Diary of a Superannuated Soul
John Copeland
http://home.clara.net/johncopeland
or
http://www.johncopeland.clara.net
SUNDAY, 11th APRIL
I get to dislike the weekend newspapers more and more. Some months
ago I cancelled "The Times" on Saturday, loathing its downmarket
appeal to Mr. Blair's new middle classes, and changed to "The
Telegraph", but this was even worse. I then started taking "The
Financial Times", but after about eight weeks I have found the paper
so hopelessly muddled and badly presented that I decided to cancel it
yesterday. I shall have no paper at all, therefore, on Saturdays,
which will at least be £3.40 towards the £20 a month "shortfall" that
I now have as a result of the rising cost of living.
The Sunday papers will probably be the next to go, saving me another
£4 a month. I have moved back to "The Sunday Times" from the
incredibly boring "Sunday Telegraph", but I do not think I shall be
able to stomach all the paper's nonsense. Anything more incredibly
ridiculous than the diet and work-out articles in the "Style" section
would be difficult to imagine.
This week, for example, somebody with a Ph.D degree in clinical
nutrition; a master's degree in health care and public nutrition; and,
as might be expected, a bachelor's degree in psychology - all degrees
in pretend subjects and not worth the paper they are printed on -
explains in a book published by "Alive and Well Publications" that
people's behaviour, desires, motivations and eating habits fall into
the 12 zodiac signs!
Then there is a 48year-old man who jogs three miles each week as well
as "working out" three times who is worried that, although his "muscle
tone" is generally good, his chest remains flabby despite a "lot of
chest work". What should he do? he asks the work-out expert. The
answer is that he should "try other forms of aerobic training that
will take your heart into its appropriate zone (95-145bpm) for about
40-45 minutes, two to three times a week, to maximise fat burning.
Include your chest routine into a whole-body workout, two to three
times a week...always finish with press-ups".
Crazy, utterly crazy people. Most of these people become so neurotic
about health, seeing food as a form of poison instead of pleasure,
that they end up in the hands of a stress counsellor. The trouble
is, of course, that in western society people have far too much
leisure time and not enough to worry about. Whenever I read about
these daft health scares and obsessions and the increasing neurosis in
our society, I think of our guide during our travels in India who was
astounded when a woman in our party said that she had been advised to
come on the tour because she had been depressed.
"You went to the doctor because you were depressed?" enquired the
guide, looking at the woman in absolute amazement. "I can't believe
that people can go to the doctor because they are unhappy! People in
my country cannot even see the doctor when they are really sick". I
shall never forget his comments, for they seemed to indicate all that
is wrong with western society. Maybe if we had the return of hunger
marches in this country the problems of exercise and diet would be
solved completely.
I do, however, enjoy the new Sunday newspaper called "Sunday
Business". In today's issue there is a warning by the veteran and
much respected guru Barton Biggs, who argues that Wall Street is
dangerously over-valued, and that a crash will come shortly: "The
history of financial markets is that manias, extraordinary popular
delusions and the madness of crowds end in tears, not because the
world doesn't progress, but because human nature doesn't change".
Mr. Biggs' theme is that if the American locomotive, which is the only
engine now powering the world's economy, starts to slow down, so does
the global train. "A lot of bubbly things are happening", he warns,
"and one day at least some of the chickens will come home to roost.
Stocks are incredibly expensive, the rest of the world economy is
languishing and the US economy is not a perpetual motion machine....
Markets have reached wild levels, but the more extreme it gets, the
more likely it is that when the downturn happens, it will be secular,
as in the 1970s, rather than cyclical".
In the news section of the newspaper there is a report that "The US
stock market will start tomorrow with a $30bn fall in values that
could burst the hi-tech bubble.......Martin Armstrong of Princetown
Economic Institute last week wrote to clients predicting that a market
crash would start last Thursday". We shall see what we shall see, as
my old grandmother used to say.
I had intended going to the Cathedral for mattins at 11.15 a.m., but
on reaching the city boundary I discovered that all the roads were
closed for a running race, large numbers of policemen, no doubt all on
overtime, preventing traffic from entering Lincoln. One of the
policemen told me that traffic would be able to go through once the
runners had gone by, but there was a seemingly endless stream of
runners, including old men in their seventies puffing along, people
propelling themselves in wheelchairs, and a number of barrows adorned
with balloons being pushed by youngsters.
