Diary of a Superannuated Soul - w/e 29 September 2001
John Copeland
As might be expected, the newspapers are dominated by the threatened
war, every page carrying some lurid and frightening report of the
problems ahead. I can accept the political and economic analyses,
wrong and largely unfounded though they are likely to be; it is when
I read the sociologists and psychologists that I become so angry.
Today in "The Times", for example, there was an account under the
heading "Britain stays at home and watches television", which told us
that "Britain has changed since last Tuesday. It has been an almost
imperceptible psychological and behavioural shift, but the statistics
show us that daily life across the nation is markedly more sombre,
quieter and apprehensive than 12 days ago".
What an unbelievable nonsense this is! I have a fairly wide circle of
friends and acquaintances, both here in Lincolnshire and in Essex, but
nobody I know has changed their way of life one iota. There may,
admittedly, be a little anxiety about what is likely to happen,
especially as the chances of victory for the Americans look
increasingly remote in the forthcoming battles against terrorism, but
life goes on as it always has and always well. But these alarums and
excursions are the very lifeblood of the media, which loves nothing
better than an "ongoing" crisis
Seeing a photograph on the front page of today's "Times" of a F16
fighter-bomber heavily laden with missiles, Mrs. Copeland reacted in
some degree of horror, exclaiming: "How can anybody start a war!" My
spouse takes the view that hundreds of innocent people will be killed
and maimed, with little chance of ever sorting things out,
particularly with such a nebulous and fragmented enemy. In some ways
I can agree with her, for whatever did the bombing of Iraq and Kosovo,
or even the Falklands war, achieve in the long-run? Perhaps a sign
seen in New York last week said it all: "If we always took an eye for
an eye, the whole world would be blind."
What is worrying is the possibility of Afghanistan being invaded by
American ground troops, which would suggest that history has taught us
absolutely nothing. Over the centuries, General Elphinstone's troops
were slaughtered in 1842 in the Kabul gorge; in 1880 a British force
of more than 2,500 was obliterated when a fanatical band of Afghans
waving Islamic banners hurled themselves at the British cannons; and
the Russian army fared no better when it was sent into Afghanistan in
1979 with 80,000 troops, its troops quickly finding that modern
weapons were no match for the resilient natives who could so easily
take refuge in their impenetrable mountain hideouts. As one Russian
general wryly put it: one Afghan on a donkey was more effective than
four Russians in a tank.
There is no denying that the crisis has had a severe impact on the
financial markets around the world, at least in the short-run.. One
of the villagers was telling me yesterday that the value of his
shares, which were already going down before the events in New York
last week, had been nearly halved. He was hopeful, though, that
things would eventually pick up, for the charts show that the markets
always stage a strong recovery after a serious downturn, and no doubt
this will be true even at this terrible time.
In the post I received my water bill amounting to £68.72 for the
second half of the year. We are not on mains drainage, so our bills
are reduced accordingly, but £137 a year, representing a charge of
£2.65 a week for the provision of an unlimited supply of water, seems
excellent value. Fortunately we have managed to escape a water meter,
which would add about a third to our bills, and I have successfully
avoided that terrible system of direct debits in which you lose
control of your banking account. Nevertheless, with today's water
bill there was the usual question "Isn't it time you paid by direct
debit?" to which the answer is a most emphatic "no way!"
Indeed, I would much rather pay more in charges than have direct
debits, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to avoid them, many
firms nowadays insisting on this form of payment. For example, I
have been thinking of changing my Internet Service Provider, but
alternatives that I have been recommended nearly all demand direct
debits, and I will not accept this. Fortunately, my existing ISP
allows me to pay quarterly by cheque, and one of the reasons that I
stay with BT Cellnet for my mobile telephone is that I can pay monthly
by cheque, thereby maintaining control over my current bank account.
During the day I did some more house painting, albeit very
reluctantly. I really must finish this external painting by the end
of next week, for it will soon be too cold and wet to work outside,
not that it is very dry at the moment. The trouble is that I keep
putting off the work, saying I will do it tomorrow in the true spirit
of manana that is the essence of the Third Age. Nothing gets done,
with the result that tasks pile up and you then begin to believe and
worry that you are extremely busy. Nearly all the retired people I
know tell me that they have never been so busy, wondering how on
earth they ever found time to go to work. What they really mean, of
course, is that their productivity is appallingly low as the mind and
body slow down in old age.
Mrs. Copeland took granddaughter Chloe and one of her school friends
to the local Club in the evening to hear a "live" performer singing
Cliff Richard songs. I could not face the music, especially as it is
amplified at such a deafening level, so I stayed at home, making a
start on preparing the monthly Church Newsletter that circulates in
our village and the surrounding areas. Our vicar took early
retirement at the end of last month, but the Church authorities have
apparently done nothing about a finding a replacement to take over
this month. Alas, the Church of England really has fallen apart,
though few people seem in the least bit bothered, possibly not even
having noticed.
