, but only partially sketched out, and I'm left to try and fill in the holes.  It often feels like somebody else's life entirely when I come across incidents and people that trigger no memories at all.  Yet others seem so fresh in my mind and I'm instantly returned to the moment.  It's an interesting education in the selectivity of memory.

At the moment I'm only in 1980, in the earliest days of my career, gradually recovering from the most serious illness I've ever had, and making some friendships that have continued over the years since.  I know that there were some big upheavals in my life in the months I'm now entering, but how the words on the page will relate to my recall is going to be interesting.  My current life feels so sorted and contented that I'm not going to encounter anything that could disturb my equilibrium.  And there are many events still to look forward to as I type my way through each day.

So it might take me another decade (and then some), but this is one project I'm not giving up on.

Who's really in control here?

TAKING BACK CONTROL?

It was one of the big slogans of the Leave campaign.  It was one of the vaguest, most meaningless slogans of the Leave campaign, but it had a simple appeal to people who didn't really understand why their lives were being hit so hard.  They wanted to take back 'control' from the EU - which in reality controls very little of our day to day lives.  But who would this mythical 'control' be given to?

Since this was all about the UK, supposedly gaining powers it had lost, the implication was greater control for the UK constitutional set up.  For the major components of a representative democracy - executive, legislature and judiciary.  In very simple terms the legislature creates the law, the executive administers it, and the judiciary ensures compliance.

So why are the Leave fanatics getting so upset when this happens in practice?  First off it was the judges, who ruled that the law required parliament to approve the activation of Article 50.  A 'newspaper' (rag) headline declared they were "Enemies of the People".  For doing their constitutional job.  For daring to ensure that the law was in control.  Instead of accepting the judgement, the government wasted a considerable amount of taxpayers' money in trying to get a different decision.  What's so hard about accepting the rule of law?

Then it was the MPs who 'dared' to vote against the frankly pathetic bill that May hopes will give her unlimited power to batter through major constitutional changes that weren't even approved by the slender majority in an advisory referendum.  Now it's the House of Lords, over whom she tried to loom threateningly, because they have tried to minimise some of the damage being caused to a large group of people.  How dare they actually think of putting people first....?

But if this Brexit farce is consistently damaging and suggestive of a bleak future, it still manages to throw up plenty of comedy.  Who couldn't laugh at some of the over the top reactions of the fanatics?  So now we have the far right, who wanted to take back control, deciding that they don't like the control being shown because it doesn't exactly match the control they want it to be.  Or something like that.

So they're pushing a petition to abolish the House of Lords.  You couldn't, to use a phrase so beloved of these people, make this shit up.  Not only are the EU institutions unfit to meet their demands, so are the UK's.  The irony is that many of us on the left have for decades wanted the Lords replaced with something more in line with a democratic state.  Now the numpties are pushing for the right decision for all the wrong reasons.  What a shower.

'National' broadcaster? Really?

MIGHT AS WELL CALL IT THE EBC?

I wonder what the reaction in England would be if one of the main BBC news bulletins of the day featured, as a major item, several minutes discussing a crisis in the French health service, then, shortly after, another piece on problems with French policing?  Something tells me there'd be a few people getting more than a little upset.

It's the BBC after all.  The British Broadcasting Corporation.  Dedicated to covering British news stories, of interest to British viewers, plus a bit of international coverage.  Isn't that what it's supposed to be?  So I wonder why, last night, the 10 o'clock news featured two lengthy stories that were really only of interest to the people in one region of the UK?  And I wonder which region that might be....?

The BBC recently rejected the demand for a 'Scottish Six', a six o'clock news programme, on BBC1, leading with national stories in Scotland.  A dedicated Scottish channel has been promised, although what shape that will take remains to be seen, so judgement must be reserved for now.  But it means that on BBC1, the prime UK station, we'll continue to be fed a news service heavily biased towards England.

