Diary of a Superannuated Soul - w/e 8th September 2001
John Copeland
I liked the e-mail sent to me this morning on the origins of
yodelling:-
Back in the olden days, a man was travelling through Switzerland.
Nightfall was rapidly approaching, and the man had nowhere to sleep.
He went up to a farmhouse and asked the farmer if he could spend the
night. The farmer told him that it would be all right, and that he
could sleep in the barn. The man went into the barn to bed down, and
the farmer went
back into the house.
Well as the story goes, the farmer's daughter came down from upstairs
and asked her father: "Who was that man going into the barn?"
"That's some fellow travelling through," said the farmer. "He needed a
place to stay for the night, so I said that he could sleep in the
barn.
The daughter then asked: "Did you offer the man anything to eat?"
"Gee, no, I didn',"" the farmer answered.
The daughter said: "Well, I'm going to take him some food".
She went into the kitchen, prepared a plate of food, and then took it
out to the barn. The daughter was in the barn for an hour before
returning to the house. When she came back in, her clothes were all
dishevelled and buttoned up wrong, and she had several strands of
straw
tangled up in her long blond hair. She immediately went up the stairs
to her bedroom and went to sleep.
A little later, the farmer's wife came down and asked her husband why
their daughter went to bed so early. "I don't know," said the farmer.
"I told a man that he could sleep in the barn, and our daughter took
him some food".
"Oh," replied the wife. "Well, did you offer the man anything to
drink?"
"Umm, no, I didn't," said the farmer.
The wife then said: "I'm going to take something out there for him to
drink".
The wife went to the cellar, got a bottle of wine, then went out to
the barn. She did not return for over an hour, and when she come back
into the house, her clothes were also messed up, and she had straw
twisted into her blond hair. She went straight up the stairs and into
bed.
The next morning at sunrise, the man in the barn got up and continued
on his journey, waving to the farmer as he left the farm. A few hours
later, the daughter woke up and came rushing downstairs. She went
right out to the barn, only to find it empty. She ran back into the
house.
"Where's the man from the barn?" she eagerly asked her father.
Her father answered: "He left several minutes ago".
"What?" she cried. "He left without saying goodbye? After all we had
together? I mean, last night he made such passionate love to me".
"What?" shouted the father. The farmer ran out into the front yard
looking for the man, but by now the man was halfway up the side of the
mountain. The farmer screamed up at him: "I'm gonna get you! You had
sex with my daughter!"
The man looked back down from the mountainside, cupped his hands next
to his mouth, and yelled out: "ILAIDTHEOLADEETOO!"
And that's how yodelling began.
More creosoting during the morning, though I ran out of creosote and
had to go in to Lincoln to purchase another 5 litre tin. The town was
incredibly and horribly crowded, no doubt with consumers whose
reckless credit card expenditure, made possible by the Monetary
Committee of the Bank of England lowering monthly mortgage repayments
every few months, is causing havoc with our balance of trade. Every
day seems like Christmas in the shops, even in a backwater such as
Lincoln. Most of the people I know have changed their cars, and
others are going wild with expensive schemes of home beautification
whilst the boom lasts. Tomorrow's jam really has arrived at long
last.
Work on creosoting was continued after lunch and a siesta, and the job
was completed by teatime, much to my relief. The next task will be to
put the woodshed door back on its hinges, which is going to mean
putting on a new wooden batten on the side, fixing it with rawlpugs
onto the concrete structure. Unfortunately, I am not very good at
this kind of repair job.
At home in the evening, much of the time being spent on updating items
on the computer and setting up this week's website. Within a few more
issues I shall have reached the 200th edition of the diary, having
started it back in January 1998. Somehow I do not think it will last
another 200 editions.
Remarkably, England beat Germany 5-1 in a football match. Wonders
will never cease. No doubt there will be knighthoods all round for
the team and an honorary one for the foreign coach
SUNDAY 2nd SEPTEMBER
This coming week is going to be an interesting time on the stock
exchanges around the world, especially on Wall Street. With the fund
managers starting to crawl back to their offices after the holidays,
we will be able to see how they respond to the recent market
weaknesses. It could even be argued that this response will possibly
determine the fate of Wall Street over the next few months. If the
market rises, then possibly all will be well; if, on the other hand,
the Dow Jones falls substantially then there will be real trouble
ahead. The real worry is Japan which looks as if it is about to sink
into financial oblivion. I have to admit that I have no idea how the
market will move, though if I had to make a guess I would put my money
on Wall Street rising quite substantially during the week.
Certainly the experts have no doubt what will happen on the markets,
for all of them in today's "Sunday Times" were sure that Britain will
escape a recession, with a boom on the stock market in the coming
months of this year, possibly taking the FTSE up by 21 per cent beyond
its present level to 7100. The basis for this Panglossian optimism
seems somewhat unclear, for no account appears to be taken of the
inherent structural weakness of the British economy, in which
manufacturing is declining, substantially reducing our exports, while
the service sector that essentially shuffles money around, is sucking
in more and more imports.
