Last year at this time we were up to our necks in snow, this year, as I write this message of hope and inspiration, the top of the hill is shrouded by a passing sleet storm - but have no fear my loyal band of frozen peas, we shall assail the day with vigour and fortitude.
I needed some fortitude last evening in fact I could have done with some fiftytude as my patience was tested in the extreme during a much anticipated trip to see The John Wilson Orchestra at Nottingham Concert Hall.
Before I tell you of last nights events, let me take you back in time to Thursday night when together with Mrs B, the dog-daughter and her beau, we attended the Theatre Royal to see the touring production of Legally Blonde.
I have to admit that I had never seen the film that inspired this musical so I was in the dark as to what to expect and after the opening number (very poor) I was totally underwhelmed by the prospect of two hours of a badly written, badly sung, badly danced show. Luckily, it did not take long for the humour of the script to kick in and some very talented young actors and some seasoned veterans (like Dave Willetts and Claire Sweeney) won me over. I ended up loving the show although it is not a great musical. The test of a great musical is you can hum the songs afterwards, I can't even tell you the name of the songs let alone hum any! Not a great musical just a great night of fun at the theatre.
From a show of which I knew nothing we return to last night, and a show I had actually seen most of before as it was part of the BBC Prom season this year.
John Wilson with his 70 piece orchestra, and some excellent guest singers including the incredible Kim Criswell, Matthew Ford, Annalene Beechey and a new name for me, the tenor Noah Stewart.
The show was brilliant, however the only problem with watching a live show is that you are surrounded by an audience and they don't like it when you sing along!
It was the audience that were the real issue last night - most of them were of a certain age and social class (grey hair and loyalty cards for Waitrose) and it seemed that 97.6% of them had left their brains in their Jaguars.
I ask you, how hard is it to find a seat in a theatre?
On your ticket is printed all the information you need - for example, my ticket states quiet clearly that my seat was N44 and I would find it by going to Tier 1 and entering via Door C. How very thoughtful of the theatre staff to think of this intelligent system, they even put up big signs throughout the building so you can identify and locate the appropriate tier and door.
Even without a degree in map reading and without the aide of a guide or team of sherpas, I managed to navigate my way through the milling crowds of ageing buffoons and find my seat. For the next twenty minutes we witnessed countless befuddled old duffers staggering around the theatre asking anyone they could grab on to variations of the same question - where do I sit?
Some of them looked like they didn't know what year they were in let alone which seat they needed!
Eventually most people found somewhere to sit and we enjoyed the first half of a great show - then the next battle commenced; queuing for an ice cream.
It was a long queue but we got there in the end, purchased our little tubs of joy and returned to our seats only to find numerous old folk had actually forgotten where they had been sitting and the whole process of looking for their seat started again! They'd only been out of the damn seat for ten minutes and they were lost again! I felt like standing up and shouting 'Will someone please send for Matron!"
Act Two came and went and then the next major exercise, escaping from the building. I'll be honest here, I went ahead and left Mrs B to manage with Mrs B Senior, as she needed the lift. It took them almost twenty minutes to get out of the building and I joked that if there had been a real emergency there would have been many ancient corpses strewn across the mezzanine of the theatre.
It was a great show and I look forward to next year when I hope the orchestra tour again but in the meantime I have two pantomimes to look forward to next weekend and then in January we go to The Crucible in Sheffield to see Company with Daniel Evans, Samantha Spiro, Damien Humbley and Francesca Annis - that will be a real treat.
I just hope that the weather is quite cold and that the old folks stay at home and watch Songs of Praise, drink sweet sherry, pee themselves and then go to bed. Problem is half of them probably won't be able to find their beds!
The sleet is still passing over head and I have some soup that needs making and sitting here chatting with you is not getting those carrots pureed!
Take care, keep warm and if your over 70 please don't ever go to the theatre without getting my permission.
Official Website for Noah Stewart
John Wilson Orchestra - Put On Your Sunday Clothes
Monday 5 December 2011
Tuesday 29 November 2011
There are more questions than answers...
How are you? Keeping well? Getting ready for Christmas? Have you started your shopping? Are you doing anything nice this weekend? Are you watching I'm A Celebrity? Any idea why Gary Speed killed himself?
I don't mean to be glib about the death of Gary Speed, it is not a matter for humour and his family must be devastated.
Over the course of the last few years I have carried out the funerals for many who have chosen to take their own lives for a variety of reasons and some for reasons that are still unknown. For a family, having an answer to the 'why' question is very important but I do not believe that it is the business of anyone outside the family (other than in exceptional circumstances) and certainly not an area that the press and media should spend time on.
The internet is awash with speculation about Gary Speed and as someone once said, the rumour mongers are generating a lot of heat without a great deal of light!
Anyway, let's move on shall we?
My birthday week has come and gone, I enjoyed some time away and then time with family and friends and all has been well. The celebratory events culminated with my appearance on the BBC Radio Nottingham Morning Show hosted by Mark Dennison and produced by the very efficient James Brindle.
Along with the very charming and supremely interesting Dr. Sue Pryce, we dissected the big news stories of the week including the forthcoming public sector strike and the number of obese women in the UK.
Of course we did touch on the Gary Speed story but we concentrated on depression as a cause of suicide.
Surprisingly both myself and Sue Pryce decided to unburden ourselves and reveal that we both had suffered from depression in the past and I think that in talking about it openly we were hoping that others would feel able to do the same.
I am not ashamed that I once fell into the black pit of depression, I know it was more than likely a chemical imbalance in my brain perhaps linked to some aspects of my work life at the time - but with great support from Mrs B, the medical profession (including a first rate psychologist) and some Prozac - I resurfaced into the world of light.
Men are not always very good at acknowledging what some might see as a weakness, but I have some very close friends who are also affected by depression and I know one of them is very open about how it affects his life; it is an illness not a weakness.
Dr Pryce is an expert on politics, I am not - but we did both agree that these strikes on Wednesday will change very little. The Government will not be budging and in a way I don't think they should.
The pensions issue should have been gripped years ago - and I know the unions are asking for fairness and equality in the settlements for their pensions but who decides on fairness and equality? Who judges which job deserves more or less?
When I worked in the public service I saw 11% of my wages taken each month to fund my pension, I'm not sure what the current figure is. If I was to invest 11% of my current earnings into a pension it would get me very little in return in fact it's nearer 20% that I have to set aside for pension contributions.
My pension contributions were well worth it and they offer me some real financial security but if someone had said to me that I might have to work a couple of years longer and the final return might be less I can understand that I might feel upset - but then if I was told I had at least eleven years to get ready for that change I might think that gave me time to reconfigure my plans a little.
Having read through the details of the proposals I see that those on low wages will be affected very little by the changes and that any benefits already accrued will be ring fenced and not affected - it looks quite fair. So what do the unions want?
I can't answer that question because they don't seem to have told us.
I understand how the withdrawal of labour is a tool which can be used to help draw the attention of issues to a wider audience but there is not overwhelming support for this strike - the biggest number I have seen is 61% of the public survey by the BBC thought the strike was a good thing but the breakdown of the figures shows that the main support comes from the under 25's who perhaps could be forgiven for not wanting to contemplate a longer working life...but we are all living longer and staying healthier for longer so why not work a bit longer?
I'm running out of steam now and can't be bothered to talk about obesity statistics other than to say what I said on the radio - let people be people!
Anyway, off with you all now, get about your business and remember to eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we have to pay extra pension contributions!
I don't mean to be glib about the death of Gary Speed, it is not a matter for humour and his family must be devastated.
Over the course of the last few years I have carried out the funerals for many who have chosen to take their own lives for a variety of reasons and some for reasons that are still unknown. For a family, having an answer to the 'why' question is very important but I do not believe that it is the business of anyone outside the family (other than in exceptional circumstances) and certainly not an area that the press and media should spend time on.
The internet is awash with speculation about Gary Speed and as someone once said, the rumour mongers are generating a lot of heat without a great deal of light!
Anyway, let's move on shall we?
My birthday week has come and gone, I enjoyed some time away and then time with family and friends and all has been well. The celebratory events culminated with my appearance on the BBC Radio Nottingham Morning Show hosted by Mark Dennison and produced by the very efficient James Brindle.
Along with the very charming and supremely interesting Dr. Sue Pryce, we dissected the big news stories of the week including the forthcoming public sector strike and the number of obese women in the UK.
Of course we did touch on the Gary Speed story but we concentrated on depression as a cause of suicide.
Surprisingly both myself and Sue Pryce decided to unburden ourselves and reveal that we both had suffered from depression in the past and I think that in talking about it openly we were hoping that others would feel able to do the same.
I am not ashamed that I once fell into the black pit of depression, I know it was more than likely a chemical imbalance in my brain perhaps linked to some aspects of my work life at the time - but with great support from Mrs B, the medical profession (including a first rate psychologist) and some Prozac - I resurfaced into the world of light.
Men are not always very good at acknowledging what some might see as a weakness, but I have some very close friends who are also affected by depression and I know one of them is very open about how it affects his life; it is an illness not a weakness.
Dr Pryce is an expert on politics, I am not - but we did both agree that these strikes on Wednesday will change very little. The Government will not be budging and in a way I don't think they should.
The pensions issue should have been gripped years ago - and I know the unions are asking for fairness and equality in the settlements for their pensions but who decides on fairness and equality? Who judges which job deserves more or less?
When I worked in the public service I saw 11% of my wages taken each month to fund my pension, I'm not sure what the current figure is. If I was to invest 11% of my current earnings into a pension it would get me very little in return in fact it's nearer 20% that I have to set aside for pension contributions.
My pension contributions were well worth it and they offer me some real financial security but if someone had said to me that I might have to work a couple of years longer and the final return might be less I can understand that I might feel upset - but then if I was told I had at least eleven years to get ready for that change I might think that gave me time to reconfigure my plans a little.
Having read through the details of the proposals I see that those on low wages will be affected very little by the changes and that any benefits already accrued will be ring fenced and not affected - it looks quite fair. So what do the unions want?
I can't answer that question because they don't seem to have told us.
I understand how the withdrawal of labour is a tool which can be used to help draw the attention of issues to a wider audience but there is not overwhelming support for this strike - the biggest number I have seen is 61% of the public survey by the BBC thought the strike was a good thing but the breakdown of the figures shows that the main support comes from the under 25's who perhaps could be forgiven for not wanting to contemplate a longer working life...but we are all living longer and staying healthier for longer so why not work a bit longer?
I'm running out of steam now and can't be bothered to talk about obesity statistics other than to say what I said on the radio - let people be people!
Anyway, off with you all now, get about your business and remember to eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we have to pay extra pension contributions!
Monday 21 November 2011
What Fifty Said.
You are all cordially invited to join me as I celebrate my 50th birthday this week - not in person of course as I don't want just anyone in the house! You can join me in spirit as I celebrate the fact that I have staggered (almost - let's not tempt fate) to this milestone birthday.
I'm not depressed about this event, nor am I going to have some mid-life crisis and buy a Harley Davidson, I'm happy to be fifty. I'm happy to be alive.
In the last couple of years Mrs B and I have tried to enjoy life more, she still works too hard in my opinion and for too little reward but she loves the job and it keeps her out of my way and allows me time to talk to all of you.
We have been to the theatre quite a bit and we have drunk champagne and we have had some nice holidays and we see this is as our reward for having had some bumps in the road - not least losing Danny and Jake...I'll miss them this week. Of all the presents I would love to have received, it would have been a pair of socks with some silly saying about 'Dad'.
Anyway, let's not dwell on that.
As a Guru, I am entitled to a birthday week and the events to celebrate my arrival on earth begin with a special radio broadcast on BBC Radio 4 at 3pm today. Brain of Britain - I get my arse kicked but it was something I wanted to do.
Tomorrow I have a chance to walk amongst the great unwashed in Tesco and look down my nose at people, that will be a great treat. I will then visit Waitrose or Marks and Spencers food hall and treat myself to an Eccles cake to have with my afternoon tea.
On Wednesday, Mrs B and I hope to be heading off to Wales, to a very swish little hotel where we will spend my actual birthday before, on Friday, heading back to the bosom of my family for a proper noisy family get-together.
Now all of this is dependant on a few matters which I can't discuss, but even if I don't get away with Mrs B I will still be quite happy to sit on my hill and rejoice in the fact that I have become so important in the lives of so many people...I may not be as popular as Jesus but I can at least pass on my wisdom without fear of being crucified (not counting the one I get on Brain of Britain).
So welcome to my birthday week - please don't don't send gifts, just to know that you are there is the greatest gift any Guru could wish for...oh and perhaps an iPad?
Let me close with these words of wisdom...
words of wisdom
I'm not depressed about this event, nor am I going to have some mid-life crisis and buy a Harley Davidson, I'm happy to be fifty. I'm happy to be alive.
In the last couple of years Mrs B and I have tried to enjoy life more, she still works too hard in my opinion and for too little reward but she loves the job and it keeps her out of my way and allows me time to talk to all of you.
We have been to the theatre quite a bit and we have drunk champagne and we have had some nice holidays and we see this is as our reward for having had some bumps in the road - not least losing Danny and Jake...I'll miss them this week. Of all the presents I would love to have received, it would have been a pair of socks with some silly saying about 'Dad'.
Anyway, let's not dwell on that.
As a Guru, I am entitled to a birthday week and the events to celebrate my arrival on earth begin with a special radio broadcast on BBC Radio 4 at 3pm today. Brain of Britain - I get my arse kicked but it was something I wanted to do.
Tomorrow I have a chance to walk amongst the great unwashed in Tesco and look down my nose at people, that will be a great treat. I will then visit Waitrose or Marks and Spencers food hall and treat myself to an Eccles cake to have with my afternoon tea.
On Wednesday, Mrs B and I hope to be heading off to Wales, to a very swish little hotel where we will spend my actual birthday before, on Friday, heading back to the bosom of my family for a proper noisy family get-together.
Now all of this is dependant on a few matters which I can't discuss, but even if I don't get away with Mrs B I will still be quite happy to sit on my hill and rejoice in the fact that I have become so important in the lives of so many people...I may not be as popular as Jesus but I can at least pass on my wisdom without fear of being crucified (not counting the one I get on Brain of Britain).
So welcome to my birthday week - please don't don't send gifts, just to know that you are there is the greatest gift any Guru could wish for...oh and perhaps an iPad?
Let me close with these words of wisdom...
words of wisdom
Wednesday 9 November 2011
There's no smoke without....
a smoker.
Hello and greetings to all the little imperfect human beings that read these words of wisdom.
Let me start off by saying that my drug of choice is a bottle of vino and perhaps too many fish fingers and so I understand the need that some people have to light up their cigarette. I did, in my youth, have the occasional fag (stop it) and I used to smoke great big King Edward cigars but I sort of grew out of it - I was never addicted.
Smoking is not illegal but it is not allowed in certain places and I know that this has caused some people great anguish as they believe that their human rights have been trampled on and that smokers are treated like lepers.
The reason this debate has come to my attention today is that on our local news yesterday morning we had a report about the council placing signs near school gates asking people not to smoke in that area - a not unreasonable request in my opinion.
Although the signs are not enforceable in law, it was hoped that smokers would make a free choice to smoke away from the gates and playground areas thereby lessening the impact of smoke on others, especially children.
Later that morning, as I perused Twitter, I noticed this tweet by one of our local radio presenters:
"From today, you could be fined if you're caught smoking in the open air around Nottingham's parks and school gates. But is this realistic?"
My response:
"about as realistic as fining people who pollute our streets by dropping litter, like fag ends!"
Later still as I drove to work I was listening to the self same radio presenter (a self confessed smoker) as he dealt with this subject, he had input from various members of the public who were for and against the idea and then he upset me by quoting my tweet - but he did not quote it all and thereby changed the context...I didn't like that!
I also didn't like that he also seemed to be expressing a view that smokers were being persecuted - so I rang in and they put me through on air...we had a conversation in which I expressed the thought that a smokers right to smoke was no greater a right than my right not to have smoke forced on me.