You see this strongly on so much of the BBC's news and politics output.  How often is the UK's third most important political party, in terms of Westminster seats and party members, seen on Question Time?  And how often does a minority, far right party with only one MP (perhaps not even that in the near future) and a falling membership manage to be featured so often?  Strange, isn't it?

But wait.  On Radio Four this morning the news bulletin actually led with a story about Scotland.  Sort of.  Reporting Cruella de May's speech suggesting that the Scottish Government should stop playing with people's lives, get on with the 'day job', and stop fretting about independence?  Funny, I thought the day job included trying to represent the wishes and best interests of the people who live in Scotland?  Which has to include an independence option since May's dictatorially-inclined government quite signally refuse to consider all the practical suggestions that have been made to cover the needs of a population that voted decisively to stay in the EU.

As for 'doing the day job', this carries just a smidgin of hypocrisy from the head of a regime that's wasting millions of pounds on the Department of Impending Catastrophe, or Ministry of Truth, or whatever Davis Davis' shambolic organisation is now called.

[Head of DIC sounds about right for Davis....]

In some ways I don't blame the BBC.  The government-led attacks and threats it's suffered since the eighties have resulted in a steady decline in the quality of reporting, and a long way form it's once vaunted impartiality.  It has been bruised and battered and cowed into lapdog status.  The creative departments remain as impressive as ever, and produce's much that's fine in drama and comedy.  They even manage to occasional decent documentary.  But politically they have been hamstrung and too often sound like little more than a (Westminster) government mouthpiece.  Pro-brexit, pro-union, increasingly right wing and seemingly promoting ukip because they like a bit of 'controversy'.  (Would Fuhrage even have been heard of if Question Time hadn't slung him under our noses at every opportunity, thus helping to normalise his hate speech?)

A state broadcaster free from commercial influences should be a strong force for truth and good in society. But it also needs to be free from political influence.  The BBC has lost it's way.

Republican times

NOT MY QUEENIE

When Scotland regains it's independence (and I become ever more confident that it's now a when rather than an if) one of the big questions to be answered is what sort of head of state we want to have.  In the 2014 referendum the government said we should retain the monarchy to provide a continuing link with the remainder of what had been the UK.  But is that really what we want, or need?

I hope not.  I've never been a monarchist, never will be,  It seems to me that royalty is the most visible symbol of one of the biggest problems our society has to overcome - inherited power, privilege and wealth.  Unlike the Scandinavian monarchies they look incapable of reform, with obsequious deference such a profound instinct in so much of the media and establishment.  We need a break from all that.

This is about self respect.  In the modern world it's surely important that we are treated as citizens, not subjects.  That must be integral to any concept of democracy.  At least the EU treats us as citizens, but they're even trying to take that right away from us.

Lizzie still, for reasons I fail to understand, is regarded with some affection by much of the public, even in Scotland.  Perhaps because she's managed to remain relatively anonymous in this age of media intrusion, as she still receives the sycophantic treatment.  But Charlie?  I wonder if that will still be the case when the man who talks to plants gets the job (against zero opposition of course)?  We can do so much better.  Anyone who doubts it just needs to look a short distance over the water to the cultured, intelligent and charismatic Michael D Higgins .  What more could you ask for in a head of state?  And what chance that someone of his abilities would come out of a bunch of chinless inbreds?

But the EU referendum travesty has so amplified the Little Englander mentality that those down south will likely want to cling on to the crown as part of their return to the 1950s.

Anyway, as my title above suggests, I don't regard her as my queenie anyway.  She call herself QE2.  But there was never a QE1 of my country.

Most people reading that will jump to the conclusion that I mean Scotland.  Unionists will then point out that Scotland is, at least for now, a part of a country called the UK.  And then find that my answer is still the same.  There was never a Queen Elizabeth of the UK.  Either way you look at it she's just plain queen Liz.  Unless you're stupid enough to think that Britain is the same thing as England....

And finally, we can be rid of that turgid dirge that passes for a national anthem.  Every time I hear it I just wish I was French.

