Diary of a Superannuated Soul - w/e 6 March, 1999
John Copeland
http://home.clara.net/johncopeland
or
http://www.johncopeland.clara.net
SUNDAY, 28th FEBRUARY, 1999
It seems incredible that only a few weeks ago we were being told by
all the analysts that there was going to be a global meltdown, the
like of which we have not seen since 1929. Now, however, there are
universal forecasts that the boom times are coming, especially for
Britain.
In yesterday's "Financial Times", for instance, Tom Cogan commented
that "three interest rate cuts by the US Federal Reserve and the five
by the Bank of England have reassured investors that the world - and
the UK in particular - can avoid recession".
Obviously this is all good news, but it seems difficult to believe
that the problems in Russia, the Far East and Brazil, and the
possibility of devaluation in China, can all be put aside by a few
cuts in interest rates. Indeed, can the management of an economy,
particularly one such as the British with its over-dependence on
inward looking service industries, really be so easily manipulated?
Presumably the answer is an emphatic "yes", for we are already seeing
a dramatic rise in consumer expenditure (up 1.1 per cent in January).
What does seem so interesting, not to say dishonest, is that when they
are trying to persuade people to buy shares, the financial advisers
are predicting these boom times, whereas the bleatings to the Bank of
England on the need to achieve further devaluation through lower
interest rates, evidence is put forward that the economy is in a
"sluggish" state and likely to deteriorate even more unless the £ is
lowered.
At 11.15 a.m. went to mattins at Lincoln Cathedral. In his sermon,
the young Chancellor - or, at least, he seems young to me - told us
that we must try to be less self-indulgent, and he suggested that the
modern fashion for unburdening our feelings, not showing any restraint
in our emotions, could sometimes be immensely distressful to other
people. I felt like shouting out "amen to that", for I much prefer
the "stiff upper lip" to the mawkish sentimentality that the late
Diana, Princess of Wales displayed.
The choir was conducted by Dr Guest, an organist and choral director
with a world-wide reputation from t St. John's College, Cambridge. A
wonderful elderly man who, with his grey hair and dignified and kindly
face, looked the very personification of high intellect and culture.
How wonderful it is to see this rare species, now almost distinct
amidst the crudity and vulgarity of Kool Britannia.
Another splendid character was the elderly man who sat beside me, who,
with his portly frame and ruddy face and grey hair swept back and over
his ears, looked just like an 18th century squire. When it came to
the collection he pulled out his wallet and put a £10 note on the
plate , whilst I fumbled in my pocket for a £1 coin by way of
illustrating the sad poverty of the mean in heart and spirit. I
really ought to give a little more each week.
Read some more of "Captain Corelli's Mandolin" by the fireside in the
evening. This is a book that was recommended by one of my cultured
and learned friends, but initially I found it somewhat hard going, not
to say downright incomprehensible, but now, having read some 80 pages,
I am beginning to enjoy the novel.
As always, Mrs. Copeland and I listened to "Sunday Half Hour" and
"Your Hundred Best Tunes" on the wireless in the evening. I
particularly enjoyed the hymns today from a clap-happy Pentecostal
Church, which included "Oh Lord my God", probably my favourite hymn.
I also like, dare I mention it, "The Old Rugged Cross". Although I
greatly enjoy the classical beauty of the music played in Lincoln
Cathedral, I delight in these tuneful, rousing hymns; indeed,
there are times when it does not take much for my taste to descend
into the more vulgar arena. Perhaps the secret of happiness, though,
is to enjoy as much variety as possible.
According to my rain gauge, there were 13.25 mm of rain during
February, making a total so far this year with January's 65.5 mm of
78.75 mm, which is just over 3 inches. The fields are still
extensively flooded hereabouts, and were in Essex when we went down
there last weekend, yet the Water companies will still be pleading
that we are desperately short of water, that is to say, they do
nothing to collect the plentiful rainwater.
MONDAY, 1st MARCH
The beginning of March always announces the beginning of the end of
winter - something which always cheers me up, especially when the
daffodils, those pathfinders of Spring, come into bloom. As the poet
Bryant puts it:-
"The stormy March is come at last
With wind and cloud, and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast
That through the snowy valley flies.
Ah! passing few are they who speak
Wild stormy month in praise of thee,
Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak
Thou art a welcome month to me".
