There's no such thing as weird on The Fringe

OF A BIG BLUE TENT, A BLONDE WIG AND A VAGINAL LIFT

But not all three at once.

So we've done two days of Fringe going so far and seen three shows.  I'd call that a nice gentle start, easing ourselves in.  

Last night we went to see our favourite local comedian/physiotherapist, Elaine Miller, in her show Gusset Grippers.  Appropriately for a day when the skies crowded in and Edinburgh took on a damp sheen this was an hour dedicated to people who pish themselves.  Part comedy, part education, part science.  But mostly just bloody funny, despite, or maybe because, being shambolic.  How many shows offer you interactive pelvic floor exercises, a mental image of Bruce Willis in a lift inside a vagina, and free fanny wash?  Recommended show?  Absolutely.

Today we went to the BBC's Big Blue Tent which we've visited frequently in the past, and will be doing again this year.  The draw is twofold.  There's a variety of interesting events taking place.  And (better still) it's all free.  But having applied for loads of shows it's in the hands of the licence fee gods as what you actually get tickets for.  This afternoon's offering was towards the more random end of the spectrum.

I haven't consciously chosen to listen to Radio 1 since the eighties.  So the name Greg James registered zilch with me, old fogey that I am proud to be.  His presence on stage might explain why the crowd we were part of felt a good bit younger than is usual for these shows.  Bring back a Radio 4 audience....

Mr (Master?) James was interviewing John Kearns, winner of the best comedy newcomer award at The Fringe 2013.  Talking about how his life had changed as a result (he only gave up the day job last November and is now a full time professional comedian) and why August in Edinburgh matters so much to comedians in general, even those who have been well established for years.  There's simply nothing else like it in the comedy world (which is great for those of us lucky enough to live here) and has been the launch platform for so many of today's laugh making stars.

Kearns described his own act as 'silly', complete with daft wig and comedic false teeth.  We 'do' silly, so we followed him down to town and filed into the Voodoo Rooms (a good place to visit for breakfast even when the Festival has packed up its suitcases and wheeled itself off to Waverley Station).  JK was certainly different, although far less weird/silly than a lot of other acts we've seen (and the lack of a miniature Die Hard star was noticeable), and likes a bit of audience interaction. We were in the front row.  So somehow I ended up being the one perched on a bar stool on stage, ill fitting curly blonde wig affixed to my head.  I was instructed to drain the remains of my pint which was then replaced by a mixture of Lucozade and Tia Maria.  So stroking John's right knee, and swaying with him in time to Sting's rendition of 'Fields of Gold', seemed like the easy option rather than having to take a sip of such a disgusting mixture.

But I wonder what pictures my mind will flash before me next time I hear Any Sting?

Not quite ready to Fringe

ON THE FRINGE OF THE FRINGE

It's day One of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.  If you read any of my posts from around this time last year you'll know how much that thought excites me.  But today has been about restraint, before we gorge ourselves on the feast.

We have just completed a house move, and are now full time Edinburgh residents.  The flat isn't quite straight yet, and there's more to be done, so we can't become committed Fringe goers quite yet.  So even though we were up in town today we managed to resist the lure of all the sights and sounds that simply watching the street acts can offer.  Although, inevitably, I did find myself with a pocketful of fliers, despite skirting around the edges of the main areas of activity and performance.  The Fringe is unavoidable.

What I did do, and I know how sad this sounds, was sort all our tickets into date order and put them into daily plastic pockets so it's clear each day what we're on our way to see.  Eighteen Fringe shows booked, and tickets for eight of the BBC offerings in the Big Blue Tent.  Plus three plays in one day from the 'proper' festival.  There's comedy, of course, plus drama, interviews, a TV broadcast, music (folk, jazz and classical) and even a stage musical (a genre I would usually avoid).  All of which gives the coming weeks a bit of shape, around which we have to fit in a few of our favourite Free Fringe performers, such as the wonderfully funny Aidan Goatley and the lovely and talented Jennifer Williams.  Plus my personal highlight from last year, The Showhawk Duo.

And a friend has just told me, via Facebook, to go and see her friend in a play.  Will it be any good?  I have no idea, but I'll go anyway.  If there's one word sums up Fringe time it's serendipity.

Watch this space....

I'm feeling moved

LITTLE BOXES, LITTLE BOXES

If you are of a certain age the above four words will almost certainly have brought to mind the phrase "and they're all made out of ticky-tacky".  You might even have started singing this song.