Vive La Republique!

Writing for anybody - but mostly for myself

READY MADE SUBJECTS

As well as this blog I also post in one called Go Live.  It's been on the go for just over two years now, and has almost three hundred posts.

I enjoy writing, I enjoy going out to various forms of entertainment.  Put the two together and I have an ongoing flow of material.  The blog title did quickly become a misnomer though.  I envisaged it being about all the live events I'd been to see, but immediately realised I wanted to include films as well, or at least those I've been to a cinema to view.  At first I also included reports on ice hockey matches too, but soon recognised that they didn't fit in well with the overall theme of the blog.  So it's been narrowed down to encompass live music, drama, comedy, and the aforementioned cinema visits.  (I've refrained from trying to comment on art exhibitions and galleries, as I'd quickly feel right out of my depth!)

Hardly anyone reads these reviews, and that's fine with me.  I did get asked if I'd like to submit some to another blog, but in the end decided against it - I've no need of the pressure and having others read my words isn't what this is all about.  I do it for myself, and if anyone else happens to get something from anything I post then that's a bonus.  I do it because I enjoy the challenge, because I already try to write every day and here's some immediate subject matter, I do it just for fun and enjoyment.  If anyone does find something helpful in my outpourings then that's a bonus.

It has changed the way I view gigs etc. though.   Whatever I'm watching a part of my enjoyment comes from turning possible sentences and phrases over in my mind, trying to pick out the essential elements of whatever it is I'm looking at and listening to.  I also carry a notebook with me to jot down my thoughts after it's finished.  There are a few times when I feel my thoughts are clear enough and I don't need the notes.  But come festival time - be it film, jazz or Fringe - the little book is an essential companion.  Once you start to see two or three events in the same day the memory is not to be relied upon.

So I will continue with Go Live because it's become a habit I get a lot of pleasure from (even if few other people do!).  Occasionally I get a wider readership if the artist being covered decides to retweet or share my post (but only when I've been nice about them!).

But there's one success I'm unlikely to repeat in the future.  I had one of my reviews translated into Danish and published on a Danish folk music site, although I only discovered this by accident.  With Danish being such an opaque language if you're unfamiliar with it, it was as well I'd put in a couple of made up words, which proved to be untranslatable, and a reference to Jaco Pastorius.  Without them I'd never have recognised my own prose!

Tomorrow night I'm off to another folk gig, and then I'll be one step closer to the three hundred mark.  Need to keep my hand in for festival season....

By-election fall out might be for the best?

THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS?

It was English by-election day yesterday, not just in the two Westminster seats that have received ll the coverage today, but also in three council seats.  And the results in all five may be an indicator that the disastrous far right politics of 2016 are slowly being rejected.

The clearest indicator of that was in Stoke where Labour held on to their seat despite promises from ukip of an upsurge in their fortunes.  This was a constituency that voted heavily to Leave in June.  This result may be an indication that many of the voters there are starting to realise how badly they were conned by the Leave campaigns lies and hate-mongering.  Ukip thought they had this, so much so that they chose their own toxic leader as Candidate.  It's good to see he's had as much success as his frog faced predecessor, although he's got a long way to go to catch up on Fuhrage's seven failures....

Ukip are struggling for money, having had to pay back the EU after misspending public funds, and their membership numbers have fallen.  Add in the internal feuding that was so apparent and it's possible this recent failure is one more step towards the fascist party's death spiral.  Politics is best rid of them.

On the face of it the result in Copeland looks to be anti-progressive, with a historic win for the governing party.  But it might just be part of a much needed jolt for Labour.  I like Corbyn.  He's got many excellent policies, has tried hard to bring a kinder face to political discourse, and appears to be a fundamentally decent person, the very opposite of the Tory leadership.  But.  There's too much evidence showing that he's a terrible, indeed ineffectual, people manager.  And that's been fatal to Labour's ability to be an effective opposition, with the membership of the shadow cabinet changing like socks.  Worse still has been his dereliction of duty in failing to do enough to oppose May's attempts to railroad though disastrous constitutional change.  His failure to properly oppose the tyrannical Brexit bill is a betrayal of Remain voters who deserve effective representation in parliament, something that's been left to the numerically handicapped SNP and Lib Dems.

