Old Gaffer

Month: December 2007

  • 30,12.07, Beauty, Originality and Aesthetics.

    Proceeding from 29,12.07, I have a theory that more than basic intelligence is imparted in the genes, it includes advancement for us to have arrived technically where we are to day. My great grandchildren handling construction toys, telephones and other modern gadgets, with a rate of assimilation so great, I cannot but believe is to be merely copying their parents. These comments also refer to Art, its derivation in the mind of the artist, our reaction to it, and its artistic value as an abstract. Does the gene theory allow a shift in what is taken, generation by generation, as being high art, or is it just fads generated by the artists, and publicised by themselves and their entourages.

    The one yardstick for the individual is his own conception. I quote a substandard picture accepted in an open, accredited exhibition, while one which had received considerable praise was rejected – QED. I think in art, the accepted standard for centuries was work like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and the sculpture, the Pieta, by Michelangelo which must have had a damning effect on the self-esteem of any artist who saw them, as would work at that time by other great artists.. The concept of the Pieta, with the body of Christ removed from the cross, lying in the arms of his mother, has such poignancy, delicacy of portrayal, and such surety of carving as to be riveting. In any regime there is within most, an unacknowledged driving force, to compete. If the race is won before the off, then the rules must be changed, which has been done in all spheres of art.

    Take Jackson Pollock, I believe his work is decoration arrived at by unusual means, a bicycle on one occasion I’m told, through luck, circumstance, and an innate sense of the aesthetic, which we all have to some degree. His success could only have been through publicity of a high standard. That oft portrayed side of raw beef by Chaim Soutine, is another case of being different for its own sake. Why it is so popular I fail to understand.. The Impressionists, the Cubists, Feininger in particular, Franz Marc with his wonderful horses, were often successful in breaking away from the traditional form, and Picasso led his own revolution. However, the trick was not to be just different, one had to be excellent as well – see the draughtsmanship of Dali.

    How much of our aesthetic judgement has been modified by out-side influences until we are no longer able to assess dispassionately? When I see the cheap films issuing from the States, with their excessive violence, their cheap cutting, and the paucity of that necessary level of consideration for others which is akin to love, that keeps us sane, together and oils the wheels, I despair. Wham Bam at every opportunity; rutting, if you like, is substituted as intimate love, which has no need to be expressed so graphically. I’m bored with it, but I don’t count, it is how it is affecting the young, changing their values on all levels not only aesthetically, which worries me.

  • 29.12.07, The F word and Romance

    A caveat – what I write is from my own experience, reading and hearsay, not research. It all started through the paucity of good, amusing films, and the repetitious new versions of the old staples, like Kidnapped. Some have filled the gap, like Notting Hill and Love Actually, but I was brought up short when the ‘F’ word was sprinkled in them like confetti. It has been with me all my life, in the navy, on the building site, on the rugby field, and I have used it more than once to make an extreme point, but rarely taken it home with me. I didn’t discover its regular use until I was 18 and a sailor, but now it seems to be common currency, not just an epithet signalling extreme rage. My mind then questioned whether the act of love itself, had also been degraded and that romance was not as prevalent as it was in the 20s to 50s, possibly because life is so much faster there isn’t time for protracted romance.