It's been on my mind a lot recently, because we're about to exchange one box for another (and probably a further box to follow, but that's a tale for another day).  Not sure if they're both made out of ticky-tacky, but the place we're moving to, built in 2002, probably meets the description better than the 1876 crumbly we're leaving.  I don't think they knew what ticky-tacky was in them days.

But we've certainly experienced plenty of boxes looking the same, as this photo proves.

I have made up boxes, filled boxes, sealed boxes, carried boxes, stacked boxes, for days on end.  I hate boxes.  I am boxed out.  I crave box rehab.  Box me no more, don't cry for me argent boxes.  It's probably for the best that I didn't have enough time to watch the Grand Prix today because if I'd heard one driver being told to "box, box, box" I'd have punched the television (which I can't do because it's in a box).

But the end is in sight.  Here's the same view after two nice gentlemen, one of them a red headed Orcadian ( you felt the need to know that, didn't you?), picked up all of our boxes and stacked them in a very large and very dark blue, and very box shaped, lorry.

And.........

Relax

Until we have to start unpacking those bloody boxes again.....

Work? Life? Balance....?

ILLEGITIMI NON CARBORUNDUM

A curse upon my feeble memory.  Last year there was giant billboard, looking down upon the people of Edinburgh, which truly irritated me every time I saw it.  Which is where my feeble powers of recall fail me, for I have no idea which company was being advertised, and the exact wording escapes me too.  So this is my poor effort to recreate that sight.

There was a head and shoulders shot of a smiling, white, middle aged man, the owner of the business being plugged.  The wording was supposedly a quote from this guy, which I paraphrase thus : "I ask my employees to give 100%.  And if they want to give more then that's fine by me."  This was the sales pitch, because there's nothing makes me want to give a company some of my money more than knowing that they treat their staff like enslaved chattels.  It's what we look for in a business, isn't it?  A total lack of morality or humanity.

Progressive employment practices have brought us the concepts of work-life balance and flexible working hours.  The notion that you shouldn't live to work, but only work to live.  It's the living bit that should get our priority, not the work.  This guy appeared to fly in the face of such modernity, no doubt seeking a return to those good old Victorian values of exploitation and monotony.  Or maybe he just hadn't thought it through?

Either way I felt, each time I saw the words, that this was sending out the wrong message to any and every person who read it.  And it was a reminder that the UK already has the longest working hours in Western Europe and some of the most restiveness and unnecessary anti-trades union legislation.

I recalled that reaction when I read this excellent article advising a reduction in working hours.  An idea that goes so much against conventional 'wisdom', as dictated by The Establishment whose interests must be gratified at all costs, that it demands a giant shift in our culture.  One that might take a long time to bring about, but would, eventually, greatly benefit most people.  The idea that sharing the available work around is the best use of  human beings.  Those already in work get more time to actually get something out of life, and the unemployed have more opportunities to work.  We no longer pay taxes to support people who have no job to go to, and spread the wealth of our society more evenly.

The arguments put up against this will say that it damages our economy, restricts financial growth and makes us uncompetitive in the world.  To which I'd say - So what?  And for us all to do that requires the biggest culture shift of all.  Because we would need to stop seeing ourselves as consumers, the label that big business want us all to identify with, and start to think more as members of a community.  To recognise that simply accumulating more and more 'stuff' is not as self fulfilling as we're being told.  To, maybe, remember that there's a lot more to being human than work and possessions.

Thirty hour week anyone?

PS  Yes, in case you're wondering, I am engaged in a huge downsizing project at home right now.  And it feels so good....

The sadness of the finale

THERE WILL BE TEARS

As I wrote last week, I have found the onset of alzheimers for the fictional character of Kurt Wallander deeply moving.  In a few minutes I will sit to watch the last ever episode of the detective drama, featuring the wonderfully shambolic Krister Henriksson, knowing that I will be experiencing more than just your average thriller or police procedural.  

Sometimes the finale of a favourite TV series leaves a bit of a gap in our lives, a small sense of loss.  There will be that, of course.  But far more will be knowing that character is leaving us for reasons outside the norm, with a condition we all know of and fear.  I will be crying for Kurt, for myself, and for all of us.

Cherish your humanity.

It's all about the football, isn't it?

ARE WE NEARLY THERE YET?