It made me chuckle to read a piece by Ian Duncan Smith, one of the
contenders for the Tory Party leadership: "Under the leadership of
Margaret Thatcher", he wrote, "we transformed the British economy into
a success story, handing on a golden legacy to Labour". As they say
in "Private Eye", shome mishtake shurely? Despite all the
considerable blessings of North Sea oil, Lady Loony presided over the
decline, not to say demise, of our manufacturing industries, and
during the reign of the Tories we were thrown out of the ERM and our
National Debt rose to a record level, not to mention inflation at
record levels and house repossessions in the thousands. And our
hospitals and schools were deprived of money to give tax cuts to the
rich.
An appalling mess, yet there are still people around, Mr. Smith being
one of them, who appear to believe in the myth of Thatcher. It
really does seem quite extraordinary, especially as we have still not
recovered from those terrible Thatcher years when we saw strikers
battling with the police, riots over the Poll Tax, and misery in our
inner cities. The fact that the Tory party had to get rid of her
before she did any further harm seems to have been quite forgotten in
some quarters. I seriously believe that there would have been a
revolution in this country if she had remained in office.
I was interested to read in the "Doors" section of the newspaper that
"upgrading your computer is often a time-consuming and pointless task
There is no reason to install a high-speed DVD-Rom drive in a tired
old system if its motherboard and processor cannot take the strain.
Similarly, installing a new graphics card may not improve the quality
of your gameplay unless you update the monitor and memory as well.
When all this cost is taken into account, it is often better value to
buy a new computer".
This is the view that I have always taken, believing that updating was
akin to putting in a new engine in rusting car. My computer, which
admittedly keeps locking up, is now approaching its sixth year, and
has a 150 processor, a 28,800 modem, and only 16 mb RAM. I still
use Explorer 3, which I regard as being infinitely better than the
later versions. The entire computer is therefore out of date and is
not worth spending any money on, but it still works - just. I shall
keep it going for as long as possible, and then buy an Evesham
computer (recommended in today's "Doors"), which will set me back
£1,900. It will be my last computer, so I feel I deserve to have the
best there is.
After breakfast I went up to strim the plot of land at the entrance to
the village that the Parish Council has taken over, cutting down the
long grass with a petrol strimmer. As I toiled there was an endless
stream of cars, all rushing past at high speed, obviously desperate to
get somewhere. Sundays, far from being a time when you stayed at home
to do household maintenance or relax, is now a frenetic time for
shopping and wandering around in the motor car. As I have commented
before, I believe that this restlessness is due to the lack of privacy
on modern estates. Hemmed in and overlooked on every front, people
now want to go out to escape from this goldfish environment. There is
also the factor that more and more money is burning holes in their
pockets.
I went up to the local Club at 1 p.m. with Mrs. Copeland, where we
were meeting son-in-law Phil's parents, Norman and Eva, who would
later be having lunch with us. Phil has gone with Caroline to
Scotland for a week's holiday. The Tanglefoot beer at the Club was
in a wonderful condition, so good that I had several pints. Before
our guests arrived I was talking to an old countryman who was saying
that it was a nonsense for the foxhunting fraternity to claim that
they kept down the number of foxes, the numbers they killed being
infinitesimal. It was far easier and more humane to shoot the foxes,
catching them at night in the beam of a powerful torch. We were
also told that a fox had managed to get into a pheasant pen last night
in the village, wantonly killing over 150 of the young birds, but only
eating one of them. "They're killing machine, are foxes!" the old
rustic exclaimed.
We had a leg of lamb for lunch, which went down very well with several
bottles of wine. As always I said a prayer for vegetarians, hoping
that whoever and wherever they were they would soon be returned to
healthy living again, forsaking their lettuce leaves and lentil soups
for proper food, amen. Norman was saying how much he valued the
standards in France and Germany, having spent some time in those
countries during the course of his work. Consequently, and not
surprisingly, he was a committed European, as I am, hoping that we
will become fully involved in Europe, thereby putting the ailing
Tories out of their misery.
What upsets the Tories so much about Europe is that our greater
involvement will mean bringing up our schools and hospitals to
European standards, involving the further expenditure of billions of
pounds. The idea, though of increasing public expenditure is
anathema to the Tories, who much prefer tax cuts, believing that
private industry should provide all services. I therefore continue to
take issue with the Tories on their xenophobic attitude towards the
European Union, for I take the view that Britain needs to be fully
integrated within the Union, thereby gaining some measure of
protection from the ever increasing power of the international
corporations that are doing so much harm to our environment and way of
life. On our own, we can never hope to quell this irresponsible use
of power.
