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Modern life

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThis is my least favourite work day of the year!

Why would that be?

Is it because:

  • today is the start of the new academic year and the commencement of the longest, hardest term – a grim slog through to Christmas?
  • my journey to work immediately takes an extra half an hour (or more!) each way as all the schools go back and the roads fill with yummy mummies transporting their precious little darlings half a mile or so to the school gates in their Chelsea tractors?
  • the phone is ringing off the hook with a thousand and one requests for assistance and all my good work over the summer at purging my mailbox is undone by the encroaching tides of fresh pleas for help?
  • after enjoying the tranquility of a blissfully empty campus for eight weeks it galls now to have to share it with the returning – and irritatingly freshly bronzed – teaching staff and pupils?
  • of having to queue for nearly ten minutes inside the school grounds before being able to park my car in just about the furthest possible corner of the campus from my office?
  • having to get up a little earlier in the morning has brought home all too clearly that the nights are getting longer and that I will soon be rising in the dark again?
  • getting home a little later shows all too clearly that the nights are drawing in and it won’t be long before my homeward journey has to be accomplished in darkness?
  • the summer (well, at least we’ve had a summer this year) seems soooo short and the winter soooo desperately long?

Is it – in short – any or all of those things?

No!

It is because – after very nearly four blissful months of exquisite freedom – I have once again (sob!)… to wear a tie!!

 

A shocked pause so that you can join me in silent mourning!

 

A Google search on the phrase “I hate ties” returns 98,400 items. I’m not surprised!

I could regale you at this point with a diatribe on the iniquity of imposing on the male of the species the pitiful privations of being appareled in such pointless appurtenance – or of the unfairness of the adverse judgements that seem oft-times be made on those who prefer not so to do. I could also whinge on for a while on the theme that no woman would put up with this sort of encroachment.

Trouble is, I can already hear – in my febrile mind – the Kickass Canada Girl opining that perhaps one doth protest too much (though doubtless in somewhat pithier language!) – so I won’t…

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With sweet timing the weather gods have chosen to grace my brief sojourn from the rigours of work with blazing sunshine and temperatures soaring into the high 20s C. The Lions expedition to the antipodes reached an explosive climax this very morning with a thoroughly satisfying drubbing of our friends down under – Andy Murray has made it to another Wimbledon final and the first of the back to back Ashes series is about to commence.

Things are looking up!

On Friday I met the Kickass Canada Girl and one of her work colleagues for lunch in Reading. I arrived first at our chosen rendezvous – an outsized retail ‘park’ which occupies much of the centre of the town and the name of which I will refrain from mentioning since I have no desire to furnish them with more advertising than they get already.

The centre of this excressence features a large open space by the canal, and it was here that I whiled away a quarter of an hour in the sunshine looking for interesting images to snap with the Fuji X10.

As I lowered the camera – after being thus engaged for a while – I found myself face to face with a recently pubescent ‘jobsworth’ (closest Canadian equivalent might be a ‘brown-noser’ – apparently) who regarded me humourlessly.

“You’re not allowed to take pictures here”, he informed me drily.

I was so taken aback that I couldn’t think what to say, but I eventually summoned up a stunned “Why not?”

“Company policy”, he rejoindered. “Inside the stores or out”

I was amazed. “That makes no sense at all. What on earth could they object to? It’s not as though I was taking pictures of people.”

Apparently had I been so doing that would have been alright. What I wasn’t allowed to photograph was the ‘architecture’. When I expressed incredulity at this deranged policy the jobsworth muttered something about people posting things on websites, before shrugging his shoulders and shambling off to annoy someone else.

You will be unsurprised to hear that I was not impressed.

Anyway – here are a few images that I am not supposed to post here and you are not supposed to see…

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…they’d make it illegal!

Emma Goldman

One of the interesting consequences of being married to a girl from the other side of the planet – a side of the planet to which I myself intend re-locating – is the discovery that when it comes to politics there is simultaneously little to choose between nations whilst at the same time being a world of difference. I guess that – whereas the ‘art’ and practice of politics are pretty much universal – the intricacies of the situation at any particular point on the globe tend to render the actuality of the local political jungle opaque to the outsider.