Reading "The Times" in bed this morning after making the usual pot of
tea for Mrs. Copeland, I saw that David Owen, who made such a muddle
of the Bosnian crisis, and Dennis Healey will lead what is called the
"New Europe" group, which will oppose Britain joining the EMU. The
pitiful polemics of these worn out old souls, who should be feeding
the ducks in the park instead of worrying about issues they can
neither understand nor accept, must surely be a reminder that
"ageism" is fully justified, for these men of yesterday are
hopelessly mired in the past, measuring everything against the
benchmarks of their earlier days, opposing any kind of change. As
Eeyoe would have said: "Pathetic. That is what it is".
I also read that the Chancellor, Gordon Brown, may have to bring in a
more stringent budget because lots of naughty people have been
smuggling cigarettes into the country. One thing that has to be
admitted about this Boy Scout Government is that they certainly know
how to think up excuses for their financial profligacy and the
increasing muddles they are getting into. Last month inflation went
up because the price of potatoes rose, and presumably next month's
likely rise will be due the price of lamb chops having gone through
the roof. You have to give it to them, as they say. Everybody but
themselves are to blame, as well as factors over which they have no
control.
On a day that began rather gloomily and wet but subsequently cheered
up, even with some spasmodic sunshine, drove down to Boston with Mrs.
Copeland to have the £5 "Times" lunch at the riverside restaurant at
"The White Hart". I had fish and chips, but unfortunately the fish
was not all that good, giving the impression of being caught several
years ago and losing its taste in a long period of deep freezing. But
Mrs. Copeland enjoyed her meal. The total cost, with an additional
glass of wine beyond the free one, came to £14.20.
The pleasant young waitress, who was the only person serving in the
restaurant, told us that "head office" was currently cutting down on
staff hours, and although she was paid until 2.30 p.m. each day, she
found that she had to stay on at least another hour to do the clearing
away and washing up so that everything was ready for the evening
shift. "I sometimes feel like going off at 2.30 p.m. and not doing
the extra work, but I don't like to let my colleagues down", she told
us. These comments made me realise how awful working life has become
for those lucky enough to be in employment.
I worked in Boston a quarter of a century ago when, for the brief
period between April and December of 1974 I served as Divisional
Education Officer for the area, before moving back to become DEO for
Lincoln and district. Back in the 1970s, Boston was a relatively
prosperous market town, but today it has a seedy, run-down look with
cheap stores, betting and charity shops and restuarants, including
the White Hart with its peeling paintwork, which all give the
impression that the town has seen much better days.
However, there are the ubiquitous new pubs, including a Wetherspoon
establishment which we went into on finishing our meal. Much to our
surprise, it was full of shady characters, mainly men in their
twenties and thirties plus a sprinkling of older, unshaven men who
were obviously unemployed, all part of the increasing band of
no-hopers who face long-term unemployment now that the port no longer
offers any employment, and all the manufacturing industries have moved
away or closed down and agriculture remains depressed..
Seeing these redundant men made me realise how awful and how
soul-destroying unemployment must be, particularly for young married
men who probably go to pubs such as these, spending what little money
they have from the dole, to escape the prison and the humiliation of
home. It made me wonder what they will think when they hear the
Chancellor in his forthcoming budget speech saying that the economy is
in a fine state and that the country's prospects have never been
better. The downright dishonesty and the double-talk of these
politicians must surely make these unhappy and unwanted men so bitter.
The boom times that are now being experienced in London and the Home
Counties have passed Boston and most of the North country by. Not for
the natives of these flat Fens the soaring house prices or the large
increase in credit announced today by the Bank of England. For them
it is unemployment, and the constant search for work that no longer
exists, though the impression was given in the pub today that some of
them have long since given up the struggle, whatever Mr. Blair may be
trying to do to force them back to work.
As Mrs. Copeland and I drove back home, I stopped to take some
photographs of the vast open spaces of the Fens, where the flat fields
stretched for miles to merge with the horizon. And to my great joy,
as I stood by the roadside in the village of Revesby I heard a lark
singing his head off in true Vaughan Williams' manner. A decade or
more ago, as I have mentioned before in this diary, we could hear the
larks singing in our village, but now the birds and their song are
no more in this silent Spring.
Whilst Mrs. Copeland was out at her Spanish class in the evening (the
numbers are now down to six), I sat by the fireside reading "Captain
Corelli's Mandolin", but although I have now read 122 pages, there is
no sign yet of the Captain or his mandolin.
TUESDAY, 2nd MARCH
An article by Richard Tyrrell in "The Times" this morning on the
subject of the Internet, reported that "90 per cent of Internet
traffic is devoted to pornography". Mr. Tyrrell is not impressed, for
he writes: "The Internet is a place of creativity but no poetry; of
high ideals and low instincts. If we embrace it and praise it
unquestionably, we collude with its child abusers and haters. A great
deal of work remains to be done on its dimly lit zones".
