DIARY OF A SEPTUAGENARIAN
- John Copeland -
Friday 26th June - Thursday 2nd July, 2009
Wine growing village in Alsace. This photograph and those following were taken by Mrs. Copeland who had an 8-day walking holiday with the Ramblers Association.
"What is called science today consists of a haphazard heap of information, united by nothing, often utterly unnecessary, and not only failing to present one unquestionable truth, but as often as not containing the grossest errors today put forward as truths, and tomorrow overthrown."
Tolstoy: "What is Art?" How true this is today of all the nonsense about global warming and healthy foods.
FRIDAY 26 JUNE
When taking granddaughter to her music lesson at 5 o'clock yesterday, we heard a woman with the title of BBC Chief Operating Officer defending the extravagant expenses of top BBC executives, thousands of pounds being spent on taxis, crates of champagne, entertainment that included a £400 cake for a birthday party for a performer; staying in lavish hotels, and even ticking up holidays to expenses. The little woman said that the BBC had to express their thanks to performers, as if they are not grossly overpaid already.
As Chloe commented: "What a load of nonsense she is talking!" And so she was, though she put up a fierce resistance, almost justifying some of the expenses. Hearing all this made me so thankful that I no longer have to pay the television licence fee, currently £142.50, no longer having to subsidise all those jollies, freebies and the millions that Jonathan Woss is paid each year. By way of celebrating a free licence for the rest of my days, I am having a party on the 7th July, which will also serve to mark my 75th birthday a few days later.
Meanwhile, Tory M.Ps are paying back £150,000 that they wrongly claimed in expenses, saying that they were sorry for the mistake. Mistake? Mistake for claiming for a mortgage that did not exist; claiming for a duck house and cleaning a moat, even spending £11,000 on gardening? As "Private Eye" would say: "Shum mishtake, surely?" Yet this is the Conservative party that hounds single mothers and those on welfare benefits, describing them as scroungers. Many of these criminal M.Ps should be behind bars for their deliberate fraud serving hard labour.
Mrs. Copeland arrived safely back home with her neighbour about 8.15 p.m. yesterday evening. I was glad to see her back, for she had seemed to be away for a long time. The eight-day absence made me hope that I "go" first, not having to live on my own. Wimmin, it seems, manage so much better on their own, presumably because they have always looked after the home, except those who dump their babies in nurseries.
I was disheartened, though not surprised, to see on Ceefax during the morning that Ed Balls, the Education Secretary, is giving in to the teaching unions by abolishing in 2011 the national strategies that set out the curriculum and standards in literacy and numeracy in schools. Unfortunately, these prescribed syllabi have meant a great deal of hard and boring work for the teacher, and that will never do so far as the National Union of Teachers is concerned. It is far easier to do project work, involving the pupils copying out great junks from the Internet or books, if any, in the school library.
A further consideration is that the continued enforcement of standards could have led to strikes, and that would upset working mothers who would have had to stay at home during the industrial action, having to face, horror of horrors, looking after their children, missing important strategy review meetings at the office. Even so, paying the Danegeld to the unions is all very sad, indicating that there is little hope of ever improving our schools. Significantly and wisely, Germany and France continue to impose a national curriculum in their schools, obviously explaining why educational standards are so much higher in those countries.
The excuse made by Mr. Balls is that schools will work together "to find ways of improving the basic skills." Giving control locally sounds so wonderful, so delightfully democratic, but nearly always it means an abandonment of disciplined and properly structured teaching. As I found when I was Divisional Education Officer for Lincoln and district, head teachers seldom co-operated with neighbouring schools, and many of the school governors had about as much idea of education as of nuclear physics.
Alsace war memorial.
After all the nonsense about green shoots appearing in the economy that has been written by economists writing for the press, I find it interesting that the Governor of the Bank of England, the European Union, the OECD and the Institute for Fiscal Studies are now generally agreed that the recession will bottom out towards the end of this year in the UK, but instead of seeing a return to economic growth, the economy, weighed down with Government debt and seeing unemployment steadily rising, will continue to drag along the bottom for the foreseeable future.
In other words, this country is unlikely to see a return to the prosperity of the past two decades, having instead to face massive cuts in public expenditure next year, bringing even more unemployment and in all probability seeing extensive strikes and racial rioting, as well as rising inflation at a time of falling output - that stagflation default setting of the British economy. This was the assessment that the retired businessman I drink with on Saturdays made a fortnight ago, and he is obviously spot on.
Being on a monthly contract I am entitled each year to an upgrade for my mobile telephone with O2 (now owned by Spain, which seems to be taking over more and more of our enterprises). I therefore went in to the Lincoln branch during the morning to see what options were available. As I mentioned some weeks ago, I had thought of having an iPhone, but the £35 monthly cost was turned down by the Household Finance Committee (HFC) as being unjustifiable. A two-year contract would have meant a total cost of £840. It is a pity I am not still chairman of the Parish Council, for I could then have got the phone on expenses.
I looked at the iPhone again in the showroom, thinking I might defy the HFC, but in the event I decided not to have the phone. Besides, the £35 monthly payment had to be by direct debit, and this settled the issue as I cannot face at my great age all the hassle about diabolical direct debits, losing control of my banking account. Instead, I opted for the Nokia 6600 folding phone (made in Hungary), which was free of charge, and I could remain on my existing tariff, paying by cheque on an invoice sent to me each month - the civilised and secure way of making payments.
Unfortunately, despite spending nearly half an hour trying to undo the back of the new phone to put in the battery, I could not see how to take it off. Mrs. Copeland also tried, but all to no avail, so I had to go back to the showroom to ask how it was done - which was totally different to the instruction manual, the diagrams being totally worthless, as so often happens with these manuals. It might be an idea if the manufacturers could give the appliance to the thickest girl in the office, seeing whether she could set it up from the manual.