So a Tory win looks bad, but if it's a step on the road to having a more effective Labour party it could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.

In the three council elections the Tories held on to one, but lost the other two to the Lib Dems.  Not just narrowly, but on a massive swing.  Maybe there were local issues that caused this, but I can only hope it's another sign of the appallingly name Bregret that is becoming mentioned more frequently, and that public opinion is steadily moving decisively against leaving the EU.

That would be good for England and, selflessly, I applaud that.  Even if it may actually be a step back for Scottish independence....

Weight watching, the lazy way

FOLLOW THE LAD

People worry about retiring. For several reasons.

Having enough income to live a decent life is the biggest one for most. We're lucky enough to have enough coming in to feed, house and clothe ourselves, and still have something left over to enjoy life with.

Then there's health. Well, you're getting older and the body doesn't quite function like it once did, but all you can do is try to keep active, eat healthily and hope you're lucky. Plus there's a lot to be said for not having to go into an office, or on crowded commuter public transport, when there are bugs going around.

Boredom?  Some people wonder how they'll fill the hours of every day when they no longer have a job to turn up at. They wonder how they'll cope with the loss of routine and structure that work provides. They think they'll miss the office gossip, the intellectual challenge, the sense of achievement. And really it depends on the type of person you are. I might, very occasionally, have missed some of the people I used to see every day. But the rest of it? Nah.... Never once. Far from being bored, I wonder how to fit in all the things I want to do some days. And I do have the chance to get some of those things a job used to provide through voluntary work (more of which in a future post). Trust me, there's no reason to let yourself get bored with life.

There was one thing I did have some concerns about though, partly linked to the health concerns above. Other than during a particularly stressful period of work almost twenty years ago, I've never been one to have to worry much about putting on weight. But a less active, less stressed, less structured lifestyle might well lead to eating more, burning off less, and an enlarging waistline. Fortunately we've discovered the perfect route to maintaining a steady mass.

It's simple really. Although we might wake around 7.30 or 8, that's not the same as actually getting up, is it? I go down for hot drinks, feed the cat, come back to bed and catch up on what's happening in the world (WiFi is the retiree's friend). Another round of drinks, a bit of a read of whatever book I'm currently in to and .... oh look, it's 10.30. How did that happen? So by the time I'm up, and done a bit of stretching (those cats know a thing or two), had a shower and chosen today's t shirt, breakfast seems to be some time around midday. And I do like a decent sized breakfast.

So there isn't a lunchtime really. And it's too close to dinner time to want to start snacking, so there is no incentive to eat anything much until I sit at the table again. That's it, that's the secret. Get up so late you can't really consider anything more than two decent meals. I call it the LAD. The Lazy Arse Diet. Works for me....

Staring at screens all day

FROM SCREEN TO SHINING SCREEN

A few years ago if I'd said I had spent most of my day looking at screens they'd have been PC monitors or laptops, with the odd glance at my phone.  I'd have been looking at reports, plans, spreadsheets.  I'd have been filling in forms, writing updates, dealing with emails.  And, in hindsight, not really doing anything worthwhile.

Today I've spent long periods looking at four screens, and they have all been worth my attention.  In the morning it was the Cameo cinema to see the wonderful 20th Century Women.  After lunch we were in the Filmhouse to see German comedy Toni Erdmann, which had one of the funniest party scenes I've ever watched.  In the evening it was the TV at home, with the live webcast of the hockey match between Coventry Blaze and my Edinburgh Capitals.  Not the finest moment of the day, not just because Caps lost, but due to the effect on my eyesight of such a blurry picture being displayed - sort yourselves out Coventry!

