Bryan Islip's Blog, page 39
February 14, 2012
Hope and no hope
How good to see those pearl-white drops of snow emerging from your garden's drab
How good to feel upon your face, however weak, late winter's sun:
You hear the upsurge melody of birds and thus oncoming Spring your spirits grab
But look, how still today she lies, Loch Ewe, Earth's ocean's ravaged womb.
My verse this morning comes directly from watching a TV program last night. The good people of Barra in the Outer Hebrides seemed to be united under the shamefuly short-sighted banner of their church leaders against the concept of making 'their' stretch of the sea into a protected Marine Park. Scottish Natural Heritage tried their best to convince their audience of the long term advangages - even necessities - of the plan but it was evident that nobody was listening.
Having watched the West Coast lochs being turned, over the thirty years past, from fish nursery abundance into fish-less marine deserts I could only marvel at the sheer stupidity, the mammonical, 'money uber alles' of it all. Even there in Barra, I thought? There in surely one of the most beautiful, unspoiled places on the face of mother Earth.
Read Charles Clover's The End Of The Line if you have any interest in the world in which your grandchildren are going to live. No, it won't be like 'our' world, for we have ravaged it so comprehensively in the name of - just what? Our own creature comfort?
Those Islanders must know that a thriving undersea will bring in greater prosperity to all via eco-tourism and massively improved fish catches along the fringes of the Marine Park / undisturbed fish breeding grounds. I will never believe that Mankind is incapable of finding ways to live without wrecking everything and every living thing in sight. One of my early poems included the lines: This land is surely no more yours / Than once it was the dinosaur's. (We are all simply inhabitants and caretakers of the land on which we happen to live. Nothing more. The good Father on Barra should know who it is who 'owns' everything. And that it isn't us.)
How good to feel upon your face, however weak, late winter's sun:
You hear the upsurge melody of birds and thus oncoming Spring your spirits grab
But look, how still today she lies, Loch Ewe, Earth's ocean's ravaged womb.
My verse this morning comes directly from watching a TV program last night. The good people of Barra in the Outer Hebrides seemed to be united under the shamefuly short-sighted banner of their church leaders against the concept of making 'their' stretch of the sea into a protected Marine Park. Scottish Natural Heritage tried their best to convince their audience of the long term advangages - even necessities - of the plan but it was evident that nobody was listening.
Having watched the West Coast lochs being turned, over the thirty years past, from fish nursery abundance into fish-less marine deserts I could only marvel at the sheer stupidity, the mammonical, 'money uber alles' of it all. Even there in Barra, I thought? There in surely one of the most beautiful, unspoiled places on the face of mother Earth.
Read Charles Clover's The End Of The Line if you have any interest in the world in which your grandchildren are going to live. No, it won't be like 'our' world, for we have ravaged it so comprehensively in the name of - just what? Our own creature comfort?
Those Islanders must know that a thriving undersea will bring in greater prosperity to all via eco-tourism and massively improved fish catches along the fringes of the Marine Park / undisturbed fish breeding grounds. I will never believe that Mankind is incapable of finding ways to live without wrecking everything and every living thing in sight. One of my early poems included the lines: This land is surely no more yours / Than once it was the dinosaur's. (We are all simply inhabitants and caretakers of the land on which we happen to live. Nothing more. The good Father on Barra should know who it is who 'owns' everything. And that it isn't us.)
February 13, 2012
Catch up: Novel for 2012, calendar for 2013
No blogs = out of action: part me, with a viral attack conquered only with the help of Dr Penicillin; part my machine, also suffering a viral attack, curable this time only by Dr West of Achnasheen.
Anyway, have been struggling with chapter two of my novel in embryo 'The Book'. Chapter One left Marie Mortlock sitting in the heather high (and lost) on Beinn Toborach, paralysed with fear, her husband Ben having fallen over a cliff edge and lying immobile. The other main player, their disabled 13 years old son Jamie Mortlock, hasn't even entered the novel up to now. He's still down in Birmingham. But what about the long abandoned whisky still they'd stumbled across? What about the lovely old usica beatha, and what about the mysterious book therein? Anyway chapter two will provide more questions and some answers when it goes out to subscribers via www.bryanislipauthor.com on 29th February.