One possibility that could be considered would be for the Government
to bring in an annual licence for the use of the Internet, possibly
amounting to £100 a year (to be paid in full in one instalment for
administrative simplicity), with an exemption for pensioners, of
course. It would be easy to collect this licence money through the
Internet service providers, and it would bring in quite a lot of
revenue for the Government, which could be spent on the Health
Service.
The licence might even keep some of the ragamuffins off the Internet,
particularly those largely illiterate youngsters who have to use an
expletive in every third sentence in their postings to newsgroups.
No doubt people of a left-wing political persuasion will regard this
licence as elitist, but I have always taken the view that elitism is
something to be proud of and to encourage at all times.
Went down to see Ivan during the morning to draft out a representation
the Parish Council will be making to the Lincolnshire County Council
on their revised Structure Plan. We are particularly concerned about
making out a case for a Green Belt around the northern rim of Lincoln,
which includes our village where the present open countryside gives
splendid views of the Cathedral, as shown in the photograph below.
On the 10th March the County Council will be having a preliminary
meeting to discuss the arrangements and procedure for the Public
Inquiry later in the year on the revised Structure Plan, and as
Chairman of the Parish Council I have been invited to attend, along
with Ivan as Clerk. Everybody knows, of course, that the County
Council will take not a blind bit of notice of our requests for a
Green Belt, for there are far too many interests and too much money to
be gained from speculative development around Lincoln.
It is cash, not the interests of the countryside, that matters these
days, but we must not been downhearted. When future generations ask
why on earth we allowed this wonderful countryside around Lincoln to
be built upon for shuttered-up business parks and yet more housing
estates, they will at least be able to look back on the records to see
that we did everything possible to oppose such unnecessary and
unwanted developments, but stood no chance in the days of local
authority corruption and commercial greed.
After lunch did some more house decoration, managing to get the paint
all over myself in the process. How I loathe painting, but it seems
ridiculous getting a professional decorator in when I have so much
free time and should be able to do the work myself, thereby saving
enormous bills.
The Halifax Building Society announced today that house prices had
fallen by 0.5 per cent last month, but there was nothing to worry
about, so we were told. There are "signs of improvement in consumer
confidence and the cut in mortgage rates to the lowest since 1966
should result in a firming in prices". In other words, the Building
Societies are desperately trying to talk-up house prices - a process
which is quite successful in the short run, but which always ends in
tears and negative equity.
At home in the evening, Mrs. Copeland working until 9.30 p.m. Read
some more of "Captain Corelli's Mandolin", which I am now greatly
enjoying. The television remained switched off, not having been on
since last Wednesday afternoon when I watched Prime Minister's
Question Time. Were it not for the excellent facilities on Ceefax
that enable me to look at the financial markets, I am sure that we
would not have television.
I read in our local evening newspaper that a senior lecturer in media
theory at the University of Lincolnshire & Humberside is going on a
course in Dublin for three days, at which he will be delivering a
paper on the recent film called "Naked". The title of his paper is:
"Social Realist Dystopia: The Urban Wasteland in Mike Leigh's film
'Naked'". And to think that they say we do not spend enough money on
education. What they really mean is that we do not spend enough money
on the right things, preferring to waste resources on non-subjects
such as media studies and psychology.
Further evidence of the appalling waste in the education service was
given to me recently by my elder sister, who was telling me that her
son who works as a lecturer at an Agricultural College has gone off to
the Paris Agricultural Show with three of his colleagues, all expenses
paid. The impression is given, particularly in the declining
standards of literacy and numeracy, that education has become one long
playtime in this land, and with the extensive use of computers in
junior schools, we are likely to see an even greater deterioration.
It makes me wish that I could afford to send my little granddaughter
to a private school, for it is only in the private sector that any
concern for the 3Rs is seen these days.
There was also a report of the damage that young vandals, said to be
between 14-17 years old, had done to shops in a village near Lincoln.
These thugs had put lighted papers into the shop letterboxes; smashed
windows, and fired air gun pellets into a pet shop at some of the
animals. Bearing in mind that the declining employment opportunities
in this kingdom are going to mean that most of these youngsters will
be unemployed, the future is particularly horrible to speculate.
Perhaps Auberon Waugh [op.cit Sunday] is right, after all.