The Kickass Canada Girl has explained Canadian federal and provincial politics to me on a number of occasions. Sadly she finds herself having to repeat things that have clearly not penetrated deep enough to have stuck, though I do believe that I am making slow progress. It doesn’t help that there would seem to be an appreciable disconnect between the politics of British Columbia and those of the rest of the nation. This should come as no surprise given the size of the country, I suppose, particularly since in the UK – a comparatively compact constituency – we seem able to support an infeasibly extended accretion of political opinion – albeit not across our major parties.

Caricature_gillray_plumpuddingPerhaps one of the best ways of getting a flavour of the political purlieu in any particular locale is to follow the work of the political cartoonists thereabouts. In the UK this noble and ancient art can be traced to the 19th century and to such luminaries as Hogarth and Gillray. The latter’s renowned cartoon – ‘The Plum Pudding in Danger’ – representing Napoleon and Pitt dividing the globe into ‘spheres of influence’ – is a particularly good example of the genre.

All this – of course – simply by way of an introduction to a cartoon that I saw in this week’s Observer, and that I thought might give quite a good flavour of current UK politics to any of you across the pond who don’t follow such things. And, well – why would you?

The cartoon refers to the recent Eastleigh by-election – brought on by the resignation of the sitting Liberal Democrat MP on pleading guilty to an offence (his wife took the rap for a speeding ticket when he was – in fact – the driver!). To make life harder for themselves the Lib Dems fought the campaign in the shadow of the fallout of a recent sex scandal (oh – really!) centring on the alleged behaviour of their former chief executive.

The Lib Dems are currently in coalition with the Tories who – though they themselves had designs on winning the seat from their coalition partners (nice!) – found themselves beaten into third place by the UK Independence Party, whose political leanings probably don’t need much introduction.

Chris Riddell’s cartoon captures the essential zeitgeist pretty well, I think. I particularly like the Lib Dems as a diminutive unicorn!

 

 

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ballotOne of the sadnesses of modern life… well – of my modern life at any rate… is that I don’t have time to read a daily paper. I am sufficiently old-fashioned that, whereas I find the BBC’s online news coverage to be completely indispensable in many ways, I do prefer to be able to sit down with folded newsprint and ink – preferably over a cup of something decently hot and caffeine infused.

These days I often purchase The Independent on a Saturday (my apologies to those Canadian and other readers to whom these titles are meaningless) in part because it has a decent listings section, but the mainstay of my print media habit is that doyen of the British Sunday press – The Observer. I don’t recall exactly when it was that I started reading The Observer, though it must have been either in the late 70s or early 80s, but since happily surrendering myself to the timeless tradition of devoting a sizable chunk of my Sundays to ‘the Papers’ I have seldom missed an edition. I follow The Observer now for same reasons that I ever did – the quality if the thinking and the quality of the writing.

Two recent articles caught my eye. The first piece concerns the documentary film ‘Inequality for All‘ – winner of the special jury prize at this year’s Sundance Film Festival – whilst the second is from one of The Observer’s regular political columnists – Nick Cohen. Though ostensibly unrelated both pieces address a subject that has been much in my mind of late – the ever growing gap between the richest and the poorest in our society… indeed between the richest and all of the rest of us!

Directed by Jacob Kornbluth, ‘Inequality for All’ stars (if that is the word) Robert Reich – who was Bill Clinton’s Secretary of Labour and is now a professor of public policy at the University of California at Berkeley. The film is based largely on his book – ‘Aftershock’. Reich’s thesis is that in economic terms something changed dramatically in the 1970s. Though the world’s economies continued to grow strongly thereafter until the 2007/8 crash, middle and lower class wages did not – becoming basically static. At the same time, however, the incomes of the top 1% not only continued to grow, but did so exponentially.