While that was on I paid partial attention to my laptop, doing a bit of tidying up.  And now I sit before my desk monitor, battering away at my keyboard to do a bit of writing, a bit of checking up on the news.  No reports, plans or spreadsheets.  No writing because I have to, but because I want to.  And no emails demanding my urgent attention.

There's a lot to be said for retirement....

A self-serving POTUS

PUBLIC SERVICE IS A STATE OF MIND

A few weeks ago we went to see the film Jackie ( about the events in the life of Jackie Kennedy following the murder of her husband JFK. The Americans like to say that one of the great things about their country is that any citizen can become president. And at least it's true that someone could have a greater chance of achieving that status than someone would of becoming head of state in the archaic UK system of government. But anyone? Not quite.

The Kennedys weren't anybodys within the US social structure. They were part of the patrician class, born to wealth, privilege, influence and a life well beyond the reach of any ordinary American. Jack became president, but his brothers Bobby and Teddy were also prominent senior politicians of the period.

Current White House incumbent (but for how much longer?) Trump is hardly anybody either. Like the Kennedys he was born into extreme wealth and has become a weel kent name to the media through his activities. And that's where the similarities end.

I was a civil servant for more than three decades. An abortive attempt at a career in retail showed me I wasn't interested in a job where the idea of serving the public was underlaid by the desire to extract as much money as possible from them, and pass it on to other people who didn't do much for the privilege. Over the years I developed a clearer understanding of the importance of having a public service ethos in government work. By which I mean that the first consideration in any decision should be looking at how it can best benefit the public. That might then be subject to all sorts of other pressure - finance, resources, practicality, other legislation etc etc - but that should always be the starting point.

Most civil servants think that way. Recent governments, especially the Tories, have taken a much more aggressive approach, seeking to monetize everything they can. You only have to look at the steady destruction of the NHS to see what damage that causes. In many departments senior management has been brought in from outside industry with a view to turning public services into money making businesses as far as possible. Thus no longer delivering a public service....

The Kennedys might have been brought up as spoiled brats in many ways, but they also had inculcated into them a notion of public service. Perhaps even of duty, that old fashioned aristocratic notion. They were flawed individuals in many ways, but they did have a world view that put the interests of the people, at least as they saw them, at the forefront of their thinking. They had an understanding of what constitutes public service.

Trump only understands service in one way. Whatever he does it must be in the best interests of Donald Trump. He has none of the qualities required in government. A spoiled brat, but with no concept of duty or serving others. Trump is a disaster.

If he's impeached, which seems already to have become a very realistic prospect, he would be succeeded by the vile, homophobic Mike Pence. But, bad as the latter is, the current VP could never be as bad as his present boss. He does, at least, have some notion of what it means to serve the public having held elected office for sixteen years. Pence would be a terrible president. But still a hundred times better than the orange one.

Passing by the Maple Leaf

A FLAG WITH MEANING

Yesterday I was walking down through the lower reaches of the New Town, as you do.  (Well, actually, as I don't, because this was rarely seen territory for me, letting my nose and feet lead me without much forethought.)  So I came to this junction, and there, in a first floor window on the corner, was a Canadian flag.  A splash of colour, and identity, in this dull winter scene.

This wasn't consulate territory, so maybe it's somebody's bedroom, or living room, and they want to proudly display their origins.  It's no big surprise in a multinational city like Edinburgh.  Hey, it could even be one our 'our' Edinburgh Capitals hockey players....

I walked on, still thinking about that flag, and it struck me how appropriate it seemed for the moment.  Canada and Scotland, both with moderate, inclusive, social democratic governments, both outward looking, both nationalities that are welcomed around the world.  And both having a southern border with a neighbour that looks increasingly like their government is flirting with fascism.  Both at odds with the regressive values of their much larger, bombastic, isolationist 'friend'.

It's not a comparison that stands up for long of course.  Some might identify Scotland more with Quebec than Canada, having their own internal discourse about whether or not to sever ties of political rule.  And Canada doesn't have to store their neighbour's nukes for them....