I went up to join Mrs. Copeland at the Club just before closing time
having managed to miss three hours of the performance. There were
only about 30 people who attended, few of them from the village. No
doubt the psychologists will argue that this was because people are
now too frightened to leave their firesides, but the real reason is
that the pop concerts do not appeal to the residents of our ageing
village, so they stay at home whilst members who live in Lincoln -
mainly a working class contingent, if one dare use that term these
days - come to enjoy the music.
Whilst I was standing at the bar at the Club with Mrs. Copeland and a
male villager, an attractive blonde resident came up to me, putting
her arms firmly round my waist, which is no mean achievement, asking
me to dance with her as she rocked me from side to side, giving me a
kiss in the process. Unfortunately, I had to say that the gyrations
and jumping up and down that now pass for dancing were not my idea of
pleasure, whereupon the young lady suggested I was being stuffy, and
placed my hands around her waist under her low-cut blouse.
I was then, much to my horror, told that she was not wearing a
brassiere, whereupon she pulled out her blouse by way of providing
evidence. Although I tried to avert my eyes, I was not quick enough,
and had to admire the delightful form, causing me a great deal of
embarrassment, especially as several people watching the scene were
grinning and smirking, clearly revelling in my discomfort. As
Chairman of the Parish Council I have to adopt a stance of decorum and
dignity at all times, but it was not easy under such circumstances.
However, obviously tiring of such a dull and stuffy old man, the lady
moved on to my companion, asking him whether he wanted to dance, but
he also declined, bringing forth a rather angry reaction: "What's the
matter with all you men - don't you like women? Do you masturbate?"
Whereupon my companion replied: "Only in the winter!"
Surprisingly there was no mention of the terrorist crisis whilst I was
at the Club, nobody having raised the subject. But I could imagine
that at any moment somebody would come running into the Club
shouting: "Take cover everybody! There's a fellow with a beard
outside!"
In the excellent journal "The Week" I was reading about the nature of
Taleban rule, which forbids most of Afghanistan's women to work or
study and forces them to cover up or stay at home. Non-religious
music, cassette tapes, television and films are all banned. Children
are not allowed to do anything that detracts them from their religious
studies; men must wear beards or face a prison sentence; ands the
lower level windows of houses must be blackened to prevent males from
inadvertently catching sight of women in compromising states.
Copulation is just about allowed amongst married couples, but sex
outside marriage results in a flogging, and men guilty of sodomy are
killed Humpty Dumpty style by having a wall fall on them.
In reading such fearful dogma, in which all compassion and
commonsense and any regard for the sanctity of life have been
forfeited, it is readily obvious that there can never be any political
dialogue with such religious bigots. Perhaps the Taleban, the
Fundamentalist Sunni Muslims, are a further example that religion,
far from promoting sweetness and light and more tolerance towards
others, has been the cause of countless wars and conflicts, terrible
deeds having been perpetuated in its name. I sometimes feel that we
would be a great deal happier if all religions, whatever their
nature, were banned throughout the world. I suppose, though, some
other form of bigotry would take their place.
SUNDAY 23 SEPTEMBER
As might be expected, the newspapers today are full of photographs of
aircraft carriers, heavily armed troops, and fearful aeroplanes, with
all the indications and predictions that there is very soon going to
be a massive assault on Afghanistan to take out Osama bin Laden alive
or dead. Even so, I continue to believe that a full frontal, ground
assault will not be made on Afghanistan, especially as heavy American
casualties would be sustained, with little chance of the assault
having any chance of success.
Obviously the media is in its element, predicting in Chicken Licken
mode that Muslims all over the world will rise up and subject the
Western world to gas attacks, nuclear rocket assaults, and sustained
suicide bombing. It is the stuff that sells newspapers, and
journalists are all desperately trying to outdo one another with their
fearful soothsaying of impending disaster.
On the other hand, I find it interesting that in the financial the
analysts are deeply divided on the possible future of the markets. In
today's "Sunday Times" (and how much better that newspaper is than the
terrible "Observer" which I read last Sunday down in Essex!) some of
the "experts" are saying that the markets, which have gone down by 36
per cent in the last two-and-a-half weeks, will see further
substantial falls this coming week, but I would challenge that view.
Nowadays these panics on the stock markets do not last long, and even
nine-day wonders seldom continue more than three days, the public
always wanting some fresh disaster.
The Parish Councillors had been invited by the managing director to
have a tour of the 210 housing, sporting and marina development that
is now being built on the outskirts of the village, and at 3 p.m. we
began the tour under his guidance. It proved to be a fascinating
visit, seeing the considerable concern that was being shown for
protecting and enhancing the environment. The tour ended with a visit
to the recently opened health and leisure centre, where we saw a young
woman dressed in tight trousers running on what I call a treadmill. A
more pointless and futile activity on a Sunday afternoon, even if it
was wet, would be difficult to imagine. I could not help noticing,
though, that the lass had quite a neat little bottom, so presumably
the exercise is beneficial to the female form.
I was interested to see that some of the new houses were totally open
plan, with the kitchen, dining room and sitting room all together.