Nick Cohen’s article references work by the economist Emmanuel Saez on the aftermath of this most recent recession. Antithetically to previous major recessions – the impacts of which were felt on incomes and stock yields for decades afterwards – by 2010 the incomes of the top 1% in the US were growing again at healthy rate. Not so the remaining 99% – the incomes of whom remain stubbornly mired even now. Yet again there is evidence of an increasing disconnect between the world’s richest and the rest.

If these trends trouble you at all I urge you to check out these – and related – articles for the full picture.

My own thoughts run somewhat tangentially to the main thrust of these articles. It occurs to me that – in large part – the increasing disillusionment with politics in the UK in particular – as reflected in the ever declining turnout at elections – is evidence of an electorate that is coming to believe that those who govern us actually do so solely in the interests of the 1%. Further – this would now seem to be true across the entire political spectrum, either because the politicos are themselves of – or have connections to – the 1%, or – rabbit-like in the face of the on-rushing ‘artic’ (Canadian: truck!) – they fear or are mesmerised by its power and influence. Either way, the middle and lower classes would appear to be – to put it impolitely – screwed! As Reich suggests (quoting an untypically prescient billionaire, Nick Hanauer) this is problematic because – contrary to received wisdom – it is not the 1% that actually generate growth (intent as they are on taking cash out of individual economies), rather it is the great mass of the middle classes (by spending it!).

History would suggest that were this trend to continue unchecked, at a certain point a revolutionary ire would finally be aroused, the formerly silent majority would declare that enough was enough and an insurrection – in some form or other – would almost inevitably follow. The difference this time is that the 1% – by becoming a global phenomenon and by disassociating themselves from any particular nation state – have thus essentially rendered themselves untouchable.

And if not the state then against whom should we rebel – and how?

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Stereotyping gets a bad press! In fact, modern usage of the term seems almost entirely pejorative, with the emphasis on the possibility/probability of negative consequences. This is a considerable distortion of the term’s original connotation as a ‘sense-making’ tool – one which is supposedly judgementally neutral. I must admit to having played my own minuscule part in the assault on this particular gambit by inveighing vigorously and vociferously again same whilst studying psychology in my first year at college back in the early 70s. Needless to say I failed the unit!

Where is this going, you ask? Well – naturally to a cringe-making admission that I now recognise in myself an unfortunate tendency to conform to at least one formerly unacceptable stereotype… that of the grumpy old man!

Can it really be that things are considerably more ‘pants’ (technical term!) than they were 40 years ago, or is it just that the young of all generations are simply immune to the inanities and ludicrosities of life? They presumably have far more important things to worry about than modern systems that don’t work properly, or facilities that appear to have been designed by the inhabitants of an entirely different universe to the one that the rest of us inhabit. Maybe all that us old folks have left in life is the desire and capacity to have a jolly good whinge about things…

Do feel free to disagree at any point!

‘Oh dear’, you say to yourself, ‘this is building up to an anecdote’. Too right!

I posted a few weeks ago on the subject of the nerve-tickling experience of Pearl’s MOT test. Since then I have had to pay her annual road tax – very probably for the last time (sniff!) – and just this last week her insurance fell due. Now – I have owned Pearl for 9 years and have insured her through the same online broker throughout that period. When I first applied for insurance in 2003 I was told that – because she is a soft-top – I would need to fit an immobiliser. This I duly did and everything then went ahead without further hitch.

This time – on receipt of the renewal reminder, a weighty document of a dozen or so pages – I called the broker and asked to renew. We went through the lengthy process on the phone and all seemed to have been settled. A short while later I was emailed the new policy documents – another hefty tome which I, being a Luddite, naturally printed out for posterity.

There was a pause.

Then – after about half an hour – the phone rang. It was my broker. He informed me that the insurers – having already issued the documents – had now discovered that they could find no written record of my ever having installed the immobiliser – nine years previously! Somehow I had had getting on for a decade of perfectly successful insurance – including one small no-fault claim – but was now being told that I couldn’t get cover because they did not have the essential document. Doh! The broker inquired sweetly as to whether I might still have the original receipts and documentation. Honestly!!

Sad thing is – of course – that I had…

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