One last chance among the graves?

MISSING MY DEAD PEOPLE

It's the fourth Friday of the year.  And still I miss the habit, the discipline, the connection with the land below our windows.  Throughout last year, on every Friday (well, almost, I was away for one and had to make do with a Thursday), I'd get up in the morning and take photos of Rosebank cemetery, spreading out five floors below.  Then post them in the blog that was intended to record who that view changed across the seasons. (http://pilriggraveyardlife.blogspot.co.uk/)

Not that seasons bring dramatic change on a weekly basis, so it often felt like one week's view was pretty much identical to the next, and only during Spring and Autumn was there anything like the rate of transformation which justified seven day intervals.  To make more interesting, for myself as much as the few people who followed the posts regularly, I took to going for walks in the graveyard.

I've always liked cemeteries.  As a child I can remember one in the Borders that fascinated me, so old were some of the markings on the gravestones.  Rosebank only has Victorian origins, so there's not much ancient history to be had down there, but it has it's own interest.  And it's still active, with burials taking place regularly, so there's a surprising amount of activity down there.  The funeral ceremonies themselves, regular mourners who come to tend the graves and pay their respects, gardeners, maintenance workers, people seeking out the Gretna Memorial, foxes, squirrels, magpies....

Walking around made me realise just how big the place is.  Alongside the change of seasons over the course of the year, marked by the alteration in the vegetation, there's the slower pace of change reflected in the layout of the graves, the styles of the headstones, the nature of the inscriptions, the slow build up of the dead being interred, one by one, beneath that grassy covering.  I took time to read the words people had chosen to mark the passing of their relatives.  Or, no doubt, chosen for themselves in advance.  There are several large egos buried down there as well as the bodies.

But a year was enough to show how it all alters in appearance and that was time to call a halt.  My one regret remains the lack of a decent snowfall, which would have added something further to the variety of the picturescape.  There's been none here this year.  So far.  If February or March obliged there might yet be one final blog post, and an excuse to don boots and go walking through the white, between the elaborate masonry work, recording a softer yet starker side to the beauty of this world of trees and grass and dead people.

One last chance - please.

Less screen, more page

NOSE REMAINS ON FACE

Digital detox. It's one of those fashionable terms, and concepts, that have been cropping up a lot recently. Spending too much of your life on social media? Then go cold turkey, remove the app, banish the icon, close down your account. Hey presto, instant improvement. Maybe.

But, as is often the problem with radical solutions, throwing away all the bad that a thing does involves losing all the good too. Babies and bathwater time.

For others the more sensible approach is culling - reducing the number of friends on Facebook, stop following so many on Twitter, and so on and so on. But that doesn't always lead to a reduction in the time spent looking at a screen. It may just mean you end up missing fewer posts, but spend as much time as before interacting with a smaller group.

I wanted to reduce my time staring at a small screen. For a specific reason. One of the (pre-planned) joys of retirement is finally having the time to read, and reread, all those books I've bought over the decades. Shelves full of volumes as yet unperused. In my first full post-work year I got through about sixty. In subsequent years the total has been somewhere in the mid forties. Until last year, which saw a miserable thirty one pass before my eyes. It's not even as if there were any mammoth tomes in that list either. I simply wasn't giving enough of my life to the printed (or e-ink) page. That's the change I was aiming for.

Just because you don't like your nose there isn't a good reason to remove it in the hope it'll improve your face (some might disagree in my case....). So the detox scenario was never an option. Twitter connects me with one world, Facebook with another, and Instagram is a creative outlet of sorts. But cutting back is easy enough.

So there are days when the tablet is never turned on. The phone is around, but kept in pocket unless needed. Don't respond to every email instantly, ignore the buzzes and chimes and vibrations unless expecting something important. I can catch up with much of what I need to when I sit down at my desk to go through my daily writing activities (less strain on these old eyes too!). And use the time gained to pick up whatever I'm reading at the moment.