The other major undertaking right now concerns our 2013 calendar, this time a combined operation incorporating my landscape paintings with Eoghain Maclean's acclaimed Highlands wildlife photos, plus narratives to tell you all the how, where and why. Below see a poor phot of the cover .... £8.50 - whilst stocks last!! Special note: it says on this cover, 'CREATED, PRINTED AND PRODUCED ENTIRELY IN SCOTLAND'. Why should it say that? Because almost all calendars calendars sold in the UK are printed and produced in China or India, which leaves a very, very ungreen footprint and a hole in our economy, does it not, "NATIONAL TRUST FOR SCOTLAND"?
Anyway, have been struggling with chapter two of my novel in embryo 'The Book'. Chapter One left Marie Mortlock sitting in the heather high (and lost) on Beinn Toborach, paralysed with fear, her husband Ben having fallen over a cliff edge and lying immobile. The other main player, their disabled 13 years old son Jamie Mortlock, hasn't even entered the novel up to now. He's still down in Birmingham. But what about the long abandoned whisky still they'd stumbled across? What about the lovely old usica beatha, and what about the mysterious book therein? Anyway chapter two will provide more questions and some answers when it goes out to subscribers via www.bryanislipauthor.com on 29th February.
The other major undertaking right now concerns our 2013 calendar, this time a combined operation incorporating my landscape paintings with Eoghain Maclean's acclaimed Highlands wildlife photos, plus narratives to tell you all the how, where and why. Below see a poor phot of the cover .... £8.50 - whilst stocks last!! Special note: it says on this cover, 'CREATED, PRINTED AND PRODUCED ENTIRELY IN SCOTLAND'. Why should it say that? Because almost all calendars calendars sold in the UK are printed and produced in China or India, which leaves a very, very ungreen footprint and a hole in our economy, does it not, "NATIONAL TRUST FOR SCOTLAND"?
January 27, 2012
Thoughts on Robert Burns
Now Burns night has been and gone I thought I'd share with you a poem I wrote in December in honour of the Scottish bard who spokeand wrote and sang for all the world...
So simply precious, thatKilmarnock treasuryOF POEMSChiefly in the Scottish Dialect
Thoughts of Robert Burns
January seventeen fifty nine, cold winter's day, old Alloway:to Scottish farming stockwas born a boy, and what a boy was this, this Robert, Rabbie Burns or Burnes (with or without the 'e')who grew into a shining star ascending to arc the firmament,changed words to arrows, plain, or in the Scotsman's dialectthat, flashing out to everyone, pierced, lifting up their heartswith things as small as harvest miceor wise and wonderful, the parts beyond imagining or any price.
To him a man was just a man for all that and for all thatfrom wheresoe're on earth he springsso long as straight, within his time he honesty and humour brings.
If music be the food of poets' lovefrom deep inside his ancientScottish roots Rab culled the songsthat have become immortal, and, when any exile for his homeland longsfoursquare with that man Rabbie stands. Like every caring working man Burns strove to feed his family by dint and stint of plough and pen,and later roved the lowland roadson business for His Majesty.Yet all his life the songsmith poet also knew the need to feed his views egalitarian and his muse and found his provender for thisin places often frowned on by his peers and his superiors,like rough and bawdy fairs, alehouses and in the arms, the eyes, the lips of bonnie Scotland's womankind:but look, he only reached out therebelieving true he was in love, (as well as by her truly loved), and with her all the pleasures proved, compared his heart with that undying rose; that red, red rosethat's newly sprung in June, thatmelody that's never out of tune
Ploughman poet Robert Burns, like some volcanic rock afire, that's hurled up high, so high above mere commonplace mundanityof heat suffice to set alight the sullen earth, the endless sky,oh yes, too bright for many folkof its own time to look at, see,shedding as it goes in some greatwild parabola, poetic sparks and soon this melting rock slowed, fell away and cooled, and,sighing, met with careless deathas all things must,so Rabbie all too soon expelled his final breath.
Burns is never lost to memory: this man of rock, this poet shall within my time abide with me;tell in ways and words ethereal that to live is more than just to be.