This whole idea that non smokers don't understand is a non starter for me...I don't deny your right to smoke but I demand an equal right to remain smoke free. If I can move away from a smoker I will, but if I have to be somewhere, like dropping a child at school, why should I have to tolerate your second hand smoke?
Later that day I sat in the home of a man who was telling me about his recently deceased mother - a life long smoker. He too was a smoker and he lit up a fag as he dealt with the emotions of his loss and as he was in his house I simply accepted that I would leave smelling of smoke.
There are some who like riding motor cycles - it's legal to ride a motor cycle on the road but not on the path, we accept that there are things we can do legally but places where we cannot do it - that's all the council are asking here, smoke all you like but why do you need to do it at the school gate?
If you want to hear the interview - find me on Twitter or Facebook and I'll send you a link.
Facebook
Addendum: 16th November
Sorry but I can't resist...the news is reporting moves to ban smoking in cars and of course the smokers are outraged. The argument they offer is, 'it's my personal private space and I should not be stopped doing whatever I wish'!
WRONG...it may be a personal space but it's a personal space on wheels that moves at high speed and can kill others if not controlled properly AND there are many things that you are already stopped from doing in your mobile, smoke filled coffin - like driving it whilst drunk or at excessive speed or in a dangerous and reckless manner or without due care and attention or without a seat belt or whilst using a mobile phone...so there!
Hello and greetings to all the little imperfect human beings that read these words of wisdom.
Let me start off by saying that my drug of choice is a bottle of vino and perhaps too many fish fingers and so I understand the need that some people have to light up their cigarette. I did, in my youth, have the occasional fag (stop it) and I used to smoke great big King Edward cigars but I sort of grew out of it - I was never addicted.
Smoking is not illegal but it is not allowed in certain places and I know that this has caused some people great anguish as they believe that their human rights have been trampled on and that smokers are treated like lepers.
The reason this debate has come to my attention today is that on our local news yesterday morning we had a report about the council placing signs near school gates asking people not to smoke in that area - a not unreasonable request in my opinion.
Although the signs are not enforceable in law, it was hoped that smokers would make a free choice to smoke away from the gates and playground areas thereby lessening the impact of smoke on others, especially children.
Later that morning, as I perused Twitter, I noticed this tweet by one of our local radio presenters:
"From today, you could be fined if you're caught smoking in the open air around Nottingham's parks and school gates. But is this realistic?"
My response:
"about as realistic as fining people who pollute our streets by dropping litter, like fag ends!"
Later still as I drove to work I was listening to the self same radio presenter (a self confessed smoker) as he dealt with this subject, he had input from various members of the public who were for and against the idea and then he upset me by quoting my tweet - but he did not quote it all and thereby changed the context...I didn't like that!
I also didn't like that he also seemed to be expressing a view that smokers were being persecuted - so I rang in and they put me through on air...we had a conversation in which I expressed the thought that a smokers right to smoke was no greater a right than my right not to have smoke forced on me.
This whole idea that non smokers don't understand is a non starter for me...I don't deny your right to smoke but I demand an equal right to remain smoke free. If I can move away from a smoker I will, but if I have to be somewhere, like dropping a child at school, why should I have to tolerate your second hand smoke?
Later that day I sat in the home of a man who was telling me about his recently deceased mother - a life long smoker. He too was a smoker and he lit up a fag as he dealt with the emotions of his loss and as he was in his house I simply accepted that I would leave smelling of smoke.
There are some who like riding motor cycles - it's legal to ride a motor cycle on the road but not on the path, we accept that there are things we can do legally but places where we cannot do it - that's all the council are asking here, smoke all you like but why do you need to do it at the school gate?
If you want to hear the interview - find me on Twitter or Facebook and I'll send you a link.
Addendum: 16th November
Sorry but I can't resist...the news is reporting moves to ban smoking in cars and of course the smokers are outraged. The argument they offer is, 'it's my personal private space and I should not be stopped doing whatever I wish'!
WRONG...it may be a personal space but it's a personal space on wheels that moves at high speed and can kill others if not controlled properly AND there are many things that you are already stopped from doing in your mobile, smoke filled coffin - like driving it whilst drunk or at excessive speed or in a dangerous and reckless manner or without due care and attention or without a seat belt or whilst using a mobile phone...so there!
Friday 4 November 2011
My Week
Greetings my soggy followers - will this rain never end? (If it is not raining where you are at this moment then just pretend you're slightly damp please; which is easy if you wet the bed).
I want to share with you the story of my week, I do this not to gloat or glorify the wondrous nature of the life I share with Mrs B but simply to remind you all that although it may be raining today, it makes the next glimpse of sunshine even more heart warming...I am your glimpse of sunshine.
Last Thursday, Mrs B and I headed down to Chichester to see Michael Ball and Imelda Staunton in Sweeney Todd. It was the first time Mrs B and I had been to see a Sondheim musical together - we loved it. The whole thing was just brilliant, from the huge thrust stage, the set, the music the...whole thing.
On the return leg of the journey we stopped in Oxford, staying in a converted prison and again this was a lovely experience.
There was the return to work after a nice relaxing weekend, and even though I have been suffering very badly with man flu, I soldiered on - even submitting my tax return. Even though I was full of cold and frustrated by the self assessment system, I was still not downhearted.
On Tuesday night I went to the Royal Concert Hall to see the legendary Jack Jones in concert - a great show from a great talent - more than fifty years in the business and still a voice that makes a room go quiet when he sings...I mean total silence, not a cough or a sniffle as his voice wafted over us. Amazing.
The week was progressing so well and I knew that Mrs B was getting a little excited because yesterday (Thursday 3rd Nov 2011) was John Barrowman Day.
I have said it before and proudly repeat - JB is GOD.
Anyone who has not been to see his live shows has missed a treat - three hours of fun and music, and although it's camper than a row of tents covered with pink feather boas and fairy dust, it's magnificent.
As the great man said we should all of us try and forget the state of the world and just enjoy - in his words we should all try and fart sparkles.
It was a fantastic night in the theatre, added to which he replied to one of my tweets after the show - I was so excited that not only did I fart sparkles, a little bit of gold wee came out.
In one week, Mrs B and I have done more than we once did in a year and we know how lucky we are to able to enjoy life as we do - I mean everyday I go to work I am reminded how lucky I am.
Almost thirty years ago, Mrs B and I were newly wed, struggling to make ends meet and we would sit in our house, no heating, no carpets, second hand furniture, eating corned beef or Findus crispy pancakes (if they were on offer) - there was no endless supply of pink fizz, no multi channel TV but we were OK.
I recall that if we wanted a night out we might go and join the queue at the ABC Cinema in Saltergate, Lincoln with just about enough money for two tickets. We joined the queue and kept out fingers crossed that the manager (Mr Richard Black - god bless you sir) would invite us to enter via a side door and not pay for our seats. If we didn't pay for the seats we could share a Kia-Ora and a small bag of sweets.
Those far of days of deprivation are now well behind us and I have no guilt in enjoying what we have earned and I hope that Mrs B and I get the chance to enjoy many more weeks like this one.
My best to you all, as I close this message to you I note that the rain has stopped falling - here's hoping you get to glimpse some sunshine today.
Thank you for reading my little blog and I love you all...
PS Mrs B says she loves Mr B, I'm not daft - it's either Michael or John
PPS - some extra sunshine just in case...
The Beatles - Here Comes The Sun
I want to share with you the story of my week, I do this not to gloat or glorify the wondrous nature of the life I share with Mrs B but simply to remind you all that although it may be raining today, it makes the next glimpse of sunshine even more heart warming...I am your glimpse of sunshine.
Last Thursday, Mrs B and I headed down to Chichester to see Michael Ball and Imelda Staunton in Sweeney Todd. It was the first time Mrs B and I had been to see a Sondheim musical together - we loved it. The whole thing was just brilliant, from the huge thrust stage, the set, the music the...whole thing.
On the return leg of the journey we stopped in Oxford, staying in a converted prison and again this was a lovely experience.
There was the return to work after a nice relaxing weekend, and even though I have been suffering very badly with man flu, I soldiered on - even submitting my tax return. Even though I was full of cold and frustrated by the self assessment system, I was still not downhearted.
On Tuesday night I went to the Royal Concert Hall to see the legendary Jack Jones in concert - a great show from a great talent - more than fifty years in the business and still a voice that makes a room go quiet when he sings...I mean total silence, not a cough or a sniffle as his voice wafted over us. Amazing.
The week was progressing so well and I knew that Mrs B was getting a little excited because yesterday (Thursday 3rd Nov 2011) was John Barrowman Day.
I have said it before and proudly repeat - JB is GOD.
Anyone who has not been to see his live shows has missed a treat - three hours of fun and music, and although it's camper than a row of tents covered with pink feather boas and fairy dust, it's magnificent.
As the great man said we should all of us try and forget the state of the world and just enjoy - in his words we should all try and fart sparkles.
It was a fantastic night in the theatre, added to which he replied to one of my tweets after the show - I was so excited that not only did I fart sparkles, a little bit of gold wee came out.
In one week, Mrs B and I have done more than we once did in a year and we know how lucky we are to able to enjoy life as we do - I mean everyday I go to work I am reminded how lucky I am.
Almost thirty years ago, Mrs B and I were newly wed, struggling to make ends meet and we would sit in our house, no heating, no carpets, second hand furniture, eating corned beef or Findus crispy pancakes (if they were on offer) - there was no endless supply of pink fizz, no multi channel TV but we were OK.
I recall that if we wanted a night out we might go and join the queue at the ABC Cinema in Saltergate, Lincoln with just about enough money for two tickets. We joined the queue and kept out fingers crossed that the manager (Mr Richard Black - god bless you sir) would invite us to enter via a side door and not pay for our seats. If we didn't pay for the seats we could share a Kia-Ora and a small bag of sweets.
Those far of days of deprivation are now well behind us and I have no guilt in enjoying what we have earned and I hope that Mrs B and I get the chance to enjoy many more weeks like this one.
My best to you all, as I close this message to you I note that the rain has stopped falling - here's hoping you get to glimpse some sunshine today.
Thank you for reading my little blog and I love you all...
PS Mrs B says she loves Mr B, I'm not daft - it's either Michael or John
PPS - some extra sunshine just in case...
The Beatles - Here Comes The Sun
Saturday 8 October 2011
The 'George' Dream - realised.
Hello again, hello.
I wrote that line many years ago and gave it as a gift to a struggling singer called Lionel Richie - never heard of him since.
Mrs B is sequestered in her boudoir watching the rugby and I was watching an old western whilst preparing her breakfast crumpets, but then I discovered the sad news concerning the death of George Baker.
Suddenly many thoughts crystallised in my head, so after devouring said crumpets, I decided to let loose and show you my crystals.
For several weeks I have been having the 'George' dream, a dream in which someone called George dies - sadly it was that thoroughly nice George Baker. In hindsight, his name has been at the back of my mind all week.
Join me as we drift back in time, it has been a week of highs and lows and I suppose getting my flu jab on Wednesday morning was the start of a reflective process that leads me to this entry. The reason I have the flu jab is because of my heart attack - it's one of the perks of surviving, you get bumped to the top of the list for flu jabs.
The nurse always says the same thing, 'just a little scratch', before she impales you with a knitting needle that basically skewers you to the chair. That moment of intense agony rattles throughout your body and reminds you of two things - one, I am alive and two, I tend to over dramatise things.
Every day is a bonus day and in recent times, Mrs B and I have tried to enjoy as many days as we can by doing the things that we want...more of that in a minute.
So after having the jab on Wednesday I had two funerals to conduct, both tragic affairs but one I suppose tipped the balance in that it was for a baby - born asleep.
I don't need to spell out how awful these things are do I? Heartbreaking.
On Wednesday evening it was Rock Choir rehearsals and we had a few run throughs of Oh Happy Day before moving onto the Abba song, Waterloo. In hindsight, the juxtaposition of those songs on that day now seems perfect.
So, Wednesday drew to a close and I bet you can get what came next...yes, you are right, it was Thursday.
One of the things Mrs B and I do as often as we can afford to, is go to London and see a show. On Thursday, we boarded the 12.28 from Nottingham to St Pancras then got a taxi to our hotel which was within easy walking distance of our venue of choice - The Royal Albert Hall.
The hotel - the Kensington Green Hotel - was a late choice as we could not get a room in the Holiday Inn which we would have preferred. There were other hotels available but they were quite expensive at £220.00 plus VAT, so we (sorry I) decided we should try this '4 Star boutique hotel close to Harrods'. There was an offer on if you paid in full before arrival - that should have given me a clue!
To say that Mrs B was disappointed with the standard of the room would be like saying Hitler caused a few minor problems in Europe during the war - she was DISAPPOINTED!
I could list the things wrong but there was one little detail that tipped the balance - bloody fingerprints on the wall. I kid you not - I fully expected Horatio Caine to walk in, stand sideways, take off his sunglasses and make some pithy remark about the finger of suspicion pointing at us.
Sufficed to say, we made our displeasure known and after dumping our bag we left the hotel to roam the streets of Kensington for the next hour or so. We knew we had to go back and sleep there but we decided to only return when we were so tired that we might not notice the flaws.
We walked through Kensington Gardens and then went for a coffee and a meal before picking up our tickets for that evenings show - Idina Menzel, supported by Marvin Hamlisch conducting the Royal Philharmonic Concert Orchestra.
For those who don't know who Idina Menzel is - shame! Have a look at this video to educate yourself.
Idina Menzel - Wicked
If I have to tell you who Marvin Hamlisch is, then please stop reading the blog.
Anyway, the concert was brilliant, the whole ambience was spot on (apart from the screaming fan sat right behind us) and for me seeing and hearing the great Hamlisch play a piano no more that 60 feet from where I was sitting - well that was just magical. And here is where the news about George Baker comes back into play.
Ian Fleming thought that George was the perfect actor to play James Bond, he didn't get the part of course but he did appear in several Bond films including The Spy Who Loved Me, the theme of which was written by Marvin Hamlisch.
Anyhoo, moving on....
The concert was brilliant, but it was like an all time high which suddenly ended when we realised we had to walk back to that hotel.
After a restless night, we arose early and made our way to the station where we breakfasted at Le Pain Quotidien. I highly recommend this option, their organic bread and preserves were yummy!
Arriving back in Nottingham, Mrs B went her way and I mine as we had separate tasks to accomplish - but as I drove back to Mansfield I listened to the discussion on the radio about how BBC2 will be changed because of cutbacks - 56% of their output will be repeats.
People were phoning in with their suggestions for repeats they would like to see, Poldark was a front runner, as was I Claudius...which starred Derek Jacobi and George Baker as Tiberius.
And then here we are, Saturday morning and Mrs B is booing the French as they thrash England and I am reflecting on this week, life and death and now what comes next?
For me and Mrs B, another busy week. I have work and I also will be down in London on Tuesday to record a show which will be broadcast on Radio 4 (more details nearer the date of airing) and then on the weekend we are back in London to see Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones in Driving Miss Daisy.
This is what life is about - enjoying the chances you have.
We can't change the sadness that death brings but whilst we are alive we should try and live.
Rest in peace George -
George in I, Claudius
I wrote that line many years ago and gave it as a gift to a struggling singer called Lionel Richie - never heard of him since.
Mrs B is sequestered in her boudoir watching the rugby and I was watching an old western whilst preparing her breakfast crumpets, but then I discovered the sad news concerning the death of George Baker.
Suddenly many thoughts crystallised in my head, so after devouring said crumpets, I decided to let loose and show you my crystals.
For several weeks I have been having the 'George' dream, a dream in which someone called George dies - sadly it was that thoroughly nice George Baker. In hindsight, his name has been at the back of my mind all week.
Join me as we drift back in time, it has been a week of highs and lows and I suppose getting my flu jab on Wednesday morning was the start of a reflective process that leads me to this entry. The reason I have the flu jab is because of my heart attack - it's one of the perks of surviving, you get bumped to the top of the list for flu jabs.
The nurse always says the same thing, 'just a little scratch', before she impales you with a knitting needle that basically skewers you to the chair. That moment of intense agony rattles throughout your body and reminds you of two things - one, I am alive and two, I tend to over dramatise things.