At 11 o'clock I met a female friend for coffee (or rather, in my case white wine) at Yots, the bar and bistro on the estate in the village. We sat outside, and although there was not much sign of the sun, it was pleasantly warm, making for an enjoyable occasion. After lunch I set up the mobile phone, eventually managing to work my way around all the various settings.
At 5.30 p.m. I gave further help to our neighbours to finish off the repairs to their garden steps, doing some touching up after cementing a loose paving stone in place last week. Afterwards we sat on their balcony enjoying some wine. Goodness knows what happened to the evening, much of it spent pottering around, watering the runner bean plants, and answering e-mails. Somehow I never seem to read so much during the summer months, presumably because I potter around in the light evenings, not usually sitting down to read until about 9.30 p.m., which means only three hours reading before bedtime.
In "The Times" I read that the Moorfields Eye Hospital was appointing two spurious, fifth-wheel-to-the-coach appointments at "attractive" London packages - a "Director of Strategy & Business Development", and a "Director of Corporate Governance". When I see these advertisements, it makes me realise that David Cameroon could be right after all in making the threatened 10% cuts throughout the public services, "hopefully" ridding the National Health Service of these unnecessary posts.
Indeed, it could even be argued that a savage reduction of the great army of unnecessary bureaucrats in the NHS could actually benefit and improve the service, especially as these pen-pushers impede the work of those people who do the real work in our hospitals, overloading them with piles of paperwork and targets. Similarly, in the greatly overstaffed departments in local authorities, a third of the staff could be jettisoned, leading to improved services, money having to be spend on essential services rather than all the frippery we see today, such as expensive cycle tracks that no cyclist in his right mind would ever dare to use.
SATURDAY 27 JUNE
I find it quite incredible that the first item of news on the radio yesterday and this morning at 8 a.m., as well as being the leading item of news on Ceefax today, has been the death of the pop star Michael Jackson, whose music I have never heard. Whilst I can fully appreciate that he was a leading "star" in the pop world, presenting music that sounded ghastly and artless to anybody over the age of 50, such a hullabaloo over his demise nevertheless seems to indicate the totally false values we have in the Western world, the death of a pop star apparently being more important than a major event in the world. I quickly switched off the radio, unable to stand any more.
It would not surprise me if Israel attacks the developing nuclear capability of Iran within the next few weeks, mounting an air strike on the sites. A month ago such a strike would have been unthinkable, bringing Israel into further disrepute and causing mayhem around the Middle East, but now that President Ahmadinejad has behaved so appallingly badly, rigging the election and clamping down ruthlessly on demonstrators, one young girl being shot and killed, Iran has been severely criticised and condemned all around the world.
A timely strike, authorised by Israel's Prime Minister, the totally mad and aggressive Binyamin Netanyahu, would probably even be welcomed. Although not openly supported by America, no doubt President Obama, belatedly realising that there can never be any dialogue with Ahmadinejad, would not prevent the attack, especially as it would represent a devastating blow for Iran, nobody in the Arab world coming to its defence. But the raid will have to be undertaken within the next six weeks, before the world at large has forgotten about the electoral rigging and the ruthless clampdown, public memories being so very short.
In "The Times" I read that a leading Iranian cleric, Ayatollah Khatami, had demanded the execution of leading demonstrators, declaring that, "Anybody who fights against the Islamic system or the leader of Islamic society, fight him until complete destruction." It seems utterly incredible that such hatred and venom, even recommending murder, can be expressed in the name of religion. Can this really be the true voice of Islam?
A platform is built on various buildings in Alsace for storks to nest.
To "Widow Cullen's Well" in Lincoln at 12.15 p.m., joining our Saturday morning drinking group whose company, with the emphasis on serious discussions about current events, I always greatly enjoy. As might be expected, we were talking today about the ridiculous media hype over the death of a pop star, today's "Times" having a 16-page supplement and, as mentioned earlier, every news bulletin being dominated by the death. Apparently, there are all sorts of theories about the cause of death, including overdosing by his doctor, who is apparently still on the run.
We were also talking about the nonsense of highly expensive weddings, a member of our group having attended one last Saturday that probably cost not far short of £30,000, obviously indicating that taxation is still not high enough. I put forward the theory, based on many years of observation, that there is an adverse correlation between the cost and longevity of a marriage - namely, the more expensive the marriage, the shorter the marriage will last. There could, it was suggested by a mathematician in our group, be a formula for calculating the length.
Back home and after lunch I had a brief siesta, and then in the evening we went to a barbecue at the Club to celebrate a 50th birthday party of a villager, a relative newcomer, who, with his wife, has done so much to liven up the Club - a great couple, in marked contrast to the miserable buggers who have come to live in the village, yet take no part whatsoever in the life of the community. From a psychological point of view, these miserable sods are invariably obsessed in their inglorious isolation with home beautification, which I suppose represents part of their selfish, antisocial and inward looking nature - dreadful people.
The barbecue, with steaks, chicken legs and other delights, was excellent - indeed, possibly one of the few barbecued foods that I have ever enjoyed Luckily, we managed to sit with the more interesting and intelligent villagers, which makes such a difference to an evening. Much to my amazement, it was 1.30 a.m. before we arrived home. A most enjoyable occasion.
SUNDAY 28 JUNE
Maybe it is something to do with my great age, no longer understanding the ways of the modern world, but I find it absolutely amazing that "The Sunday Times" today, supposedly a serious newspaper, resorts to the appalling debased level of having a headline "Nanny reveals tragic secret life of Jackson". [the pop singer who died last week] Who on earth, other than a few wonky wimmin, is the slightest bit interested in such a sordid subject, and how can a nanny be so disloyal, presumably for a huge press payment, to disclose such personal details? What a rotten world it is at times.