Our guests departed about 5.30 p.m., and after helping Mrs. Copeland
to wash up I had a fairly long siesta, having consumed nearly a bottle
of wine over lunch in addition to the beer at the Club, ending up not
surprisingly with rather a nasty headache. Fortunately I recovered
about 9 p.m., when I spent some time on the computer. Bed around
12.30 a.m.
MONDAY 3rd SEPTEMBER
I was disappointed to learn that most of the local authority
controlled schools do not start until Wednesday of this week. In some
of the schools tomorrow is set aside for a staff training day, which
seems extremely bad and insensitive public/parental relations after
the teachers have enjoyed a holiday of six weeks. Rightly or
wrongly, this late start gives the impression of the slackness that we
see in so many aspects of life in Lax Britannica today.
I have every sympathy with the teachers, realising just how grim their
jobs can be at a time when they are dealing with more and more
disruptive and thoroughly nasty children, even in the junior schools,
having precious little help from parents. Additionally, there is
little assistance and guidance these days from the Local Education
Authority for those schools who have been unwise enough to remain
under the dead-hand control of bird-brained councillors.
The teachers are therefore on their own, with the added handicap of
having few forms of punishment to deal with difficult children. Even
so, the teachers tend to present a poor public image. They behave
badly at their Easter Conferences when they hurl abuse at the
Secretary of State, and they are forever whining about their workload,
as if they alone have all the burdens of the world upon their
shoulders. Yet they seem to forget about their exceedingly generous
conditions of service, security of employment, even if they are no
good at all, and twelve weeks of holiday every year.
There was a two full-page advertisement in "The Times" this morning
from some obscure group opposed to the euro. The advertisement
includes a picture of the British Chancellor in handcuffs on one page,
with the caption underneath saying "if we joined the euro he'd no
longer be in control of our economy", and on the other is a long list
of firms who are opposed to Britain joining the single currency.
Interestingly, the listed firms are principally small and unknown
organisations, with few large British manufacturing companies being
included (not that there are many left, of course).
Essentially, the advertisement represents the difference between the
manufacturing industries and retailers over Europe. The former,
especially those who export goods, readily recognise that they must
join the euro to make any sense of their forward pricing policies, now
at the whim of the overvalued and fluctuating pound. Retailers, on
the other hand, especially those selling computers and "white goods",
are frightened that a closer integration with Europe will mean greater
competition and an end to many of their restrictive practices. The
issue of the euro has absolutely nothing to do with loss of
sovereignty, for we lost that years ago to the international
companies, and I therefore take the view that the campaign against
the single currency is as dishonest as it is unrealistic.
I went to see the chiropodist again about the pain in my 5th toe on my
right foot. He told me, as before, that it was hard skin and that
nothing could be done about it: I would just have to grin and bear it
in the public school tradition, no doubt being thankful that I had
nine other toes in good order. However, he cut some more of the skin
away, and bandaged the toe up again. He has suggested wearing a pad
over the toe to reduce the pressure, and putting on cream to soften up
the skin.
A day of household maintenance, which really kept me busy all day, and
this is how I like to be, though as the years go by I find it
extremely difficult to get into this particular mode. Today,
however, I was well and truly in it, even putting back the door on the
woodshed, having screwed it to a new batten that I had put up - and
straight, too! I felt quite proud of this, for I have never been any
good at woodwork, even though I had a school report which had but one
word - "cheerful". Alas, though, I have not finished the external
painting of the house. Like a typical jobbing builder, I have had to
go on to another job.
At home in the evening catching up on a large number of e-mails from
readers f the diary. I always enjoy these e-mails, for they make the
writing of the journal very worthwhile. Amazingly, although many
readers disagree with some of my views, I have had only one abusive
e-mail in four years - from a lady who said that I was totally
misguided in confusing stress with inadequacy, and that she would
never again look at my site. Having said that, I shall probably be
swamped with critical e-mails next week.
TUESDAY 4 SEPTEMBER
An e-mail in the post today of quotations:-
- The best way to get most husbands to do something is to suggest that
perhaps they're too old to do it. -- Ann Bancroft
- I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage.
They've experienced pain and bought jewellery. -- Rita Rudner
- Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, half shut afterwards. --
Benjamin Franklin
- My wife dresses to kill. She cooks the same way.-- Henny Youngman
- When women are depressed, they either eat or go shopping. Men invade
another country. It's a whole different way of thinking. -- Elaine
Boosler
- I bought my wife a new car. She called and said, "There was water in
the carburetor." I said, "Where's the car?" She said, "In the
lake." -- Henny Youngman
- Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight. -- Phyllis Diller
- My mother buried three husbands, and two of them were just napping.
-- Rita Rudner
- At a party, one woman said to another, "Aren't you wearing your
wedding
ring on the wrong finger?" The other replied "Yes, I am. I married
the wrong man."