I’m pretty certain this World Cup thingy has been going on for about two and half months now.  So, like a child in the back seat of the car, just as you hit the edge of the town you’re leaving, the only question in my mind is “Is it nearly finished now?”.  From the bits of the news even my selective brain can’t quite blank I’m hearing the English soccer team is out of it.  And I’m guessing from the lack of mentions on the EBC - oops, sorry, BBC - that none of the other British isles teams are involved.  So does that mean it can all go a bit quiet?

I think I read somewhere the whole thing goes on for a month?  A whole month?  Even the Olympics doesn’t take that long.  Are these soccer players particularly lazy?

So, media, can you just pipe down about it now please.  And lets have some proper sport.  Because we don’t want any of the ball kicking nonsense to interfere with Wimbledon, do we?

First the whales, now the planet?

OF WHALES, PLANETS AND GREED

On Monday night I watched the second (and final) part of a documentary about the history of the whaling industry.  I'd originally tuned in to see if there would be any scenes of Leith Docks, which had quite strong whaling connections (there's an old harpoon gun mounted on the river bank next to our block of flats), and there were a few.  But in the end I watched because , in spite of a monotoned presenter, it turned out to be a very interesting story. And I learned the trivia that the biggest British whaling station, on the South Atlantic island of South Georgia, was called Leith Harbour, because the company that established it was Christian Salvesen of Edinburgh, a business I can recall still being prominent in the city during my childhood.

There isn't much whaling being carried out nowadays, and none at all by British ships, which is giving the whale populations a chance to recover, albeit to something far less than the vast numbers which once swam in the oceans.  For several decades during the early to mid twentieth century, when the whaling industry was at its peak, many thousands of these huge animals were being slaughtered every year.  Britain alone had over two hundred whaling vessels, several of them being vast factory ships, covering the Antarctic seas, and it wasn't until the sixties that the industry collapsed, leaving the few remaining whales in peace.

Long before then ecological scientists had identified that over-whaling was rapidly reducing whale numbers below long term sustainable levels. The demise of the industry was long foretold, but ignored as far as possible by those making huge profits from the killing.  Time and again scientists presented a logical case for at least a substantial reduction in the scale of whaling operations, only for the fleet owners to hone in on some small flaw in the data (which was always difficult to collect and interpret) and claim that there was no need to rein in their activities.

After the Second World War governments cooperated to form the International Whaling Commission to try and find a solution that would prevent whale numbers dwindling to the point where whaling would not be feasible (although there was some ecological motivation behind this, it was largely driven by a desire to see whale 'resources' still being available for exploitation for as long as possible).  Of course the company owners fought against any restrictions being imposed upon them.  Quotas were eventually agreed, but were far too high to have the desired impact, never mind that they would frequently be broken.  In the end the decision to abandon Leith Harbour was not made out of decency, or guilt, or concern for the species, but because there were so few whales left that their exploitation was no longer economically viable.  And that there were alternatives to whale oil more readily available for the production of soap and margarine.  Greed remained the driving force throughout, and almost ended in the extinction of the largest animals on earth.

All of which rings a modern day bell in my mind.  Scientists pointing out, over and over again, that current practices are leading to an ecological disaster, while the capitalists refuse to listen, always ready to point out that the evidence isn't 100% conclusive (90% is never good enough....).  Meanwhile the problem continues to get worse, will continue to get worse, and real action will only be taken when it's almost too late.  Or, possibly, when it really is past the point of no return.  Sound familiar?

The current arguments over climate change seem remarkably similar to those that once took place over whaling.  And, as in the past, sides are taken which result in entrenched beliefs, impervious to reasoned argument.  As before, it's the scientific community leading the call for change, based on the evidence they collect and interpret.  As before, the evidence isn't 100% certain.  But the job of science isn't to be certain.  It's to put forward the mostviable theories, based on the available evidence, and project what those could mean for our future.  And almost every scientist working in the field is confident that there are huge changes in our climatic systems taking place, and that man made emissions are in part the cause of this.  Exactly what proportion of this comes down to humans, and how long it will take for the most severe symptoms to become apparent, are subject to disagreement.  Unsurprisingly, given the fluid nature of the subject.  Despite this it is the degree of unanimity which is the more striking.  Few who have genuine knowledge of the matter appear to doubt that change is taking place, that our species is partly responsible, that the changes will likely have disastrous consequences for our ecosystem.  The disputes are over the degree of change, the speed of development, the exact contribution made by emissions.and the argument is not about whether or not something terrible is going to happen - only about when and why.