Al least it is encouraging that David Smith in his "Economic Outlook" has considerably changed his tune, no longer writing about green shoots of recovering appearing everywhere. Instead, in his column today, in Eeyore rather than Panglossian mode, he tells us that, "Even a decent recovery will be accompanied by painful adjustments in spending ad higher taxes. The slower the recovery, the deeper the pain." Alleluia - the penny has dropped at last! At a time when it is now being predicted that unemployment could rise above 4 million by 2012, tearing social life apart, any talk of recovery has become laughable.
One measure of our still deepening recession is the Appointments supplement of "The Sunday Times". Whereas in former times it consisted of several pages of jobs, even some in the private sector, the section is a poor little thing now, half of it taken up with articles to fill the space. As might be expected, most of the jobs are in the public sector, which has still not suffered during the recession, but which undoubtedly will in the months ahead.
Today there were advertisements for a "Knowledge Management Director" , offering a six-figure package in dealing with monitoring the National Health Service, while the bureaucratic army of the Civil Service included vacancies for a "Director General, Corporate Support Functions"; a "Change Programme Integration Director"; a "Regional Director for the North West, and national Lead for Citizenship and Permanent Migration"; and a "Programme Director, Next Generation Information Systems Technology Transformation" - all well-paid sinecures, involving hardly any work or responsibility. And to think that the taxpayer will be paying for all those non-jobs, no doubt all intended for "the boys".
I had yet another example of badly made Chinese products this week when a digital coin counting jar, which I had been given as a present last Christmas, packed up. I have written to the importing firm to ask for a replacement, but presumably I should recognise that it is almost a record for a Chinese product to have lasted six months.
I shall never understand why we import all this Chinese junk. Surely it would be a good idea to put on a 20% import duty, using the extra revenue to pay for our hospitals. The products are now so badly made that I would rather do without than buy Chinese. Thanks heavens the Chinese do not make cameras. Presumably the lens would fall off after three weeks, and the back fall apart after eight weeks, the camera having to be thrown away.
Village in Alsace
I was sad to learn yesterday that my doctor, whom I have liked and respected, is about to leave the practice. However, bearing in mind that doctors cannot do hardly anything for me at my great age, everything worn out, or nearly so, I suppose I must try not be too upset by the departure, recognising that all things have to change, even people. On the BBC news web site there was a news item saying that, "Doctors are demanding that NHS staff be given the right to discuss spiritual issues with patients as well as being allowed to pray for them."
What an utter nonsense! Prayers are the responsibility of the clerics, not the medical men, just as sex education is the responsibility of parents, not of teachers. I suppose it could be argued on the other hand that you need a great deal of faith with modern medicine, especially with that quackery of alternative medicine which must be the biggest confidence trick since the South Sea Bubble. There is an old expression about medicine, saying that it represents "twopennyworth of faith," which would seem to have acquired an even more important consideration now that doctors want to join in the prayers for a recovery. "Dear Lord, please make the Co-dydramol, three time daily, work."
After a relaxed morning, mainly spent on the computer sorting out the photographs to use this week (I am using those taken by Mrs. Copeland during her recent holiday in Alsace, which I think are quite excellent, far better than mine, showing how much more enlightened is foreign architecture than our own modern rubbish), we went to the Club at 3 p.m. for further alcohol, even though we still felt a bit jaded after the five-and-a-half drinking session yesterday. At first there were few villagers present, but gradually people came in, and it was to be 8.15 p.m. before we eventually returned home, having some of yesterday's leftover barbecued food.
Sitting outside in the warm sunshine was quite delightful, though I am fearful we have had far too much to drink over the weekend, but what the hell: what does it matter at our time of life? When we are enjoying ourselves in this manner I always think of teetotallers who must lose so much enjoyment in life. No doubt they live longer, but in all probability it just seems longer. It makes me realise what a wonderful life we have, enjoying the company of intelligent and amusing companions.
It is a life that will be condemned for its excessive alcoholism, but it is the companionship, aided by a drop of the hard stuff, that makes the proceedings so enjoyable. And even if the days ahead mean, as they will undoubtedly will mean, that everything will soon start to fall apart, there will always be the many happy memories.
MONDAY 29 JUNE
In bed this morning, while drinking tea from the teasmade, Mrs. Copeland mentioned three old wimmin in the village who were going to the Lincoln Odeon on Tuesday to see a production if La Traviata, relayed live from Covent Garden. Mrs. C was saying that she loathed opera, and I readily agree with her, regarding it as wonderful music ruined by screeching fat females. "It means we're not very cultured," said my spouse.
I thought about this afterwards, seeing that the dictionary defines culture as, "The arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively," while culturati are described as, "Well-educated people who appreciate the arts." Although there is no doubting these definitions, it might be added that in this country "culture" has in the past been used as a social divide, the arts being narrowly defined as an appreciation and understanding of Greek mythology.
Anybody, therefore, who did not know about Sisyphus was howled down with derision and contempt, obviously somebody who did not have an ounce of education. . Though just why it was important to know about a punished Greek god who spent his days forlornly chasing rocks up and down a hill was never made clear, though I suppose its futility could be seen as the basis of Socialism.
It could be argued that, in a socially mobile society, one in which a first generation of middle class people has risen up from the ranks of the working classes following a university education, even if at some third rate institution, has made so-called "culture" even more important, culture being seen as the attainment stamp of socially accepted middle class status. It does not matter at all that the visits to the art galleries, poetry readings and the opera are loathed. The important thing is to be seen at such highbrow events.