In the snail-mail post was the latest issue of "Clerks & Councils
Direct", which our Parish Council has recently started taking. It is
a most incredible little journal, well illustrating all the petty
politics and the nonsense of parish and town councils. In the latest
issue, for instance, there are reports of an overpaid town council
clerk who had to repay £195,000 in pay and pension; of a seaside
ice-cream shop owner in Norfolk who accused a councillor of carrying
out a vendetta against his business; a controversy that "erupted
after a giant pair of women's legs were displayed at a nightclub door
in Sleaford"; of councillors in Sifnal, Shropshire who decided
against issuing leaflets to reduce litter problems amid fears that
they might end up as rubbish on the streets; a West Yorskshire town
councillor who made anti-German comments during a party for German
dignitaries at a twinning knees-up; and a Devon mayor who stormed out
of a meeting after a heated debate about the future of Dereham
windmill.
Dealing with litter, dog-dirt and cracked pavements represents the
very essence of parish pump democracy in which pompous little
councillors, full of their own importance but blissfully unaware that
they have absolutely no powers, take themselves so dreadfully
seriously. I am never quite sure whether "Clerks & Councils Direct"
is taking the Mickey, showing us just how dreadful local councils can
be, or whether it is being quite serious in presenting such laughable
reports. Whatever the intention, there is no doubt that the journal
gives me a jolly good laugh with every issue. There was even an item
in the current issue about a Spanish Council that "phones 10 of its
citizens, chosen at random, every morning to wish them a good day".
Maybe I shall get a call one of these days from a Mayor of Lincoln:
"Ello. It's me, the Mayor. I 'ope you 'ave a nice day. Keep
smilin'. Cheerio for now".
There was an excellent letter in "The Times" this morning about the
euro, the correspondent commenting on the recent announcement by Marks
& Spencer that its stores will accept euros in the UK at the beginning
of next year: ".....With some 300 million Europeans using the new
coinage from next year, the reality must surely be that within months
the millions who visit the UK will have swamped Britain's retail
outlets with euros, and no amount of political obduracy by politicians
will stop them. For the idea will not rest with a mere 30 M&S
outlets; other retailers will quickly follow suit. Before long UK
residents returning from continental holidays will join in to spend
their own purses and pockets-full of euros in every UK retail outlet
that accepts them. Will Mr Ian Duncan Smith explain how, if elected,
he plans to stop this? Not for the first time politicians are about
to be sidelined by the practical actions of the population".
This is the very point that I was making in this journal last week,
indicating once again that you read it here first. Nevertheless, I
suppose in some ways you can admire the flat-earthers in the Tory
Party for trying to turn the clock back to Britain's better times,
but the Luddite activities of Ian Duncan Smith become increasingly
pathetic, so out of touch with reality. Still, as one of my
neighbours recently commented: "If Smith becomes Prime Minister we'll
at least get India back".
I tried to contact one of the constables at the Lincolnshire Police
Headquarters this morning, only to find that there is one of those
dreadful automated telephone systems. When you connect there is a
voice that says that the call may be monitored, then you are asked
whether you are reporting an incident, in which case press one, or if
you know the extension "dial it now". Alternatively you can wait
until the operator comes on the line. When you are eventually put
through it is usually only to find that the officer is out and that
you have to record a message. In the end I gave up and sent a fax.
In the good old days you could dial the police and an operator would
answer immediately; now you have to go through all manner of options.
I suppose this impossible system does at least deter people from
bothering the police.
Presumably the day will come when this automated telephone system is
also adopted in the emergency services, so that when you telephone 999
you will hear a voice saying: "Good evening. For training purposes
your call may be recorded. If you are now being burgled, please press
1. If you are being raped, press 2; or if you have had an accident
and your car is on fire, please press 3." After pressing 1 you
will be told: "You now have three options. If you know the name of
the burglar in your house, please press 1. If you have not seen the
burglar before, please press 2. Alternatively, if you are a bit
confused please hold the line and you will be put through to our next
available emergency incident consultant".
It reminded me of that wonderful Rob Wilton sketch on the wireless
donkey's years ago, in which a resident from Branberry Crescent rings
up the fire brigade to say his house is on fire. The male telephonist
at the fire station says: "Branberry Crescent? Don't tell me, I'm
sure I know where it is...it's on the tip of me tongue..off Smithson
Street, isn't it? No? Oh well never mind. How can I help
you?......You've got a fire have you? Just hold on, I'll see if we've
got a fire engine available". Whereupon the fellow rings through to
the operations room and says: "Fred - have we got any petrol?.....I
know we don't use petrol to put out fires, silly! What I mean is do
we have any petrol for one of the fire engines to go out?......You
don't know, you've been too busy doing the office draw? Have you no
sense of duty? By the way, how did I get on in the draw?" Perhaps
things have not changed very much.