Bryan Islipfor the Wester-Ross Burns Club meeting20 December 2011
So simply precious, thatKilmarnock treasuryOF POEMSChiefly in the Scottish Dialect
Thoughts of Robert Burns
January seventeen fifty nine, cold winter's day, old Alloway:to Scottish farming stockwas born a boy, and what a boy was this, this Robert, Rabbie Burns or Burnes (with or without the 'e')who grew into a shining star ascending to arc the firmament,changed words to arrows, plain, or in the Scotsman's dialectthat, flashing out to everyone, pierced, lifting up their heartswith things as small as harvest miceor wise and wonderful, the parts beyond imagining or any price.
To him a man was just a man for all that and for all thatfrom wheresoe're on earth he springsso long as straight, within his time he honesty and humour brings.
If music be the food of poets' lovefrom deep inside his ancientScottish roots Rab culled the songsthat have become immortal, and, when any exile for his homeland longsfoursquare with that man Rabbie stands. Like every caring working man Burns strove to feed his family by dint and stint of plough and pen,and later roved the lowland roadson business for His Majesty.Yet all his life the songsmith poet also knew the need to feed his views egalitarian and his muse and found his provender for thisin places often frowned on by his peers and his superiors,like rough and bawdy fairs, alehouses and in the arms, the eyes, the lips of bonnie Scotland's womankind:but look, he only reached out therebelieving true he was in love, (as well as by her truly loved), and with her all the pleasures proved, compared his heart with that undying rose; that red, red rosethat's newly sprung in June, thatmelody that's never out of tune
Ploughman poet Robert Burns, like some volcanic rock afire, that's hurled up high, so high above mere commonplace mundanityof heat suffice to set alight the sullen earth, the endless sky,oh yes, too bright for many folkof its own time to look at, see,shedding as it goes in some greatwild parabola, poetic sparks and soon this melting rock slowed, fell away and cooled, and,sighing, met with careless deathas all things must,so Rabbie all too soon expelled his final breath.
Burns is never lost to memory: this man of rock, this poet shall within my time abide with me;tell in ways and words ethereal that to live is more than just to be.
Bryan Islipfor the Wester-Ross Burns Club meeting20 December 2011
January 17, 2012
e-reading: ready steady go!
For some while I've been wondering about e-books: should I go to the time and trouble of learning how to upload my novels so that they can be read electronically? The other day I read an article in The Guardian about a young lady in the USA who had written five books without being able to interest either any publisher or any agent. So she he put one of them on Amazon's market leading Kindle. Up to date she has made herself a cool two and a half million dollars and now has juicy contracts for the paperback versions with two of the publishers who had so often turned her down..
Well, case closed! I've just finished doing the learning bit. I'm informed I have successfully put my first novel, More Deaths Than One, ISBN 978-0-9555193-2-1 on Kindle. It should be in the Kindle Store soon so if you yourself have a Kindle you can buy it for (if I remember correctly) £2.50 or $3.99. Don't quote me on that but I should know, having set the pricing myself!. Must check. I'm tied to Amazon on this e-book thing for 90 days but after that, Sony and every other e-reader comes next. And all my other paperback books will have their much less expensive electronic twins on offer.
I've often compared a self-publisher selling his or her novels to a person trying to swim up a waterfall. Perhaps, if the novel and the word of mouth is as effective as I reckon it might be, this e-diversion might become my much needed / deserved 500 h.p. outboard.
Well, case closed! I've just finished doing the learning bit. I'm informed I have successfully put my first novel, More Deaths Than One, ISBN 978-0-9555193-2-1 on Kindle. It should be in the Kindle Store soon so if you yourself have a Kindle you can buy it for (if I remember correctly) £2.50 or $3.99. Don't quote me on that but I should know, having set the pricing myself!. Must check. I'm tied to Amazon on this e-book thing for 90 days but after that, Sony and every other e-reader comes next. And all my other paperback books will have their much less expensive electronic twins on offer.
I've often compared a self-publisher selling his or her novels to a person trying to swim up a waterfall. Perhaps, if the novel and the word of mouth is as effective as I reckon it might be, this e-diversion might become my much needed / deserved 500 h.p. outboard.