At times such as these I think that the world has gone totally and
utterly mad, and that there is no hope for us any more. However, the
road blocking antics of these crazy people did at least enable me to
go home and finish off the window repairs, including repainting. In a
few weeks' time, though, our own village roads will be closed for a
cycle race which we have to endure once a year. A few tin-tacs and
nails placed around corners might make the race a more thrilling
spectacle.
To the Club at 1.30 p.m. for a couple of pints of Everard's Old
Original - a delightful beer, which Mrs. Copeland also enjoys. I have
often noticed that the women I really like are usually beer drinkers,
which seems to go with intelligence. Women of lower intelligence seem
to drink spirits. No doubt there are exceptions to this observation,
but it stands up fairly well with the women I know.
Lit the fire in the parlour in the evening as it was so miserably
cold. I thought that we had done away with fires now that Spring is
here, but a bitter north-westerly wind today lowered the temperature
to just over 10 degrees Celsius during the day, and there is a
forecast of even colder weather with snow. Listened to "Sunday Half
Hour", followed by "Your Hundred Best Tunes", programmes which mark
the thankful ending of the weekend and the joyous approach of Monday.
There is no doubt that Monday has become my favourite day in
retirement - "Thank God it's Monday": a day when the hordes are back
at work, or at least most of them, and life gets back to normal and
the newspapers return to the belief that their readers have a mental
age somewhat above that of nine-year olds.
MONDAY, 12th APRIL
Our relatively small back garden is divided into two distinct
sections: what we graciously refer to as the upper and lower lawns.
Mrs. Copeland has the top half, which is tendered with loving care,
filled with colourful flowers and shrubs, which are a real delight in
summer days. I have the lower garden, but this is a more natural
landscape where Nature is allowed free range. Consequently, my
section has wild flowers, including cow parsley (Anthriscus
sylvestris), where the butterflies flap around in happy and
undisturbed flight.
Unfortunately, the cow parsley has spread rather alarmingly over the
years (see arrowed sections in photograph below), and now covers an
increasingly large section of my garden where it is taking over the
lawn, much to Mrs. Copeland's annoyance as she fears that it will
eventually spread to her section. Not only that: my lady thinks it
looks extremely silly having what she describes as "all these weeds",
and it is clear that the further encroachment is not going to be
tolerated. Meanwhile, though, with sylvestris about to come into
flower, I refuse to cut it down, which is not helpful in promoting
connubial felicity.
In one last attempt to get the felled oaks replaced, I telephoned the
District Council yet again this morning and asked what action they
were proposing to take as the agents had failed to undertake the work
of removing the roots and replanting, as they had promised to do last
week. Apparently the latest excuse of the agents is that the only
available root removal machine is on loan to one of the local
authorities.
Nevertheless, I have been given an assurance by the council officer
that, if the work is not done, a formal notice will be served on the
agents to undertake the replanting, and that if this notice is
ignored the work will be done by the district council and charged to
the agents. Maybe there is therefore a ray of hope, especially as our
excellent ward member of the district council is insisting that this
notice should be served within the next few days.
The bill for my second telephone line which I use for the Internet was
£77.99 for the last quarter - the lowest yet. When I first started
using the Internet about four years ago, the quarterly telephone bill
came to £185, but the bills have fallen thereafter. I gather that
this is the usual experience of those using the Internet: an initial
burst of enthusiasm, but a rapidly declining interest as the
realisation dawns that, part from e-mail, it is largely a waste of
time and money. Now that I no longer contribute to newsgroups, other
than putting a copy of this diary into alt.society.modern-life, the
bills should be down to about £50 a quarter from now on.
After answering e-mails during the morning, went into town to pay my
credit card for the month. I am now keeping down my purchases on this
card to £150 a month, which is a reasonable amount for my level of
income. Fortunately, I have never had to pay any charges on the card,
always having paid off the amount due each month, and the points
scheme should enable me to clear the annual charge for the card.
Whilst buying some petrol for tomorrow's visit to Essex, when Mrs.