Those uncertainties are pounced upon by the 'whalers', in this case the big businesses, especially in oil and gas, who do not want to see their profits curtailed.  And governments fearful of telling hard truths to their electorates, of having to say that the days of freely available energy, of cheap flights to holiday destinations, of fruit out of season, might have to come to an end.  That we have been living beyond our ecological means.

And, of course, of those governments not answerable to their populations, who are often driven to keep trying to 'catch up' with the lifestyles of the rich west.  When perhaps it should be us coming closer to them.

This argument has become political, not just at the level of those in power, but for those who aspire to it.  The scientists have the support of the Green movement which has long called for changes in society to reduce waste, to work more in harmony with what is, after all, the only planet we've got.  There are many on the left of political thought who are coming to recognise the wisdom of this approach.

Against them, siding with big business, is the right wing which broadly opposes changes which might go against their god, economic growth.  For elements of the far right, such as UKIP in this country, climate change denial has become some kind of totem, an element of macho posturing which considers anything 'caring', be it for people of planet, as effete.

I don't know who is 'right'.  I'm not even sure there is such a thing as 'right' in this case.  But I do know which makes most sense.

If the scientists have got their interpretations correct, and we are headed towards catastrophic changes later this century, failure to act on their warnings now might leave humanity defenceless, possibly leading to the deaths of billions of people.

If the deniers are correct, and the changes being seen are part of a natural cycle which will eventually sort itself out, but our society has decided to cut back emissions, change to more sustainable food sources and invested heavily in renewable energy, what's the worst that can happen?  Fewer holiday flights, less choice in the supermarkets, a readjustment of the global economy?  Some people will make a lot less money.  Oh, and we might have cleaner air….

What's it to be? The common sense of the whales? Or the greed of the whalers?

Footnote - The deniers make a lot of capital out of renewable energy technology being expensive and inefficient. really?  Well, Doh!  With exception of hydro electric power, all our renewables - wind, solar, wave - are in their infancy.  At about the same stage in their development that the petrol engine was in the 1920s.  Only by investing in research, and using them in the real world, will they improve at a rate which can make them truly useful within the time we may need them.  If you complain about them it's a bit like criticising a five year old for being poor at project management....

Dementia does not reduce our humanity

WHERE WAS I AGAIN?

On Saturday night I found myself tearful at the end of a TV programme.  Which is, I assure you, quite an unusual occurrence.  Especially when the programme in question is a police drama.  This was the penultimate episode of Wallander, on BBC4.  There are, to my knowledge, at least three television versions of the fictional Swedish detective, but to aficionados there is only one true Wallander.  Krister Henriksson.  And his time in the role is coming to a close (at least it is on the BBC, no doubt the end has already taken place in Sweden and other countries).

That in itself would be a sad event, if you've been a fan of the series, but hardly sufficient to lead to crying.  No, it's not the end of the series that provoked the sadness, but the medical condition of the eponymous character which was tugging at the heart strings.  For Wallander, nearing retirement, is struggling to do his job.  And to live his life.  He has been diagnosed as suffering from alzheimers (one of the few words of Swedish I'm able to recognise!) and is trying to come to terms with his condition.  In that episode he made a few basic errors in his work, and several in his personal life, which resulted in him (reluctantly) handing his daughter his medical records to read and, in the closing shots, her turning up at his house looking concerned.  Add in a soulful music track (from Ane Brun) and the tears followed.

Next Saturday will, I'm certain, be a moving occasion.  Despite this simply being a fictional TV programme.  Krister Henriksson has been excellent in the role, the definitive version of Mankell's character, and it will be a shame to see the last of his performances as Kurt.  But the emotion will come from the conditions under which he exits, the sight of one who was once so sharp being reduced to a mental infant at times.

What is it about alzheimers and dementia that is both so moving and so frightening?  There is, in one sense, little actual suffering involved for the person afflicted.  No physical pain, little diminution of the physical capabilities of the body.  But our worry reflects that we, as human beings, are perhaps more mind than body.  Time and again people demonstrate an ability to find a way to enjoy life whilst coping with various degrees of physical disability and pain.  But if we are no longer ourselves....?

Watching Wallander took me back to a book I read a few years ago.  I get through dozens of volumes every year.  Some stick in the mind, others are instantly relegated to oblivion. And sometimes the ones that hang around, that have real influence, aren't the ones you expect to do so.  For all that I've read many truly great books in the four years since I retired the one that has stayed with me most is no work of literature.  When I began to read it I nearly gave up, so poor was the prose style and so obvious the plot devices.  And the central character was just a bit too smug for empathy to develop.