These cultural aspirations, whether real or feigned, have a strictly defined form. In art, the Old Masters, whose paintings depict worn out angels trying to deal with fallen wimmin and their abandoned babies, must be preferred to anything modern - unless, that it, a modern painting depicts something like a dead fish. Similarly, in literature the deadening works of Thackery must be valued far higher than any modern novel, and the unbelievably dreary and turgid poetry of Tennyson is to be preferred to the delightful poetry of Dylan Thomas or John Betjeman.
Indeed, the cultural pseud seems to believe it to be important to denigrate anything new, always preferring the old. Vinyl records with all their scratches and track-jumping are preferred to the wonderfully efficient and excellent reproduction of a CD; film cameras are said to give a better reproduction than the new digital cameras, which is a complete nonsense; and anything that is popular must be rejected by the culture vultures who have brass lamps in the parlour and a grandfather clock in the hall, usually many minutes behind or in front of the correct time.
In similar vein, the theatre, even though it has had nothing intellectually to offer since "Waiting for Godot", the London stage now having to rely on rehashes of outdated musicals ("Annie Get Your Gun" probably becoming "Granny Get Your Gun"), is valued above the cinema, despite technical advances having made films into a wonderful art form, while string quartets, however grim they may be, are valued on the pseudometer as being far more intellectually worthwhile than an orchestral rendering.
Of course, the pseudos respond by condemning the disbelievers as philistines, saying that they have no understanding of the arts in their ignorance. This is obviously true in many instances, but it is nevertheless still true that culture involves a tremendous amount of intellectual snobbery and pretension, even wine being included in the hypocritical snobbery.
Town Hall at Kaysersberg in Alsace.
The death of the pop star Michael Jackson continues to dominate the news on the radio and in the press, with all manner of conspiracy theories arising to indicate the true cause of death. Presumably it will not be long before there is the belief that he was murdered by a music lover
As might be expected, there are angry letters in today's "Times" complaining about the hysteria, all very redolent of the nauseating sighing and a'sobbing over the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, one correspondent saying: "The hysteria is beyond me. I thought 'devastation' only happened after a tsunami. This hysteria has even been reflected on your leader page which I usually admire for its usual balanced judgement. What is going to happen on the day of the funeral? Flagellation? Suicides?"
The answer, presumably, is that the country will come to a halt, but the big advantage in this littered and loutish land, now deeply in recession, is that we will not notice everything has stopped, except possibly the power going off, though even that is not unusual with our German-owned electricity supplier, E-On, sometimes referred to as E-Off.
Anatole "What Crisis?" Kaletsky has an article condemning the European Central Bank, arguing in his column that, "the ECB's fig leaf has completely withered away." Unfortunately, our Anatole, who seems to have a "thing" against the European Union, is nearly always wrong in his statements and soothsaying, as "Private Eye" showed in a long article recently that quoted his totally incorrect predictions.
The reality is that, over the past two years, the European Central Bank has shown a far greater monetary discipline than the Bank of England, keeping interest rates relatively stable to allow manufacturing industry to make the necessary adjustments to changing times. The result has been that countries such as France and Germany have not experienced the ridiculous housing boom that we saw in this country, and has not got the national finances into such a fine mess. This is why Germany and France and other EU countries will come out of the recession on the strength of their powerful manufacturing industries, whereas we will remain bound in shallows and in miseries.
As if to endorse its recent severe strictures on the weakness of the UK economy, the OECD warned today that "the recovery will be slow with unemployment rising to 10%", saying that more must be done to shore up the banking system, and concluding that, "The financial crisis is likely to lead to a permanent drop in the overall size of the UK economy". In other words, we are never again going to see the prosperity of the past two decades - the very point that I have earlier repeatedly been making in this diary, indicating once again that you read it here first.
Over the next few years we will be seeing all manner of books dealing with life on a reduced standard of living, with titles such as "Coping with not Having a New Kitchen Every Three years"; "Managing With Only One Holiday a Year"; "Overcoming the Problem of Looking After Your Children When You Can No Longer Afford to Dump them in a Nursery"; and "Third World Living."
Maybe it is because I am so old, well beyond my best-before date, always supposing there was a best, that at a time when the developing recession is bringing ever rising unemployment and the prospect of even more crime, the Government is proposing to cut police services around the country by £480m. A more untimely and dangerous expedient would be difficult to imagine, indicating the terrible times this Broken Britain of ours will be going through in the years ahead, more deeply indebted than any other country, and already more violent than any European nation.
It might be better to cut back on the endless bureaucracy in the National Health Service and the worthless appointments in local government, most departments in county, city and district councils being grossly overstaffed. It might even be more sensible to cut back n the number of social workers, most of them totally useless, than cut back on the police.
A little fellow writing in " The Times," apparently not having studied history at school, tells us in his column today that, "Victoria's age is the greatest in our history." Oh, yeah? Has he not heard of the agrarian riots of the 1840s; the dark satanic mills and the vast differences between the ostentatious and idle rich and the shocking conditions of the poor in the terrible inner cities; the appallingly cruel and heartless workhouses that segregated husbands and wives; and the hateful class distinctions based on breeding rather than brains.
Presumably the little man is also unaware that there were seventy-two separate military campaigns during Queen Victoria's reign; that sexual hypocrisy covered up the legs of pianos yet had a mistress round the corner; that wimmin did not have a vote; or that the Church of England serving as an institution of social repression - "God bless the squire and his relations/And keep us in our proper stations". In many ways, Victorian England was not unlike the repression in China today
Admittedly, we had an empire, the finest the world has ever seen, upon which the sun never set, but it was an empire for the principal benefit of trade rather than for the interests of the natives. We also were the greatest exporters in the world, but once the rest of the world started manufacturing our lead was quickly diminished.