Copeland and I will be taking Chloe with us, I saw one of the former
district councillors who had been Chairman of the Planning Committee
in his time, filling in a National Lottery ticket. He looked so
sheepish when I said that I was surprised that somebody of his rank
should be indulging in such a forlorn activity. Still, as Dr.
Johnson said, where there is shame there is yet a chance of virtue.
Even so, I find it incredible that intelligent men and women can take
part in this national swindle, which has become a tax on the working
classes.
Had planned to do some external painting after lunch, but the bitterly
cold wind and rain prevented this activity. Cleaned and checked the
car instead in readiness for tomorrow's journey to Essex. I noticed
today that the grate in the fireplace has completely worn away and
will need replacing before next fireside season - yet another job for
the endless work sheet.
The hill leading out of the village is now being resurfaced, following
the request that the Parish Council made recently to the Divisional
Surveyor's Department of the County Council. This department has
always given us excellent service, answering letters promptly and
meeting as many of our requests as financially possible. But the
department has recently been reorganised and centralised, which means
that we will no longer be receiving the same quality of service. The
centralised reorganisation will be more expensive to run with more
staff, and consequently there will be less money available for
services to the public. It will be a remote and bureaucratic
service, but this is something we must learn to accept in this
falling-apart kingdom.
In the evening went to have a drink with some neighbours, also
retired. They spend nearly all their time in the Third Age
travelling, visiting friends in various parts of the kingdom and, as
confirmed Francophiles, spending several weeks each year in the
French countryside. I sometimes feel that I ought to get out and
about more, but as the years go by I become less and less inclined to
spend life in a car and in a suitcase, preferring to spend the days at
home, especially in summertime when I can sit in the garden and watch
the cow parsley growing.
I was hearing today that one of the girls who used to live in the
village, who is now married and expecting her first child next month,
will be returning to work as soon as possible after the confinement,
the excuse being that her income is needed to pay the mortgage. What
she really means, of course, is that she and her husband are not
prepared to make any sacrifice on having a child, expecting to live at
the same standard as in their former childless days. I find it so
objectionable that mothers these days are so insouciantly prepared to
abandon their offspring. Suffer little children, indeed!
Amazingly, Wall Street, although initially falling because of
worries about Compaq's trading difficulties, quickly recovered, rising
by 165 points on the day. So all the fears expressed in the Sunday
newspapers about hi-tech stocks plunging were totally unfounded, at
least for the time being. It seems that the Wall Street bubble is
impervious to any bad news, soaring ever upwards. Surely this cannot
go on for ever?
TUESDAY, 13th APRIL
Obviously short of something more substantial to write about in her
column, Libby Purves in "The Times" today has a muck-raking article
about an affair that Chris Woodhead, the Chief Inspector of Schools,
had with one of his students donkeys years ago. It is a hateful
"we-must-be-told-the-truth " article, but on the other hand it is a
fine example of the ducking-school mentality of Mr. Blair's New
Puritans, whose intolerance and hatred were seen in the witch-hunting
zeal of times long ago. Nasty stuff, which will no doubt see Mr.
Woodhead being hounded out of office, especially as he was good at his
job in trying to instil some semblance of standards in our appalling
schools.
One advantage of reading these sickening articles is that they make me
so truly thankful that I avoided the very real temptation to vote
Labour for the first time in my life at the last election. After years
of the Tories selling off nationalised industries to their pals in the
City for ridiculously low prices and all the associated sleaze and
greed, I nearly voted Labour, wanting to put an end to too many years
of one-party rule.
But now, after two years of Labour, which is every bit as sleazy and
greedy but without the style of the old Tories, I am sick of our
grinning schoolboy Prime Minister and the New Puritanism he
represents. I shall therefore be voting Tory in the district council
elections on May 6th, and in the June election for the European
Parliament, firmly marking my cross against the Conservative
candidate.
At 10 a.m. set off with Mrs. Copeland and granddaughter for the
monthly pilgrimage to Essex, where we will be staying with
mother-in-law until Thursday evening. The recent increases in the
price of petrol add another £5 to the journey there and back, being
yet another example of a rapidly rising cost of living that will
become increasingly evident as manufacturers and traders pass on these
additional fuel costs to the consumer.