Or so I thought for the first thirty pages.  But I stuck it out and I'm glad I did so.  The prose didn't improve much, the plot still clunked in places, but sometimes there's more to a book than literary worth.  Sometimes it's just about the story, and how that relates to the reader's humanity.

The book is called Still Alice, by Lisa Genova.  The central character is named, surprise, surprise, Alice, and she's a fifty year old Harvard professor.  And, like Wallander, she starts forgetting things, having the occasional moment of blankness, forgetting how to get home, not recognising people she should know well.  She is diagnosed with early onset alzheimers.  With that 'early onset' bit being the truly frightening aspect for most readers, who might otherwise feel they can dismiss this as a disease of extreme old age.  There's that feeling we all strive not to acknowledge - if it can happen to her it can happen to any of us....

The author may not be the greatest writer in the world, but she is a neuroscientist and knows her stuff when it comes to the real subject matter of the book.  Everyone who contracts alzheimers will experience it in different ways, at different rates of progression. The fictional Alice is but one example of what could happen in real life.  Wallander is another.  Both make the reader/viewer uncomfortable, sympathetic, fearful, empathetic. Because we know it could, might, happen to any of us.  And, as I approach sixty and recognise that I am forgetting a few things from time to time, I feel that as much as anyone. Which might account for the tears....

The tale of Alice, and to a lesser degree that of the Swedish detective, is about the detail of trying to deal with the symptoms.  Developing coping strategies to deal with the loss of memory, ensuring that safety nets exist if, and when, the strategies fail, and trying to live life as normally as possible for as long as possible.  None of us wants to give up, to recognise that our freedom is gone.  Alice (spoiler alert) ends up contented, in her way, and cared for. The fate of Wallander may become apparent next Saturday evening.  But neither can be quite the people they were, and yet still are.  The paradox of a disease of the mind.

My personal encounters with it have been limited.  My mother in law had dementia for the last few months of her life.  Only a few months after she had attended our wedding she was asking if I knew her daughter.  Some weeks later it was uncertain if she recognised the person before her as her daughter or not.  We make a joke from such situations, because humour is the defence mechanism against our own fears.  Better to laugh that to admit that it could so easily be us sitting there, uncertain of our place in the world.

And, in conclusion, I think that’s the right thing to do.  Laugh, while and where we can.  Not at other people, but at our own fears.  Next Saturday I’ll probably end up shedding a few tears again.  In 2015 there’s due to be a film version of Still Alice, starring the wonderful Julianne Moore as the eponymous sufferer.  A must see as far as I’m concerned, and I doubt I’ll be dry eyed by the end.  But.  I’ll still make jokes afterwards.  Apologies for the cliche, but laughter really is the best medicine on so many occasions.

Footnote : After I wrote the above I cam across this article by Giles Fraser.  It expounds, far more cogently than I can, on one of the ideas I was touching on  here, of what it is that makes us human.  Definitely worth a read.

Progress is change, change is progress

WHERE’S THIS COUNTRY THEY WANT?

If you've read this blog before you maybe aware that I sometimes have a bit of fun winding up right wingers on Twitter. And having the occasional rant about how the far right is managing to assume some form of political respectability in the UK. In doing so I have made efforts to understand the mindset of some of the people holding these views, although the levels of abuse I frequently receive make it difficult to sustain any reasonable level of discussion. They do seem to very angry people!

What is clear is that several themes keep recurring, several phrases get repeated over and over and often crop up in Twitter bios. The fact that these phrases appear to have little real meaning is no deterrent to their regular usage. There are three in particular that intrigue me.

One that I see time and again is "I want my country back".  Really?  Where has it gone?  Did somebody move it while you were sleeping?  In the pantheon of senseless phrases this one gets an A rating.  How exactly is this mysterious country 'theirs'?  Why do they think it's no longer there?

Well the country is still there, exactly where it was.  If they were born in it, and still live in it, then it is their country.  It's not like somebody can suddenly nick it, or declare that this person no longer belongs.  So they must mean something else, something they don't really want to say out loud....

How about "political correctness"?  I see that one a lot too. Political correctness is destroying their country (we've been here before...).  Political correctness is ruining their way of life, preventing free speech, sending the country into ruin, destroying a way of life.  And, once I've stopped laughing, I'm still none the wiser.  What exactly is this political correctness of which you speak?  The term originated in the mid twentieth century to describe the dogma of extremist left wing politics.  It has morphed, as language does, into right winger speak for language which seeks to be inclusive and to replace words which have historically alienated minority groups and encouraged the persistence of bigotry. If encouraging the abandonment of a word like 'spastic' counts as politically correct then count me in as PC. Although I think of it more as human decency and common sense.