WEDNESDAY, 3rd MARCH
Spent some time in the morning answering e-mails and setting up this
week's web site. I had hoped to include the photographs I had taken
of Boston during my visit on Monday, but the film is still unfinished,
and the weather today and yesterday was dull and overcast, it hardly
getting light all day. Perhaps I shall have to give further thoughts
to buying a digital camera, for this purchase would solve all the
problems of film processing that I now have. The cameras are coming
down in price, and it is said that the quality is improving with the
higher resolution.
I put in a posting in one of the ClaraNet newsgroups suggesting that
it would be a Good Thing if the Government introduced an annual
licence fee of £100 (to be paid in full) to use the Internet [see
Tuesday], pointing out that this might help to remove those youngsters
who are incapable of contributing to a newsgroup without using an
expletive in every third sentence. It will be interesting to see what
kind of response the suggestion brings. No doubt there will be some
left-wing loonies who will angrily say that the suggestion is
elitist, but, as I shall have to tell them, this is the whole point
of the proposal. Elitism is something to be treasured and encouraged
at all times.
We seem to have problems with a leak from the sewerage tank that we
share with three of the neighbours. The local farmer's son came to
pump the tank out this morning, but it is obvious that there is a
leakage in the decades old soakaway system, which will probably have
to be replaced, possibly at a cost, albeit shared four ways, of
several thousands of pounds. There is always some expense that turns
up unexpectedly.
Whilst Mrs Copeland was working (from 1 p.m. to 9.30 p.m.) went to the
Odeon cinema in the afternoon to see the film "Velvet Goldmine", put
on in the one-day "Projection" series. These one day performances are
films that would not appeal to the popcorn people who comprise the
bulk of the cinema audience in Lincoln, the city not being noted for
cultured or intellectual native. It was therefore a delight this
afternoon not to hear these people munching all their way through the
film, slurping orange juice and other cordials in between.
The film, about the decline of a bi-sexual pop star, gave an insight
into the glittering and seedy, transient world of pop music, which
sometimes to masquerade under the guise of having a serious message.
But I found the rambling direction somewhat tiresome.
Back home, I switched on the computer and saw that an angry
correspondent had responded to my suggestion in a ClaraNet newsgroup
that there should be annual licences for connection to the Internet:-
"Well, where do I start. Perhaps you would also be in favour of
monitoring peoples phone calls. A secret police Dept. which would
interrogate people in that special manner Charge a licence fee for
using the telephone. Bring back ration books. Are you in favour of
removing peoples freedom compleatly. The internet is a great place
for people coming together free
from social and national stigma. As for the spelling mistakes and
gramatical mistakes. I simply do not care! Perhaps it is people like
you who should be bared from the net!"
An interesting response, though I rather hoped that he meant that I
should be barred rather than bared from the Internet. I wrote back
to point out that we had licences for guns, cars, television,
marriage, fishing and amateur radio, and far from limiting my freedom,
I regarded the licences as safeguards to my freedom.
Later in the evening read some more of "Captain Corelli's Mandolin" by
a log-burning fireside. The bitterly cold south-westerly wind was
howling and moaning round the chimneys, and the rain was beating
against the windows, but it was comforting to be indoors, warm and
away from the world on a night like this when the elements were
raging. The old countrymen used to say that a windy March foretells a
fine May. We shall see. Certainly it would be a rare experience to
have a warm, fine Spring, something that we have not enjoyed for at
least a decade.
I was initially heartened to read a headline in our local evening
paper which read: "Police will get classes in culture", which summoned
up the vision of our constables discussing "Dostoevsky's "Crime and
Punishment" whilst arresting members of Mr,. Blair's new middle
classes for drunkenness, but further reading indicated that the police
would be going on courses "to make them more aware of other cultures"
in our multi-racial society.
Mercifully, the Bank of England resisted the temptation to lower
interest rates this month. To have lowered rates again would have
been to invite a return to soaring inflation and rapidly rising house
prices, which always ends in tears. The prudent approach of the Bank
shows how wise it is to have an independent bank, even if it is not
totally free from political manipulation, for the Government would
have taken the rates down by a full 1 per cent this month, with
disastrous consequences.
THURSDAY, 4th MARCH
As I predicted, my suggestion that there should be a licence fee for
using the Internet has brought the criticism of being elitist -
"elitist bollocks" was the term used. Amazingly, though, the
contributor to the newsgroup managed to write three paragraphs without
using an expletive. This must be something of a record.