Every day is a bonus day and in recent times, Mrs B and I have tried to enjoy as many days as we can by doing the things that we want...more of that in a minute.
So after having the jab on Wednesday I had two funerals to conduct, both tragic affairs but one I suppose tipped the balance in that it was for a baby - born asleep.
I don't need to spell out how awful these things are do I? Heartbreaking.
On Wednesday evening it was Rock Choir rehearsals and we had a few run throughs of Oh Happy Day before moving onto the Abba song, Waterloo. In hindsight, the juxtaposition of those songs on that day now seems perfect.
So, Wednesday drew to a close and I bet you can get what came next...yes, you are right, it was Thursday.
One of the things Mrs B and I do as often as we can afford to, is go to London and see a show. On Thursday, we boarded the 12.28 from Nottingham to St Pancras then got a taxi to our hotel which was within easy walking distance of our venue of choice - The Royal Albert Hall.
The hotel - the Kensington Green Hotel - was a late choice as we could not get a room in the Holiday Inn which we would have preferred. There were other hotels available but they were quite expensive at £220.00 plus VAT, so we (sorry I) decided we should try this '4 Star boutique hotel close to Harrods'. There was an offer on if you paid in full before arrival - that should have given me a clue!
To say that Mrs B was disappointed with the standard of the room would be like saying Hitler caused a few minor problems in Europe during the war - she was DISAPPOINTED!
I could list the things wrong but there was one little detail that tipped the balance - bloody fingerprints on the wall. I kid you not - I fully expected Horatio Caine to walk in, stand sideways, take off his sunglasses and make some pithy remark about the finger of suspicion pointing at us.
Sufficed to say, we made our displeasure known and after dumping our bag we left the hotel to roam the streets of Kensington for the next hour or so. We knew we had to go back and sleep there but we decided to only return when we were so tired that we might not notice the flaws.
We walked through Kensington Gardens and then went for a coffee and a meal before picking up our tickets for that evenings show - Idina Menzel, supported by Marvin Hamlisch conducting the Royal Philharmonic Concert Orchestra.
For those who don't know who Idina Menzel is - shame! Have a look at this video to educate yourself.
Idina Menzel - Wicked
If I have to tell you who Marvin Hamlisch is, then please stop reading the blog.
Anyway, the concert was brilliant, the whole ambience was spot on (apart from the screaming fan sat right behind us) and for me seeing and hearing the great Hamlisch play a piano no more that 60 feet from where I was sitting - well that was just magical. And here is where the news about George Baker comes back into play.
Ian Fleming thought that George was the perfect actor to play James Bond, he didn't get the part of course but he did appear in several Bond films including The Spy Who Loved Me, the theme of which was written by Marvin Hamlisch.
Anyhoo, moving on....
The concert was brilliant, but it was like an all time high which suddenly ended when we realised we had to walk back to that hotel.
After a restless night, we arose early and made our way to the station where we breakfasted at Le Pain Quotidien. I highly recommend this option, their organic bread and preserves were yummy!
Arriving back in Nottingham, Mrs B went her way and I mine as we had separate tasks to accomplish - but as I drove back to Mansfield I listened to the discussion on the radio about how BBC2 will be changed because of cutbacks - 56% of their output will be repeats.
People were phoning in with their suggestions for repeats they would like to see, Poldark was a front runner, as was I Claudius...which starred Derek Jacobi and George Baker as Tiberius.
And then here we are, Saturday morning and Mrs B is booing the French as they thrash England and I am reflecting on this week, life and death and now what comes next?
For me and Mrs B, another busy week. I have work and I also will be down in London on Tuesday to record a show which will be broadcast on Radio 4 (more details nearer the date of airing) and then on the weekend we are back in London to see Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones in Driving Miss Daisy.
This is what life is about - enjoying the chances you have.
We can't change the sadness that death brings but whilst we are alive we should try and live.
Rest in peace George -
George in I, Claudius
Thursday 8 September 2011
Teach or Preach?
Hello dear things, how the devil are you this fine day?
I have a quiz for you all and I expect you to give it your fullest attention and no cheating by reading down the blog to get the answers!
What connects the following and where do the words come from?
Whilst you think about the answer let me tell you that this morning I was once again called upon to bring order to the universe by adding just a smidgeon of common sense and wisdom to a radio debate about god in school.
The question posed was, should god be allowed in school and my initial thought was that he should only be allowed in if he has a current Police check.
Only jesting my little lemmings, he might pass a Police check but as for his son, well that's another question. He asked for little children to come unto him and I don't think head teachers should allow that in school. (Catholics might take exception here).
The real point of this drivel is to explore the relevance of a collective act of worship in school, which is set down in law as something that should take place although a survey discovered that it doesn't - well not much.
Back to the radio where the argument for worship, and specifically Christian worship, was advanced by a lady vicar - not many of them in the Christian bible! The case against was delivered by a very grumpy member of the Secular Society who blames religion for all the worlds wrongs.
There were others who added their own thoughts, 'normal people' whose opinions should not be allowed on the BBC. The majority seemed to suggest that singing hymns and saying prayers in school prevented this country turning into a moral desert. Balderdash!
My few well chosen words of wisdom suggested that most people are moderate in their approach to this argument, but that the elevation of a Christian ethos as being more significant than any other was arrogant - that was the word I used my children; arrogant.
I suggested that a 'teach not preach' stance was probably what most people would find acceptable. Teach young people about various philosophies and religions and allow them to make up their mind - don't confuse the issue by saying there are many different ways to live but in this school we pray to Jesus because if you don't you're not British nor law abiding!
Some with a strong anti-religious view point will often say that children are born atheist and that enforced acts of worship are child abuse. That devalues the damage of real abuse so I don't subscribe to that argument.
It also strikes me as too simplistic and I don't really see how a baby can make the decision not to believe in something they are not yet aware of!
It's like saying I don't like the taste of marmite without ever having it in your mouth. If you like it you can swallow it, as some swallow religion.
Some would say we are all born with the love of god in our soul - and it would seem from recent scientific research that mankind as a species has developed a sense of common humanity and decency in that we want to support each other. But goodness does not lie solely within the purview of god - the Christian god that is.
We are all born with the capacity to think and learn and again, for me, this makes 'teach not preach' a good way forward. Give young people information and let them make a reasoned decision.
In America, religion is not allowed in school. The law states that actions in schools should 'neither advance nor inhibit religion'. Religion is still quite big in America, so keeping it out of the classroom doesn't seem to affect it adversely.
Let us drift back in time, to that little village where I raised. When I was a tiny little guru I went to a C of E school and we sang hymns to Jesus and we said prayers and the local vicar, Basil Spencer, came into the classroom and spoke to us about the bible. Singing those hymns and saying those prayers did not stop me in later life from making a decision to live without god, so I suppose you could argue that I am living proof that collective acts of worship might not be totally harmful?
But at school we were never taught about Hinduism, Buddhism, Shintoism, Sikhism, Islam, Judaism or Humanism - we were given no choice and again this is why I have an issue with the arrogance and power of an established church in England.
What I can never know is what might have happened in my life if I was told at ten or twelve that it was OK to think about living a life without god.
What I was unable to discover until much later in life is that life without god can be a life of value.
I believe my life is an equally moral life when compared to some of the hypocrites who drag their sorry arses to church each Sunday.
Ranting about moral deserts and how Hitler never sang Away In A Manger and that's what made him evil - well that doesn't really do anyone any good.
By the way, I'm really fed up with being compared with Hitler and Stalin just because I don't believe in god - yes they were not the nicest of men but let me offer for your consideration the actions of some real god fearing fellows, from history we have Torquemada and then a more recent addition to the Christians who kill brigade - Anders Behring Breivik.
Anyway, the answer to the questions - they are all lines from hymns I still recall singing at school:
Off you go now, you well informed rascals. Go out into the world and spread the word of Teach not Preach...if that's what you decide to do!
I have a quiz for you all and I expect you to give it your fullest attention and no cheating by reading down the blog to get the answers!
What connects the following and where do the words come from?
- The sword of my youth
- Strong hands skilled at the plane and the lathe
- The cold wind in the winter
- The verge of Jordan
- My table
- A mighty army
- Toil and tribulation
Whilst you think about the answer let me tell you that this morning I was once again called upon to bring order to the universe by adding just a smidgeon of common sense and wisdom to a radio debate about god in school.
The question posed was, should god be allowed in school and my initial thought was that he should only be allowed in if he has a current Police check.
Only jesting my little lemmings, he might pass a Police check but as for his son, well that's another question. He asked for little children to come unto him and I don't think head teachers should allow that in school. (Catholics might take exception here).
The real point of this drivel is to explore the relevance of a collective act of worship in school, which is set down in law as something that should take place although a survey discovered that it doesn't - well not much.
Back to the radio where the argument for worship, and specifically Christian worship, was advanced by a lady vicar - not many of them in the Christian bible! The case against was delivered by a very grumpy member of the Secular Society who blames religion for all the worlds wrongs.
There were others who added their own thoughts, 'normal people' whose opinions should not be allowed on the BBC. The majority seemed to suggest that singing hymns and saying prayers in school prevented this country turning into a moral desert. Balderdash!
My few well chosen words of wisdom suggested that most people are moderate in their approach to this argument, but that the elevation of a Christian ethos as being more significant than any other was arrogant - that was the word I used my children; arrogant.
I suggested that a 'teach not preach' stance was probably what most people would find acceptable. Teach young people about various philosophies and religions and allow them to make up their mind - don't confuse the issue by saying there are many different ways to live but in this school we pray to Jesus because if you don't you're not British nor law abiding!
Some with a strong anti-religious view point will often say that children are born atheist and that enforced acts of worship are child abuse. That devalues the damage of real abuse so I don't subscribe to that argument.
It also strikes me as too simplistic and I don't really see how a baby can make the decision not to believe in something they are not yet aware of!
It's like saying I don't like the taste of marmite without ever having it in your mouth. If you like it you can swallow it, as some swallow religion.
Some would say we are all born with the love of god in our soul - and it would seem from recent scientific research that mankind as a species has developed a sense of common humanity and decency in that we want to support each other. But goodness does not lie solely within the purview of god - the Christian god that is.
We are all born with the capacity to think and learn and again, for me, this makes 'teach not preach' a good way forward. Give young people information and let them make a reasoned decision.
In America, religion is not allowed in school. The law states that actions in schools should 'neither advance nor inhibit religion'. Religion is still quite big in America, so keeping it out of the classroom doesn't seem to affect it adversely.
Let us drift back in time, to that little village where I raised. When I was a tiny little guru I went to a C of E school and we sang hymns to Jesus and we said prayers and the local vicar, Basil Spencer, came into the classroom and spoke to us about the bible. Singing those hymns and saying those prayers did not stop me in later life from making a decision to live without god, so I suppose you could argue that I am living proof that collective acts of worship might not be totally harmful?
But at school we were never taught about Hinduism, Buddhism, Shintoism, Sikhism, Islam, Judaism or Humanism - we were given no choice and again this is why I have an issue with the arrogance and power of an established church in England.
What I can never know is what might have happened in my life if I was told at ten or twelve that it was OK to think about living a life without god.
What I was unable to discover until much later in life is that life without god can be a life of value.
I believe my life is an equally moral life when compared to some of the hypocrites who drag their sorry arses to church each Sunday.
Ranting about moral deserts and how Hitler never sang Away In A Manger and that's what made him evil - well that doesn't really do anyone any good.
By the way, I'm really fed up with being compared with Hitler and Stalin just because I don't believe in god - yes they were not the nicest of men but let me offer for your consideration the actions of some real god fearing fellows, from history we have Torquemada and then a more recent addition to the Christians who kill brigade - Anders Behring Breivik.
Anyway, the answer to the questions - they are all lines from hymns I still recall singing at school:
- When A knight won his spurs
- Lord of all hopefulness
- All things bright and beautiful ( which should be banned as it is creationist propaganda)
- Guide me O thou great redeemer
- The Lord's my shepherd
- Onward Christian soldiers
- The churches one foundation
Off you go now, you well informed rascals. Go out into the world and spread the word of Teach not Preach...if that's what you decide to do!
Sunday 4 September 2011
Soggy Sunday
Greetings my moist minions...the misty rain of despair is falling across the land and the car decided that 7am on a Sunday morning would be a good time to conk out!
Sorry to say that meant letting down the lovely Sarah Julian at BBC Radio Nottingham, but she had a kind word for me broadcasting to the world (or that part of the world that was awake and within the stations broadcast area) that I was a 'lovely Humanist from Mansfield'. That cheered me up for a while, then a second cup of tea tipped me from suicidal to mere melancholia.
I was looking forward to reviewing the papers but instead I sit at home, the chocolate shadow at my feet, pondering my next move.
My mood lifted again when I spread some extra marmalade on my toast and got another cup of tea and sat down to watch Doctor Who. I had recorded it last night, and I must congratulate Mark Gatiss on his witty and scary tale, this really is what Doctor Who should be about, in my opinion.
I did not watch it last night as I was giving Red or Black a chance to impress - it failed. Likewise X Factor is becoming terribly predictable and the lack of real talent is evident. Half decent singers with a nice back story might give Louis Walsh a lump in his throat, but it won't put money in the bank I fear.
I was beginning to think the evening would be a total wash out when the clock ticked around to 9.15pm and BBC2 came to the rescue with the John Wilson Orchestra and its Hooray For Hollywood concert, recorded at The Royal Albert Hall as part of this years Proms.
Two wonderful hours filled with great movie music, with me trying to sing along. However, Dave the chocolate shadow did not approve of my singing and tried to sit on my face. Everyone's a critic!
This was middle class heaven, I managed to successfully assault and defeat a bottle of Pinot and whilst listening to the music I pictured the scene later in the year when Mrs B and I will be sitting in the Royal Concert Hall Nottingham, hearing the concert LIVE!
Talking of class, yesterday I got invited to the Chatsworth Country Fair, with a Members badge at my disposal. Some of the Members were straight out of the Country Life book of stereotypes, dressed in tweeds of varying colours, talking very loud about all sorts of rubbish and basically only stopping to draw breath as the Duke and Duchess passed by.
We ignored them as best we could, although their noise made hearing announcements through the loudspeakers impossible.
Dave enjoyed himself, he had an ice cream and we sat in the Members enclosure and watched the Scurry racing, the birds of prey display and then the Parade of Hounds...men in their red jackets with little trumpets tooting out the instructions to a pack of rascally Beagles, some mournful looking Blood Hounds and finally the Fox Hounds themselves.
The main parade ring was well fenced to keep them all in and there were a few gates to allow people access and egress and being a country lad myself I understand what gates are for. You open them, walk through and then close it behind you. Not these toffee nosed, loud mouthed, Rupert Bears - they walked through with champagne flutes in hand saying in a loud voice - 'fetch me a hound, NOW!'
The result, several beagles and hounds made their bid for freedom - they were eventually rounded up and the Rupert's went back to grab some more salmon sandwiches and a drop more champers.
That was yesterday, now for the rest of today - Sunday stretches ahead of me.
Mrs B is visiting family and I will meet up with her later after a work related visit to Hardy Barn - no, I've never heard of it either!
Dave will want to go to the park at some point but unless the rain buggers off he'll not got me out of the door...it might have to be a marathon Murder, She Wrote day.
Enjoy your Sunday
Sorry to say that meant letting down the lovely Sarah Julian at BBC Radio Nottingham, but she had a kind word for me broadcasting to the world (or that part of the world that was awake and within the stations broadcast area) that I was a 'lovely Humanist from Mansfield'. That cheered me up for a while, then a second cup of tea tipped me from suicidal to mere melancholia.
I was looking forward to reviewing the papers but instead I sit at home, the chocolate shadow at my feet, pondering my next move.
My mood lifted again when I spread some extra marmalade on my toast and got another cup of tea and sat down to watch Doctor Who. I had recorded it last night, and I must congratulate Mark Gatiss on his witty and scary tale, this really is what Doctor Who should be about, in my opinion.