Apparently it is an American concept, but I think it is utterly
horrible. To have to watch the wife cooking whilst reading a book in
the area set aside for the parlour must be quite awful. Even worse,
none of the houses had living fires, which is something that I could
never accept, however much the coal-effect gas fires represent easy
living. Modern houses always seem to me to be so bleak and astere.
There is a heated debate in the village about this new development,
which is some one-and-a-half miles from the existing settlements, with
most of the residents of the old village arguing that the extensive
new development should be set up as a separate parish, being hived off
from the old area. The view is taken, especially amongst the older
villagers, that the new development will be an entirely separate,
self-contained community, with little interest in or identity with the
old village. There is the fear, too, that the newcomers, who will
outnumber the existing parishioners by 3 to 1, will come to dominate
the Parish Council, possibly wanting street lights and road widening
and other dreadful proposals.
At home in the evening, putting the finishing touches to the latest
edition of the Church Newsletter which I edit each month. Much to my
annoyance, the computer suddenly and without warning crashed, with the
result that I lost all the work, together with another file I had been
working on, not having backed up the material. Moral: always
regularly back-up! The computer is really on its last legs now,
locking up every time I use it, but I am still resolved not to
purchase a replacement until mid-January, by which time the country
will be in deep recession, with computer prices falling by several
hundreds of pounds. I can use granddaughter Chloe's machine if my
existing computer gives up the ghost completely between now and
January, so that is one blessing.
I suppose the trouble is that my computer, like its owner, is old and
well past its shelf-life, finding it increasingly difficult to deal
with my prolixity with only 16 mb of RAM. But it has been an
excellent machine over the years, and like my 10-year-old Granada that
has only done 48,000 miles, I feel reluctant to part with it, long in
the chips though it is. Mrs. Copeland says this is silly
sentimentality, but that is the way I am.
MONDAY 24 SEPTEMBER
I woke up with an almighty headache, no doubt suffering from a touch
of post-traumatic stress disorder following the problems with the
computer last night. Fortunately, though, the pain eased after I had
taken several paracetemol tablets. I become increasingly aware,
though, that I am taking far too many of these tablets, which are said
to rot your liver.
Despite the experts' doom laden predictions that the markets would
surely plunge this week, the FTSE opened up 50 points, and quickly
reached 100, ending up 182 points, suggesting that the markets
believe that there is not a lot to fear after all with Mr. Bush's war
against the terrorists. Wall Street showed an even bigger optimism,
the Dow Jones rising an incredible 360 points. It seems that people,
especially investors, are now beginning to take the view that it is
going to be a long-drawn out affair, and that any invasion of
Afghanistan with ground troops has been decisively ruled out,
together with proposals for attacking the Taleban, for which we must
all be truly thankful.
Another indication that the initial panic is over came with the sharp
fall in the price of oil, going down over $3 a barrel to $22.50. No
doubt the oil men are now accepting that there is little likelihood of
any major disruption to their supplies in the Middle East. Obviously
there are timid souls who are still panicking, including a number of
New Yorkers who are buying gas masks, but at least this gives an
opportunity for retailers to dispose of outdated stocks as well as
giving the frightened citizens some measure of succour and comfort.
By way of further comfort, providing additional reassurances that the
initial alarm was all a bit unnecessary, "The Sun" newspaper devotes
its main headline this morning to proclaiming that Elton John loves
girls, so all is clearly all well with the world and apparently with
Mr. John, too.
Although these may be early days to ease up, I certainly do not feel
so concerned now about Mr. Bush's campaign against terrorism. No
doubt, though, the media will try to keep the pot a'boiling, bent on
creating their usual mayhem and mischief, but I think the news of the
threatened war will gradually depart from the headlines.
Nevertheless, it was rather worrying that the dreadful Sharon of
Israel had cancelled the peace talks with the Palestinians. According
to reports on the wireless, President Bush is once again having to
lean on this dreadful man who seems bent on stirring up further
trouble in the Middle East.
The Liberal-Democrats - or Lib-Dims as I prefer to call them - started
their party conference in Bournemouth today, but nobody is in the
least bit interested in hearing what this bunch of political fairies
have to say. During my four years as a councillor on the West Lindsey
District Council, I found the ruling Lib-Dims to be some of the
nastiest people I had ever met. Public consultation and co-operation
with neighbouring authorities was deliberately avoided, but mercifully
the Lib-Dims were soundly defeated at the last election, the Tories
having become the ruling party - and they are very much better at
consultation, especially with the parish councils
Following the loss of the computer files last night, I had to type
them out all over again this morning - a most laborious and
time-consuming task that prevented me from getting on with the
external painting of the front of the house, though yet more rain
stopped this anyway.. Once again the computer locked up, but this
time I had backed up the material, at long last having learnt my
lesson.