Not the best of journeys, for there were two long hold-ups, both
involving workmen painting the roads. On the first occasion,
involving a 20 minutes delay, the workmen were painting the road red;
and on the second, horizontal yellow stripes were being painted across
the road at a roundabout. Nowadays, instead of repairing the roads
they paint them.
We stopped, as always, at "The King William IV" pub at Fenstanton,
where I had a pint of Abbot ale, my favourite tipple, whilst enduring
the inanity of local radio. On setting off again, I noticed that the
exhaust on the Granada was blowing, which will mean more expense.
Alas, the vehicle, like its owner, is beginning to show its age.
Ideally, I should like to replace it, but there is no budgetary
provision for such a major item. When it finally grinds to a halt,
Mrs. Copeland will have just the one car, which seems a more sensible
arrangement.
The afternoon was spent in creosoting mother-in-law's recently
acquired shed. One way and another I seem to spend my life creosoting
these days - not one of my favourite jobs, but at least mother-in-law
uses a very much better quality of wood preserver.
I watched the six o'clock news on television, and was horrified to see
Alan Clark, the well-known philanderer and revisionist historian
standing up in the Commons and opposing the NATO bombing. He looked
so old and wrinkled , and not all that well, I thought. Unlike
Cleopatra, age really seems to have withered him and been so unkind.
Even though the ageing process affects us all, it seems to be more
ruthless with some people.
In the evening we all went to one of the new family-style pubs in
nearby Braintree. A reasonably good meal.. The manager gave Chloe a
box of chocolates for "being such a well behaved little girl". Good
PR stuff, that.
Among the delights in having a grandchild is to witness the importance
of play in their lives. Chloe, seven years earlier this month, now
has a passion for playing Banks, in which she sits behind a desk with
a calculator and paying-in slips. When Mrs. Copeland was at the Bank
over the weekend, Chloe asked her is she wanted to take out a
mortgage, and this was duly arranged. Later on, when Mrs. Copeland
was obliged to visit the Bank again for an enquiry about her mortgage
account, she was given some pills to stop smoking so that she could
afford to keep up the mortgage repayments. Goodness knows where Chloe
got that idea from. N.B. Mrs Copeland does not smoke.
WEDNESDAY, 14th APRIL
Went to Colchester to see my 85 year old bachelor uncle at 10.30
a.m., who lives all on his own, seldom seeing anybody all the week.
Today he was in a sad condition, having crippling arthritis that had
prevented him from going out to the shops for the past two days. It
was obvious that he could no live on his own, so I telephoned the
local Social Services for help. The officer I contacted was really
excellent, giving me details of the help he could receive, as well as
homes that would take him for a short stay.
I therefore arranged for him to go into one of the private care
centres, and as they had a vacancy I took him to the home in the
afternoon after we had had some beer and sandwiches at "The Maypole"
in Colchester - a dreary pub where we were reluctantly served by a
surly Sharon who almost threw the drinks at us. The home, set in
beautiful and extensive grounds, was well furnished, and uncle has a
room at the front of the house. In a way, it seemed a pity that I had
to take him there, but with nobody at his own home to look after him,
and with me 135 miles away, there was, as Mrs. Thatcher would have
said, "no alternative".
He will stay there for a fortnight to see how he gets on. If he does
not like it - and I rather fear he will not - I shall have to arrange
for him to have home vistors and meals-on-wheels. As uncle has been
unable to do any housework, he asked me to employ a firm of household
cleaners to clean things up, so I looked up some firms in the book and
rang them. The first firm was constantly engaged, and I therefore
abandoned the attempt to get through to them. From the second there
was no reply; and the third gave a mobile telephone number, but the
phone was switched off, as mobile phones nearly always are.
Went to visit another sick, elderly relative in the evening, who also
lives on her own. It really was a depressing day, serving as a
reminder to me of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. As it is, I
already seem to be developing arthritis in my left knee, causing me
quite a lot of pain. My left heel, after the injection, is now no
better.
I made enquiries about a new exhaust today from a firm in Braintree.
For the full works it will cost £209.95. I was told that there had
been a price increase of £10 from the 1st April, representing a rise
of 5%, which is in line with the real rate of inflation, mortgages
excluded.