    When we went to the cinema with our tanner for a seat almost touching the screen we watched Fred Astaire and Ginger romancing; Robin Hood totally romancing, and lovely romantic musicals with fantastic singable songs and amusing lyrics. There were always films about war and crime and through WW2 there were patriotic ones to boost the home spirits like ‘In Which We Serve’ Even these films still keep reappearing now. Think of the incredible production of ‘My Fair Lady’, the Bond chain. We could cite numerous other successes, like the ‘Thomas Crown Affair’. Unlike some of my family, I found ‘Notting Hill’ with its awful lodger in the house with the blue door, acting as a trigger in a placid atmosphere, to be incredibly well constructed. It had that underlying friendship. love and understanding between the support characters which made it refreshing. There was no wham bam, the aggression was provided by the avid Press, something we all abhor, and apart from the odd gratuitous word ‘Fuck’, even my old Gran would have loved it. ‘Love Actually’, in a different league, seems to be an acquired taste I developed instantly, as it was so contrary in every respect, but so outrageously funny, one could understand the reason for the crass language. The kids dressed as for a fancy dress party and used in the school nativity play, was an act of genius, it offered so many moments of humour. On the other hand I wonder why Film Directors feel it necessary to introduce martial arts skills into films where the characters have no need to perform impossible acts of athleticism, and running on the roofs of umpteen cars, and mass, pointless crashes and destruction serve no scriptural advantage, but that and the indulgence in brutality are sending the wrong message to young impressionable children, because the parental care notices are rarely seen and if seen rarely acted upon.

    So I come to romanticism. I am a romantic and I believe, deep down most people are. This doesn’t mean I want to see stories of the sort in some women’s magazines. Life today, like it was in the 20’s, is difficult enough for many, not necessarily only the poor, We need light, friendship and love in our lives, if we haven’t time or the opportunity to find it for ourselves, we, like those in the 20s should find it on tap. It is years since I watched Soaps, but my remembered impression was that they were a series of disasters interspersed with aggression. Contrast, colour, surprise and regret, love and hate, happiness and despair, are the ingredients of great stories, it is the balance between dark and light, between love and hate which determines a dark crime epic and a romantic comedy, and in my experience there is more dark than light. It is more difficult, today, to be funny than it was without retreading old themes. Similarly it is equally difficult to be original in serious films of dark deeds and history, it has all been done. It seems the only option to achieve something approaching originality is to jazz it up out of all recognition to reality, or just keep repeating the old staples. In effect, because I remember old films well, my search for future original and acceptable entertainment is unlikely to be satisfied very often.

    The dilemma faced by the film makers has vexed artists since Michaelangelo, and will never go away. To clear my brain as to what is originality and what is beauty in the wider sense, I leave till tomorrow.

  • 28.12.07, A Rant About Food

    I might lose another friend by talking about her cooking, but she can’t use a computer and her husband is too highbrow to read my blog, I’m probably safe. Have you ever bought defoliating choc-ices on a stick? Soph buys them because, after a gargantuan repast, they are all I can face for a sweet. Probably invented for small children. The only problem is there are no instructions on the packet. Small children might be excused mucking up the table, their person, treading chocolate into the carpet, and having small chocolate elements attached to their cheek. The instructions, if sensible, would command you to strip off, get in a bath and then eat the wretched things as they thaw, plates of slightly melted chocolate, showering round you. Could it be they are designed to defoliate as a character building ploy, temper control perhaps?

    At last I understand something which has defeated me for years, why we insist on hiding the flavour of our beautiful British ingredients, by dousing them in flavouring from hot countries, where, before fridgeration was common it was generally intended to hide the taste of deteriorating provender. My friend is a Chef freak. Stick a tall white hat on your head, hang a steel at your waist and she’ll listen to all the garbage you like to utter, providing it’s on cooking. A high proportion of our current TV Chefs slip chilli, paprika, KN pepper and black pepper into anything they take the notion to. They taste it., and I bet even if it’s a disaster, they still smile, lick their lips and say it’s ‘super’. My friend then, remembering roughly what he said, not having taken notes, compiles the ingredients, adding a dash or two of several of the additives and proceeds to ruin my digestion. There are a few continental recipes which can compete with our traditional ones, but not the number offered, hourly, somewhere on TV.