I cannot ever remember an Autumn in which we have had so much rain -
day after day of it, almost in monsoon proportions. Instead of
painting, I put the finishing touches to the Church Newsletter - not
the most inspiring of tasks. Next month we have the Harvest Festival
Supper in the village, at which "The Quality" - the name we give to
our upper crust religious folks in the parish - kindly serve us in a
ceremony not unlike that of army officers waiting on their men on
Christmas Day. Its is all great fun, and we commoners keep shouting
out to the Quality women: "More custard, Mrs. Hetherington-Smith -
two lumps, if you please".
Mrs. Copeland went to the supermarket this morning, coming home and
telling me that she had seen a village couple in the store, the
husband having been observed pushing the trolley for his spouse. The
idea of being emasculated in this manner, tagging behind the wife at
Tesco, is a spectacle of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come that
haunts me. At the moment, Mrs. Copeland works 15 hours a week,
thereby enabling me to have my own life (and my spouse hers), but the
time will come when, as a very old couple with both of us retired, I
shall no doubt be pushing my trolley along the aisles wide and narrow.
A frightening thought. The alternative, though, is to order the
weekly provisions by computer, which is probably what I shall do
rather than face the terrible indignity of pushing a grocery trolley
around a store, all the while hoping and praying I do not see any of
my friends.
At home in the evening reading some more of the Alanbrooke Diaries. I
am enjoying them, but not as much as I had hoped. I also read the
latest edition of "Private Eye" whose cover shows the aide breaking
the news of the terrorist attack to President Bush. A bubble from the
aide says: "It's Armageddon, sir", to which Bush replies: "Armageddon
outahere!" Inside is a cartoon of a fellow looking at a newspaper
whose headlines read: "No words can describe this outrage - pages,
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10...."
There is also "That historic Bush speech in full": - "Mah fellow
Americans. Words fail me at this terrible time. So let's have a
moment of silence while I think of something to say (Man hands him
piece of paper). Mah fellow Americans. Look solemn and read this out
slowly. Ours is a nation based on freedom and democracy. Those folks
who live on the hill...no, that's a song. But it's an American song
and it's one I'm proud to sing....." No doubt there will be some
incensed readers who will take great offence and cancel their
subscriptions at such insensitivity, but it has to be recognised that
at some time we have to try to get back to normal, restoring a sense
of proportion and perspective, however difficult it may be.
I enjoyed the e-mail that I received from one of my brothers-in-law
during the day: "It has just been reported on Reuters that the Irish
SAS have stormed Battersea Dogs Home and killed all the Afghans", and
"Following Tuesday's successful operation the Irish SAS is at this
moment conducting a full scale search of John Lewis's Home Style
department, for Bed Linen". Not that I agree with these racist jokes,
you will understand.
TUESDAY 25 SEPTEMBER
An e-mail this morning gave details of a seminar solely for women, the
topics to be covered including:-
- Silence, the Final Frontier: Where No Woman has gone Before.
- The Undiscovered Side of Banking: Making Deposits.
- Parties: Going Without New Outfits.
- Man Management: Discover How Minor Household Chores Can Wait Until
After the Game.
- Bathroom Etiquette I: Men Need Space in the Bathroom Cabinet Too.
- Bathroom Etiquette II: His Razor Is His.
- Communication Skills I: Tears-The Last Resort, Not the First.
- Communication Skills II: Thinking Before Speaking.
- Communication Skills III: Getting What You Want, Without Nagging.
- Driving a Car Safely: A Skill You CAN Acquire.
- Telephone Skills: How to Hang Up.
- Introduction to Car Parking.
- Advanced Parking: Reversing Into A Space.
- Dancing: Why Men Don't Like To.
- Sex: It's For Married Couples Too.
- Oil and Petrol: Your Car Needs Both.
Although it sounds a very wicked and curmudgeonly thing to say,
possibly deserving the punishment of being made to attend three
Masonic meetings, I am becoming rather tired of the excessive press
coverage of Mr. Bush's war on terrorism. Ten full pages of "The
Times" are taken up today with the crisis, including the front page
which has the respective signatures of Asama Muhammad bin Laden and
President Bush displayed. The signatures are examined by a
graphologist who proclaims that bib Laden is a "chronically unhappy
man and in great need of self protection" [presumably from f16s.],
having bitten off more than he can chew". President Bush's
signature, by way of contrast, showed that he was a "tenacious,
practical, determined man who was strongly controlled and never
pursued a lost cause" [Shome mishtake, shurely? as they say in
"Private Eye"].
Dear oh bloody dear. It is the kind of stuff that you expect to see in
"Woman's Own", not the front page of "The Times". Presumably my
signature will show a hatred of external painting and a love of log
fires, with a propensity to dream a bit instead of getting on with
things. What a lot of drivel it is. At least we should probably be
thankful that there was no article from a psychologist or other
charlatan examining the present "crisis".
The trouble is, of course, that nothing is actually happening in the
declared war at the moment, and rather like Nature, the press abhors a
vacuum, forcing it to summon up all manner of soothsayers just out of
short trousers; professors of "Peace Studies" at third-rate
universities; and retired military men who predict what is likely to
happen, their accounts being represented with illustrations
displaying symbols of missiles exploding on various towns, tank and
warship deployments and f16s swooping over mountains in search of bin
Laden.