The aerial acrobatic team known as "The Red Arrows" is back, swooping
over our village all day at a ridiculously low level and endlessly
doing loop-the-loops. As I have complained so many time before, a
more pointless and worthless activity would be difficult to imagine,
but during the coming winter months we will have to put up with all
the noise and pollution from these crazy antics from 8 o'clock in the
morning until 4 p.m., with only brief breaks, presumably for
refuelling and sandwiches. What is so frightening is that these
latterday Biggles fly wingtip to wingtip right up to the boundary of
Lincoln. Any mistake - and we have already seen a number of crashes -
could result in an extensive loss of life in a densely populated
area.
If the capers served any valuable purpose, such as being necessary for
the defence of the realm, then maybe we would accept and tolerate the
ridiculous antics. As it is, though, the team has become a plaything
for the RAF, costing the taxpayer many millions of pounds not only in
operational costs but in the reopening of a nearby airfield
principally for the benefit of the team. At a time when our hospitals
and schools are seriously under-funded, it seems a nonsense that we
can find millions for these aerial joyriders. No doubt it will be
argued that the £20m or more spent on operational costs is a mere
fleabite in the defence budget, but it is the wrong sense of
priorities that is so depressing.
More house maintenance during the day, albeit with quite long breaks
for lunch and tea. Even so, I carried on until about 8 p.m., making
it quite a good day's work.
The evenings are becoming much colder, reminding us that the summer
days are gone. However, I enjoy reading by the fireside in winter,
hearing the logs crackle as the rain beats upon the windows and the
wind howls around the chimneys - a feeling of great comfort and
security. Somehow I never seem to read very much during the summer,
with the result that I now have quite a number of books waiting to be
read. The good times are coming. I must remember, though, to order
some more coal and logs.
During the evening I was looking through the programme of courses
being put on during the 2001/2002 session by the Workers' Educational
Association in Lincoln. In addition to the courses on learning French
and German, which are almost compulsory for Third Age people, there
are classes dealing with "The Roman Empire - crisis and renewal";
"Let's listen to Socrates and Plato!; "Charles II and the
Restoration"; "Bach, the Brandenburgs and the Baroque!; and "The
wonders of Medieval Gardening". The workers really have come on apace
since the last century.
WEDNESDAY 4 SEPTEMBER
In the snail-mail post I received an extensive questionnaire relating
to the National Shoppers Survey, asking for all manner of details
about my expenditure, ownership of house and insurances, and my
salary. The purpose, of course, is to relay my details to all manner
of firms, with the result that I shall receive even more junk mail. I
sent back the survey unanswered in the prepaid envelope, saying that I
did not want to receive further junk mail. At least I received a free
pen, albeit a rather cheap ballpoint.
More household maintenance throughout the morning and afternoon,
making it quite a busy day again. As daughter and Caroline are on
holiday n Scotland, I have been charged with the duty of feeding their
two cats on alternate days, today being one of my scheduled visits.
Phil's parents are doing the other days. In the course of duty I
therefore set off at 5.30 p.m. on the scooter for the eight mile
journey to their village north of Lincoln, braving the light drizzle.
Unfortunately, on one of the bends in the road I very quickly and
alarmingly realised that I was going far too fast, finding that I was
unable to negotiate the bend. I braked sharply, only to have my back
wheel skid which took me straight towards the oncoming traffic.
I suppose it is one of those moments when you realise that there is
nothing more you can do but hope and pray for a safe outcome. The
scooter, virtually out of control, continued going towards the
oncoming cars, but at the very last minute, possibly being less than
six inches from the side of one of the cars, I managed to steer away,
just managing to avoid colliding with the first vehicle and only
narrowly missing the one behind. It was a truly horrific experience,
making me realise how quickly and suddenly accidents can happen, and
how my entire life could have so quickly changed - or ended , for any
collision with one of the cars would have resulted in a serious
accident at the very least. I could have spent the evening in a
hospital bed, bandaged from top to toe with broken arms and legs and
goodness knows what else.
For a while I felt quite shaken, but I continued riding the scooter,
eventually reaching the house of Caroline and Phil. Alas, I begin to
think that I am too old to travel on that scooter except when going to
town and back for on that Lincoln run I cannot go too fast. When it
is my turn again to feed the cats on Friday I shall go over in the
car. There was no sign of the cats today, but yesterday's food had
been eaten, so presumably they are around somewhere.
Although the near mishap was entirely of my own making, there is no
doubt that I find using a scooter very different from riding a
motor-cycle. You sit on a scooter, whereas you sit astride a motor
cycle, which makes an enormous difference to the driving. There
seems to be less control over a scooter, probably as a result of the
very small bulbous tyres, whereas a motor cycle seems far more
manoeuvrable, having much larger wheels. Matters are not helped by my
125 cc scooter being able to do 63 m.p.h., which is much too fast for
this kind of machine, the brakes being wholly inadequate for such
speeds. In future I must slow down.
