JUST ASKING.....

I just wonder what the English roses have done to be overlooked in favour of a foreign, catholic, feminist, divorced commoner of mixed race.  Just asking, that`s all.

DISCONTENT ?

Yes, I know.  For some years now I have suffered from the condition known as seasonal affective disorder, aka SAD, which just about sums up my state of mind at this time of the year.  And as well as the winter blues brought on by short days, long nights and cold, wet inclement weather, it seems to me that there is an increasing number of other reasons not to be cheerful, all brought about by human activity.

Here`s a list of `events` which seem to kick off once the last vestiges of summer have gone. 

First we had Bonfire Night - 5th November - when the country seems to celebrate an unsuccessful gunpowder plot to blow up Parliament, with all its attendant crash, bangs and wallops that do little more than frighten the life out of our faithful canine companions.

Then the first of a succession of imports from across the pond in the shape of Halloween. Well, perhaps not strictly accurate.  Originally, All Hallows Eve heralded the beginning of three days of observing Allhallows tide, the time in the liturgical year devoted to remembering the dead, including saints (hallows,) martyrs and all those who have departed.  So much for history then.  Today`s reality has seen Halloween transformed into yet another transatlantic import devoted more to rampant materialism than anything else.   

Which brings us to Thanksgiving - the traditional American celebration of harvest.  It is rightly observed in the USA but I have noticed a tendency for it to sneak in to our consciousness here in the good ol` UK.  But if that incursion comes to not very much in years to come, the retail insurance has well and truly cemented itself the day after Thanksgiving in the shape of Black Friday, yet another import from our former colonials  

I`m more than a bit concerned about Black Friday. It sounds a bit `racist` - maybe it should be Beige Friday to coincide with the growing fad for fluidity and neutrality in all things - and it`s not just the Friday but this latest commercial razzmatazz  seems to go on for the best part of a week, judging by the daily e-mails and adverts I get.

And to complete the SAD picture, we now have not only the celebration of Santa`s birthday at Christmas and then the New Year to look forward to but now also the prospect of yet another royal birth and yet another royal wedding (presumably not necessarily in that order.)  Joy unconfined.

So all in all another winter of discontent even though the shortest day is only a little over three weeks away.   Bring it on.

BLUE REMEMBERED HILLS..

I was sorry to learn yesterday of the passing of Keith Barron at the age of 83 after a short illness.  He was, of course, a much admired actor who, in a 50-year career performed in a wide variety of films and television plays and serials.  He was one of those people who you tended to watch for himself rather than the character he was portraying, such was the charm of his personality and style.

But he was also something of a character himself.   Among the many tributes paid to him is one from Cornwall where, in the 1980s, Keith Barron ran a restaurant in Hayle. He last performed in the county in 2014 when a stage version of `Duty Free` toured Truro`s Hall for Cornwall.  In an interview at the time he said, "The show is still amazingly popular - probably because it`s about the eternal quest of trying to get your leg over.  Not just men, I hear there are several women like that, especially in Camborne."  A joker to the end.

Now here`s where I go off on the odd tangent - not unusual, I know.  Out of the long and distinguished list of his performances, the ones I immediately associated with when I learned of his passing were when he was cast as Nigel Barton in Dennis Potter`s plays for television - Stand Up Nigel Barton and Vote, Vote, Vote for Nigel Barton.  

And it`s here that my attention becomes diverted to Dennis Potter, arguably the most influential dramatist of the last century.   In addition to the Nigel Barton ones, he bequeathed us such memorable plays as The Singing Detective, Lipstick on Your Collar, Pennies from Heaven and Blue Remembered Hills, the last written in the  Forest of Dean dialogue, the area which formed the basis of Potter`s upbringing.   My last and lasting memory of Dennis Potter was of him delivering a televised speech whilst drinking liquid morphine to help him through the pain of the pancreatic cancer which ended his life shortly after.

And so, in something of a tortuous route, the loss of Keith Barron has also led me back to AE Houseman`s `A Shropshire Lad` which contains the following:-

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows.

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content

I see it shining plain.
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

Seems somehow appropriate in remembering each of those who gave us so much enjoyment and so many memories.

TAKE A LOOK...

OK, I confess.  I`m rapidly approaching my 80th year; I get a bit flustered at times; I`m not too smart with smart phones - I just need a phone, that`s all;  I get confused with hi-tech stuff, which is why this blog is a touch on the simple side;  and I guess it`s just that there are so many things in the so-called modern world that I just don`t get.  Or maybe I don`t want to get.

The latest is this thing about `gender fluidity.`  I noticed a report yesterday about a maths teacher who is facing the sack after accidentally calling a transgender pupil `girl` rather than `boy.`  The student, who `identifies as male,` became irate after the teacher said `well done girls` to the pupil and a female friend for working hard.  Result?  Pupil lodges complaint, pupil`s family accuse teacher of picking on their child, teacher suspended and faces disciplinary hearing which could end up with him losing his job.