Still, at least we have the joy of seeing Mr. Blair assuming the role
of a world statesman, rushing around the globe in defence of
democracy, promising to give the Americans our full support in the
coming battles, even though we can probably only muster a dozen or so
Harriers and an ageing aircraft carrier that will probably not make
more than two nautical miles out of Portsmouth without breaking down,
forcing the sailors to abandon the last two verses of "Rule
Britannia". But never mind: it is the thought and the support that
count.
Just what, though, is to be gained by recalling Parliament remains in
some doubt, for it is difficult to wonder what those old windbags can
do, other than chant jingoistic slogans and declare that bin Laden is
one of the biggest rotters who ever lived, whilst forgetting that Mr.
Blair freed all the IRA murderers in his campaign against terrorists,
which might possibly suggest that he is not all that well qualified in
dealing with such matters.
What does seem very apparent, though, is that this "crisis", terrible
though it is and one that demands all our sympathy for the bereaved,
is losing a sense of proportion. In today's "Times", for instance, we
are told that "crippled countries cancel Christmas"; "Nervous
tourists abandon Bath"; "Nation covers wounds with star-spangled
bandage"; "Fearful workers queue at Empire State"; and "Delegates
[at the Lib-Dim Conference] show steel in face of terror". Did the
people in the London blitz suffer such expressions of post traumatic
stress?
At least Anatole Kaletsky has the usual good news for us in his
"Economic View" column this morning. Under the cheering headline of
"Americans are right to expect a strong economic recovery", our
Anatole predicts that the good times are just around the corner, if
only you will have a peep round it. Interest rates are falling;
public expenditure, especially on weapons of war, will boom as a
result of the crisis; oil prices are falling; and "Alan Greenspan
has insisted repeatedly that nothing has happened to retard the US
economy's underlying productivity growth rate, which the Fed still
estimates to be 3.5 per cent or above". So there is no need to cancel
Christmas, after all!
Even the Confederation of What's Left of British Industry has joined
in the joyful hymns of hope, saying that "the fundamentals of
Britain's economy were holding up well and companies were in better
shape than ever before to withstand a slowdown". The only trouble was
that the doomsters were in danger of talking us into a recession.
Maybe it would be well if all the thousands of men and women who have
been made redundant in our failing manufacturing industries do not
hear such Alice-in-Wonderland words, but at least there are always
jobs for them filling shelves in the supermarkets or working in the
new pubs
So we have all got to cheer up and count our blessings, recognising
that we have never had it so good. The pubs and restaurants are
full; nearly everybody - at least in London and its environs - is
going round in a new motor car; house prices are going through the
roof as we pay less and less for mortgages; and Mr. Blair has got
everything under control. All right, so Mr. Bush may lob a few
rockets into the barren Afghanistan mountains where bin Laden may be
hiding under a rock, but what have we got to worry about? Surely
there is no need to cancel that holiday of a lifetime we have
promised, or give up hopes for that new conservatory? Let us get
things into a proper perspective, for heavens sake!
In the post this morning Mrs. Copeland received an offer of a £3000
instant loan from a finance company, proclaiming that their loans took
all the mystery and misery out of borrowing by only requiring a
signature on the agreement form and the completion of a direct debit
mandate. I had a look through the documents, seeing that, with the
"payment protection plan", the full cost of repaying the £3000 loan
would be £4,239 over 36 monthly payments - an interest rate of 40.71
per cent.
It is not too difficult to see how so many people get tangled up with
these loan sharks who have such tempting offers of easily available
loans. Apparently, loan debt and the resulting inability of so many
people to make the excessive repayments over such a long period, is
one of the greatest problems that the Citizens Advice Bureaux have to
deal with. Once in the dreadful pit of this overwhelming debt, it is
almost impossible to ever get out. A terrible business, suggesting
that the time may soon be coming when the Government will have to
impose more restrictions on these loan sharks and their usury.
As granddaughter Chloe had stayed with us overnight and Mrs. Copeland
went off to work at 8 a.m. this morning, I had to take Chloe to school
in Lincoln. Unfortunately, I had not made any allowance for the
traffic in the rush-hour, even though in Lincoln it is not so much of
a rush-hour as a bit-of-a-holdup hour, there being few remaining
industries in the city to generate much traffic. At least we were
only a couple of minutes late, and the children were still going into
the school, so no harm was done.
Arriving back home I got out the ladder to paint the front of the
house, but then went in to have a session on the computer with the
intention of starting the painting later. The computer locked up
again when I was writing entries in the diary, but fortunately I back
it up on disk every few minutes, so I did not lose the material, which
was a relief. What happens now when I am in Lotus is that the
computer freezes, and then when I reboot and load the file again it
comes up with a message that the file is not known in this format, and
there is no way that I can recover it, other than by having saved it
to floppy disk.