    Globwarm and widely travelled food. I must explain that very old people don’t mix like normal people, and so, they get their information from TV, the newsprint, and the internet if they have grandchildren who insist they lean how. There are some poor souls in homes who get no info from one year’s end to another.. You must therefore take this into account when I write about Globwarm. Today I read and hear so very much garbage about us saving the planet all on our own, anyone would think our politicians wanted to be seen to be World Leaders. Where have they been, in a home? Most of it boils down to window dressing, but it is costing us through silly legislation, which achieves so little proportionately, when balanced against what it is costing us in time and money. True it is a new industry, but from where I sit, other more serious global problems take precedence. One ironic complaint by Globwarmers is that fruit etc. is imported out of British season increasing the co2 footprint, in another breath they are extolling us to help under developed countries get on their feet by buying their produce. I rest my case

  • A Letter to the NI Toutist Board, or any TB.

    This basically is a corollary to the two pieces on Ireland preceding it.  Originally it was intended as a letter to the Northern Ireland Tourist Board, but as immigration seems to have taken hold, I think it could apply to a lot more. In effect I am writing to the NI Board and if it rings a bell in your manor, so be it. There will be some explanations for the general benefit which our Board will be aware of.

    We live near Groomsport, what was a fishing village, but with fish quotas, it has become merely a small tourist backwater. It is at the mouth of Belfast Loch, with extensive views of the North shore, a neat little harbour, and small sandy bays. When one stood on the harbour wall, all one saw was the odd tastefully designed house, the Copland Islands, the Town front, and grassy slopes overlooking those bays. Now, there is ribbon spec building on those grassy slopes, that have commercialised beauty for the profit of individuals, at the expense of generations. In this high tech, high speed world that we have generated, beauty in any visual form, and especially long vistas are not just ‘nice’, they are an essential for the health of the mind. This is not psycho-babble 2007, it is a fact that has been recognised since I was a boy, and is why people stream to the coasts and airports every holiday, driven by an inner need they are not aware of.

    We used to build two-up-two-down houses at 70 to the acre, from the days of the industrial revolution, up’ until the late 20s, when affluence was beginning to filter down the class ladder. Now we build them at 12 to15 per acre for spec building and about half that for posh estates. It doesn’t take an Einstein to work out what went into one acre now needs 7 to 8 when the roads and verges are taken into account. Remember in the old days, and I’m talking 1930s and 40s, there were often 6 to 9 people per tiny house, now it averages 3. The government is talking of us now needing a vast housing project, and intends building 3m houses in 13 years, 3m houses equates to 500,000 acres of land, plus revamping arterial roads to accommodate commuting, which means more land. We seem to be getting about at least 100 000 immigrants pa. At even 3 to a house, that means another 4,700 acres pa.

    Farmers are suffering for a number of reasons that most of us know, Many are giving up, and the price of land for building being what it is, others could be tempted. I sometimes wonder, like architects and engineers might, if, when politicians are talking housing, they are forgetting sewerage, drainage, electricity and phones, the mummy run which clogs arterial roads, the shopping traffic, shops and all the rest of the infrastructure, which takes up more land, was never properly thought of initially, and then becomes a headache. It is one thing to put down an estate, but it can become a town, we have all seen it. Then the effect on the landscape is different to the original planning approval, and wars start about Sites of Special Interest, and all the other ecological concerns.

    Tourist Boards are interested in preserving the heritage for visitors, the tourist industry generally, and income. I kneel before them beseeching, that they are well placed for an overview of development and should not only have a greater say in planning policy and decisions, they should be fighting for this green and beautiful land against the onslaught of commercialism.

  • 65 Years Of An Englishman In Ireland, Part 2

    Here I propose to deal with the leisure pleasures, and the quiet serenity of this beautiful island, North and South.

    For those who like walking or scrambling up small mountains, walking for the scenery, not to keep fit, there is such a varied scenery, from the sea shore, bays, inlets, cliffs and sandy beaches throughout the coast, and there are rivers and lakes inland, with access to it all never much more than 60 to 70 miles from the larger towns. One is spoilt for choice. Many of the beaches have few people on them and can stretch for a mile or more, and we do have the Gulf Stream still. There are also beautiful mountain ranges which can be easy or hazardous, whichever you wish, like the ‘One man’s pass’ in Donegal to the Mournes in County Down, and beyond.