It's working, so far. The end of January is still some way off and I'm about to polish off my sixth novel. I've been in seventies London, Highgate Cemetery, nineties Cairo, medieval Scotland and France, modern Japan and am just about to go to war with Saddam Hussein. My brain is far more active, my imagination widened, my empathy engaged.

An introvert's solution to the digital domination.

Ego massage, courtesy of Google

WHAT WOULD I DO WITHOUT GOOGLE?

I am not a very practical person, at least not when it comes to anything requiring some kind of manual dexterity.  Like pretty much all DIY jobs.  But over the years a lack of money, or thrift (OK, meanness....), or bloody mindedness has meant I've tackled a variety of jobs around the home.  With, admittedly, very varying degrees of success.  In fact if you're a carpenter or the like you might be best to stop reading now, because what follows may just be too painful.

This time it was the decor door on the dishwasher.  Integrated appliances in kitchens look great, but are a pain when something needs doing.  I can recall, in a previous home, ordering a washing machine to replace one that was built in.  But when the men arrived they were baffled by the way it had been installed.  The plinth underneath had been put in in a way that made it impossible to remove.  In the end they took it away, we ordered a freestanding replacement, and I had to saw out a section of plinth.  Not exactly elegant, but it worked.

This one was much simpler.  The decor door had fallen off, partly because it's upper section had split form the lower.  So first I had to find a way to restore the rigidity to the panel.  That proved simple enough, once I adopted a solution my wife came up (I did say I'm not very practical.)  Then I had to get it back on to the door, which looked like this.

Easy, eh?  It will just clip back into place.

Oh no it won't.  What do I do now?

It's 2017 so there's an obvious answer.  Get on to Google with the model number and see what can be found.  After a bit of searching I came across what I was looking for.  And the answer was simple to implement.  Once you knew how.  Now our door looks like this.

Then I can't help but wonder if I'd ever have arrived at the answer without the powerful resource of the internet?  And, if I ever did, just how long it might have taken me to figure out?  Once upon a time we had Haynes manuals for fiddling about with our cars.  Now there's Google for, well, just about everything.

That aspect is patently obvious.  But using the web as opposed to more old school methods often has another benefit.  I found the answer I was looking for on a discussion forum, on a thread that started with someone who'd found themselves in the same situation.  So not only did Google give me the fix I needed.  But it made me feel better about myself by showing me there are other people who are just as stupid as I am.  I feel reassured in my incompetence.  Haynes manuals never did that.

Aren't some details more important than others?

SOMETIMES THE LITTLE THINGS SHOULD BE BIGGER

Advertising is everywhere.  Advertising finds much of the free stuff we use every day on the internet (like this blogging site).  It's become so universal that's also incredibly easy to ignore.  A part of my brain is aware that there are ads there every time I go on Facebook, or Gmail, the many websites I might come across in the course of a day.  They're there on telly, in the cinema, on the sides of buses.  Maybe the advertisers think that there will be a subliminal effect of reinforcing their product, or company name, or brand, or whatever they like to call it, in my mind.  But I certainly don't think I take any notice of them, indeed often I forget they're there.  If there's a 'Sponsored Post' on Facebook or Instagram I'll scroll right on past.  Unless there's a very striking image that grabs my attention.

It's the same in the real world, most of what's out there just flies past me.  But, as on screen, sometimes you see one that catches the attention.

So this is one of those.

The word play amused me.  Well done advertiser, you got my attention.  But.  I can just about see it's an ad for somebody called Fine Holm.  I've never heard of them, have no idea what they do.  Seen from a car or a bus you'd be none the wiser.  Only because I decided to go over and take that photo did I find they are 'property experts'.  Which might mean estate agent, or rental agency, or.... who knows?

OK, there's a bit of a clue in the word Home being there twice, and I suppose the company name gives a vague hint.  But really, who'd know?  What's the point?  Is this just being a bit too clever for it's own good?