Still, all these crashes provide a bit of excitement: that's the way
our Anatole would no doubt look at things, reminding me that I shall
be buying a new computer in just four months' time. If I cannot put
up with having to rewrite after a freeze-up and a crash, especially
when I have so much free time, it is a poor old do. Maybe, too, I
should not forget that, when writing articles on a typewriter long
years ago, I would sometimes have to type out the entire piece on
making a mistake. I have had it too easy over these past few years
with a computer: that's the trouble.
Painting, unfortunately, could not even be started as there was a
torrential downpour. I have been recording each day's weather since
1968, but I have never known such a wet Autumn as this. Indeed, it is
a record year for rain ever since records were kept, and no doubt
before that, too. The local farmer, who is trying to harvest the
maize crop, told me that the land is saturated, making it difficult
even for tractors to go onto the fields. I suggested to him that he
ought to consider switching to rice growing next , providing an
appropriate food when the country is in deep recession.
I spent quite a large part of the day deleted unused programmes and
unwanted files on the computer in the hope that this may stop the
locking up problem. Whether this will work remains to be seen.
At home in the evening, taking yet more programmes out of the computer
in the hope of solving the locking-up problem, and then reading some
more of the Alanbrooke Diaries by the fireside. I seem to have the
problem now, probably as a result of the trouble I have with my right
eye, in reading for any length of time, invariably finding that my
eyes ache and I feel tired and fall asleep. Alas, the ravages of old
age and the slowing down of the body! What worries me so much is that
I cannot remember what I read these days, but I suppose this does
not matter. It is not as if I am going in for an examination. I
sometimes think, though, I could read the same book over and over
again. As it is, I have a backlog of about 15 books to read, some of
them weighty tomes with 700 or more pages.
WEDNESDAY 26 SEPTEMBER
I woke up with another awful headache. I begin to think that working
on the computer late at night, as I so often do, is the cause of
these headaches. In future, I shall have a trial period of using the
computer only in the mornings, leaving it switched off in the
evenings. Yesterday evening I noticed that my eyes were quite sore
after an hour or more's session on the computer, which leads me to
believe that the trouble with my right eye - namely, the detachment of
the jelly substance around the retina - has been caused by the
excessive use of a computer.. The eye consultant I saw insisted that
this was not the cause of the trouble, but I do not believe him, just
as I do not believe most medical men. It makes me wonder why I paid
£100 to see him.
The computer, dare I say it, seemed rather more stable this morning,
not having the quotidian crashes, so I like to believe that the repair
work has been successful.
An e-mail this morning which made me laugh, though I kept it away from
Mrs. Copeland for fear of disturbing our connubial felicity:-
- My wife and I have the secret to making a marriage last: Two times
a week, we go to a nice restaurant, have a little wine, some good
food and companionship. She goes Tuesday's, I go Fridays.
- I take my wife everywhere, but she keeps finding her way back.
- I asked my wife where she wanted to go for our anniversary.
"Somewhere I haven't been in a long time!" she said. So I suggested
the kitchen.
- We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.
- Remember.... Marriage is the number one cause of divorce.
Statistically, 100% of all divorces started with marriage.
- I married Miss Right. I just didn't know her first name was Always.
- I haven't spoken to my wife for 18 months. I don't like to
interrupt her.
- The last fight was my fault. My wife asked, "What's on the TV?" I
said, "Dust!"
- In the beginning, God created earth and rested. Then God created
man and rested. Then God created woman. Since then, neither God nor
man has rested.
- Why do men die before their wives? 'Cause they want to.
I was pleased to learn on the wireless this morning that one of the
American State officials has said that there will be no sudden attack
of war in the crusade against terrorism, no actual "D Day", which
presumably means, thank the Lord, that there is not going to be a
futile attack on Afghanistan after all. I begin to have more and more
respect for President Bush, for although he is clearly helped by not
having a clue what to do, it does seem that his advisers are coming
round to the idea of a prolonged political and economic battle against
the Taleban, backed up by the encirclement of military power, rather
than an all-out assault on Afghanistan. This should avoid any major
loss of life, even though it is going to take several years to
achieve, possibly trying the patience of the American citizens.
There was also the good news that President Bush has once again leaned
on the horrible Ariel Sharon, forcing him to meet our little Jack
Straw who, apparently having been given an old map by the Foreign
Office, referred to "Palestine" yesterday, prompting yet another mad
outburst from Sharon. The President has also instructed Sharon to
continue with the peace talks, the horrible Ariel having recently
cancelled them by way of taking advantage of the latest crisis.
If any good can ever be said to have come out of this terrible
disaster, it will be the very changed attitude of America towards
Israel, in which a policy of containment and strict control will
replace the generous handouts of financial and military aid which have
proved to be such a great mistake, causing so many problems in the
Middle East. As I mentioned last week, I continue to believe that it
was a great mistake to create the state of Israel in 1948, setting
up what the Arabs quite rightly regard as a rather nasty and vicious
occupying power. This is not to express any anti-Semitism or racism;
instead it is a sad recognition of the mistakes that have been made
over the years, especially the provision of military aid to Israel.