    The ever-pictured whitened, thatched cottage, the jaunting car and the donkey with panniers are still to be seen, once in a while, in the remote parts of the West, where they still speak Irish naturally and not just to fool the visitor. Obviously, at fairs and special fetes, The Tourist Board, North and South, will bring some out to impress the visitors. We used to have Horse Fairs in the streets of towns and villages, when young gypsies would run, trotting a horse so the customer could assess its gait. Those days are rarer, there are still special fairs like the Old Lammass Fair at Ballycastle, where one can see it while chewing yellow-man, a sticky form of honeycombe. The turf bogs on high ground have not all gone, they can be seen as part of spectacular views, in many counties and many are still worked. Like the Lake District, the better known beauty spots like Killarney, are best left for an off-season visit, as they will be thronging and parking near the better views is difficult.

    Accommodation and Food and Drink. There are a few multi star hotels, but the general run is moderate comfort in pleasant surroundings, reducing in price to some very good B and Bs. Both Tourist Boards have grading and web sites which give a wide range of information. Booking, off season is generally unnecessary. While there are nationally renowned restaurants throughout Ireland, they are not thick on the ground, and the best that can be said for most is that it is well cooked, farmhouse fare in generous quantities’ There is the Ulster Fry, served in the North in most cafes and restaurants up until eleven am, consisting of anything you may wish to order at ridiculously low prices. It is even used as a come-on in some shops. Drink in Ireland is an experience. While the police are alleged to enforce the open hours, in some country districts, if you were to ask the barman what time he closes he might say ‘October’ In Dublin in particular, where people come from all over Britain, if not further, for Stag Nights, there is a roaring trade in music played traditionally, and also singing is allowed. In the country pubs, the weekend will bring out the boron, the pipes and the accordion. Just remember, in Ireland, drinking isn’t a social grace, it is serious stuff.. The staples are mainly Irish Whisky and Guinness. The latter, if properly kept at a correct temperature in a traditional pub, (in winter I have seen candles burning near the wooden barrels), is a meal in itself. Irish whisky is vastly different to Scotch and especially the Highland malts.

    Public Transport, taken generally, has been a poor joke since they took away our rail network. There is a reasonable service between the cities of Belfast and Dublin and in the vicinity of the cities, and there are fast, long distance buses. If you are not very rich, I suggest you obtain brochures of the areas you would like to see, and spare some time for looking through time tables to plan your holiday to get the best out of it. If you are rich-ish, hire a car or drive here, if you are disgustingly rich, take taxis

    I think you would love this country as I do. Touring is still a relaxing and charming experience, off the beaten track. If you get a guide book out of your local library, brochures from the tourist boards, and above all a relief map, and plan it in a general way, with built in time to wander further, I believe you will return While Ireland has always had its ups and downs politically, visitors will not be aware themselves of anything untoward. Even through the Troubles in Ulster, visitors enjoyed holidays here and neither saw any evil or heard any

    This is a skim over somewhere with history, folklore, superstition, and above all a welcome.

  • 65 Years Of An Englishmsn in Ireland, Part 1

    This is not a travelogue, and I’m not part of the Irish Publicity machine. What I write here is basically my own observations, interpretations and analysis, coupled with recent comments gleaned from newspapers. I write it, because I believe that over the next five years the Ireland that I have known and loved for all this time will start to change irrevocably, through so-called progress, the influx of strangers, and the fact that, by modern-day standards, there is the opportunity for tremendous development, and consequently tremendous speculative building..