When taking uncle to the residential home this afternoon, we went
along the outskirts of Colchester which has seen extensive building,
with vast estates in which Georgian-style, executive residences are
crammed together, barely a wheelbarrow's distance apart, all with open
gardens and absolutely no privacy. For all their neat and tidy tiny
gardens and brand new 4-track vehicles parked in the drives, these
estates look so squalid, serving as a grim reminder of the terrible
over-population in this part of the world where you can hardly move on
the pot-holed roads because of the volume of traffic.
Nearly every remaining field in the surrounding countryside has a
board up announcing with fluttering flags a new estate: "Oaklands -
a superior development of 4 bedroomed houses from £200,000 starting in
late Spring" and "Meadowfields - individually designed houses now
under construction". That people can live so crowded together, like
battery chickens, seems so depressing, the more so since there is the
pretence that they are living in a rural area. It makes me truly
thankful to get back to the wide open spaces of Lincolnshire, where
peace still comes dropping slow, far away from the hell on earth of
Essex.
THURSDAY, 15th APRIL
Still in Essex, visited a relative in the morning and then did some
creosoting of some fence panels. After lunch we set off for
Lincolnshire. As we were travelling along the A1 at about 70 m.p.h.
the rear end of the exhaust collapsed, dragging along the road as we
passed a petrol station at Tickencote, just north of Stamford. The
exhaust had snapped in the middle, leaving the end section dangling
from the rear support, but luckily it had not been forced up into the
floor of the car. Unable to free this suspended part, I had to
telephone the RAC, who came within about 50 minutes whilst we were
having a meal at the cafe adjoining the petrol station.
Within a few minutes the pleasant young lad had taken off the dangling
section of the exhaust, and we were able to continue on our journey,
albeit sounding as if we were participating in the Grand Prix. Once
back in Lincoln, and having taken Chloe home, I went to Kwickfit at 7
p.m. to have a new exhaust fitted. The young lad told me that the
middle and rear sections needed replacing, which would cost £159.99,
so he went ahead with the repair and soon had the new exhaust sections
fitted. I very much appreciated the excellent service, and must send
a letter recording my gratitude.
FRIDAY, 16th APRIL
Had two £50 premium bond prizes in the post, so these will go some way
towards the £159.99 cost of the new exhaust. This is really the story
of my life: something usually turns up after some mishap, but never
quite enough. It is the two-paces backwards and one forward syndrome,
which leaves you gradually worse off.
Spent much of the morning on the computer, answering e-mails and
writing letters. Rang the District Council to ask what action there
had been on the two felled trees, and was told that the agents would
definitely be placing an order with a contractor to have the roots
removed. I told the officer that I would ring again in a fortnight's
time. I feel like giving up, but I really must show determination to
see this business to an end. Even so, I do not think I am going to
win.
We obtained three estimates for the replacement of our septic tank,
but one is still outstanding. I find it quite incredible how so many
firms are not at all interested in getting any work these days.
Obviously, though, I am not alone in this feeling, for there was a
letter in "The Times" this week from a correspondent who had tried to
place a large order for printed fabrics with UK firms: "I got the
impression that it all sounded too much trouble to them, and as it
didn't exactly fit with what they'd been doing for the past 20 years,
they'd be best to let it pass".
Not that we have many manufacturing industries left now, most of them
being sold off for knock-down prices to foreigners. ICI, for example,
announced that it was selling off three of its chemical plants to the
Americans, who no doubt cannot believe their luck in buying so
cheaply. Very soon the Confederation of British Industry will have to
be changed to Confederation of Foreign Owned Industries.
All our car firms have gone; most of the water and electricity
companies are now owned by the Germans, French or Americans; and it
cannot be long before the Isle of Wight is sold off abroad. All very
sad, but at least in my lifetime I saw the best of British days before
everything fell into the recessionary mire.
Ironically, the British Chambers of Commerce are reported today as
saying that there is not going to be a recession. Admittedly,
manufacturing domestic sales are "declining at their fastest level for
six years", and unemployment is "also beginning to rise more rapidly,
with manufacturers shedding jobs at the fastest rate for six years,
while service sector job creation has also slowed sharply", but
otherwise everything in the garden is rosy, providing always, of
course, that interest rates continue to be lowered.