I did not watch it last night as I was giving Red or Black a chance to impress - it failed. Likewise X Factor is becoming terribly predictable and the lack of real talent is evident. Half decent singers with a nice back story might give Louis Walsh a lump in his throat, but it won't put money in the bank I fear.
I was beginning to think the evening would be a total wash out when the clock ticked around to 9.15pm and BBC2 came to the rescue with the John Wilson Orchestra and its Hooray For Hollywood concert, recorded at The Royal Albert Hall as part of this years Proms.
Two wonderful hours filled with great movie music, with me trying to sing along. However, Dave the chocolate shadow did not approve of my singing and tried to sit on my face. Everyone's a critic!
This was middle class heaven, I managed to successfully assault and defeat a bottle of Pinot and whilst listening to the music I pictured the scene later in the year when Mrs B and I will be sitting in the Royal Concert Hall Nottingham, hearing the concert LIVE!
Talking of class, yesterday I got invited to the Chatsworth Country Fair, with a Members badge at my disposal. Some of the Members were straight out of the Country Life book of stereotypes, dressed in tweeds of varying colours, talking very loud about all sorts of rubbish and basically only stopping to draw breath as the Duke and Duchess passed by.
We ignored them as best we could, although their noise made hearing announcements through the loudspeakers impossible.
Dave enjoyed himself, he had an ice cream and we sat in the Members enclosure and watched the Scurry racing, the birds of prey display and then the Parade of Hounds...men in their red jackets with little trumpets tooting out the instructions to a pack of rascally Beagles, some mournful looking Blood Hounds and finally the Fox Hounds themselves.
The main parade ring was well fenced to keep them all in and there were a few gates to allow people access and egress and being a country lad myself I understand what gates are for. You open them, walk through and then close it behind you. Not these toffee nosed, loud mouthed, Rupert Bears - they walked through with champagne flutes in hand saying in a loud voice - 'fetch me a hound, NOW!'
The result, several beagles and hounds made their bid for freedom - they were eventually rounded up and the Rupert's went back to grab some more salmon sandwiches and a drop more champers.
That was yesterday, now for the rest of today - Sunday stretches ahead of me.
Mrs B is visiting family and I will meet up with her later after a work related visit to Hardy Barn - no, I've never heard of it either!
Dave will want to go to the park at some point but unless the rain buggers off he'll not got me out of the door...it might have to be a marathon Murder, She Wrote day.
Enjoy your Sunday
Thursday 1 September 2011
Is it worth the effort?
Greetings, my ever shrinking band of followers - I am considering whether the end is nigh?
On Tuesday morning I managed to drag my aged bottom into the BBC Radio Nottingham studio, where I sat with local novelist and academic, Nicola Monaghan. We were there to discuss the weekends news stories with our host Mark Dennison, ably supported by his production team of James and Lewis.
We talked about Libya and housing and school uniforms and other more frivolous matters and I think the whole thing went OK, but in an off-air conversation, Nicola told me that she had read my blog...oh dear.
Someone who makes a living writing, someone who has published several novels and has a new one on the way, someone who leads the creative writing BA course at The University of Nottingham...she read my blog.
I only ever expected a few people, close friends and family members, to actually find time in their day to wade through the rubbish I commit to this blog - but there have been times when I have reached a wider audience.
A blog entry about Mrs B making me clean the cupboards out was a smash hit with hundreds of readers from around the world. I still have not worked out why people were so keen to hear about Mrs B's Marmite or my collection of pepper.
As I make an effort to re-read some of my previous outpourings of wisdom, I note how the blog has changed, with many silly attempts at humour and occasionally a very serious and worthy piece about something that has disturbed the aura of the Guru.
Anyway, Nicola said some quite nice things about the blogs, which in itself unsettled the aura...and you are never quite sure if comments are made out of pure politeness. That is not to say that for a moment my head swelled ever so slightly, but it did make me re-evaluate whether this was something that I should now put away, having reached a possible zenith in my linguistic meanderings.
Perhaps the time has come for the Guru to drift into retirement and solitude, hermit like to live out the remainder of my days in my little office, typing no more than 140 characters to those Twitterers who I have entranced with my false humility?
Rest on my laurels and reflect on a glorious past in the same way that an ageing Bruce Wayne would eventually have to hang up his cape and recall the echoes of past battles with The Joker and his minions.
But then I thought, NO!
I do not write these blogs just so that they will be read, although I will share them and make them available hoping that someone makes the effort!
The fact is that of my 127 Facebook friends only a a small percentage read the blog, that is a choice they make and I have no problems with anyone choosing what they spend their time doing, but you could read this blog and still have time to look at porn before Blue Peter starts!
I write the blogs for me - and for a small but loyal band of feeble minded muppets who have nothing better to do with their time than read the brain snot of a self styled Guru, who conceals behind that facade, the real face of the author.
Oh yes, the real me peeks out occasionally, but in truth the sarcastic,witless, politically incorrect Guru gives me the cover to be a little outrageous.
This blog is heading nowhere fast, so perhaps I should just say that writing this entry has allowed me to clarify in my own mind that I should continue to write when I have something to say, I will also continue to write when I have nothing to say because I say nothing better than anyone I know!
Yes, be not troubled my faithful followers - even if no one hears this tree falling in the forest, I'm going to keep my chopper in my hand.
Enjoy reading the blog, if you don't read it who cares - and if you read it and you do enjoy it, keep it to yourself otherwise men in white coats might be dispatched!
Phone rings...Hello
BBC Nottingham, Sunday morning, newspaper review,7.50am, don't be late!
The Guru is back in business!
On Tuesday morning I managed to drag my aged bottom into the BBC Radio Nottingham studio, where I sat with local novelist and academic, Nicola Monaghan. We were there to discuss the weekends news stories with our host Mark Dennison, ably supported by his production team of James and Lewis.
We talked about Libya and housing and school uniforms and other more frivolous matters and I think the whole thing went OK, but in an off-air conversation, Nicola told me that she had read my blog...oh dear.
Someone who makes a living writing, someone who has published several novels and has a new one on the way, someone who leads the creative writing BA course at The University of Nottingham...she read my blog.
I only ever expected a few people, close friends and family members, to actually find time in their day to wade through the rubbish I commit to this blog - but there have been times when I have reached a wider audience.
A blog entry about Mrs B making me clean the cupboards out was a smash hit with hundreds of readers from around the world. I still have not worked out why people were so keen to hear about Mrs B's Marmite or my collection of pepper.
As I make an effort to re-read some of my previous outpourings of wisdom, I note how the blog has changed, with many silly attempts at humour and occasionally a very serious and worthy piece about something that has disturbed the aura of the Guru.
Anyway, Nicola said some quite nice things about the blogs, which in itself unsettled the aura...and you are never quite sure if comments are made out of pure politeness. That is not to say that for a moment my head swelled ever so slightly, but it did make me re-evaluate whether this was something that I should now put away, having reached a possible zenith in my linguistic meanderings.
Perhaps the time has come for the Guru to drift into retirement and solitude, hermit like to live out the remainder of my days in my little office, typing no more than 140 characters to those Twitterers who I have entranced with my false humility?
Rest on my laurels and reflect on a glorious past in the same way that an ageing Bruce Wayne would eventually have to hang up his cape and recall the echoes of past battles with The Joker and his minions.
But then I thought, NO!
I do not write these blogs just so that they will be read, although I will share them and make them available hoping that someone makes the effort!
The fact is that of my 127 Facebook friends only a a small percentage read the blog, that is a choice they make and I have no problems with anyone choosing what they spend their time doing, but you could read this blog and still have time to look at porn before Blue Peter starts!
I write the blogs for me - and for a small but loyal band of feeble minded muppets who have nothing better to do with their time than read the brain snot of a self styled Guru, who conceals behind that facade, the real face of the author.
Oh yes, the real me peeks out occasionally, but in truth the sarcastic,witless, politically incorrect Guru gives me the cover to be a little outrageous.
This blog is heading nowhere fast, so perhaps I should just say that writing this entry has allowed me to clarify in my own mind that I should continue to write when I have something to say, I will also continue to write when I have nothing to say because I say nothing better than anyone I know!
Yes, be not troubled my faithful followers - even if no one hears this tree falling in the forest, I'm going to keep my chopper in my hand.
Enjoy reading the blog, if you don't read it who cares - and if you read it and you do enjoy it, keep it to yourself otherwise men in white coats might be dispatched!
Phone rings...Hello
BBC Nottingham, Sunday morning, newspaper review,7.50am, don't be late!
The Guru is back in business!
Thursday 25 August 2011
Blue Thursday
Nothing saddens me more than conducting funerals for young people - and when I look back over the last few years I seem to have officiated at far too many.
I recall ceremonies for babies who have died after taking a few short breaths of air, and even sadder are the ceremonies for those that didn’t even make it that far - born asleep.
There are young people who are afflicted with illnesses such as melanoma, leukaemia, meningitis and how sad it is to see their potential for a happy life cut short. The way in which some meet death by battling for every last drop of life can be inspiring and sets us all a true example for how we can deal with adversity of this kind.
There are those who have been killed in traffic accidents, and those who have been the victim of crime and I shall always recall the funeral of a little girl, neglected by her family, who died in awful squalor - their presence at her funeral just felt wrong. They were not there for her in life after all.
This week I conducted a funeral for a young man who had taken his own life - a tragic call for help that had gone a little too far and resulted in his life being lost.
The young man was a very private and proud individual, he was battling some deep personal issues and in the end, for similarly personal reasons, he took the course of action that would lead to his death.
His family are devastated - and they will have to live with those awful questions - was there something we could have done or said? What signs did we miss that this was going to happen? They will tear themselves to shreds in the days ahead trying to answer these unanswerable questions.
Sometimes, and I do not know the circumstances of this case, but sometimes part of the blame lies in our society and the fact that we will not accept people for who they are - we judge them and label them lesser than ourselves because what they do with their life is not ‘normal’.
This bigotry and hatred is based in ignorance and may be stoked by religious intolerance and I find it the most unchristian aspect of christianity and likewise the most uncaring and inhuman side of other world religions.
If one person takes their life because they feel that their life is not valued, then it lessens the value of all of us…
I don’t want to conduct funerals for young people but sometimes circumstances we cannot change make that necessary - but it makes me sad and angry that I have to conduct funerals for anyone, of any age, who has taken the choice to end their life because no one understands or accepts them for who they are.
Thursday 11 August 2011
Riotous Laughter
Hello, is anyone left out there or are you all in prison for looting Primark and Dorothy Perkins?
I have resisted the urge to offer a view on the recent disturbances, I did not want anyone to feel that I was making light of the situation, especially as people lost their lives, their livelihoods and their homes.
Then it occurred to me, if I don't carry on then I am letting the lawless thugs rule - so I'm here, with brush in hand, and I intend to carry on being insensitive, witless and sarcastic, because you deserve me!
As I write this modern masterpiece in social exploration, the Prime Minister is on his feet in a recalled parliament basically bollocking the Police for not being tough enough on the ruffians, bollocking parents for not being strict enough with their little lambs and bollocking anyone who isn't sat within a few feet of himself, because no matter what caused the riots it's got nothing to do with politics!
What he wants to see, and what the general public want to see is flogging, water cannons, rubber bullets, more flogging and perhaps the odd execution. That'll learn the little buggers a serious lesson in how to behave. Just think of all the new jobs created in the Department of Public Correction and Humiliation.
The blame game is well advanced on this one, parents are getting it in the neck because the kids should be at school not roaming the streets - talk about MP's being out of touch...it is the school holidays I think!
Parents do have to take their share of the blame, you see it all starts at home when kids are very young. Let me paint you a word picture...
Little Johnny and little Mary are playing with their toys in the playroom of their humble little five bedroomed home in leafy suburbia. Johnny likes his pretend tool kit and Mary likes her fluffy little pussy cat. Suddenly, Mary grabs hold of the tool in Johnny's hand and snatches it away - obviously Johnny cries out and this noise attracts the attentions of the au pair Ingrid. (Mum and Dad are working in the City).
Ingrid, hearing the noise, asks the plumber with the big droopy moustache to pull his trousers up, and she goes to investigate...she discovers little Johnny sobbing and little Mary trying to insert the tool into her lunchbox. (You thought I was going to say fluffy pussy didn't you? - You disgust me!)
Ingrid turns to little Mary and says, 'would you like to give Johnny his toy please Mary?' and Mary says 'No! Mummy told us both that we should share our toys'.
And there we have it - the whole problem of looting, take what you want because mummy said to share and the au pair accepts the situation because she wants to help a plumber loosen his nuts.
We should come down hard on these awful parents who teach children that they can take what they want, we should really teach them all to be selfish and only play with toys that they have purchased themselves from their trust funds.
Let me pose this question...are all looters really bad people?
Of course they are - why are you even thinking about it! You are going on the list my friend...Eric Pickles will have your guts for garters, and your liver for breakfast.
You see, life is really simple - there are the 'haves' and there are the 'have nots' - I am a 'have not' because I don't have a brand new plasma screen, Nike trainers or a Blackberry.
Do you think I can apply for some benefits to help me go on a training course so that I can learn how to get all of those lovely things? If I do, they wont last long...my next door neighbour is called Little Mary, and she believes in sharing.
Well I hope this has helped you all understand the world a little better, I'm off now to brush up on my back hand, fancy applying for the post of chief flogger in residence, Mansfield District Council.
Just an afterthought - If I have offended anyone with this blog I do apologise - but it's not my fault - it was my parents and my lack of education and a job and that I don't believe in god.
I have resisted the urge to offer a view on the recent disturbances, I did not want anyone to feel that I was making light of the situation, especially as people lost their lives, their livelihoods and their homes.
Then it occurred to me, if I don't carry on then I am letting the lawless thugs rule - so I'm here, with brush in hand, and I intend to carry on being insensitive, witless and sarcastic, because you deserve me!
As I write this modern masterpiece in social exploration, the Prime Minister is on his feet in a recalled parliament basically bollocking the Police for not being tough enough on the ruffians, bollocking parents for not being strict enough with their little lambs and bollocking anyone who isn't sat within a few feet of himself, because no matter what caused the riots it's got nothing to do with politics!
What he wants to see, and what the general public want to see is flogging, water cannons, rubber bullets, more flogging and perhaps the odd execution. That'll learn the little buggers a serious lesson in how to behave. Just think of all the new jobs created in the Department of Public Correction and Humiliation.
The blame game is well advanced on this one, parents are getting it in the neck because the kids should be at school not roaming the streets - talk about MP's being out of touch...it is the school holidays I think!
Parents do have to take their share of the blame, you see it all starts at home when kids are very young. Let me paint you a word picture...
Little Johnny and little Mary are playing with their toys in the playroom of their humble little five bedroomed home in leafy suburbia. Johnny likes his pretend tool kit and Mary likes her fluffy little pussy cat. Suddenly, Mary grabs hold of the tool in Johnny's hand and snatches it away - obviously Johnny cries out and this noise attracts the attentions of the au pair Ingrid. (Mum and Dad are working in the City).
Ingrid, hearing the noise, asks the plumber with the big droopy moustache to pull his trousers up, and she goes to investigate...she discovers little Johnny sobbing and little Mary trying to insert the tool into her lunchbox. (You thought I was going to say fluffy pussy didn't you? - You disgust me!)
Ingrid turns to little Mary and says, 'would you like to give Johnny his toy please Mary?' and Mary says 'No! Mummy told us both that we should share our toys'.
And there we have it - the whole problem of looting, take what you want because mummy said to share and the au pair accepts the situation because she wants to help a plumber loosen his nuts.
We should come down hard on these awful parents who teach children that they can take what they want, we should really teach them all to be selfish and only play with toys that they have purchased themselves from their trust funds.
Let me pose this question...are all looters really bad people?
Of course they are - why are you even thinking about it! You are going on the list my friend...Eric Pickles will have your guts for garters, and your liver for breakfast.
You see, life is really simple - there are the 'haves' and there are the 'have nots' - I am a 'have not' because I don't have a brand new plasma screen, Nike trainers or a Blackberry.
Do you think I can apply for some benefits to help me go on a training course so that I can learn how to get all of those lovely things? If I do, they wont last long...my next door neighbour is called Little Mary, and she believes in sharing.