January 11, 2012
A Nation Once Again
As an adopted Scot I applaud Mr Salmond. He seems, to me, to be by quite some way the most astute political thinker in what is now The United Kingdom. His second in command is not far behind. I shall most certainly vote for full independance. At least the forward plan for separation from Westminster will be public and straightfoward, unlike the Act of Union (1710) in the first place, which was agreed on behalf of all Scotland by stealth and by a few with strictly commercial interests.
No, Mr Cameron, the issue of Scotland's independence will not be decided by 'years of wrangling in the Courts' (By the way, whose Courts had you in mind? Scottish? EEC? Not English, surely). It will be decided by the Scottish people under International Law. And no, Mr Cameron, the people of this proud race will not decide the issue on the basis of the pluses and minuses of next year's faltering economics. It will be decided on the basis of A Nation Once Again. You have a Scottish name. Attend any Burns Supper in a few days time and you will begin to understand that. Surely you in England have enough on your plate trying to reform your crippled parliamentary system without obstructing other folk' efforts.
I do most fervently hope that, when the break comes Scotland will retain the monarchy. Whether or no, it will not affect my vote.
No, Mr Cameron, the issue of Scotland's independence will not be decided by 'years of wrangling in the Courts' (By the way, whose Courts had you in mind? Scottish? EEC? Not English, surely). It will be decided by the Scottish people under International Law. And no, Mr Cameron, the people of this proud race will not decide the issue on the basis of the pluses and minuses of next year's faltering economics. It will be decided on the basis of A Nation Once Again. You have a Scottish name. Attend any Burns Supper in a few days time and you will begin to understand that. Surely you in England have enough on your plate trying to reform your crippled parliamentary system without obstructing other folk' efforts.
I do most fervently hope that, when the break comes Scotland will retain the monarchy. Whether or no, it will not affect my vote.
January 10, 2012
Water water everywhere
When working the dusty city streets and the sunbaked wastelands of the middle east I used to yearn for a break in the blue skies, in fact for clouds. Any colour clouds but preferably dark ones that would off-load their watery, life-giving burden on to all of us and the dingy desert lands of Arabia. That very, very seldom happened but when it did the effect was, to me, truly astonishing. What had been yellow-brown one day blushed light green the next, bloomed dark green, pocked with startlingly bright desert flowers the next. Everything and everyone seemed happier.
Oh, and by the way, a litre of water cost you more than the same volume of petrol, more than the same volume of Pepsi-Cola. People talked darkly of the next world war being not over territory or foodstuffs but over that precious water resource. It was well known that the Saudis in particular, with their rocketting population and fast burgeoning industrial infrastructure, (a sheikh once informed me that the Saudis loved Margaret Thatcher. 'Oh yes, why's that', asked I. 'Because every time she shuts one of your factories we open one,' said he) were rapidly exhausting the aquafers deep underground from which that life giving liquid was mostly obtained. Desalination? Have you ever tasted desalinated water? I would not recommend it. Not even to shave with.
Here in the north west Highlands of Scotland it has rained virtually every day for more than a month, and when I say rained I mean really rained, deluged would be a better word for it. Usually in January we have temperatures around the zero mark, often lots of snow with light or no winds. This year, temperatures mostly up above seven, gale after gale after storm after hurricane and water, water everywhere.
Should Scotland become a nation once again - and whyever not? - one of its great hidden assets will be water. I've read that fresh water rises above saltwater so I can see the Highland rivers tumbling out, not into the sea but into great barrage balloons, ready to be sealed and towed down south for sale at a premium to hordes of thirsty Englanders and other of those parched Europeans.
Oh yes by the way we have two professional lansdscape photographers with us for the B&B this week. Hardy? I should say so. 'Can you photograph rain', I asked. 'Or even in rain?' 'Not really, not easily' came the response, 'We're awaiting the break ...' Watch this space ... unless, of course we are all overcome by floods 'of biblical proportions'. Build an ark? Too late now.
Oh, and by the way, a litre of water cost you more than the same volume of petrol, more than the same volume of Pepsi-Cola. People talked darkly of the next world war being not over territory or foodstuffs but over that precious water resource. It was well known that the Saudis in particular, with their rocketting population and fast burgeoning industrial infrastructure, (a sheikh once informed me that the Saudis loved Margaret Thatcher. 'Oh yes, why's that', asked I. 'Because every time she shuts one of your factories we open one,' said he) were rapidly exhausting the aquafers deep underground from which that life giving liquid was mostly obtained. Desalination? Have you ever tasted desalinated water? I would not recommend it. Not even to shave with.