Went into town after lunch to pay my premium bond prize cheques into
the bank, and to take in my latest film for processing. Whilst in the
High Street I decided that it was time that I bought myself another
pair of shoes. Unfortunately, though, it was quite the wrong time to
be buying footwear, for the shoe shop was full of revolting sniffers
and their ghastly children who were charging round the shop in
trainers for the new term starting next week. Fortunately an assistant
immediately came over to serve me, and although this prompted
anguished cries of "we was before 'im", I had bought the shoes and was
out of the shop before they had had thirty sniffs. I noticed later
that the shoes were made in Romania.
At home in the evening, much of the time being spent on the computer
and putting the finishing touches to the web diary. Last week I had
enormous troubles in up-loading to the web, and nearly gave up. I
just hope that I do not have the same troubles - all of which are at
my end - this week. Later on sat by the fireside, the evening being
miserably cold with a bitter north wind blowing and heavy rain.
I was pleased that one of the local newspapers - "The Gainsborough
Standard" - had published my letter in which I suggested that members
of local councils should not serve more than two consecutive terms in
office, and that there should be an age restriction of 65 years.
SATURDAY, 17th APRIL
In many ways it seems a shame that our former lunchtime drinking
sessions at "The Tower Hotel" in Lincoln have come to an end after
well over a decade, but at least the additional free time gives me a
chance to do some more maintenance work in the house. It is a reminder
that in old age there is no point, as the young Dylan Thomas advised,
in raging against the dying of the light". Essentially, the Third Age
is a time of decline and departure; of the body ageing and old
friends departing this life, as one of my former work colleagues did
this week, dropping down dead in the High Street. You just have to
cling on to what is left.
One of the villagers cut down a large section of a fir tree copse
that he bought to extend his back garden. Bulldozers have completely
cleared the site, but I have been told that new trees, albeit not so
many, will be planted to replace the felled trees. In my capacity as
Chairman of the Parish Council, I have asked the fellow to let me
have written details of the replanting programme.
The Returning Officer has sent me a letter saying that there will be
no need for an election for the Parish Council on 6th May as the
existing seven councillors have been unopposed. This means I have
also been re-elected, but I am not keen on serving as Chairman any
longer. Enough is enough. Increasingly I feel that I do not want to
know what is going on in the world any more. I have been totally
ineffective as a Chairman, not even managing to get the District
Council to take action when Tree Preservation Orders have been
ignored, so it is the turn of somebody else to continue the battle.
Certainly nobody could be more unsuccessful than I have been.
djbtr...@my-dejanews.com
johnco...@clara.net (John Copeland) wrote:
> The Returning Officer has sent me a letter saying that there will be
> no need for an election for the Parish Council on 6th May as the
> existing seven councillors have been unopposed. This means I have
> also been re-elected, but I am not keen on serving as Chairman any
> longer. Enough is enough. Increasingly I feel that I do not want to
> know what is going on in the world any more. I have been totally
> ineffective as a Chairman, not even managing to get the District
> Council to take action when Tree Preservation Orders have been
> ignored, so it is the turn of somebody else to continue the battle.
> Certainly nobody could be more unsuccessful than I have been.
>
I am sure that all of us who are or have been Parish Council Chairmen feel
the same from time to time - or most of the time.For my part having taken on
the job two years ago I have tried to encourage folk to stand for election
(much as I love my colleagues against whom they are standing ) taking the
view that if there is sufficient interest generated by an election it will
bring forth people to take over in due course rather than leave us maroon on
an island of our own illusory indispensibility. The risk of course is that
one will not be re elected but so what - there is more to life than being a
Parish councillor. Even if re elected I shall only sit as Chairman for one
more year at most hoping by then that younger keener (less disillusioned)
members will be waiting in the wings to take over. Even in a much smaller
Parish than Mr Copeland's one experiences the frustrations of being right but
ignored (not always in each case but often enough to hurt) and it will be
good for there to be a younger more energetic crew to take over soon. If and
when they do I shall try to resist the temptation to be aback seat driver. I
do think however that Mr Copeland's misfortune (perhaps self inflicted) is
that there is no election for his Parish Council this time. In the nicest
possible way it leads to stagnation. Stick with it Mr Copeland but do try to
recruit the next generation for your Parish Council. Kind regards DJBTrotter
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