Well I hope this has helped you all understand the world a little better, I'm off now to brush up on my back hand, fancy applying for the post of chief flogger in residence, Mansfield District Council.
Just an afterthought - If I have offended anyone with this blog I do apologise - but it's not my fault - it was my parents and my lack of education and a job and that I don't believe in god.
Sunday 7 August 2011
Reflections on a Long Week
Hello my dearly cherished horde, I hope this missive finds you in fine fettle...
It seems just short of forever that last we spoke, and the time has arrived once more for me to reach out through the electronic mist of misery and embrace you all with my big strong masculine arms.
There has been a lot of hugging in my life this week and I must admit I am rather partial - I'm not very good at being standoffish and I leap in for a grapple whenever the opportunity arises.
This week Mrs B and I were blessed with a visit by the whole Amos clan, they had not travelled this far north since before Amy Winehouse was famous...so hugs all around.
Our eldest nephew, Samuel, stayed on for a few days whilst the rest of the clan flew out to Menorca on a well earned, all inclusive holiday. The hotel has already felt the dip in profits, as nephew Max devours all the food and my little sister Alison, devours all the local booze! My brother in law, Simon, is far too restrained to have made such an impact.
As Sam stayed on with us for a few days, we suggested he invite our godson, Liam, to come and stay. So, there we were with two 18 year old lads in the house, the testosterone levels went through the roof and I felt their presence, my own energy levels increased substantially and I found that I could scrape six new potatoes in the time it normally took to scrape three!
The other thing you notice with two extra bodies in the house is that by the time I got to the shower there was no hot water left...and I was amazed at that because I thought teenage boys didn't shower!
Eventually they departed and Mrs B and I headed north, arriving in Lancaster, where I was to conduct a baby naming ceremony.
More hugs followed, reunited after several years with Callum (the dad) and meeting for the first time Rachel (the mum) and then meeting the little angel herself (Elsa). Both families were present and some of them I had not seen for a while so more hugs all round.
I must just say, baby naming ceremonies make such a nice change from funerals - and I have three more to look forward too in the coming weeks. There are bound to be lots of hugs and I imagine that by November my arms will be really tired.
Little Elsa is a very pretty baby and although I only met Rachel for the first time on Saturday I can see that she is well capable of looking after not only her daughter but Callum too!
It makes my old cynical heart soften just a little when I see such contentment and I wish Elsa and her mum and dad lots of happy days.
Now off with you all, I have work to do!
I have to visit the supermarket and liberate a pot of yoghurt and some milk as well as write a funeral before trying to scrape six potatoes - it's going to take a long time as my testosterone levels are back to those normally attributed to a neutered sloth!
Carry on.
It seems just short of forever that last we spoke, and the time has arrived once more for me to reach out through the electronic mist of misery and embrace you all with my big strong masculine arms.
There has been a lot of hugging in my life this week and I must admit I am rather partial - I'm not very good at being standoffish and I leap in for a grapple whenever the opportunity arises.
This week Mrs B and I were blessed with a visit by the whole Amos clan, they had not travelled this far north since before Amy Winehouse was famous...so hugs all around.
Our eldest nephew, Samuel, stayed on for a few days whilst the rest of the clan flew out to Menorca on a well earned, all inclusive holiday. The hotel has already felt the dip in profits, as nephew Max devours all the food and my little sister Alison, devours all the local booze! My brother in law, Simon, is far too restrained to have made such an impact.
As Sam stayed on with us for a few days, we suggested he invite our godson, Liam, to come and stay. So, there we were with two 18 year old lads in the house, the testosterone levels went through the roof and I felt their presence, my own energy levels increased substantially and I found that I could scrape six new potatoes in the time it normally took to scrape three!
The other thing you notice with two extra bodies in the house is that by the time I got to the shower there was no hot water left...and I was amazed at that because I thought teenage boys didn't shower!
Eventually they departed and Mrs B and I headed north, arriving in Lancaster, where I was to conduct a baby naming ceremony.
More hugs followed, reunited after several years with Callum (the dad) and meeting for the first time Rachel (the mum) and then meeting the little angel herself (Elsa). Both families were present and some of them I had not seen for a while so more hugs all round.
I must just say, baby naming ceremonies make such a nice change from funerals - and I have three more to look forward too in the coming weeks. There are bound to be lots of hugs and I imagine that by November my arms will be really tired.
Little Elsa is a very pretty baby and although I only met Rachel for the first time on Saturday I can see that she is well capable of looking after not only her daughter but Callum too!
It makes my old cynical heart soften just a little when I see such contentment and I wish Elsa and her mum and dad lots of happy days.
Now off with you all, I have work to do!
I have to visit the supermarket and liberate a pot of yoghurt and some milk as well as write a funeral before trying to scrape six potatoes - it's going to take a long time as my testosterone levels are back to those normally attributed to a neutered sloth!
Carry on.
Friday 29 July 2011
Save the Children, Kill the Ants.
I bet you thought I'd gone and forgotten about you all - well I do try but as Miss K Minogue said, I just can't get you out of my head...you'll be singing that all day now.
I have just returned from having my ears lowered, the conversation in the chair running from transvestites and drag queens to uncomfortable medical conditions.
I was early for my appointment because the roads were empty, as Mrs B points out it's school holidays and that means the all the four wheel drives are at home rather than taking little Jocasta and Basil to school.
In my day, school holidays were times when you would see more children out playing but now we have a fear that behind every bush lurks a predatory paedophile, so we keep our children in a cupboard under the stairs just to be on the safe side.
The fear of crime prevents children from having a childhood, when I think of the hours of endless fun we had as kids, taking a stick and playing cowboys and indians or pirates. How we laughed as we romped through the countryside, carefree, singing songs about deer and tea with jam and bread, hiding from the Nazis...hold on, I think my childhood was turned into a film!
Anyway, I didn't want to talk about these things today, I wanted to ask if anyone else is suffering the curse of the flying ant?
Our rather splendid conservatory is full of dead flying ants, they are dead after I assaulted them with lethal levels of anti-ant spray. I have battled wave after wave of the blighters, but still they come.
Why do we need flying ants anyway, I think the little crawling ones are quite sufficient in the scheme of things - the next thing you know is we will be having flying spiders or flying earwigs and Mrs B will not approve of either of them buzzing round her head as she sits in her rather splendid conservatory sipping her pink.
Anyone with a fool proof way of disposing of flying ants please let me know - perhaps there is someone out there who likes flying ants, in which case let me have your address and I will send them on to you.
Away with you all now, get out into the fresh air and enjoy the summer but a word of warning to parents, when you go out to enjoy the day please leave a bowl of water and a dry biscuit in the cupboard under the stairs - you don't want Jocasta and Basil to feel unwanted do you?
I have just returned from having my ears lowered, the conversation in the chair running from transvestites and drag queens to uncomfortable medical conditions.
I was early for my appointment because the roads were empty, as Mrs B points out it's school holidays and that means the all the four wheel drives are at home rather than taking little Jocasta and Basil to school.
In my day, school holidays were times when you would see more children out playing but now we have a fear that behind every bush lurks a predatory paedophile, so we keep our children in a cupboard under the stairs just to be on the safe side.
The fear of crime prevents children from having a childhood, when I think of the hours of endless fun we had as kids, taking a stick and playing cowboys and indians or pirates. How we laughed as we romped through the countryside, carefree, singing songs about deer and tea with jam and bread, hiding from the Nazis...hold on, I think my childhood was turned into a film!
Anyway, I didn't want to talk about these things today, I wanted to ask if anyone else is suffering the curse of the flying ant?
Our rather splendid conservatory is full of dead flying ants, they are dead after I assaulted them with lethal levels of anti-ant spray. I have battled wave after wave of the blighters, but still they come.
Why do we need flying ants anyway, I think the little crawling ones are quite sufficient in the scheme of things - the next thing you know is we will be having flying spiders or flying earwigs and Mrs B will not approve of either of them buzzing round her head as she sits in her rather splendid conservatory sipping her pink.
Anyone with a fool proof way of disposing of flying ants please let me know - perhaps there is someone out there who likes flying ants, in which case let me have your address and I will send them on to you.
Away with you all now, get out into the fresh air and enjoy the summer but a word of warning to parents, when you go out to enjoy the day please leave a bowl of water and a dry biscuit in the cupboard under the stairs - you don't want Jocasta and Basil to feel unwanted do you?
Thursday 21 July 2011
The Big Boss
Hello Campers, hope your not getting rising damp with all this warm summer rain.
I was eating my breakfast this morning whilst listening to Charlie and Louise on BBC Breakfast, she was very chirpy and he was his usual arrogant self. They were talking about a new film with Jennifer Aniston about bad bosses and two thoughts went through my head, one was that I better avoid that film and the other was about the worst boss I had ever had.
I then thought, how many employees of Rupert Murdoch wish it was them who planted a custard pie in his face? Never mind they can join the queue of people waiting to stick the dagger in his back.
It reminds me of I Claudius, I initially thought Rupert would be Tiberius, old and perverted and fearful of assassination but then I recalled his son James sat at his side during those Select Committee hearings and realised he was more like Caligula - the Emperor who made his horse a senator - well Murdoch didn't make his horse a senator but he did promote a horses arse!
Over the course of many years I have lost count of the bosses I have worked for, but there are a few who still come to mind. There was the man who could never look you in the eye when he spoke - he would look up at the ceiling or out of the window as he told you how useless you were. He was the sort of boss who never offered praise he only ever spoke to you to tell you how bad you did the job. He was detested and I was told that one disgruntled staff member actually went to his office one night and crapped in the middle of his desk.
There was another boss who was renowned for his nasty streak, in fact the only thing he seemed to show affection for was his prize rubber tree plant. I was assured this story is true and that one day, whilst he was out of his office, someone went in and used a pocket knife to cut two thirds of the way through the stem of the plant and then made good his escape. It was two days later that the thing toppled over right in the middle of an important meeting.
I had my own run in with a certain man whose sense of humour had been surgically removed at birth. One day after a very angry run in with him I returned to the office I shared with many others and I saw the Pirelli calendar on the wall. Now this man had the habit of reading everything then adding his initials to show what a busy boy he was so I wrote on the calendar - 'there are some big tits in this calendar but none are as big as me' - I then signed his initials to it.
Everyone thought it was hilarious - except the man himself. He confiscated the calendar and demanded to know who had written the offending comment however on this occasion he was bettered by one of my work mates who reported the calendar stolen - it was quickly returned.
Mrs B and I once shared a certain female boss - she was bloody awful and we tried our best to avoid her at all costs. She once called me into the office to ask why Mrs B and I never joined the rest of the team when they went out for a drink - my response was "I'm paid to work with you, not to like you nor socialise with you". We never got asked again.
There was one boss who was very approachable and had this habit of asking if you had any ideas about how things could be improved. I decided one day to have a good rant about one aspect of the job and the boss listened, nodded and then said - OK, I'll put you in charge of it - sort it out!
All these years on and I still have not learnt to keep my mouth shut.
I had bosses who were always on the golf course or the snooker table or putting their wages into a fruit machine, I had bosses who tried to stop me and Mrs B from getting married and I had bosses who did all they could to make sure we could.
Of course now I am my own boss (unless Mrs B is at home) and nobody has to crap on the desk although I did once find crap under the desk - not sure of it was Jake or Danny!
OK, nothing more to see here - move along please.
I was eating my breakfast this morning whilst listening to Charlie and Louise on BBC Breakfast, she was very chirpy and he was his usual arrogant self. They were talking about a new film with Jennifer Aniston about bad bosses and two thoughts went through my head, one was that I better avoid that film and the other was about the worst boss I had ever had.
I then thought, how many employees of Rupert Murdoch wish it was them who planted a custard pie in his face? Never mind they can join the queue of people waiting to stick the dagger in his back.
It reminds me of I Claudius, I initially thought Rupert would be Tiberius, old and perverted and fearful of assassination but then I recalled his son James sat at his side during those Select Committee hearings and realised he was more like Caligula - the Emperor who made his horse a senator - well Murdoch didn't make his horse a senator but he did promote a horses arse!
Over the course of many years I have lost count of the bosses I have worked for, but there are a few who still come to mind. There was the man who could never look you in the eye when he spoke - he would look up at the ceiling or out of the window as he told you how useless you were. He was the sort of boss who never offered praise he only ever spoke to you to tell you how bad you did the job. He was detested and I was told that one disgruntled staff member actually went to his office one night and crapped in the middle of his desk.
There was another boss who was renowned for his nasty streak, in fact the only thing he seemed to show affection for was his prize rubber tree plant. I was assured this story is true and that one day, whilst he was out of his office, someone went in and used a pocket knife to cut two thirds of the way through the stem of the plant and then made good his escape. It was two days later that the thing toppled over right in the middle of an important meeting.
I had my own run in with a certain man whose sense of humour had been surgically removed at birth. One day after a very angry run in with him I returned to the office I shared with many others and I saw the Pirelli calendar on the wall. Now this man had the habit of reading everything then adding his initials to show what a busy boy he was so I wrote on the calendar - 'there are some big tits in this calendar but none are as big as me' - I then signed his initials to it.
Everyone thought it was hilarious - except the man himself. He confiscated the calendar and demanded to know who had written the offending comment however on this occasion he was bettered by one of my work mates who reported the calendar stolen - it was quickly returned.
Mrs B and I once shared a certain female boss - she was bloody awful and we tried our best to avoid her at all costs. She once called me into the office to ask why Mrs B and I never joined the rest of the team when they went out for a drink - my response was "I'm paid to work with you, not to like you nor socialise with you". We never got asked again.
There was one boss who was very approachable and had this habit of asking if you had any ideas about how things could be improved. I decided one day to have a good rant about one aspect of the job and the boss listened, nodded and then said - OK, I'll put you in charge of it - sort it out!
All these years on and I still have not learnt to keep my mouth shut.
I had bosses who were always on the golf course or the snooker table or putting their wages into a fruit machine, I had bosses who tried to stop me and Mrs B from getting married and I had bosses who did all they could to make sure we could.
Of course now I am my own boss (unless Mrs B is at home) and nobody has to crap on the desk although I did once find crap under the desk - not sure of it was Jake or Danny!
OK, nothing more to see here - move along please.
Saturday 16 July 2011
When Jehovah's Witnesses Attack!
A soggy Saturday here on the hill, the view a little obscured by the rain as it lashes down on a typically British summer day. How goes it with you?
It's been a few days since I last popped my head out of my shell, this is mainly due to work issues and to the fact that any spare time has been used wisely in watching or playing golf.
Some of you may already be aware of the fact that the other day I was conducting a funeral when the coffin was dropped - it was a disaster and very upsetting for the family and in all my time of doing this job this was the first and hopefully the last time this has happened.
It's human nature you see, put a step in the front of a chapel and someone is bound to trip up it - just a shame it had to be a pall bearer!
This was on Tuesday morning and I was still feeling a little stiff myself after playing golf on Monday afternoon, shooting an 86 and just pipping my playing partner securing for myself yet another victory over him - I think I must now truly be his nemesis on the golf course.
So, the week had started off well and then we had the unfortunate coffin calamity on Tuesday, on Wednesday as I was sat at home minding my own business, the doorbell rang. It was Janet and Sandra.
For those of you who might have forgotten, Janet and Sandra are the tame Jehovahs Witnesses that come every now and then to my door bringing news of god and his plan for the world - I have grown rather fond of them and we stand for ages talking about whatever topic is on the front of the Watchtower magazine that they thrust in my hand. There is a second magazine called Awake! - that's a little more trendy I think and the cross word is easier.
Janet and Sandra have always done their best to deliver unto me the word, they have always done so with respect and they are fully aware of my thoughts on religion but who knows, perhaps I am their punishment for being not very good at getting converts?
Over the years we have discussed creation, death and all stops in between...but this time something was different.
Sandra was talking about one of the articles entitled 'Life Without Suffering - When?' and it started a discussion about how some people are meant to suffer because of the poor choices they make and that it all started to go wrong fairly quickly for god when he gave Adam and Eve freedom to choose. He had given them a perfect place to live and only asked them one thing and they couldn't do it so they were chucked out on their ears, fig leaves and all, because of a choice they made.