With the weather having become somewhat brighter, I was able to start
the external painting of the front of the house, managing to do the
bathroom window as well as the porch and front door - excellent
productivity, you might say. I always begin the day by getting out
the ladders and putting them into position, which gives Mrs. Copeland
the impression that work is in progress, even if subsequently the
ladders are sometimes taken down with a stroke of paint having been
applied.
Work stopped when I went in to Lincoln about 4 p.m. to buy two
hardback books (I only ever buy hardbacks) from Ottakar's: "The Full
Monty", being the first of two volumes on the life of General
Montgomery, and the recently published novel "Atonement" by Ian
McEwan. Total cost with a reduction of £4 on the novel - £36.29
Over the past two days there have been an enormous number of military
aircraft flying over our village, presumably from the nearby RAF base
at Waddington. Hearing fighters screaming over our house at
lunchtime, Mrs. Copeland said how much she hated hearing these
aeroplanes, knowing that they were intended for killing people,
invariably innocent women and children. I tended to agree with her,
especially when I thought of the RAF bombing in Kosovo which proved to
be such a disaster, most of the bombs falling on hospitals, schools
and a television studio rather than the intended target. For fear of
ground-to-air missiles, the planes fly high over the targets, making
accuracy impossible.
One of my friends suggested that I ought to look at the possibility of
switching my telephone account from BT to NTL, so I telephoned NTL
this afternoon, to be greeted with the recorded message that began
with the salutation "Hi". I waited for over eight minutes after
selecting all the options, but there was no reply so I put down the
receiver. I do not think I could ever patronise an organisation that
greeted its customers with "hi", This is England, not America, and
much as I admire our cousins across the Atlantic, I do not think we
need to copy their ways.
Work on painting continued after lunch, good progress again being
made, though later I discovered that it was almost impossible to open
the front door after the painting. At home in the evening, sitting by
the fireside, the cat on my lap, reading some more of the Alanbrooke
Diaries. Some indication of the conduct of the war is given in the
entry for 8 January 1943:-
"One of those awful COS [Chief of Staff] meetings where Mountbatten
and Dudley Pound [First Sea Lord] drive me completely to desperation.
The former is quite irresponsible, suffers from the most desperate
illogical brain, always producing red herrings, the latter is asleep
90 per cent of the time and the remaining 10 per cent is none too
sure what he is arguing about". It amazes me how we ever won the war,
but I suppose the Germans were even worse.
Alanbrooke frequently complains about de Gaulle, whom he regarded as a
right pain in the posterior: arrogant, bumptious and conceited, and
always getting in the way. Churchill had a terrible time with him.
Unfortunately I felt extremely tired this evening, possibly suffering
from a touch of stress as a result of overdoing things, so I decided
to have an early night, being abed by 11 p.m., which is nearly two
hours before I usually retire.
THURSDAY 27 SEPTEMBER
Although I feel rather guilty in expressing such unworthy sentiments,
I am really becoming heartily sick of the media coverage of President
Bush's crusade against terrorism, justifiable though I recognise that
it is. Today there is the frontpage headline in "The Times": "Terror
demolishes economy", which is an utter nonsense, for the economies of
the US and the UK, especially the UK, were well and truly going into
recession before the tragedy on the 11th September in New York.
Nearly every page involves speculation of what is going to happen:
The hunt..page 2; The prosecutor....3; Western targets...4; Muslims
attacked...5; Daily briefing..6; Refugees' plight..8,9; Rebels
prepare..10; Air security...11; Nato holds back..12; Military
build-up...13; Leading article, letters..21; Greenspan package..30;
Asians under seige..Times 2. I even begin to think that I shall
cancel the newspaper for the next fortnight or until such time as
something actually happens, for I cannot abide all this speculation
and soothsaying. Newspapers in the good old days actually reported
what had happened in the world, rather than what might happen. Why
don't they just shut up until something actually happens!
My main hope, expressed earlier, is that the American do not invade
Afghanistan. Although all the signs are that this option has been
dropped, I do not believe it can yet be ruled out, even though it
would be another humiliating defeat of Vietnam proportions. The point
surely has to be made that terrorism is immensely difficult to deal
with, as Britain's campaign against the IRA testifies so well. The
fight against the IRA has gone on for decades, yet a solution to the
conflict is still nowhere in sight.
I liked the comment sent to me by e-mail this morning: "If the US are
determined to destroy the Afghanistan economy why don't they just send
more of their aid advisors there, much cheaper and more effective".
There has even been the suggestion that the Americans should bomb
Afghanistan with grain for the starving millions, thereby showing the
Taleban how generous the Americans can be.
I received an e-mail this morning from a reader of this diary who sent
me a photograph of a visitor to the World Trade Centre having his
photograph taken on one of the viewing areas. The photograph shows
one of the hi-jacked planes about to crash into the tower. I have not
seen the picture in the press, so presumably it may have been faked.