Recently we've seen the overuse of that catch all phrase "traditional marriage".  It got aired a lot during the run up to the introduction of the Act which brought in (some) equal marriage rights for same sex couples.  And once again I have had to look puzzled at its appearance.  Because I wonder which tradition these people think they are referring to?  The usual line is that marriage has always been between one man and one woman.  Err.... no it hasn't.

Same sex marriages have been common practice in many societies across the ages, including Christian ones.  So maybe 'tradition' isn't supposed to go back that far?  Perhaps they want the eighteenth or nineteenth century traditions back?  In which marriage was frequently used to cement inter family relationships, establish lines of inheritance, and where a woman was regarded as the property of her husband, with few rights of her own.  Maybe that's the tradition these men (and they are almost always men) would like to stay with?  The one in which even that great advocate of social reform and human rights, Charles Dickens, could treat his wife as a chattel, an object to be manipulated for his benefit, moving her out of his (and her) home to make way for his young mistress and separating her from most of her children.  Yes, marriage certainly has some wonderful traditions.

The concept of marrying purely for love, as a decision to be taken by the two people involved, is largely a mid twentieth century construct.  It is an institution which has been evolving rapidly, in social terms at least, with the legislation struggling to keep up with developments.  Like all social structures it needs to keep up with the mores of the time, not be held back by supposed 'tradition'.

And there's the nub of this piece.  All three of the phrases I've mentioned have one common theme - a resistance, indeed a fear of, change.  Change in the social fabric of society, change in the language, change in our institutions.  It's an attitude born of a deep cowardice, a childish desire for their own little universe to remain exactly as it was, a failure to grow up and face the world as it is.

These people get angry because they haven't managed to keep up with the rest of us. "Their" country is still there, still evolving, as it always has. Britain is, was, will be, an island of immigrants and emigrants and has always been in a state of constant flux.  That's not to say that all is perfect, that all change is ultimately for the best.  But progress, the word that best describes the dominant theme of human history, is not a linear process, it is not a join the dots exercise.  It is many things, it has multiple strands, and it does not stand still.  For anyone.  Living with progress isn't easy, but who said being human should be?

Which is why language changes, alters meanings, evolves new words and discards others.  That is what language is for, this is how it works, changing to match the changes in society, in beliefs, in our understanding of the physical universe.  And in finding ways for human beings to treat other better.  Show me the person who expresses resentment of so-called 'political correctness' and I'll show you someone afraid to recognise their own bigotry.  A person who fears anything that appears to be different from them (aka 'the rest of the world'....).

Difference.  Change.  The stuff of life.  They are the keys to interest, imagination, knowledge, wisdom.  If you come across anyone who say they want their country back, complain that your language is politically correct, or bemoan the the demise of some mythical tradition of marriage, you are witness to someone who lives in fear.  We should feel a little sorry for them, try to help them adapt to a world in which they feel like outsiders, in which they often make themselves the enemies of the best things in life.  Help them to embrace change (whilst having a quiet laugh at the irony that so much of their moaning is conducted through that greatest of all instruments for change, the internet!), to realise that 'the country' belongs to anyone who takes part, who swims with the current of progress and doesn't want to keep their feet stuck in the mud.

Now I wonder who's going to be the first person to tell me that what I've written falls within the mysterious remit of 'political correctness'?

That Passport furore

WHICH ELEPHANT, WHICH ROOM?

There are a lot of arguments flying back and forth at the moment about the Passport Office and the apparent inability to cope with the level of demand from the UK public.  Cameron has now owned up to there being a problem and ordered the recruitment of additional staff to sort out the crisis.  Whilst having it pointed out to him by the PCS union that they'd forecast these difficulties when staff numbers were severely cut....

Obviously those cuts came about as plans created by the senior management of the organisation.  What doesn't seem to get mentioned is who these people are.  When the Passport Office (then IPS) took over the government department I used to work for ten out of the eleven board members had been brought in from private industry, with only one career civil servant amongst them.  Maybe that's changed since then, maybe not.  But at the time what became quickly apparent was the very different management style they brought to bear.  Gone was the public service ethos which is at the heart of effective government services, to be replaced by a more profit driven, money-oriented mentality.

Public services are all about delivering value for money.  Which is definitely not the same as delivering for the smallest possible amount of money.

Just saying.