Much of the 20th century was spent in undoing the so-called values of the Victorian period, beginning with the reforms of Lloyd George, seeing better conditions in industry, an extension of the vote to wimmin in 1928, having a more enlightened attitude towards sex, while taxation started to diminish the great gap between rich and poor, though this has ironically been extended in recent years under New Labour. For much of today's population there is hope, rather than the hypocrisy and repression of the Victorian period that benefited only the wealthy.
It looks as if my Viglen desktop computer, now in its 12th year, has seen its best days, for last week it kept crashing or locking up, and it locked up again this morning. Yet somehow I cannot bring myself to replacing the desktop with a modern machine, having to go through all the hassle of setting up a computer made in China, probably finding it will not work after six months. Granddaughter Chloe found that her Sony Vio failed last month only after eight months, requiring extensive repairs. Comet, from whom we purchased the computer, argued that the power connection that had broken away was caused by damage, and was therefore not covered by the one-year guarantee. The computer is cheaply made, using inferior quality plastic, so typical of a Chinese manufacture.
There is also the difficulty in knowing what to purchase if I buy a new computer. At the Club yesterday, two members were telling me that I ought to buy an iMac, but somehow, possibly because of prejudice, I am not all that keen on those machine, especially as many of my existing programmes, such as Lotus which I much prefer to Word, could not be used. Other people tell me never to buy a Dell.
So one way and another I will probably continue putting up with the quotidian crashes, and then, when the Viglen fails completely, give up computing altogether. I am just too old to start all over again, particularly if it means going onto wobblyband, sometimes known as broadband, having to put up with all the cut-offs in our village where there is the lowest possible connection speed, little better than dial-up.
We have a balcony outside our conservatory, on which paving slabs form the surface. Unfortunately, waterproofing cement was not put between the joints when the balcony was built, so every year I have to replace a sealant that I put down to prevent leaks into the cellar below. Leakage has started again, so this morning I had to ride into Lincoln to purchase tubes of sealant, and then take up the old and put down the new - not the most difficult of tasks, but it needed sanding to remove the old sealant.
Unfortunately, I did not manage to finish the job, feeling far too tired to continue. This is the trouble with old age, everything taking so much longer. This is why nearly all geriatrics say that they cannot understand how they ever found time to go to work, when what they really mean is that their productivity is lower than that of a UK worker - well, nearly so.
At teatime I was reading on a jar of honey of the concern about the diminishing number of honey bees, causing worries on pollination. Presumably this is because of the extensive and irresponsible use of pesticides by the farmers, all in the interests of cheap food, you will understand. Whereas former generations of farmers thought about the needs of the earth and planned for years ahead, it would seem that today's farmer, having all manner of grants and subsidies that have been denied to manufacturing industry, is more interested in a quick buck, prepared to sell of land worked by generations whenever an opportunity presents itself, apparently caring little about the immense harm that pesticides can do.
I finished reading "Germany 1945" in the evening. The author, summing up the conditions in Germany at the end of the war, concludes: "The experience of Nazism and the war, and particularly of the hardships of 1945, did not inspire most Germans to seek to build a better world, as some idealists may have hoped. Instead Germans concentrated largely on their own problems, and viewed themselves as powerless and innocent victims of forces beyond their control - of the arbitrary and sometimes violent behaviour of the Allied occupation troops, of desperate shortages of food and housing, of the upsurge in crime which accompanied the end of the war, of the seeming collapse of social and moral order." in other words, the Germans were in denial, pretending they knew nothing about the horrors committed by the Nazis.
The author also comments that only 10-25% of Germany's industrial capacity was damaged by the Allied bombing raids, and that even in the intensively bombed Ruhr, the factory losses only amounted to some 30%. Even where industrial units were damaged by the bombing, they were quickly repaired and replaced. In these terms, it would seem that the 55,000 RAF airmen who died in the bombing raids lost their lives in vain, though perhaps their bravery and sacrifice at least indicated Britain's will to fight on during the darker years of the war.
I have now started on the 900-page book: "Warlord - A Life of Churchill at War, 1874-1945" by Carlo D'Este, published recently by Allen Lane at £30 [£18 from Amazon - no postage]
One of the good things I meant to comment on is that the dreadful spam has become a thing of the past with the highly efficient filtering system of my excellent Internet Service Provider, Claranet, with whom I have been for over 12 years. The spam and any viruses are deleted before they reach my computer, a list of the deleted items, usually amounting to about 120 each day, being sent to me the following day.
With the filters I use for unpleasant correspondents, most of them Jews, I now receive none of the rubbish at all, and what a blessing that is, no longer hearing that I have won £1m.in a prize draw, providing I send full details of my banking account, complete with password, or those details of penis enlargement and viagra that could bring back the randiness of a Young Conservative. It seems incredible that all those spammers nowadays waste hours sending out e-mails that never reach the intended recipients.
On going to bed I found that the heated towel rail in the bathroom was extremely hot, despite being on one of the lowest settings. I took off the unit and made various adjustments, and then put it back on again, thinking all was well. Alas, when having a bath I suddenly heard and saw the thermostat unit shoot up into the air, falling onto the ground in several pieces, which I could not put together again. So much for that repair. Obviously a new thermostat unit is needed, always supposing I can get one now that it is some 20 years old.
TUESDAY 30 JUNE
There was a photograph of the tennis player Murray celebrating his victory yesterday by grimacing horribly, and clenching his raised fists - a most unsportsmanship display, but then Wimbledon is noted for its tears and tantrums and terrible sportsmanship. Much to my surprise, mother-in-law who has always been an ardent fan of Wimbledon, watching nearly every game on the lantern, told Mrs. Copeland on the telephone last Sunday that she is not so interested in Wimbledon this year, saying that "it was not the same". Indeed, not, what with all that screaming, shouting, catcalling of the spectators, and the grunting and screeching of the players.