    In General When I came here as a sailor my conception of what I would find and what I did discover, were vastly different, I believe my conception was very common in England at that time, and apart from views of the troubles on television, I believe English people as a whole know little of Ireland. Geographically it is like a bowl, with a coastal area largely comprising high ground, high hills and mountains, with the centre of the island having lakes, arable land, the inevitable bogs, all generally at a low level. The scenery from one end to the other is mainly unspoiled, breathtaking in many cases, and a joy to behold. Apart from arterial roads, driving is still a relaxing exercise, with little ribbon building, few large conurbations, and miles and miles of coastal road with outstanding views, all within comparatively easy reach of our towns and cities.

    The influences on Irish life since the 30s, could be divided into sections within which there has been little change. During the war years, ’39 to ’46, apart from the expansion of the shipyard and the aircraft factory, there was little change in our daily lives, the one common to all of the UK as a result of the war. There was little or no development, and our way of life changed little in that period. It was not until the mid 50s when we started to see the beginnings of development, expansion, and the new prosperity, with the introduction of up-to-date cars, holidays abroad and a strong building and infrastructure programme. .This expansion was probably steady until 1969/70, just 17 years, when the Troubles took hold, when public money was diverted to security, damage repair, the police and the military, compensation and to some extent political appeasement. So for those years, from ’69 to nearly 2000, there was nothing like the expansion, development and modernisation that was being achieved in the rest of the United Kingdom, nor for that matter in Eire. In retrospect, seeing what has happened socially in Great Britain, I think we have been saved much of the wrong type of development, that appears prevalent across the water.

    In consequence of all this stagnation, we have a lot of ground to make up, but by the same token, it is the fact of our underdevelopment that makes this country so pleasant to live in and pleasant to visit. There is not the same sophistication, the same bustle, it is more relaxed, and behind the times.

    Politics Ireland would not be Ireland without politics, so let’s get that out of the way to begin with. Whatever I write is bound to be wrong in the eyes of some of us, but with free speech at least I am allowed to give my viewpoint. Initially I had to learn that basically there were too strong factions functioning here in Northern Ireland. There were those who wanted to remain with Queen and country, and those who wanted a united Ireland, and in theory never the twain would meet. In actual fact a fair proportion of the middle-class, and those in the upper class who were not involved in politics, were not as strongly divided as were the remainder. Not only then, were mixed marriages frowned upon, in some instances they still are, but today the retribution is not as virulent. At different times in recent history the political differences have been used as more than a political ploy, but when the Troubles erupted sectarianism became rampant. There is no shadow of doubt that it will be more than decades before the differences are ignored, as it seems there are two attitudes to the general government for the whole country. Some people in Northern Ireland object to the Eire government having an input into Northern Ireland politics, which they feel should be solely British. By the same token there is a strong movement, and a steady change in the scene, as political parties from the South are considering having a hold in the North of Ireland. So it is likely that there will be an underlying tension. In my view, Northern Ireland politics is basically not about religion, but about the fear of being taken over by a faction that is contrary to your own political beliefs, be it Protestant or Catholic, and will cause one to suffer as a result. Until that fear is totally eradicated, there will always be an underlying political friction. On the other hand, visitors usually only see the beauty, the peaceful countryside, and are always made welcome.

  • Just For Christmas

    What is Joy? What is Happiness?

    It may help at times to see the reverse state
    In facing a problem; to elucidate.
    A drunken night out with the boys is a ploy,
    It’s a relief, an escape, not really joy.
    The worst has happened they’ve given you the sack
    Stony broke and unhappy, you’re on the rack
    It’s not a reaction, it’s a condition
    Not a state of mind it is real perdition,
    It’s unhappiness personified

    Trawling the shops for that extra-special gift,
    To heal a sorrow, or perhaps mend a rift,
    When a casual remark was taken amiss,
    Is not really joy or happiness, it is
    A means to an end, not an end alone,
    A plaster on a cut, to a dog a bone.
    Happiness and joy can not be generated
    They’re spontaneous, if they’re to be rated
    As highly as they deserve