Here in the north west Highlands of Scotland it has rained virtually every day for more than a month, and when I say rained I mean really rained, deluged would be a better word for it. Usually in January we have temperatures around the zero mark, often lots of snow with light or no winds. This year, temperatures mostly up above seven, gale after gale after storm after hurricane and water, water everywhere.
Should Scotland become a nation once again - and whyever not? - one of its great hidden assets will be water. I've read that fresh water rises above saltwater so I can see the Highland rivers tumbling out, not into the sea but into great barrage balloons, ready to be sealed and towed down south for sale at a premium to hordes of thirsty Englanders and other of those parched Europeans.
Oh yes by the way we have two professional lansdscape photographers with us for the B&B this week. Hardy? I should say so. 'Can you photograph rain', I asked. 'Or even in rain?' 'Not really, not easily' came the response, 'We're awaiting the break ...' Watch this space ... unless, of course we are all overcome by floods 'of biblical proportions'. Build an ark? Too late now.
January 9, 2012
Bad British Good Danish
Can anybody tell me what the hell has happened to British TV Drama? I'm not talking soap opera here, (probably as good as anything if you like that stuff), just plain old drama. You know, that which can transport you into a different world and leave you feeling you gained something in return for your time and attention and for the actual experience.
Recently we watched Danish TV's Thrillers series The Killing (One and Two) and now we are well into their 'Borgen' political drama. Just brilliant, all three, subtitles or no. By comparison things like Wire in the Blood, Great Expectations, Downton Abbey etc etc seem trivial and contrived beyond reason. What's wrong, BBC and ITV, with telling a tale worth telling without trick camerawork, silly time shifts and changes to beautiful old tales, laughably inaccurate language and people attitudes for the perod of the work?
It's the writing that's all wrong, and often the direction. Even the sound is below par by comparison with similar stuff from the US and, as I say, little Denmark. Look and learn, Britain. No wonder your audiences are melting away line the snows in April.
Recently we watched Danish TV's Thrillers series The Killing (One and Two) and now we are well into their 'Borgen' political drama. Just brilliant, all three, subtitles or no. By comparison things like Wire in the Blood, Great Expectations, Downton Abbey etc etc seem trivial and contrived beyond reason. What's wrong, BBC and ITV, with telling a tale worth telling without trick camerawork, silly time shifts and changes to beautiful old tales, laughably inaccurate language and people attitudes for the perod of the work?
It's the writing that's all wrong, and often the direction. Even the sound is below par by comparison with similar stuff from the US and, as I say, little Denmark. Look and learn, Britain. No wonder your audiences are melting away line the snows in April.
An Embrionic Novel
I've just finished the first chapter of a third novel. My novels are always centred around a single, macro theme. No particular reason or logic for this. Some if the most powerful novels have been beautifully written with the opposite - micro - themes. All of Jane Austen's, all of James Joyce's, most of Ernest Hemingway's for instance. I'm simply following my personal instinct, which is to try to make a difference in the way my reader thinks. And I'm trying to do that using this language with which we have been blessed to its fullest and most satisfyingly musical advantage.
Yesterday I partnered Mike Webber on his Two Lochs Radio ( www.2lr.com ) program, Sunday Brunch. He asked the listeners to call in with their nominated 'best books', then out of the blue asked me to define the criteria for anybody's 'best book'. A pretty fast ball that, although one I have had plenty of mental practice with. 'Your best book is the one that changed the way you think about your life, perhaps even the way you live', was my answer. Mike accepted that but went on to exclude from listeners' thinking those books that set out with the sole purpose of changing lives; books such as, pre-eminently, The Holy Bible.