It was announced today that American troops would be leaving towns in Iraq, letting the natives take over. Presumably history will mark this invasion along with Vietnam as yet another failed American enterprise, Iraq now being in far more disarray and disorder than it was under Saddam Hussein's time. In what must mark the sheer futility of war, the Americans knocked the country down and then paid to build it up again. If there are any creatures on a faraway planet watching the machinations here on earth, they must believe we are entirely crazy.
As I mentioned yesterday, the thermostat has broken on towel rail in the bathroom, so this morning I tried to obtain a replacement, only to find that nobody in Lincoln stocked the Italian-made Giacomini part. This, of course, is the trouble with relying on foreign imports, either being ripped off with the cost of parts, or finding that they are no longer available.
Among the rubbish that our Anatole writes is that it does not matter where a product is made. This is absolute balderdash, for it would be so much better, both in terms of profit and reliability, if we had our own manufactures, spare parts being readily available. I had to telephone a plumber, who hopes to come on Thursday to fit a new thermostat. More bloody expense!
Chateau in Alsace
Another gloriously warm day when the temperature reached 29.2 C again - just as in my days of youth, though we called it 84.5 degrees Fahrenheit in that far away time, and we did not talk about the nonsense of global warming or climate change in those days of hot summers. One of the great delights in living in a stone-built house with its 4 ft thick walls is that even in the hottest of weather it is wonderfully cool, as it was today in our house. It makes me realise how fortunate I am in living in such an edifice, not having to endure the overheated misery of the modern brick-built property.
During the morning I rode to the Lincoln market to purchase the week's supply of free-range eggs. Unfortunately, five of the dozen eggs that I bought last week were bad, and I had to tell the stallholder that my wife was very cross with him, threatening to buy eggs from Waitrose in future. Without further ado or discussion, he immediately gave me another dozen free of charge, saying that he had received other complaints. He reckoned the sun had been on the eggs displayed on the stall last week, which seems to be a reasonable excuse. He now has an umbrella over them. I would certainly have been very reluctant to buy those pale-yoked supermarket eggs.
I sat out in the garden in the cool of the shade after lunch, reading the book "Global Warming and other Bollocks" which I received in the post from Amazon this morning - a book which debunks all the myths about climate change, health fats, and the nonsense of cholesterol. The authors, Professors Feldman and Marks, in addition to showing the nonsense about global warming, make the points that, "It has been repeatedly been demonstrated that there is no nutritional or toxicological advantage in organic foods"; that there is not the slightest evidence "that a high intake of cholesterol causes heart disease"; and asks the question: "Why do many people oppose nuclear power stations in the UK when 25 miles across the English Channel, France produces 80% of its electricity this way?"
A fascinating book, which puts to rest all the many myths that we have to endure these days about climate change and healthy eating, much of it being governed by commercial interests rather than any regard to scientific evidence. In our neurotic and gullible times, a great army of quacks have seized upon the worries that have been peddled by doomsters, making a fortune out of diets that are more likely to kill you than eating any amount of food, of bottled water that is less pure than tap water, and even having householders putting in wall and loft insulation that probably reduces yearly heating bills by about £1.10 How we are fooled!
The garage proprietor who would be supplying me with the new scooter telephoned this morning to say that, as a result of the ever plummeting pound, the scooter I was interested in had risen in price from £2,299 to £2,500. I suppose this is understandable as all foreign imported products are now rapidly rising in price, as is food in the supermarkets, much of our food now coming from abroad. I gather that a lot of milk even comes from abroad, our farmers no longer being able to compete. Goodness knows what inflation will be like this time next year, probably up to 5%.
Late afternoon, I saw on Ceefax that the UK economy had fallen by a massive -2.9% in the first quarter of this year, far worse than estimated, representing the biggest fall in 51 years.. Not surprisingly, the £ fell substantially against the dollar and the euro, while the FTSE fell 57 points. There was also the news that Lloyds Bank is to cut 2,100 jobs.
And to think that a few weeks ago I actually started to believe, albeit against my better judgement, that David Smith of "The Sunday Times" and our Anatole "What Crisis?" Kaletsky were right, along with several other economists, that we were coming out of the recession, and that growth would resume next year. I had even started celebrating. Oh, dear oh dear! How mistaken these soothsayers are, clearly having not the slightest understanding that this recession, being every bit as bad as the one in the 1930s, has a long, long way to go, as all the latest indicators are showing so clearly and cogently.
As I keep mentioning in this diary, 2010 is going to be an utterly terrible year for this country as the recession steadily worsens, causing massive unemployment, extensive cuts in public expenditure, and rioting in the streets, much of it of a racial nature, as crime levels rise to unknown levels. If the Cameroons come into office, the rioting will probably be even worse, and few of us will be safe. In explaining the dreadful fall in economic growth this year, the Office for National Statistics attributes the decline to the failure of construction and our manufacturing industries, such as our left. It is this continued weakness that is going to make a nonsense of any growth in the years ahead.
We showed the film "Elegy", based on the book by Philip Roth, at the Club's Film Society in the evening. I was rather fearful that the numbers would be somewhat down from the usual 22 on account of some of the cultural vultures in the village attending a relayed production of "La Traviata" at the Lincoln Odeon, but in the event we had an audience of 17, which was quite acceptable, many villagers obviously preferring to watch a film instead of hearing screeching wimmin spoiling wonderful music.
I thoroughly enjoyed the film, based on the novel "The Dying Animal" by Philp Roth that I read some months ago, in which a beautiful young student (played by the lovely Penelope Cruz - such lovely lips, one of the many exotic parts of the female form) falls in love with her elderly college lecturer, though I could not help feeling that Ben Kingsley was badly miscast. No woman in her right mind, or even one not in her right mind, could ever have fallen for such an ugly and uninspiring man.