This is happening at the same time as `drag queens` are being asked to visit nurseries so that kiddies as young as two can be told about transgender issues.  Now I haven`t got a problem with anyone in the LGBT community or, indeed, anyone with a penchant for BLT, but I have a difficulty understanding why on earth children are being introduced to the notion of `gender fluidity` when all they have to do is glance down and take a look.

We are indeed heading for a snowflake generation, who seem not to be learning about life as it unfolds in what is known as experience but also being incapable of accepting any form of criticism, any form of setback (they`re not allowed to win or lose anymore, bless them.) 

Now I quite expect that my comments are out of place and out of time, politically incorrect and doubtless leading to a knock on the door before too long, but I look back to my grandparents and my parents` generations and thank goodness that I was brought up to face life and all its trials, its triumphs and disasters and just get on with it.  As the saying goes, you`ve got to learn to lose before you can enjoy the winning.

PLUS CA CHANGE...

Recognise this?   Thought not, for it was written and recorded in 1970 at the time of the appalling loss of civilian and military life as a result of the Biafra War.  The lines above are, of course, from Gilbert O`Sullivan`s `Nothing Rhymed` and it seems that nothing really rhymed for him back then - nothing made sense - the world had gone mad - and he was troubled by the indifference shown by the many to the terrible plight of the few, even though the few in the Biafra conflict accounted for between 500,000 and two million civilian lives lost to starvation.  

It`s a theme that was repeated in 1986 when Neil Finn of Crowded House again witnessed that same indifference.  A few lines from `Don`t dream it`s over` illustrate what I mean:-

`And the papers today

Full of war and of waste

But you turn right over to the TV Page.`

I guess it was forever thus and those, like me, fortunate enough to have our Bonaparte Shandy and our apple pies no doubt still turn to the TV pages and become yet more desensitised to what is really going on in an increasingly troubled world.  

But here`s a shout for the much misunderstood Gilbert who, in a catalogue of genius songs, shone a light on his own bewilderment, his own frailties, his fears, his sensitivities and his own private sense of loss (alone again - naturally.)  So, here`s `Nothing Rhymed` reminding us all that the world is still full of war and of waste and that in reality nothing really rhymes but also that nothing ever really changes:-

THE PERILS OF LEAVING EARLY..

I don`t know if it still happens but as I haven`t been to a cinema for more years than I care to remember, I don`t know what happens nowadays.   When I used to go, there was always a stampede once `THE END` appeared on the screen,  Now either the cinema-goers had a bus or a train to catch or they just wanted to get out before the ritual of standing to attention while the national anthem was played.

Trouble is, it`s easy to miss the best part of a film if you join in the stampede.  A case in point.......

One of my favourite films is `Sense and Sensibility`, beautifully directed by Ang Lee.  And it`s a favourite not for the Oscar winning screenplay and the superb acting by a talented cast, but for two other reasons.  The first is the filming locations, especially those in and around the Flete Estate in south Devon, where we have stayed on many occasions in the past and found contentment in the utterly unspoilt nature of the Erme Estuary.  Much of the `action` takes place at Efford House - it`s Barton House in the film - and the house and its surroundings has been used often for filming - `International Velvet` springs to mind.

The other reason is the quite wonderful film score by Patrick Doyle.  But those who left the film early, as the end titles came up, missed the best part of his score, for he had set  Ben Jonson`s `The Dreame` to music, beautifully arranged and sung by Lincoln`s very own Jane Eaglen.  Here are the lyrics :-

Or scorn or pity on me take,
I must the true redemption make,
I am undone tonight.
Love, in a subtle dream disguised,
Hath both my heart and me surprised,
Whom never yet be durst attempt awake;

Nor will he tell me for whose sake
He did me the delight or spite,
But leaves me to inquire
In all my wild desire
Of sleep again, who was his aid,
And sleep so guilty and afraid
And since he dares not come within my sight.

..........and here is what people missed as the credits rolled and they clambered for the exit:-

Well, we survived Halloween last night, which was a great relief especially to Barney, who doesn`t take kindly to his evenings being disturbed.   I think it helped that we turned off the outside light and didn`t leave a pumpkin on the doorstep - there seems to be a useful convention in our village that you only get `tricked and treated` if you do leave a pumpkin outside your front door - so we had a peaceful evening which by-passed the imported commercial mayhem which Halloween seems to have become.  

So, next stop Bonfire Night with all its gunpowder, treason and plot, scheduled for this coming Sunday.   Now I could understand the idea of celebrating on 5th November if the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 to blow up Parliament and assassinate King James had actually succeeded.  Instead, it turned out to be a dismal failure and so I am left wondering what on earth we are doing spending all that money on fireworks, going to all that trouble and causing yet more mayhem in order to celebrate what was a truly spectacular failure.  

But then it, like Halloween, has turned into yet another commercial jamboree that I could do without.   And don`t get me started on Christmas - please.......