At 7.30 p.m. I met my elder sister with her husband and two sons,
Julian and Quintin at the family pub called "Woodcock's" in our
village. They had come up with my father to look at a property that
Quintin, who now works in Lincolnshire, was buying in the city. A
pleasant gathering, including an interesting discussion with the
manager who told us that the pub was about to be refurbished.
I was interested to learn that Ann, Freddie and her sons were all very
much in favour of Britain adopting the euro and having a closer
integration with Europe. The Eurosceptics are becoming a diminishing
band throughout the country, few people sharing the belligerent tone
that Ian Duncan Smith takes - "storm in the Channel, Continent
isolated". The general view now seems to be that, for better or for
worse, we have no chance of staying out of Europe, and this is
certainly the view that I take. We took our leave about 9 p.m., when
Ann et al went off on the return journey to Essex whilst I drove home
in the pouring rain, spending the rest of the evening on the computer.
Sister Ann mentioned that she had bought a new car this month.
Nearly everybody I know has changed their car within the last couple
of months, all part of the consumer boom that the Bank of England
Monetary Committee has generated. In all my years I have never known
such an incredible consumer boom with so much money being spent,
almost as if most people believe that there is not going to be a
tomorrow. I just hope that the Bank of England Monetary Committee
shows more restraint tomorrow and keeps interest rates on hold, for
any further reduction would be disastrous for the housing market,
which rose by 1.5 per cent in August, giving an annual increase of
10.9 per cent and taking the average price of a house to £94,101.
On the other hand, by way of illustrating the enormous problem that
the Bank's Committee has, manufacturing industry continues to decline.
On the news today, for example, it was announced that the Canadian
electronics firm Celestica is to make 1,000 workers redundant in the
UK. No doubt the skilled men will be able to find alternative jobs
filling supermarket shelves or serving in pubs, but this employment
does not exactly help the export trade.
In the good old days we would often have an "Indian Summer" during
September, enjoying many fine warm days, but with the advent of the
so-called global warming the last few years have been cold and wet,
with little sunshine. It begins to look as if this September is about
to follow the same pattern. Had I been home earlier this evening I
would have lit the fire, for the weather was so wet and cold
THURSDAY 6 SEPTEMBER
The following joke, sent by e-mail today, made me laugh - and a
respectable one, too:
A lady goes to her priest one day and tells him, "Father, I have a
problem. I have two female parrots, but they only know how to say one
thing."
"What do they say?" the priest inquired.
"They say,:'Hi, we're prostitutes. Do you want to have some fun?'"
"That's obscene", the priest exclaimed, then he thought for a moment.
"You know," he said, "I may have a solution to your problem. I have
two male talking parrots that I have taught to pray and read the
bible. Bring your two parrots over to my house, and we'll put them in
the cage with Francis and Jacob. My parrots can teach your parrots to
praise and worship, and
your parrots are sure to stop saying...that phrase...in no time."
"Thank you," the woman responded, "this may very well be the
solution."
The next day, she brought her female parrots to the priest's house.
As he ushered her in, she saw that his two male parrots were inside
their cage, holding rosary beads and praying. Impressed, she walked
over and placed her parrots in with them. After a few minutes, the
female parrots cried out in unison: "Hi, we're prostitutes. Do you
want to have some fun?"
There was stunned silence. Finally, one male parrot looked over at the
other male parrot and exclaimed: "Put the beads away, Francis, our
prayers have been answered!"
According to Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, Christianity is almost
dead in Lax Britannica. Speaking to a gathering of Catholic priests
yesterday, the cardinal suggested that people were seeking transient
happiness in alcohol, drugs, pornography and recreational sex, with a
total indifference to Christian values among many young people.
Warning about the dangers posed by the free-market economy and
consumerism, the cardinal said: "When we live in a culture which says
'What I have got is what I am', we are in big trouble".
There are possibly few people who will disagree with the cardinal's
woeful assessment of life in Lax Britannica, but maybe the Church,
especially the indolent and laid-back Church of England that adjusts
its creed to suit modern trends, must carry some responsibility. When
I first came to the village thirty years ago, the vicar who lived in
the local rectory came to greet us soon after our arrival, but today's
vicars seldom bother to visit either newcomers or the sick, arguing
that they now have ten or more parishes to deal with and do not have
the time. At the moment we have no vicar to serve us in our village
as a result of the former incumbent having taken early retirement, and
there is no indication that the Church authorities are bothering about
a replacement.