Not surprisingly, there were mixed reactions among this evening's audience, some thinking it was far too slow, others believing it was quite wonderful in dealing with the awful problems and the sadness of an ageing man still yearning for young love, yet realising the young were in another world, well out of his reach, his life nearly over. Maybe you have to be an old man to appreciate the film.
I liked the mention of Tolstoy's comment: "Old age always comes as a surprise to men." Yes, indeed, for the years pass so quickly, stealing up until they overwhelm you. It seems only yesterday that I retired at the age of 54 nearly 21 years ago, and there are times when I feel sad now that I am about to reach, Deo Volente, my 75th birthday.
It is when I see young people, their lives all before them, whereas mine is nearly over; that the bright days are done, there being little point in raging against the dying of the light. I will not, for example, see very much of granddaughter Chloe's life. What will life be like in this country when she is in old age, and how, I wonder, will she remember me?
In Philip Roth's novel the question is asked: "Should a man of seventy still be involved in the carnal aspect of the human comedy? To be unapologetically an unmonastic man susceptible still to the humanly exciting? That is not the condition as it was symbolized by the pipe and the rocking chair. Maybe it's still a bit of an affront to people, to abide by the old clock of life. I realise that I can't count on the virtuous regard of other adults. But what can I do about the fact that, as far as I can tell, nothing, NOTHING is put to rest, however old a man may be?"
Presumably it is the problem of the mind and the body invariably not declining at the same speed, one of those design faults of nature, obviously made worse by man living beyond the Biblical allotted three-score-years-and ten. The mind yearns, possibly even more than ever for new conquests and adventures to relieve the rutted boredom of old age, but the body cannot fulfil these dreams of youth. In the "Desiderata" that I have pinned about my computer, it writes about "gracefully surrendering the things of youth," but wise though it may be, it is not so easy to put out the white flag and decompose.
According to my weatherstation, we had 33.9 mm of rain in June. The highest temperature was 29.2 C, and the lowest 3.4 C.
WEDNESDAY 1 JULY
There was dreadful economic news in the newspaper this morning, putting an end to any possibility of a recovery in this country. The annual rate of decline on the basis of the first quarter figures for this year showed a huge -4.9% decline; house repossessions were predicted to rise to 120,000 by 2011 following a relentless rise in unemployment and an increase in interest rates - twice the number of houses in a city the size of Lincoln; while the balance of payments "recorded a much larger deficit than expected in the first quater, amounting to -£8.54bn and representing 2.5% of GDP." Even with a plummeting pound, down to €1.16 from a 12-month high of €1.29, British exporters have not managed to benefit from a more favourable exchange rate.
The most reliable figure for judging what is happening to the economy will not be the falsified figures on house prices from building societies, or from stockbrokers and financial advisers trying to sell their stocks and policies, but from the second quarter figure on the economy to be published on the 24th July. In all probability the decline will be somewhat lower than the -4.9% for the first quarter, but any decline above -1.9% will mean a serious deterioration that portends no chance of any recovery.
Meanwhile, desperate attempts are being made to show that the recession is not as bad, the argument being presented that the rate of decline of the economy is falling, which therefore means recovery. Oh dear oh dear. The fact is that we are still going down, the rate of decline being irrelevant, and in a glutted market, nobody believe Nationwide's claim that house prices rose by 0.8% last month. Usually Nationwide's figures are subsequently corrected by the Halifax and the Land Registry.
On the 8 a.m. news on the radio I heard that National Express, which runs the East Coast rail network, had got itself into a fine financial mess, and was being taken into public ownership. What with the nationalisation of the banks, both here and in America, it really is beginning to look as if capitalism is starting to fall apart at the seams, just as Karl Marx predicted. Not that we should be surprised at today's announcement, for it was yet another example of Thatcher the Great Destroyer's failed policies to privatise nationalised industries. Few have been successful, and many of them have been sold off at knockdown prices to foreign firms, over whom we have little control, especially as a result of spineless and ineffective regulators.
When you recall that the Great Destroyer deregulated the financial markets, leading ultimately to the present credit crunch; got rid of most of our manufacturing industries; and denuded our hospitals, schools and roads of funds, maybe it is not an exaggeration to suggest that she did more long-term harm to this country than Hitler. A terrible woman, whom we must try very hard to forget all about, yet the Cameroons, having moved to the far-right, are now adopting her failed policies. It is unbelievable.
Village in Alsace. The villages are close together.
At noon I switched on the lantern to watch Prime Minister's Questions, being careful to avoid the preceding programme "Today in Parliament" which is so unbelievably awful. Poor Calamity Brown was well and truly on the back foot, getting into a hopeless muddle on public spending cuts, even trying to argue that zero expenditure meant an increase. We all know that public expenditure has to be cut next year, probably well above the all-round 10% cuts proposed by the Tories, so it seems madness that brown tries to insist that public expenditure will increase over the next two years. Certainly a humiliating session for the Prime Minister, who seems to be faltering again after recovering somewhat, not unlike the UK economy.
After a late lunch, Mrs. Copeland having been out on some expedition or other with the Friends of the Lincolnshire Museum, I sat in the garden reading some more of "Warlord - A life of Churchill at War, 1874-1945." The author mentions that only the upper classes were permitted to become army officers, a large deposit having to be made as a "bond for good behaviour". Officers, usually the family runts who either had to go into the church or the army because they were not very bright, could keep their commissions for life, never having to change regiments. There was no age of retirement, but a lieutenant-colonel could sell his commission for about £10,000, a huge sum in those days.
The book is a reminder of how much better this country has become since the 19th century, not only aided by medical and technological advantages, but a decline in the rigid class structure that started to diminish after the First World War, though the Establishment still maintains a foothold in jobs for the boys in Government, many of the departments and quangos, and certainly commissions of inquiry, designed to kick a problem into touch, having a lord at the head.