I suggested that if god had not wanted us to make mistakes he would not have given us freedom of choice, it's like putting biscuits in front of a child and telling them they will never EVER be allowed to eat one. It's cruel...is god cruel I asked?
'Oh no, God expects us to obey' - came the reply. The Bible tells us and shows us how to live and if we obey the word we will have a life without suffering. Janet delivered these words with such passion and belief and I could see the power of Jehovah was strong in her this day!
Then Sandra picked up the message, and she shocked me when she said 'it's like those homosexuals who want to sleep with all those men, the Bible says its an abomination in the sight of God but they do it and that is why they suffer'.
My response was a little tame I think but I managed to say, 'I understand eating shellfish is also an abomination according to the Bible, so you really wouldn't be very considerate towards a gay shrimp would you'!
I thought humour might defuse the situation, but no, the power of the message was throbbing within her and she had to vent it all over the door mat!
We carried on talking, the ladies did not believe that being homosexual was anything other than a choice and we eventually arrived at the point in our conversation where Sandra said - 'it's not the person, it's the act that is evil but God punishes the person for the evil act'.
My next question was something like so, if you choose to be gay and then choose not to act on that choice by not engaging in sex that means you are not evil nor a sinner?
There was some brief contemplation before Sandra said, they will still be sinners because if they have those thoughts they might try and fight them but then again with that powerful an urge they might backslide...(very poor choice of words I thought).
Now I knew I had them! How can it be an urge and a choice?
I pointed out this discrepancy in their thinking and once again religion came to their rescue...god tests us, he will place a thought, a strong suggestion, an urge in our brain and give us freedom of thought to resist it.
My final effort was to say, if god was so upset about homosexuality why didn't he have an 11th commandment, 'thou shalt not be gay'? Or perhaps he thought it was covered in 'thou shalt not covert thy neighbours ass'.
I retained my temper with them, they think they are spreading the word as truth and they think they have no choice...that's why I dislike religion.
The ladies left the doorstep smiling, their work done. I closed the door and went back to watching Supernatural on the Sky+.
Well, I think it's time for a cup of tea and some muesli - I enjoy muesli even though in the Bible it says that mixing nuts, oats and fruit with milk is an abomination in the sight of the Lord - it may well be, but it's a very tasty abomination.
.
It's been a few days since I last popped my head out of my shell, this is mainly due to work issues and to the fact that any spare time has been used wisely in watching or playing golf.
Some of you may already be aware of the fact that the other day I was conducting a funeral when the coffin was dropped - it was a disaster and very upsetting for the family and in all my time of doing this job this was the first and hopefully the last time this has happened.
It's human nature you see, put a step in the front of a chapel and someone is bound to trip up it - just a shame it had to be a pall bearer!
This was on Tuesday morning and I was still feeling a little stiff myself after playing golf on Monday afternoon, shooting an 86 and just pipping my playing partner securing for myself yet another victory over him - I think I must now truly be his nemesis on the golf course.
So, the week had started off well and then we had the unfortunate coffin calamity on Tuesday, on Wednesday as I was sat at home minding my own business, the doorbell rang. It was Janet and Sandra.
For those of you who might have forgotten, Janet and Sandra are the tame Jehovahs Witnesses that come every now and then to my door bringing news of god and his plan for the world - I have grown rather fond of them and we stand for ages talking about whatever topic is on the front of the Watchtower magazine that they thrust in my hand. There is a second magazine called Awake! - that's a little more trendy I think and the cross word is easier.
Janet and Sandra have always done their best to deliver unto me the word, they have always done so with respect and they are fully aware of my thoughts on religion but who knows, perhaps I am their punishment for being not very good at getting converts?
Over the years we have discussed creation, death and all stops in between...but this time something was different.
Sandra was talking about one of the articles entitled 'Life Without Suffering - When?' and it started a discussion about how some people are meant to suffer because of the poor choices they make and that it all started to go wrong fairly quickly for god when he gave Adam and Eve freedom to choose. He had given them a perfect place to live and only asked them one thing and they couldn't do it so they were chucked out on their ears, fig leaves and all, because of a choice they made.
I suggested that if god had not wanted us to make mistakes he would not have given us freedom of choice, it's like putting biscuits in front of a child and telling them they will never EVER be allowed to eat one. It's cruel...is god cruel I asked?
'Oh no, God expects us to obey' - came the reply. The Bible tells us and shows us how to live and if we obey the word we will have a life without suffering. Janet delivered these words with such passion and belief and I could see the power of Jehovah was strong in her this day!
Then Sandra picked up the message, and she shocked me when she said 'it's like those homosexuals who want to sleep with all those men, the Bible says its an abomination in the sight of God but they do it and that is why they suffer'.
My response was a little tame I think but I managed to say, 'I understand eating shellfish is also an abomination according to the Bible, so you really wouldn't be very considerate towards a gay shrimp would you'!
I thought humour might defuse the situation, but no, the power of the message was throbbing within her and she had to vent it all over the door mat!
We carried on talking, the ladies did not believe that being homosexual was anything other than a choice and we eventually arrived at the point in our conversation where Sandra said - 'it's not the person, it's the act that is evil but God punishes the person for the evil act'.
My next question was something like so, if you choose to be gay and then choose not to act on that choice by not engaging in sex that means you are not evil nor a sinner?
There was some brief contemplation before Sandra said, they will still be sinners because if they have those thoughts they might try and fight them but then again with that powerful an urge they might backslide...(very poor choice of words I thought).
Now I knew I had them! How can it be an urge and a choice?
I pointed out this discrepancy in their thinking and once again religion came to their rescue...god tests us, he will place a thought, a strong suggestion, an urge in our brain and give us freedom of thought to resist it.
My final effort was to say, if god was so upset about homosexuality why didn't he have an 11th commandment, 'thou shalt not be gay'? Or perhaps he thought it was covered in 'thou shalt not covert thy neighbours ass'.
I retained my temper with them, they think they are spreading the word as truth and they think they have no choice...that's why I dislike religion.
The ladies left the doorstep smiling, their work done. I closed the door and went back to watching Supernatural on the Sky+.
Well, I think it's time for a cup of tea and some muesli - I enjoy muesli even though in the Bible it says that mixing nuts, oats and fruit with milk is an abomination in the sight of the Lord - it may well be, but it's a very tasty abomination.
.
Wednesday 6 July 2011
News of the News & Late News
Greetings and welcome, let me first of all promise not to hack into your phone. I can, with a clear conscience, state that the only hacking I have ever done is into a handkerchief during a very heavy cold.
When the news is full of news about how the news is made it begins to paint a very strange picture, like a hungry fish who suddenly finds something good to eat only to realise it is eating its own tail - it can't end well.
The News of the World is the most popular Sunday paper, selling about 3 million papers a month - it has seen its circulation drop considerably over the last ten years and this is probably why the staff there stoop as low as they have done - trying to get that scoop story that will stem the haemorrhage of customers.
If they want to listen in to the phone messages of soap stars or sportsmen or politicians to try and find some titillating story then it says something about the people they hope to sell to, as much as it says something about themselves. There is an appetite for gossip, there are many of us who secretly love to hear that someone has been naughty and better than that, they have been caught out.
I have previously written that we don't need a privacy law because if you have done nothing wrong then you have no secrets to be exposed, but now hearing about the hacking of victims families or even worse, of victims themselves - well perhaps I need to rethink my position.
The situation with the hacking of phones belonging to Milly Dowler and the Soham victims families should make us all ashamed. We allow this behaviour and we reward it by continuing to support the perpetrators - I would imagine that people will still be buying the paper this weekend.
Journalists should investigate, but they should have regard for the law of the land and also show some common decency.
As an aside, I don't care if Clarence Mitchell was hacked, the worst we might have heard is him talking to Mr or Mrs McCann about how they can rebuild their image.
It seems there are still greater depths to sink to - the families of the victims of the London Bombing also seem to have been targeted, their phone numbers more than likely sold to the News of the World by corrupt and greedy police officers - the same police who are investigating the phone hacking!
Andy Coulson has been thrown to the wolves by his old employers but Rebekah Brooks hangs on for grim death to the coat tails of Rupert Murdoch, hoping to ride the storm - but surely, she has to go?
Well that's enough about the news now let me change tack and tell you a story....
On Monday I had a funeral service to conduct at Mansfield crematorium, it was at 10:45am so I arrived at 10:15am. I walked around to the chapel where the 10am funeral was in full swing. It was being led by a man I had not seen before, dressed in a scruffy ill fitting blue suit, he appeared to be a Humanist celebrant.
The ceremony ended and he emerged, and when the mourners had dispersed he left without exchanging any greeting, even though I was trying to make myself known to him.
Yesterday I returned to Mansfield Crematorium to officiate at the 10am funeral - I arrived at 9:30am and got all my papers ready and set up on the lectern - you see I always like to arrive half an hour before a ceremony and prepare properly.
At 9:50am, the man in the scruffy blue suit appeared - he again ignored me, walked past me to the lectern and started to check my papers. I said, "Have we double booked"? He ignored me for a while before saying, "I'm here for the ten o'clock". "I think not", said I and after a few more terse words were exchanged, he checked his diary only to then turn into Homer Simpson. He slapped his hand to his forehead and said " I'm in the wrong place!"
Doh!
The man hurried away and we still have yet to be formally introduced - but I already know I don't like him.
Somewhere a family was waiting for a 10am funeral - no doubt they had to wait longer than they expected.
Anyhoo, it has been two years since I started blogging and it would seem I show little signs of giving up - so that's the news...
...and this is The View From The Hill.
When the news is full of news about how the news is made it begins to paint a very strange picture, like a hungry fish who suddenly finds something good to eat only to realise it is eating its own tail - it can't end well.
The News of the World is the most popular Sunday paper, selling about 3 million papers a month - it has seen its circulation drop considerably over the last ten years and this is probably why the staff there stoop as low as they have done - trying to get that scoop story that will stem the haemorrhage of customers.
If they want to listen in to the phone messages of soap stars or sportsmen or politicians to try and find some titillating story then it says something about the people they hope to sell to, as much as it says something about themselves. There is an appetite for gossip, there are many of us who secretly love to hear that someone has been naughty and better than that, they have been caught out.
I have previously written that we don't need a privacy law because if you have done nothing wrong then you have no secrets to be exposed, but now hearing about the hacking of victims families or even worse, of victims themselves - well perhaps I need to rethink my position.
The situation with the hacking of phones belonging to Milly Dowler and the Soham victims families should make us all ashamed. We allow this behaviour and we reward it by continuing to support the perpetrators - I would imagine that people will still be buying the paper this weekend.
Journalists should investigate, but they should have regard for the law of the land and also show some common decency.
As an aside, I don't care if Clarence Mitchell was hacked, the worst we might have heard is him talking to Mr or Mrs McCann about how they can rebuild their image.
It seems there are still greater depths to sink to - the families of the victims of the London Bombing also seem to have been targeted, their phone numbers more than likely sold to the News of the World by corrupt and greedy police officers - the same police who are investigating the phone hacking!
Andy Coulson has been thrown to the wolves by his old employers but Rebekah Brooks hangs on for grim death to the coat tails of Rupert Murdoch, hoping to ride the storm - but surely, she has to go?
Well that's enough about the news now let me change tack and tell you a story....
On Monday I had a funeral service to conduct at Mansfield crematorium, it was at 10:45am so I arrived at 10:15am. I walked around to the chapel where the 10am funeral was in full swing. It was being led by a man I had not seen before, dressed in a scruffy ill fitting blue suit, he appeared to be a Humanist celebrant.
The ceremony ended and he emerged, and when the mourners had dispersed he left without exchanging any greeting, even though I was trying to make myself known to him.
Yesterday I returned to Mansfield Crematorium to officiate at the 10am funeral - I arrived at 9:30am and got all my papers ready and set up on the lectern - you see I always like to arrive half an hour before a ceremony and prepare properly.
At 9:50am, the man in the scruffy blue suit appeared - he again ignored me, walked past me to the lectern and started to check my papers. I said, "Have we double booked"? He ignored me for a while before saying, "I'm here for the ten o'clock". "I think not", said I and after a few more terse words were exchanged, he checked his diary only to then turn into Homer Simpson. He slapped his hand to his forehead and said " I'm in the wrong place!"
Doh!
The man hurried away and we still have yet to be formally introduced - but I already know I don't like him.
Somewhere a family was waiting for a 10am funeral - no doubt they had to wait longer than they expected.
Anyhoo, it has been two years since I started blogging and it would seem I show little signs of giving up - so that's the news...
...and this is The View From The Hill.
Saturday 25 June 2011
Catching Up
Hello again, sorry to trouble you but I just wanted to share with you all how life has treated The Guru since we last spoke.
This time last week Mrs B and I were in London, having travelled down on the Friday very early as Mrs B was on a course which started at 10am in Islington. We had booked tickets on the 6.48am train from Nottingham which should have brought us safely into St Pancras for about 8.30am but, you guessed it, the train was late. We arrived at 9am and then found a taxi which took us to Mrs B's destination. We got there with a few minutes to spare. The course was on filial therapy and Mrs B is now throughly au fait with the whole thing and will be spreading the gospel back at her place of work.
Now whilst Mrs B was soaking up all this new knowledge I decided to soak up some culture and I determined to visit a couple of places I had never been before - the first being The British Museum.
So, on the Friday morning, after depositing our cases at the hotel, I walked from Islington to Great Russell Street in Bloomsbury and stood in front of that massive and impressive facade - I had to stand for a while as the forty minute walk had left me a little tired plus you couldn't move for Japanese tourists.
You could say it was like a tidal wave of tourists or even a tsunami, but that would be in bad taste so I won't.
Once inside, I managed to fight my way to the information desk to ask advice as to the best way to navigate the various collections, the very charming and helpful young man behind the counter said "my advice Sir, is to buy the audio guide and then avoid everywhere it tells you to go". I took his advice and spent the next three hours having a good old poke around the place.
One of the most famous exhibits is the Rosetta Stone and I did eventually get near enough to see it, but I enjoyed seeing the Lewis Chessmen, the Sutton Hoo treasure and many other artefacts, some that had even been found quite near my home on the hill...
Anyway, the concert was fabulous except for the moment when Rumer screwed up her words singing We Have All The Time In The World - she may have had the time, but not the timing!
The show ended with Dame Shirl belting out Goldfinger and it was one of those never to be forgotten moments, and I was there!
Later in the week we travelled to Wales and had a nice time visiting Cardiff, we did all the tourist things and went to look for Torchwood but in a week of memories, which included the 27th celebration of our wedding day, Mrs B and I have showed you all that life is something we should strive to enjoy and in that enjoyment is produced the magic of moments which we can pack away in our memory forever...the highlight of highlights was meeting Angelina, she is beautiful and talented and to think she took the time to pose for a photo with me - let me show you what a real super star is....
This time last week Mrs B and I were in London, having travelled down on the Friday very early as Mrs B was on a course which started at 10am in Islington. We had booked tickets on the 6.48am train from Nottingham which should have brought us safely into St Pancras for about 8.30am but, you guessed it, the train was late. We arrived at 9am and then found a taxi which took us to Mrs B's destination. We got there with a few minutes to spare. The course was on filial therapy and Mrs B is now throughly au fait with the whole thing and will be spreading the gospel back at her place of work.
Now whilst Mrs B was soaking up all this new knowledge I decided to soak up some culture and I determined to visit a couple of places I had never been before - the first being The British Museum.
So, on the Friday morning, after depositing our cases at the hotel, I walked from Islington to Great Russell Street in Bloomsbury and stood in front of that massive and impressive facade - I had to stand for a while as the forty minute walk had left me a little tired plus you couldn't move for Japanese tourists.
 |
| The British Museum - with a few Japanese stragglers |
You could say it was like a tidal wave of tourists or even a tsunami, but that would be in bad taste so I won't.