I edit and produce the local Church Newsletter which serves our
village and those surrounding, but I shall be giving this up at the
end of the year, knowing that it is a complete waste of time as only a
handful of people attend church locally these days. There is the
feeling, so evident in many other walks of life in this country, that
the Church of England is not bothered, and has resigned itself to its
forthcoming extinction. One thing is certain: it will not be missed.
I was reading in "The Times" that the Government is opposed to the
recent proposal of the Exmoor National Park to ban second homes in its
area, presumably because most of the members of the Cabinet enjoy
several properties around the country. Residents in the village of
Brendon, where house prices as elsewhere in the region have risen by a
third in three years, complain bitterly that the second homes have a
"devastating effect", Brendon becoming a ghost village for much of
the week and year. One resident is quoted as saying: "I feel uneasy
when I see all those Mercedes gliding through the village. It would
be all right if they mixed or made a contribution to the village, but
you hardly ever see them".
Youngsters growing up in such villages are no longer able to afford
the ridiculous house prices, and therefore have to move away from the
area, making it even more of a ghost village. Yet we have the absurd
situation where homeowners actually enjoy a reduction in their council
tax on their second homes. It is all a great shame, for these weekend
country dwellers have about as much understanding of the countryside
as a Trafalgar Square pigeon. One solution might be to put VAT on the
full price of a second home, but this is unlikely to happen under the
present Government, which is really a Tory government in disguise.
On Thursdays I always have a good laugh (or "laff" as they say in
these northern parts) at the overwritten and often spiteful film
reviews in "The Times" written by a young woman called Barbara Ellen
who seems to dislike every film she sees. In today's review, Ms
Ellen, as she no doubt has to be called, condemns the film "Moulin
Rouge", telling us that "it is just about the most self-indulgent,
overdone, exhausting confection it has ever been my misfortune to come
across stone cold sober on a sunny afternoon....I felt miserably
hungover anyway, what with all the self-combusting song-and-dance
routines, brick-in-the-face dialogue and laboured cutesy digital
effects (singing moons, anybody?)". Further on our ms tells us that
"it's not so fabulous to leave the cinema feeling as drained as a
day-old corpse on a morgue table". Nasty stuff.
More house maintenance and other projects during the morning, but I
packed up at lunchtime. With fish and chips, which I now have to buy
from another shop as the one we have used for many years recently
closed down, I had a bottle of Tom Wood's "Jolly Ploughman" beer (5
per cent), which is made in a Lincolnshire brewery that I visited a
couple of years ago. The brewery uses home-grown barley and the
finest hops, said to "capture a flavour of past times". Excellent
beer, highly recommended.
I went to see Widow Nell during the afternoon, putting aside the
paintbrushes until tomorrow. Nell, who will be 84 next month, has now
set her heart on returning to the Norfolk village in which she grew
up. Her sister, suffering alas from Alzheimer's, still lives in the
village, and there are other relations nearby, so Nell thinks of it
as going home to die to be among people she knows and loves. I shall
miss her enormously, but I can understand the wish to return to her
homeland.
I was relieved to hear on the wireless 10 p.m. news programme "The
World Tonight" that the Bank of England's Monetary Policy Committee
had decided to keep interest rates on hold. We have to accept that
the Committee has a hopeless task, faced on the one hand with falling
manufacturing output (output fell by 0.9 per cent in July to stand 3
per cent lower than last year), and on the other by rapidly rising
consumer expenditure and house prices going through the roof,
representing an economy thoroughly out of balance that is sucking in
massive imports. Instead of relying on interest rate manipulation,
which seldom benefits industry, it would be far more effective to
raise income tax, but regrettably the Government has painted itself
into a corner on this, promising not to increase taxation. The FTSE
saw a sharp fall of 111 points, and Wall Street plummeted by 192
points. Things are not looking good.
FRIDAY 7 SEPTEMBER
I had a most frightening dream last night, dreaming that I was being
machine-gunned by a German fighter aeroplane in the street. However,
this dream is based on reality rather than the all-embracing sexual
fantasies imagined by that dreadful man Freud, for when I was around
eight years old in 1942 and living in the Essex town of Colchester, a
German fighter strafed the street I was walking in with my mother and
baby sister. My mother had to pull us into a gateway where we managed
to escape harm, but I can still recall the deafening noise of the
low-flying fighter and the bullets hitting the road. A most
frightening experience, as were the bombs that dropped on the town and
the sound of the German bombers flying overhead.
Even today, nearly sixty years later, I still feel frightened when I
hear the sound of a piston-engined aircraft, for it brings back all
the memories of those terrible years when, as a young child, I would
lie in bed at night and hear the German bombers almost directly
overhead, sometimes hearing the bombs dropping nearby. Even worse
were the "doodlebugs" which I saw flying over the town on numerous
occasions. They sounded like a gigantic motor-cycle in the sky. When
the engine stopped they fell to the ground within a few minutes. One
fell about half-a-mile from our house, causing a tremendous explosion,
but amazingly nobody was hurt.