It makes me realise that were I living in our village in the 19th century, I would probably be working as a servant at the Hall, having to doff my cap and touch my forelock as the lord of the manor passed by in his carriage with his elegant wife and daughters in all their finery, having a miserable old age in even greater poverty.
We moan about the violence and the bankruptcy of the modern age, about a littered and loutish land that is not far off from becoming a Third World country, but my life is now so infinitely better than the servants at the hall all those years ago, and for which I and my generation should be truly thankful, today's manorial lords now being remote and no longer respected, virtually figures of fun.
At about 5.45 p.m. I switched on the lantern to see how the FTSE had fared (it was up 93 points), having to hear the shrieking and shouting at Wimbledon before switching over the Ceefax. It really is a horrible noise, and no viewer at home could bear to watch the proceedings without the mute button on. It seems that half the wimmin in the country are watching the matches, making me so thankful that Mrs. Copeland is not the slightest bit interested in the pit-pat proceedings. I would have to go out rather than stay at home and listen to all that ruffianly hullabaloo.
The evening was spent reading more of "Warlord." In years gone by, the residents of our little community, with four houses grouped around a cobbled courtyard, would meet for a drink outside on a warm summer's evening, sometimes staying out until midnight on particularly warm evenings. Sadly, the husband who usually convened these gatherings died several years ago, and things have never been the same since, becoming far more staid and sober, no longer seeing similar assemblies.
It is all very disappointing, but at teatime, when I was speaking about the regrettable changed group dynamics, Mrs. Copeland said it was all part of the changing kaleidoscope of life, that life never stood still and that I must accept this change. She is right, of course, especially as it has to be accepted that we are all getting on in years, no longer able to have the sociable jollity of younger years.
THURSDAY 2 JULY
Although we have an appallingly bad postal service, it invariably taking two days for a first class stamped letter posted in the village to take two days to be delivered to Lincoln just two miles away, I was relieved to hear this morning that the service is not to be privatised after all, nobody wanting to buy an organisation riddled with appalling labour relations, the management refusing to have any truck with the unions.
Privatisation might have brought an improved service, possibly even seeing a first-class stamped letter arriving the next day, but prices would no doubt have been doubled. and in all probability the service would have been sold off for a knockdown price to a foreign company, as most of are other privatised industries have been. Privatisation generally in this country has been an abysmal failure, yet another legacy of Thatcher the Great Destroyer.
It might be better if Royal Mail cancelled the 2nd class arrangements, just having first class, while charging mail order catalogues far more, probably half as much again. This would speed things up immensely, probably inducing many more customers to return to the post. When we first came to the village we had a delivery about 8 a.m., and another one about 1 p.m. Today there is only one delivery, though I suppose we are lucky to have it around 10 a.m.
In a way I suppose it is unfair to single out Royal Mail for criticism, for few British organisations are efficient these days, unless run by foreign companies. Presumably this explains why UK productivity, measured by output per worker, fell further in the first quarter, dropping by 2% to 4.2%, the lowest productivity rate in the entire industrialised world.
Buildings in Alsace that put our shabby and uninspiring architecture, especially modern architecture, to shame
During the morning, braving yet another wonderfully hot and sunny day, I cut a hedge and also did some strimming, which will shoot up my month's productivity rate. Inevitably, this hard labour meant a long siesta after a half bottle of wine for lunch. As I have returned to liking German white wine that I had in teenage days when first drinking wine, Mrs. Copeland has been buying me some bottles prices at £3.49. However, in the hope that she might improve my jaded palate, she bought me an expensive bottle - expensive by our standards, that is - of an £8.50 German white wine. Alas, I loathed it, thankful when I had finished the bottle, much preferring the cheaper bottles.
After lunch, having uploaded this diary, I joined the husband of the couple next door for a little something in the cool of the garden, our wives having gone out and it therefore being time for a little something, especially after all my morning labours that made me feel quite tired, even having a touch of stress.
This is just as well, for with the plummeting pound, still going down against the euro today, wine has shot up in price. However, I must never let it be known to the wine pseuds that I like sweet German wine, when I should, in order to be fashionable, be drinking dry white wine, the drier the better, even if it tastes like mouthwash. Better still, I should be drinking red wine, which the marketing men, rather than the medical men, say is goo to prevent heart attacks. What bollocks!
The great thing about old age is that you no longer have to face the rigours of the dictates of fashion, or be pleasant to people you loathe and despise. At long last you can be your own man, doing as you please with all the hours that at last are your own, doing what you will with them. At last there is freedom. Were I still at work, even in a self-employed capacity, I could never write this diary. As it is, it upsets some of the sensitive souls in the village, not that I care a damn about that.
No Premium Bond prize wins for the 3rd successive month, though I have already won more since the start of the financial year than I would from the highest rate of interest in a building society account, so perhaps I should not grumble. With the substantial lowering of interest for the prize money, the chances of winning anything have gone down considerably, and I would not be surprised if I won nothing further this year. I shall therefore start withdrawing £2,500 of the bonds to buy a replacement scooter next month, and thereafter to purchase more items for myself.
There is no point in leaving the money in at a time when inflation is rising sharply, and at the age of 75 I might as well start spending money with only a few years to go, albeit leaving enough for Mrs. Copeland when she is left behind. As an old adage says: "A pound saved after the age of 70 is a pound wasted," and this is good advice.
This evening will be spent reading some more of "Warlord", which is a wonderfully written book, so much better than the two dreary books I read earlier.
E-mail: johncopeland@clara.net.
Lincolnshire, 2nd July, 2009.
Comments welcomed.
No. 593
Diary of a Septuagenarian<BR>
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