    The beautiful smile of your tiny daughter;
    That first realisation at the altar
    That no longer alone your view had changed
    You were two, and your lives had been rearranged.
    One of eight in a shell pulling hard on an oar,
    Is a sensation like one, never before.
    You open a door and the sun is setting
    The sky is on fire like an artist’s painting,
    Those are reactions, those are joy

    It’s Christmas day and they’ve opened stockings,
    To discover the fruits of all those shoppings,
    The smiles, excitement, even the rapture,
    That one finds on camera so hard to capture,
    Like the light in the eyes of the very old
    When their family’s round them and they can behold
    Not only the present but also the past,
    A relief from the dull life they lead, at last,
    That’s happiness, it comes from within

  • 25.12.07, Christmas Greetings

    May I wish you, my readers, a happy Christmas, all you would wish for yourselves in 2008 and thank you for your interest.

    I find it interesting that I have ultimately arrived at a point where I have had no birthday present this year and will get nothing of great moment today, because I can’t think of anything I am lacking. True, I’m a hoarder, so while the house is bulging with nonessentials, if I need it, I’ve got it, should it be ever so old and out of date.

    We have numerous grandchildren and great grandchildren, thankfully. They all bring great joy to us, our daughters and their spouses. We don’t go to their parties because they all live quite a way away, and, really, we are past children’s parties now. That doesn’t stop us from remembering all the silly dressing up in totally unrealistic imitation of Chinese, Red Indians, etc, out of what was to hand. We had treasure hunts through the house and played and betted on a steeplechase game. In fact we engineered our own amusement at these parties, with games like a sophisticated form of Blind Man’s Bluff and sticking the tail on the donkey. When I see Bouncy Castles in the gardens of neighbours and hear an entertainer was hired for a party in winter, I wonder if that too has changed so dramatically as so much else has. The stocking fillers are more sophisticated and expensive, even if children don’t all hang up a stocking, and I wonder at what age children now see through the folklore of Santa.

    Having thought of the past, with a smile, I look forward to Christmas lunch, and a family gathering, when we all get together. The feasts are more than just fun, there is a warmth which cannot be generated in any other way.

    I hope your Christmas will be a joy, that you too will look back on with a smile, in old age,

    Happy Christmas once again, John

  • 24.12.07, Food Waste

    We are constantly being reprimanded for the amount of food we waste – well, some of us. I wonder exactly how they know, has someone been rummaging in my bin when I put it out for collection? You couldn’t pay someone to do that, so it must be guesswork, or perhaps a new course at Uni. These exhortations made me look back to the days when we had none of the gadgets we need bigger houses to accommodate. Then we had a little, two shelved cupboard with pierced zinc walls for the perishables, and a jar with water and a wet towel to keep the milk bottles cool, all kept in a shady corner of the yard. Then we bought fruit and veg which was seasonal, and mostly relatively locally grown, so they were fresh and ready to be eaten. Not, as to day, when they are only half ripe and rot before they are eatable, or on offer and rotting anyway. We had corner shops which didn’t calculate what they could charge by reckoning what the customer was saving in petrol by adopting them in lieu of the supermarket 4 miles away. The corner shops considered the tastes of their regulars and stocked and priced accordingly. We didn’t do one big buy on Friday night to last a week, on the basis of by guess and by God of what you might need through the week, with fridges and umpteen freezers groaning on the surplus, you bought what you needed and very little was wasted.

    What I find, through living through such unbelievably rapid change and development over nearly 90 years, man and boy, is that if life, and especially the ease of life was drawn as the graph of a factor, if one could produce it for comfort, accessibility of desire, and satisfaction, and then plot it against time, I believe we would have something like a parabola where the high point was reached somewhere in the mid eighties.

    In recent years to me, sitting happily on the touchline, watching the game and no longer participating, some of the rules have been changed drastically, the game is much faster and more aggressive, with fouls you would never have dreamed of in your most lurid nightmares. There seems to be no half time, for lemons and a chat, and none of the players like or even trust the coach. Now even the flaming pitch is misbehaving, and the grounds-men can’t guess what disaster is going to befall it next.