Perhaps the real hurt, though, is the thought that Germany now enjoys
a much higher living standard than the natives in this ailing land.
Productivity is higher; workers work shorter hours; the schools and
hospitals are infinitely superior to ours; and pensions are far in
excess of the pittance offered in this country. Yet we pay far more
in taxes than the Germans or the French, apparently getting very
little for our money. A disappointing and sad paradox.
There is a front page headline in "The Times" this morning saying:
"Shares slump as recession grips industry", and in her "Commentary"
column, the excellent economics editor, Patience Wheatcrodt,
undoubtedly the best economist in the business, suggests that
"Britain's two-speed economy is motoring on a fuel supply that cannot
be sustained", adding that "A further interest rate cut would have
done little to help industry and, had it helped to fuel house prices
from levels that are already precarious, it would only have added to
the inevitable misery when the realities of life conspire to bring
them down" - the very points that I have been making week after week.
I believe, however, that the US will escape a serious recession. It
is this country that I worry about, for the economy is totally
unbalanced as manufacturing slumps and service industries generate
consumer expenditure that brings in a flood of foreign imports. To
make matters worse there is a massive input of public expenditure
which, although wholly justified, cannot be sustained without quite
extensive tax increases. Inflation, although so far concealed by
Government manipulation of the figures, is already becoming a serious
problem that can only get worse. I find it all very worrying, and am
just so thankful that I am no longer of working age or have a private
pension. I have a lot to be thankful for. in living the life of
Reilly, even if I am a somewhat elderly and decaying version.
This morning's newspaper had a report of the pub chain Wetherspoon
putting beer mats into its 500 pubs that tell drinkers to "get shot"
of the euro. Apparently, the campaign is backed by the flat-earthers
in the Business for Sterling and New Europe who want to protect
Britain from the nasty big world outside, yet at least have the
honesty to admit that only 30 per cent of the public are strongly
opposed to the single currency, suggesting that the f-e's have an
uphill struggle. Fortunately, most of the young drinkers in these
pubs, which are certainly not my scene, will have no idea about and
even less interest in the single currency. "Wot they on about,
Darren? Why they gonna shoot the euro?"
The Chicken Licken hysterics that we are now seeing in the opposition
to the euro is not unlike the demented campaign that was waged against
the advent of decimalization, the flat-earthers then arguing that the
shops would never be able to cope; that old ladies would not be able
to understand it; and that the country would quickly fall apart. In
the event there was no problem at all, just as there was not the
slightest bother about computers and the year 2000. Most people
probably regret that we are losing the pound, especially as it
emphasises our lowly status in the world and in Europe in particular,
but recognise that the adoption of the single currency is inevitable.
More household maintenance during the day. I spent some time in
trying to remove a rusted retaining screw from an outside light so
that I could change the broken bulb, but despite all my efforts to oil
the screw it would not budge, and I had to give up. I just cannot
understand why they do now put on stainless steel screws when an
appliance is exposed to the weather, but I suppose it is all a
question of cost-cutting. Fortunately I managed to find the same make
of light, and amazingly it was only £2.99. Nevertheless, it took me
quite a while to fix up.
I still have not managed to complete the external painting of the
house. This will have to be a principal priority next week, for the
work will have to be completed before the bad weather sets in next
month. I loathe painting so much, though, finding it difficult to
raise any enthusiasm, especially as the paint goes all over the
windows. However, it will be the last time in my life that I do this
painting myself. In future I shall pay for a professional painter,
always assuming I can persuade and plead with a firm to undertake the
work.
Nowadays there are few painters and decorators or any other tradesmen
around. As Woody Allen remarked: "Not only is there no God, but try
getting a plumber on weekends". (I also liked his quip: "I want to
tell you a terrific story about oral contraception. I asked this girl
to sleep with me, and she said 'no'"). We are knee-deep in management
consultants, social workers and stress counsellors, even solicitors,
but if you want your house decorated or anything mended you have to
learn to do it yourself. This is called advanced civilisation.
The Lincoln Film Society starts its new season's programme this
evening with "a charming and hilarious send up of the precious world
of the pedigree dog show", the director having "produced a new mock
documentary which abounds with witty observations of both owners and
dogs". One of the great things about this somewhat pretentious film
society is that the projector invariably breaks down during the
performance, thereby giving the audience a wonderful opportunity to
chat about the hidden messages and meanings of the film. The next
film to be shown comes from Iceland, directed by Balthasar Kormak,
which features 28 year old Hlynur who is "jobless, still living at
home, fussed over by his mother, and has difficulty finding a pressing
reason for getting up in the morning!" Not to be missed.
There were further substantial falls on Wall Street and London today.
Things are looking distinctly dodgy.