As it was raining yet again - a steady downpour throughout the morning
- work could not be resumed on the painting of the house, and I begin
to wonder whether it will be completed this year. As always, the
weather forecast was hopelessly wrong, having predicted that it would
be "mainly dry with sunny spells, though an isolated shower is
possible during the morning Max 20C (68F). As it was, there was a
long downpour for the entire morning, and it was cold and cloudy,
the temperature not rising about 55C. I find that the weatherstation
that I have on my desk, which gives a forecast for the next 12 hours
with various symbols, is far more accurate than any weather forecast.
I spent the morning on the computer, writing e-mails and scanning
photographs for a friend who has an interesting monthly website on
life in a Suffolk village (http://www.patrichards.clara.net).
Unfortunately, the computer continued to lockup, despite the removal
of several programmes yesterday. I also had trouble connecting on my
Internet Service Provider, for it took eight attempts before I could
make a connection. I can see that I shall have to stop using the
computer and use granddaughter Chloe's until I buy a new machine in
mid-January when the recession will be in full force.
I was amused to see that Barbara Ellen, "The Times" film critic, has
at long last some good words about a film. In today's review of
"Enigma" she tells us in her delightfully overblown style that "there
is something of the dunked digestive, something incredibly comforting
and quintessentially British" about the film, going on to say that one
of the actors "spends the movie shuffling around in weedy ties,
greying cuffs and a long, dirty-looking coat, which instantly makes
one think of stale tobacco and used hankerchiefs. Ration-book glamour,
if ever you saw it".
Inevitably, there are a few words of criticism, as with two lovers who
"exude all the sexual chemistry of a Famous Five adventure". The film
is also regarded as "a cerebral muffling of visual emotional
ostentation", and "Enigma is stunning, but not in an obvious,
hackneyed, Merhcant-ivory way". Wonderful stuff, even if it means
absolutely nothing, but at least the style serves to remind me why I
do not like women writers. One of these days I must try writing my
diary in this style, writing about my house painting with its mellow
undertones of chrisp-Autumn freshness that flies onto the wood as
quickly and surely as a rat down a drainpipe.
To see Widow Nell in the afternoon. Nell was saying that as soon as
the first bullet is fired in Mr. Bush's crusade against terrorism,
many of the members of the alliance will be off like a shot,
disappearing over the blue horizon before you can see Osama bin Laden.
I am sure she is right. France will be the first to go, probably
followed by Russia who will be upset but something or other.
With Mrs. Copeland I went to see the film "Fast & Furious" at the
Lincoln Odeon - a reasonably enjoyable film with excellent stunt
effects. The start, however, was spoilt by a churlish and noisy young
couple sitting near us who ate their way through an enormous box of
popcorn, showing absolutely no regard for other people in the
audience. A bit of Taleban discipline might not have come amiss.
Before the film started we saw trailers for a number of films,.
including "American Pie 2" and "Legally Blonde". More inane, juvenile
and silly films would be difficult to imagine, yet for a moment they
made me realise why the Muslims loathe the decadent American culture
with its divorce, drugs, racial intolerance, crime and violence in the
land of the free and easy. America over the years has done so much
for the world in terms of scientific and technological advance, yet it
has a Mickey Mouse culture. It is a paradox that I have never managed
to understand.
I was interested to read that, in the freezing of terrorist asset by
Mr. Bush, the funds of the IRA gave not been included. Shome mishtake
shurely, as they say in "Private Eye".
FRIDAY 28 SEPTEMBER
I am now only reading the letters and financial page of "The Times",
unable to stand all the nonsense that is now being written about what
and could happen in Mr. Bush's campaign against terrorism. It seems
to me that the papers would be far better employed waiting until they
see what actually happens, and then report the news, rather than
trying to make it up.
I was taking to one of the villagers this morning who had some wood
stolen from his house overnight. He was saying that he worked in Oman
in the early 1980s, and whilst he was over there, living in portable
cabins, he had £40 taken from his wallet. He reported it to the
police, and about a month later the Chief of Police came to report
that the culprit had been found - it was the cabin boy. Asked what
would become of him, the Police Chief said that he had had one of his
hands cut of. "That is our custom", replied the Police Chief when it
was remarked that this was an excessive punishment. "I still feel
guilty about that," the villager told me today.
After a cloudy start it brightened up, providing an ideal day for
painting the outside of the house - and about 10.30 a.m. I made start
on the landing window. Just as I was about to start on our bedroom
window, a neighbour came rushing round to say that sewerage was
pouring out of one of the manhole covers in our shared cesspit scheme
( we are not on mains drainage). I immediately came down the ladder
and got put the drain rods, only to find that they would not reach far
enough.
However, the local farmer had a set, so I joined them on to mine, and
eventually, after working from about 12.30 p.m. to 4.0 p.m, I managed
to clear the blockage, only to find that the cause of the trouble was
a broken pipe. Fortunately a young lad who worked in the village and
who has set up his own business was nearby today, and I have arranged
with him to replace the broken pipe next week. After a gruelling
afternoon and a shower, I felt quite exhausted, having a long rest
after downing a late lunch and some "Old Speckled Hen".