    Have we come all this way, just to find that we are put in prison, where our gadgets can only be used rarely, everything we have worked and paid for and anticipated using or eating with pleasure, is to be taken from us by the warders because it uses energy in some form, and only given back at their whim, not if the reasoning is spurious and unsupportable when taking the problem as a whole. If we over indulge, it is probable the Energy Police will put us in the ‘hole’? I’m sorry, but that is how I see it. Big Brother, 1986, is here in 2007 in spades.

  • 23.12.07,Screaming Habdabs

    It is only 2 am, but I woke tearing my hair shirt, because Gordon Brown made a statement I failed to understand, which then led to a deluge of queries. I had intended writing some lovely thoughts about the beauty of Ireland, because it’s the season of good cheer; but either Brown or I was in the poolroom when our teachers were doing national finance.

    What started it was why Brown brought out an edict that doctors are to work longer hours on certain days to accommodate patients who are working 9 to 5, and bring us in line with European practice. There was also a threat that any doctor not complying might lose DHSS funding. The doctors at our surgery have open surgery 2 days a week starting at 8am and going on to at least 6 pm, and I’m sure they are not unique. What really took the biscuit was that a general survey elucidated that only 16% of those questioned thought this change was necessary. Strange that the proportion of us not born in the UK, is about 16%. Is he trying to make medicine a private service like dentistry, to plug the hole in the overall DHSS budget? I find driving home from town at 4.pm a nightmare which makes me think that flexy-time is now standard. If it is, I see no need for Brown’s edict, It is this sort of difference between government policy and what seems reasonable to me, which worries me and makes me suspicious of every utterance.

    Then I started doing sums in my head and the result made me get up and rush for paper and pencil. If we are 60 million, we are probably, on average, 3 to a house, so that makes 20m households. Northern Rock cost £100 bn . and if every household had to foot its share of that it would equate to £5000 per house. Our internal debt is said to be £3,000 per house on average (£60bn). We have 80,000 victim compensation claims outstanding. We are proposing to build 3m new homes in 13 years, say 230,000 pa,. If people can’t get mortgages the houses will be let, and the bill for construction will be footed by us yet again; and so it goes on. These astronomical figures worried me especially as I am unable to find the annual figures for the DHSS, Education, Defence and other big budgets. On top of this Brown has stated that if savings are lost he will repay up to £30,000 in any one account if the bank or Building Society fails. This forced him to take on further repayments for pensions lost up to £27,000pa each, total claim unknown. So, I’m a mite suspicious of exactly where we go from here, and what the future holds. Maybe, while the philosophy of ‘buy today and worry about it tomorrow’ is unsustainable, selfish and immoral, its participants might come off better in the long run, at the expense of the more frugal.

    Strictly Come Voting. I cannot see how one can have a competition that is fair, or even makes sense, when the allegedly considered appraisal of the judges is overruled by the wishes, backed by cash, of the audience. It smacks of the Roman Forum with Caesar, giving the thumbs down proportionate to the applause from the bleachers.

    If you read my stuff you will know I’m a cynic. I also used, in the 40s, to be an avid ballroom dancer, when Soph and I danced every dance, every night of the week, including Sundays, and at dance clubs, where you could be naked and they would never know, because they were all watching your feet to see if you turned properly. Add cynicism to dancing and evaluate, when I say I have convinced myself, from the actual judging and marking, the whole of Come Dancing was more than likely staged to increase the phone calls, rather than a true test of skill. I can’t see why all the profits of the phone-in couldn’t go to charity instead of half, they had a winner of a show, which had an incredible following and no doubt will be repeated. What I will say is, the achievement of the amateurs in so short a time, (if indeed that is true) was a demonstration of pure grit, dedication, and probably quite a surprise to some of them that they possessed this hidden talent.