Once inside, I managed to fight my way to the information desk to ask advice as to the best way to navigate the various collections, the very charming and helpful young man behind the counter said "my advice Sir, is to buy the audio guide and then avoid everywhere it tells you to go". I took his advice and spent the next three hours having a good old poke around the place.
One of the most famous exhibits is the Rosetta Stone and I did eventually get near enough to see it, but I enjoyed seeing the Lewis Chessmen, the Sutton Hoo treasure and many other artefacts, some that had even been found quite near my home on the hill...
 |
| Newark Torc |
The beautiful torc, found near Newark, looks very similar to some jewellery Mrs B lost on a shopping trip and I asked if it could be returned but the security guard declined.
Anyway, I enjoyed my little look around the museum, I want to go to the Natural History Museum next time.
In the evening, after collecting Mrs B, we met up with the Dog Daughter, her fiance and mother - and together we strolled through the West End on a very wet evening but you could hear laughter in the rain as we went looking for somewhere to grab a bite to eat. We managed to get a table in Jamie Oliver's restaurant, even thought there were massive queues - thanks to having an inside man! I don't want to blow his cover so we will call him 'Don'.
 |
| Don |
We had a great meal, we had a great waiter and we had a great time and it certainly was a highlight of the trip.
The next day, Mrs B returned to her course and I returned to street walking - well London is a city for walking - I didn't have much choice actually as the Tube was in pieces that day!
I did manage to get as far as Oxford Circus before it broke and then walked down to Trafalgar Square where I had a date to meet one of the stars appearing in West End Live. I was a little nervous about meeting such a world famous lady but when the time came Angelina put me at my ease, she gave me a little kiss and a cuddle and proved to me that she was a complete star - I will be her biggest fan forever, we even had our photo taken and I will show it to you at the end of the blog, a treasured possession.
I then walked around the tourist infested heart of Westminster, Houses of Parliament, South Bank and so on and returned for a quick lie down before the evening session - which entailed going to the Gielgud Theatre to see Lend Me A Tenor - The Musical.
It was brilliant, an old fashioned farce with songs and tap dancing and camp as a camping festival in camp land.
Matthew Kelly was probably the only well known cast member but to regular theatre goers, the name Joanna Riding assured quality - we laughed a great deal and I cannot wait for the cast album to come out. As an aside, Connor Mcallister is in the show, a friend of the Dog Daughter from her panto days - he's a ray of sunshine and quite obviously enjoying working in the show far too much!
Goodness, this is a long blog - perhaps we should have a break for a cup of tea?
Before we do though, let me tell you that London at night is a scary place - the Gielgud Theatre is right on the edge of Soho and I'm telling you the sights you see down there are amazing! There were more people there in one night than I see in Mansfield in a week! And there was no fighting, no swearing just people having a good time, and we joined in.
So that was London, we returned to the ashram - but only for one day because on the Monday we returned to see the John Barry Memorial Concert at the Royal Albert Hall.
This middle class life is wonderful and I hope you poor people are enjoying hearing about how we live our lives whilst you queue up for your out of date humous at Tesco.
We ate an exquisite meal in the restaurant before strolling to our seats and with great anticipation awaited the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, David Arnold, Dame Shirley Bassey, Alfie Boe, Rumer, Sir Michael Caine, Sir George Martin and the brilliant music of John Barry. Sadly, Mr Boe was ill and he was replaced by the 'Go Compare' guy...no comparison.
Now this was an evening of legends and it was very nice to find sitting next to us Sir Peter Blake and his very pleasant and chatty wife. If you don't know who Sir Peter Blake is shame on you!
I'll give you a clue...
Anyway, the concert was fabulous except for the moment when Rumer screwed up her words singing We Have All The Time In The World - she may have had the time, but not the timing!
The show ended with Dame Shirl belting out Goldfinger and it was one of those never to be forgotten moments, and I was there!
Later in the week we travelled to Wales and had a nice time visiting Cardiff, we did all the tourist things and went to look for Torchwood but in a week of memories, which included the 27th celebration of our wedding day, Mrs B and I have showed you all that life is something we should strive to enjoy and in that enjoyment is produced the magic of moments which we can pack away in our memory forever...the highlight of highlights was meeting Angelina, she is beautiful and talented and to think she took the time to pose for a photo with me - let me show you what a real super star is....
Wednesday 15 June 2011
Wednesday Waffle
Good morning my small but loyal band of followers - I hope the world finds you happy and full of love.
It's Wednesday, which in Mansfield means Chad Day, we get our weekly local newspaper.
No doubt one of the big stories will be the elevation of our humble MP, Alan Meale, to the rank of knight of the realm - Sir Alan Meale. I don't suppose the Chad will be able to report verbatim the wide range of responses to this news, because some of the words and phrases that were scattered among the Facebook and Twitter pages were less than happy and polite about this state of affairs.
I liked this comment, expressed on Twitter with the usual forthrightness of Mansfield folk:
"My local MP, Alan Meale, has received a knighthood, presumably for services to being a fat useless greedy toadying cunt". Chris @seismicshed Mansfield, UK
There were some rather negative comments about a life long socialist accepting the honour, class traitor, champagne socialist etc etc. There again, as a long time mate of John Prescott, sorry Lord Prescott, he must have thought what's good for the goose is good for the gander.
There were some whose comments reminded us about the allegations over his expenses; perhaps he got the award for services to garden sheds or garden centres and the like - here is the link to the telegraph article if you were not aware of the story:
Telegraph - Alan Meale
He ended up repaying more than £11,000 to the tax payer - but it was all a mistake I'm sure and in no way impugned his status as a man of the people, one of us - did it Sir Alan?
I have yet to meet or speak to anyone who has been positive about this honour and I have no doubt that he will sell it as being for the people of Mansfield - load of rubbish!
I don't mind if Brucie gets his knighthood, he has at least added something to the gaiety of the nation, and I don't mind the lollipop lady getting her MBE for throwing children across the road for 87 years, but when public servants are rewarded for doing their job, it really sticks in my throat.
They get paid a very good wage, they have a very generous pension provision and then they expect some gong or other status lift that will enable them to feel just that little bit more special than the people who elected them.
I'm not a socialist, but I think that a truly meritocratic system should reward all equally for the service they offer - so why not see Dame Elsie Lollipop Lady and Alan Meale MBE?
You chose to enter politics, you get paid for it, you get expenses, you get a pension - why do you need or deserve a knighthood or elevation to the Lords?
Anyway, moving on, I shall await the coverage and no doubt report back - likewise I await the coverage of the 'I Love Mansfield' campaign.
I have been negative in my responses to this campaign and some have asked why - well it's simple, I don't love Mansfield. I live here, I work here, I occasionally shop here but I don't love the place.
I think some of the people who live here are brilliant, strong minded, down to earth, refreshing in their take on life - but that's the people not the place.
I want to see a campaign that tackles the apathy of some in the community, that shows them that they can aspire to something better - and that something better could be built in Mansfield.
I best not go on about it as it upsets people but it is my honest opinion that any campaign to improve a town or part thereof, that does not tackle to needs of the inhabitants directly, will not have the desired result. Perhaps I will be proved wrong.
I must away now, my application to become a People's Peer has arrived - Lord High Guru of The Hill, sounds OK doesn't it?
It's Wednesday, which in Mansfield means Chad Day, we get our weekly local newspaper.
No doubt one of the big stories will be the elevation of our humble MP, Alan Meale, to the rank of knight of the realm - Sir Alan Meale. I don't suppose the Chad will be able to report verbatim the wide range of responses to this news, because some of the words and phrases that were scattered among the Facebook and Twitter pages were less than happy and polite about this state of affairs.
I liked this comment, expressed on Twitter with the usual forthrightness of Mansfield folk:
"My local MP, Alan Meale, has received a knighthood, presumably for services to being a fat useless greedy toadying cunt". Chris @seismicshed Mansfield, UK
There were some rather negative comments about a life long socialist accepting the honour, class traitor, champagne socialist etc etc. There again, as a long time mate of John Prescott, sorry Lord Prescott, he must have thought what's good for the goose is good for the gander.
There were some whose comments reminded us about the allegations over his expenses; perhaps he got the award for services to garden sheds or garden centres and the like - here is the link to the telegraph article if you were not aware of the story:
Telegraph - Alan Meale
He ended up repaying more than £11,000 to the tax payer - but it was all a mistake I'm sure and in no way impugned his status as a man of the people, one of us - did it Sir Alan?
I have yet to meet or speak to anyone who has been positive about this honour and I have no doubt that he will sell it as being for the people of Mansfield - load of rubbish!
I don't mind if Brucie gets his knighthood, he has at least added something to the gaiety of the nation, and I don't mind the lollipop lady getting her MBE for throwing children across the road for 87 years, but when public servants are rewarded for doing their job, it really sticks in my throat.
They get paid a very good wage, they have a very generous pension provision and then they expect some gong or other status lift that will enable them to feel just that little bit more special than the people who elected them.
I'm not a socialist, but I think that a truly meritocratic system should reward all equally for the service they offer - so why not see Dame Elsie Lollipop Lady and Alan Meale MBE?
You chose to enter politics, you get paid for it, you get expenses, you get a pension - why do you need or deserve a knighthood or elevation to the Lords?
Anyway, moving on, I shall await the coverage and no doubt report back - likewise I await the coverage of the 'I Love Mansfield' campaign.
I have been negative in my responses to this campaign and some have asked why - well it's simple, I don't love Mansfield. I live here, I work here, I occasionally shop here but I don't love the place.
I think some of the people who live here are brilliant, strong minded, down to earth, refreshing in their take on life - but that's the people not the place.
I want to see a campaign that tackles the apathy of some in the community, that shows them that they can aspire to something better - and that something better could be built in Mansfield.
I best not go on about it as it upsets people but it is my honest opinion that any campaign to improve a town or part thereof, that does not tackle to needs of the inhabitants directly, will not have the desired result. Perhaps I will be proved wrong.
I must away now, my application to become a People's Peer has arrived - Lord High Guru of The Hill, sounds OK doesn't it?
Friday 10 June 2011
I'm Neither A Lady Nor A Tramp
Even though I do get too hungry to wait for dinner at eight, I love the theatre and I never get there late, I never really bother with people I dislike, I am a gentleman of high moral fibre. Do you think it would make a nice song lyric?
What's he on about now you all cry?
Theatre darling, theatre!
You know that Mrs B and I are real culture vultures, as I type this I have just booked tickets to see the John Wilson Orchestra at the Royal Centre in Nottingham later this year, in the pipeline we have tickets for John Barrowman, the John Barry memorial concert at The Albert Hall, we hope to see Lend Me A Tenor in the West End in a couple of weeks time, tickets are secured for Sweeney Todd at The Chichester Festival and already this week we saw Michael Ball at the Concert Hall in Nottingham.
I'm sure there are many in Mansfield, and other areas, who are not fortunate enough to have the resources which allows this degree of theatrical attendance, but I'm also sure that most live within reach of a local theatre group and this morning I want to motivate you all to find a local theatre group, see what they are doing and go treat yourselves to a night in the theatre - it's cheaper than the cinema!
Last night I paid my £6.50 and joined an almost capacity audience at my local theatre in Mansfield, The Palace. The play was Brassed Off and the cast was made up of members of the local community - some of whom I had acted with myself on many occasions.
With wonderful support from the Newstead Brass Band, the actors told the story of a community dealing with loss - the closure of the pit, the impact on family life and on individual self esteem.
It was a very rewarding experience and the play was a perfect choice for Mansfield, a town which has its own scars from the destruction and decline of the mining industry. The message of the piece resonated loud and clear for the audience who were all drawn into the story of the Grimley Brass Band and the community it came to represent.
Of course many would have seen the iconic portrayal of this story in the 1996 movie version which starred the late and very talented Pete Postlethwaite, but even if you had seen that film it didn't take long for this play and the characters within it to assert themselves. This was honest and straightforward story telling, done with great passion and skill.
I'm not going to try and tell you that everything was pitch perfect but that doesn't matter - the whole cast and crew produced something wonderful out of their combined efforts.
The idea that a community pulling together can in some way reestablish some sense of local pride not only inhabited the plot but the people who told the story - it was a very moving thing to witness.
It was good fun too, there were lots of 'laugh out loud' moments and then we had the beautiful music which heightened the sense of time and place, the Newstead Brass Band did themselves no disservice and may well win new fans.
Brassed Off is gritty, the language is the language of the man in the street, the people we see are all recognisable as our neighbours and work mates. The actors playing the roles ARE our neighbours and work mates - this is why I could sit through the play again and again, it was real.
I know that some of the actors feel they could have been better, they have said as much in their Facebook postings, but this is one time when being human and not being perfect actually was, well about as good as you can get. I can't tell you who was good and who was bad - I can only tell you the whole thing was bloody marvellous!
I can only hope that the level of customer satisfaction I got for my £6.50 will be repeated in the more expensive tickets that I have purchased - but I doubt it. I will enjoy all the shows in their own way but I don't think I will leave any of the venues with the same level of joy as I felt last night in Mansfield.
What's he on about now you all cry?
Theatre darling, theatre!
You know that Mrs B and I are real culture vultures, as I type this I have just booked tickets to see the John Wilson Orchestra at the Royal Centre in Nottingham later this year, in the pipeline we have tickets for John Barrowman, the John Barry memorial concert at The Albert Hall, we hope to see Lend Me A Tenor in the West End in a couple of weeks time, tickets are secured for Sweeney Todd at The Chichester Festival and already this week we saw Michael Ball at the Concert Hall in Nottingham.
I'm sure there are many in Mansfield, and other areas, who are not fortunate enough to have the resources which allows this degree of theatrical attendance, but I'm also sure that most live within reach of a local theatre group and this morning I want to motivate you all to find a local theatre group, see what they are doing and go treat yourselves to a night in the theatre - it's cheaper than the cinema!
Last night I paid my £6.50 and joined an almost capacity audience at my local theatre in Mansfield, The Palace. The play was Brassed Off and the cast was made up of members of the local community - some of whom I had acted with myself on many occasions.
With wonderful support from the Newstead Brass Band, the actors told the story of a community dealing with loss - the closure of the pit, the impact on family life and on individual self esteem.
It was a very rewarding experience and the play was a perfect choice for Mansfield, a town which has its own scars from the destruction and decline of the mining industry. The message of the piece resonated loud and clear for the audience who were all drawn into the story of the Grimley Brass Band and the community it came to represent.
Of course many would have seen the iconic portrayal of this story in the 1996 movie version which starred the late and very talented Pete Postlethwaite, but even if you had seen that film it didn't take long for this play and the characters within it to assert themselves. This was honest and straightforward story telling, done with great passion and skill.
I'm not going to try and tell you that everything was pitch perfect but that doesn't matter - the whole cast and crew produced something wonderful out of their combined efforts.
The idea that a community pulling together can in some way reestablish some sense of local pride not only inhabited the plot but the people who told the story - it was a very moving thing to witness.
It was good fun too, there were lots of 'laugh out loud' moments and then we had the beautiful music which heightened the sense of time and place, the Newstead Brass Band did themselves no disservice and may well win new fans.
Brassed Off is gritty, the language is the language of the man in the street, the people we see are all recognisable as our neighbours and work mates. The actors playing the roles ARE our neighbours and work mates - this is why I could sit through the play again and again, it was real.
I know that some of the actors feel they could have been better, they have said as much in their Facebook postings, but this is one time when being human and not being perfect actually was, well about as good as you can get. I can't tell you who was good and who was bad - I can only tell you the whole thing was bloody marvellous!
I can only hope that the level of customer satisfaction I got for my £6.50 will be repeated in the more expensive tickets that I have purchased - but I doubt it. I will enjoy all the shows in their own way but I don't think I will leave any of the venues with the same level of joy as I felt last night in Mansfield.
Sunday 5 June 2011
This blog comes to you courtesy of Aspirin.
Hello and greetings to my coterie of confidantes, may I whisper in your ear?
I went to my bed feeling quite happy after seeing the dreams and plans of Simon Cowell swallowed up by the great British public and spat out all over the shiny suits and designer dresses that surrounded him on the BGT judges panel. They got it wrong and then in the height of ungraciousness they basically told the world we got it wrong! Amanda Holden couldn't wait to say out loud, Ronan should have won...even Ant and Dec had a little dig at poor old Jai.