In his column in "The Times" this morning, Anatole Kaletsky, whose
views I find increasingly irritating, was defending President Clinton
against the American Right which "had waged a prurient, hypocritical
and anti-democratic smear campaign to unseat a President whom they had
repeatedly failed to defeat through the normal political process". I
readily agree with this political motivation, but feel disappointed
that he goes on to welcome "the fact that Ms Lewinsky is emerging as
the popular heroine of this tawdry drama speaks volumes about the
triumph of social libertarianism in modern culture and about the
magnitude of historic miscalculation by the American Right".
I find it difficult to understand how anybody can defend a President
who has been prepared to cheat and lie his way out of trouble,
demoralising and devaluing himself in the eyes of other world
leader's, having such little regard for his position as a leader and
role-model in American society. As Chaucer asked long years ago, "If
gold rusts, what will iron do?" - a question that is as pertinent and
relevant today as it was when written in the late 14th century.
Also in "The Times" was a front page account of two Cambridge
University physicists who had used applied mathematics to invent a
number of aesthetically-pleasing knots for neckties. One of the
techniques involved starting with the tie inside out, then wrapping
the broad end around the narrow end, passing the broad end behind the
centre loop, passing down through the loop, and then tightening. I
tried it out, and it certainly produced a very pleasing knot.
I find, though, that few of my retired friends and acquaintances wear
a tie; indeed, when I go on the outings of the local Retired
Gentlemen's Club, the President and I are the only members sporting a
tie, the rest of the group with their open-necked shirts looking as
if they have just come off a building site. It is, alas, so easy to
abandon sartorial standards in retirement, considering appearance to
be of no importance in the relaxed, not to say indolent, lifestyle.
But as Charles Churchill said in the 18th century in his poem
"Night":-
"Keep up appearances; there lies the test;
The world will give thee credit for the rest".
It amused me to see a retirement card in a shop during our visit to
Boston on Monday. The card (see below) had a drawing of a cross-eyed
man holding up a trowel and fork, supposedly enjoying the delights of
vegetable gardening in the Third Age, even though an ominous cloud is
looming overhead. This, of course, is the popular concept of
retirement: that we superannuated old souls will be happy for the
rest of our remaining days lighting bonfires and looking after the
nine bean rows and the hive for the honey bee.
Terry Farnsworth, in his excellent book "On the Way Up", puts it well
in his description of those terribly embarrassing retirement
presentations: "...it is a time for fantasy and make-believe. The
fantasy, for example, that giving up work is as easy as buying a new
shirt instead of the traumatic experience that it so often is. The
make-believe that the departing colleague will live happily ever after
in some idyllic cottage, insulated by his memories against raging
inflation, and finding retirement in pottering around the garden.
Incredibly enough, since time is their great enemy, retiring staff are
often given watches or clocks. Is there no end to man's inhumanity to
man?"
After a morning spent mainly on the computer, went round to daughter
Kate's house after lunch to clear a blocked sink, which took me nearly
two hours. Later, after going home to change, went to see Widow Nell.
In the evening read some more of Captain Corelli's Mandolin", Mrs.
Copeland being out at a meeting. Quite an interesting day: computing,
sink clearance, discussions with a lady of high intellect, and reading
by the fireside in the evening. Who could want for anything more;
indeed, what else is there in retirement? Yet I still do not enjoy
retirement.
I liked the comment about national characteristics: "A German plans a
month in advance what his bowel movements will be at Easter, and the
British plan everything in retrospect, so it looks as though
everything occurred as intended. The French plan everything whilst
appearing to be having a party, and the Spanish...well, God knows".
FRIDAY, 5th MARCH
I enjoyed the joke I received by e-mail this morning:-
SATURDAY, 6th MARCH
Late yesterday evening I was looking at the item "document properties"
in the Lotus 97 in which I prepare this diary. I was amazed to see
that the "editing time" was put down as 7.25 hours, and that the words
amounted to It seems, therefore, that I spend what amounts to a
whole working day in preparing this diary. I usually write it up
each day late at night before going to bed, for any true diary has to
be written on the day, without the advantage of foresight when it is
written after the events.
To the "Tower Hotel" in Lincoln in the morning to meet my drinking
friends. One of our group is still on his seven weeks tour of India,
seeing that magnificent country in all its splendour and grim poverty.
I greatly enjoyed the trip that Mrs. Copeland and I made in 1989, the
first year of my retirement, when we visited the Taj Mahal and walked
through the thronged streets of Delhi. I would very much like to go
back again. As it is, we shall be going on holiday to Spain this year
with one of Mrs. Copeland's brothers and his family, forsaking the
frozen beaches of Frinton-on-Sea.