I have said it before and I will say it again, if you want to make cash from punters voting don't be surprised if they sometimes remind you whose money it is.
I'm sure Ronan will find himself well looked after and poor Jai will have his day in the sun before joining Joe McElderry, Leon Jackson, Shayne Ward, Michelle McManus and countless others who the fickle British public loved for a little while before something shiny in the corner of the room took our attention and we forgot they ever existed.
Just as an aside, I'm probably the only one who remembers Ron Ely as Tarzan on the telly, but wasn't the little boy he worked with called Jai? I wonder if it is the same boy?
So, that was a nice end to a bad day, bad because I had one of my bouts of heart burn which really knocks the stuffing out of you.
Not being dead after my heart attack left me with a handful of medication that I have to take each day - I'm not alone in this I know, with pills for blood pressure and cholesterol and other things - six tablets a day including the dreaded aspirin.
I have a very delicate tummy and the aspirin irritates it quite badly and causes severe heart burn which is treated by one of the other six tablets I take, but occasionally the tablet seems to give up and the acid wins - the result is not good.
I'm sure that Simon Cowell has a similar feeling this morning....
You really have to be careful what you eat during such a bout but you know you have to eat so that the acid has something to work on other than your gullet. Dry bread with some wafer thin chicken - I really could have murdered a Rich Tea cream finger.
Anyway, feeling much better today, no butter on my crumpets and an extra cup of tea to help dilute the aspirin and let's keep our fingers crossed that it was a one day excursion into the ocean of pain, not the full cruise.
It is on days like today that I reflect how not being dead is quite good, but not as good as being alive - there is a difference.
In recent days some of my associates have been writing about milestone birthdays and how they want to set themselves goals and aim for new targets in their life - I used to think like that but now I think life is to short and unpredictable to be planned in that way - I just want to enjoy each day as best I can. I don't want to set myself up to fail and I don't want to put extra pressure on myself - we are like little fluffy ducklings on the tide of fate - we control so little of our lives that we should embrace where we are and who we are and then the next day do the same. You can maybe swim a little against the tide but be ready to say, OK - I'm here am I - what can I do here?
I still think we should have dreams and we should aspire to those dreams, like Jai, but most of us will be like Ronan, we will fall short and we should take the medicine, accept the occasional bout of pain and move on.
Now, go and have a nice day and remember this:
Life is occupied in both perpetuating itself and in surpassing itself. If all it does is maintain itself, then living is only not dying.
- Simone de Beauvoir
I went to my bed feeling quite happy after seeing the dreams and plans of Simon Cowell swallowed up by the great British public and spat out all over the shiny suits and designer dresses that surrounded him on the BGT judges panel. They got it wrong and then in the height of ungraciousness they basically told the world we got it wrong! Amanda Holden couldn't wait to say out loud, Ronan should have won...even Ant and Dec had a little dig at poor old Jai.
I have said it before and I will say it again, if you want to make cash from punters voting don't be surprised if they sometimes remind you whose money it is.
I'm sure Ronan will find himself well looked after and poor Jai will have his day in the sun before joining Joe McElderry, Leon Jackson, Shayne Ward, Michelle McManus and countless others who the fickle British public loved for a little while before something shiny in the corner of the room took our attention and we forgot they ever existed.
Just as an aside, I'm probably the only one who remembers Ron Ely as Tarzan on the telly, but wasn't the little boy he worked with called Jai? I wonder if it is the same boy?
So, that was a nice end to a bad day, bad because I had one of my bouts of heart burn which really knocks the stuffing out of you.
Not being dead after my heart attack left me with a handful of medication that I have to take each day - I'm not alone in this I know, with pills for blood pressure and cholesterol and other things - six tablets a day including the dreaded aspirin.
I have a very delicate tummy and the aspirin irritates it quite badly and causes severe heart burn which is treated by one of the other six tablets I take, but occasionally the tablet seems to give up and the acid wins - the result is not good.
I'm sure that Simon Cowell has a similar feeling this morning....
You really have to be careful what you eat during such a bout but you know you have to eat so that the acid has something to work on other than your gullet. Dry bread with some wafer thin chicken - I really could have murdered a Rich Tea cream finger.
Anyway, feeling much better today, no butter on my crumpets and an extra cup of tea to help dilute the aspirin and let's keep our fingers crossed that it was a one day excursion into the ocean of pain, not the full cruise.
It is on days like today that I reflect how not being dead is quite good, but not as good as being alive - there is a difference.
In recent days some of my associates have been writing about milestone birthdays and how they want to set themselves goals and aim for new targets in their life - I used to think like that but now I think life is to short and unpredictable to be planned in that way - I just want to enjoy each day as best I can. I don't want to set myself up to fail and I don't want to put extra pressure on myself - we are like little fluffy ducklings on the tide of fate - we control so little of our lives that we should embrace where we are and who we are and then the next day do the same. You can maybe swim a little against the tide but be ready to say, OK - I'm here am I - what can I do here?
I still think we should have dreams and we should aspire to those dreams, like Jai, but most of us will be like Ronan, we will fall short and we should take the medicine, accept the occasional bout of pain and move on.
Now, go and have a nice day and remember this:
Life is occupied in both perpetuating itself and in surpassing itself. If all it does is maintain itself, then living is only not dying.
- Simone de Beauvoir
Thursday 26 May 2011
525600 Minutes...
...give or take a few. That's how long it has been since Jake left us.
He is missed everyday, like his brother, and although it saddens the heart to realise just how long he's been gone, the memories Mrs B and I have of him bring a smile.
How can we ever forget that day we walked into the kitchen to find him standing in the middle of the kitchen table, gently picking grapes out of the fruit bowl and devouring the lot!
He was a special part of our lives and we are so grateful for both him and Danny deciding to let us share their house!
Mrs B and I are heading off for a few days, to recall the brightness of the past.
Thanks Jake.
We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle; easily and often breached.
Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way.
We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.
Irving Townsend
He is missed everyday, like his brother, and although it saddens the heart to realise just how long he's been gone, the memories Mrs B and I have of him bring a smile.
How can we ever forget that day we walked into the kitchen to find him standing in the middle of the kitchen table, gently picking grapes out of the fruit bowl and devouring the lot!
He was a special part of our lives and we are so grateful for both him and Danny deciding to let us share their house!
Mrs B and I are heading off for a few days, to recall the brightness of the past.
Thanks Jake.
 |
| The Old Man |
 |
| Young and Daft |
We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle; easily and often breached.
Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way.
We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.
Irving Townsend
Sunday 22 May 2011
Respect for the Law
Here we are again my little flockers, it's Sunday afternoon and it is very blustery here on top of the hill, I fully expected to see a piglet tied to a balloon go flying past.
I just wanted to intrude into your sad lives for a moment to deliver a shaft of pure insight from the beautifully calibrated machine that is the Guru's brain; super-injunctions don't work very well!
There is a huge amount of digital chatter about the not so secret identity of a certain footballer who can't keep his knob in his shorts, I'm not going to name him here because there is no need, the gigs up on that. One Scottish newspaper has even put his face on the front page of their paper.
Many normal everyday citizens have taken the time to find out who he is by accessing Facebook or Twitter or by just typing 'Imogen' into Google and seeing the list of possible suggestions.
The simple fact is that now the cat is out of the bag it really does undermine the law being used to try and gig...sorry gag freedom of speech.
Any decent law only works because it is accepted by the majority and it is open to all but of course this sort of law is not open to all, just those with deep pockets. This law, as Charles Dickens put it so succinctly, is a ass!
This is a law that is being used by rich and powerful men to cover up shameful acts, which they claim are private and that the exposure of said acts would cause harm to their families...the same families they disrespected and harmed by committing the act in the first place!
This is a law that is supposed to stop the exchange of information about celebrities who court the media and sell stories and allow access to photograph the wedding but then they want to pull up the drawbridge if it might seem a story will show they are not as perfect as they try and make out.
I can see the purpose in having a law that protects privacy when it comes to medical conditions for example or for matters where national security is an issue and even to protect people who through no fault of their own are thrust into the media spotlight, but basically the general populace share so much of their lives on social networks sites these days that the idea of a privacy law seems totally ludicrous and unnecessary for the majority of us non celeb types - and a law for the minority who can afford it is a law I have little, if any respect for.
So, my little gang of giggling googlers - when the summons arrives on your doorstep because you might have tweeted the name of a knob, let me know and I'll arrange the protest march.
Now back to your Sunday afternoon - Songs of Praise, a glass of sherry and then Bafta.
PS...
The press should really play their part by acting responsibly - but of course they only publish garbage because you like to read it. Hence, your presence here.
I just wanted to intrude into your sad lives for a moment to deliver a shaft of pure insight from the beautifully calibrated machine that is the Guru's brain; super-injunctions don't work very well!
There is a huge amount of digital chatter about the not so secret identity of a certain footballer who can't keep his knob in his shorts, I'm not going to name him here because there is no need, the gigs up on that. One Scottish newspaper has even put his face on the front page of their paper.
Many normal everyday citizens have taken the time to find out who he is by accessing Facebook or Twitter or by just typing 'Imogen' into Google and seeing the list of possible suggestions.
The simple fact is that now the cat is out of the bag it really does undermine the law being used to try and gig...sorry gag freedom of speech.
Any decent law only works because it is accepted by the majority and it is open to all but of course this sort of law is not open to all, just those with deep pockets. This law, as Charles Dickens put it so succinctly, is a ass!
This is a law that is being used by rich and powerful men to cover up shameful acts, which they claim are private and that the exposure of said acts would cause harm to their families...the same families they disrespected and harmed by committing the act in the first place!
This is a law that is supposed to stop the exchange of information about celebrities who court the media and sell stories and allow access to photograph the wedding but then they want to pull up the drawbridge if it might seem a story will show they are not as perfect as they try and make out.
I can see the purpose in having a law that protects privacy when it comes to medical conditions for example or for matters where national security is an issue and even to protect people who through no fault of their own are thrust into the media spotlight, but basically the general populace share so much of their lives on social networks sites these days that the idea of a privacy law seems totally ludicrous and unnecessary for the majority of us non celeb types - and a law for the minority who can afford it is a law I have little, if any respect for.
So, my little gang of giggling googlers - when the summons arrives on your doorstep because you might have tweeted the name of a knob, let me know and I'll arrange the protest march.
Now back to your Sunday afternoon - Songs of Praise, a glass of sherry and then Bafta.
PS...
The press should really play their part by acting responsibly - but of course they only publish garbage because you like to read it. Hence, your presence here.
Saturday 14 May 2011
When is a book not a book?
Answer - when it's the Bible.
It's been a strange week my children, strange and quiet. Mrs B was in Spain for a few days, tracking down Nazi war criminals which is a hobby she picked up when she got fed up of knitting.
Now to more serious matters, the week started with a discussion on the telly about the value of the Bible, and it still makes me laugh and cry in equal measures that some people take the words written in that book as an absolute truth.
For me the Bible is a collection of stories, all written by different hands, which makes it an ideal source for quoting odd lines that seem to back up how we feel about different things. Does that make sense?
Let me expand - Mansfield is a place full of tension at the moment as a young local man was murdered last week and the alleged offenders are Eastern European immigrants. The outpouring of hatred towards them on a Facebook site was quite sickening. Ignorance, anger and threats of revenge and at one point we had the usual Biblical quote used to excuse this attitude - 'an eye for an eye'.
My guess would be that if you asked the contributor of those five words which book of the Bible they were taken from, or even to expand the quote, they would not have been able to answer.
They also forget that elsewhere in the Bible the main man, Mr Jesus, rejects this quote and offers instead this advice 'If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also'.
There are also many who have offered their own take on 'an eye for an eye', Gandhi and Martin Luther King both suggesting all these eyes being destroyed only makes the world blind.
The angry, and perhaps rightly very angry contributors of this hate talk also quoted the old Mafia phrase, 'revenge is a dish best served cold', - so I would offer to them Romans 12:19
'Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord'.
They don't want to hear this message of course because it does not fit in with their state of mind nor their perceptions of what is wrong with our country and our town.
The truth is a very complicated thing, and part of the truth of this situation is that many do feel dispossessed of their own future and perhaps some feel a little angry with themselves because the young immigrants that have moved to the area are in employment.
Another of the vitriolic comments was ' they come over here and take our jobs' - I leave you to ponder these words and the implications for those who are born in Mansfield, fail to get the best from their education and then fail to find a job either through a lack of qualifications, willingness to work or lack of opportunity.
I think anger is a proper response to the loss of life in these circumstances, I fully understand how a family will be consumed with all of the emotions that come with grief - but some of the people who have written on the Facebook site did not even know the victim, yet they felt compelled to express their own hostility towards others, ignoring the request made by the family for calm and reflection.
The family have shown considerable dignity in their loss and it is a shame that angry and racist comments were attached to their tribute to a lost loved one.
My feeling is that the people who wrote the words were angry and racist before this awful murder and that they will never change their opinion, but they feel justified in their actions because the Bible says
'an eye for an eye'.
Finally let me offer these words, they are not from the Bible but they are from a book and by my token should be as equally valued as any words from any book:
'Do not hurt where holding is enough, do not wound where hurting is enough, do not maim where wounding is enough, do not kill where maiming is enough'
Stephen Donaldson - Lord Fouls Bane
It's been a strange week my children, strange and quiet. Mrs B was in Spain for a few days, tracking down Nazi war criminals which is a hobby she picked up when she got fed up of knitting.
Now to more serious matters, the week started with a discussion on the telly about the value of the Bible, and it still makes me laugh and cry in equal measures that some people take the words written in that book as an absolute truth.
For me the Bible is a collection of stories, all written by different hands, which makes it an ideal source for quoting odd lines that seem to back up how we feel about different things. Does that make sense?
Let me expand - Mansfield is a place full of tension at the moment as a young local man was murdered last week and the alleged offenders are Eastern European immigrants. The outpouring of hatred towards them on a Facebook site was quite sickening. Ignorance, anger and threats of revenge and at one point we had the usual Biblical quote used to excuse this attitude - 'an eye for an eye'.
My guess would be that if you asked the contributor of those five words which book of the Bible they were taken from, or even to expand the quote, they would not have been able to answer.
They also forget that elsewhere in the Bible the main man, Mr Jesus, rejects this quote and offers instead this advice 'If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also'.
There are also many who have offered their own take on 'an eye for an eye', Gandhi and Martin Luther King both suggesting all these eyes being destroyed only makes the world blind.
The angry, and perhaps rightly very angry contributors of this hate talk also quoted the old Mafia phrase, 'revenge is a dish best served cold', - so I would offer to them Romans 12:19
'Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord'.
They don't want to hear this message of course because it does not fit in with their state of mind nor their perceptions of what is wrong with our country and our town.
The truth is a very complicated thing, and part of the truth of this situation is that many do feel dispossessed of their own future and perhaps some feel a little angry with themselves because the young immigrants that have moved to the area are in employment.
Another of the vitriolic comments was ' they come over here and take our jobs' - I leave you to ponder these words and the implications for those who are born in Mansfield, fail to get the best from their education and then fail to find a job either through a lack of qualifications, willingness to work or lack of opportunity.
I think anger is a proper response to the loss of life in these circumstances, I fully understand how a family will be consumed with all of the emotions that come with grief - but some of the people who have written on the Facebook site did not even know the victim, yet they felt compelled to express their own hostility towards others, ignoring the request made by the family for calm and reflection.
The family have shown considerable dignity in their loss and it is a shame that angry and racist comments were attached to their tribute to a lost loved one.
My feeling is that the people who wrote the words were angry and racist before this awful murder and that they will never change their opinion, but they feel justified in their actions because the Bible says
'an eye for an eye'.
Finally let me offer these words, they are not from the Bible but they are from a book and by my token should be as equally valued as any words from any book:
'Do not hurt where holding is enough, do not wound where hurting is enough, do not maim where wounding is enough, do not kill where maiming is enough'
Stephen Donaldson - Lord Fouls Bane
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