The theme for this third novel emerged from the final two short stories of my twelve 'stories of the month, 2011' (now published in paperback as 'Twelve of Diamonds' ISBN 978-0-9555193-4-5 ). These stories were all sent out to subscribers free of charge on the first day of each month last year via my website www.bryanislipauthor.com . I'm now thinking of sending out, similarly free of charge this new novel, brought up to date on the last day of each month in 2012. Why? Two reasons: (1) It will keep my nose to a very difficult, perhaps even an impossible grindstone, (2) perhaps my readers will feed in critiques and suggestions that help me and my new book along the road.
So far as I know this has not been done in any serious way. Would you be interested? Let me know? e-m bryan@bryanislip.com or comment here. I'll also send this message to last year's list of subscribers, so please forgive me if you receive it twice.
The theme (not the title) for this embryo of a novel is The Second Coming.
Yesterday I partnered Mike Webber on his Two Lochs Radio ( www.2lr.com ) program, Sunday Brunch. He asked the listeners to call in with their nominated 'best books', then out of the blue asked me to define the criteria for anybody's 'best book'. A pretty fast ball that, although one I have had plenty of mental practice with. 'Your best book is the one that changed the way you think about your life, perhaps even the way you live', was my answer. Mike accepted that but went on to exclude from listeners' thinking those books that set out with the sole purpose of changing lives; books such as, pre-eminently, The Holy Bible.
The theme for this third novel emerged from the final two short stories of my twelve 'stories of the month, 2011' (now published in paperback as 'Twelve of Diamonds' ISBN 978-0-9555193-4-5 ). These stories were all sent out to subscribers free of charge on the first day of each month last year via my website www.bryanislipauthor.com . I'm now thinking of sending out, similarly free of charge this new novel, brought up to date on the last day of each month in 2012. Why? Two reasons: (1) It will keep my nose to a very difficult, perhaps even an impossible grindstone, (2) perhaps my readers will feed in critiques and suggestions that help me and my new book along the road.
So far as I know this has not been done in any serious way. Would you be interested? Let me know? e-m bryan@bryanislip.com or comment here. I'll also send this message to last year's list of subscribers, so please forgive me if you receive it twice.
The theme (not the title) for this embryo of a novel is The Second Coming.
January 3, 2012
Exciting times
Well, here we go again: 'Happy New Year' we all bid each other, and quite right too. But we all know 2012 will not be an easy year. Those of us with half an ear to the ground will understand that we need to get used to the idea of the life style changes now necessary if we are to preserve or to re-discover the substance - the best - of our traditional way of life.
Personally I'm looking for someone amongst our number (apart from old Vince Cable) to stand up, tell us all the unvarnished truth and get on with the task of taking apart and re-assembling that which we have all colluded so recklessly in putting together over the post WW2 years. It is endangering our nation's physical and mental health and by the way, with it, the wellbeing of 'our' planet. No, Mr Cameron, this is not just a matter of 'reducing the deficit (so why are you borrowing from the banks another £150 billion or so in this second year of your term?) it is a question of eliminating the national debt itself and eschewing ALL future borrowings.
In order to make any kind of headway with this, Mr Cameron, you need to make massive savings in the bloated NHS, and the equally bloated 'educational system' and the equally bloated Defence industry - you've already made a good start on the bloated Civil Service. With the money saved you need to build factories that make things (instead of leaching out your trreasury on the importation of them), factories that employ people who will pay taxes. It matters not one jot who owns these factories so long as they are run with maximum efficiency. It doesn't even matter if you sell the product abroad so long as it is needed and affordable at home. You must cut out the squanderous importation of those very same goods that so often were invented right here in these intellectually capable islands.
Yes, your friends in The City will squeal and run. For God's sake let them! They have forgotten their true role in society at large and now apparently exist only to nurture the spend and lend disease that you are - or should be - now trying to cure. There really is nothing complex about looking after other folks' money.
And if you can't do any of this, fuse GB into the Euro. Because Angela Merkel can! And for that, you and all of us should all get down on our knees and apologise to the millions of young Brits who lost their lives or their health in two world wars in order to protect that which we spoiled children have so prodigally thrown away.
Personally I'm looking for someone amongst our number (apart from old Vince Cable) to stand up, tell us all the unvarnished truth and get on with the task of taking apart and re-assembling that which we have all colluded so recklessly in putting together over the post WW2 years. It is endangering our nation's physical and mental health and by the way, with it, the wellbeing of 'our' planet. No, Mr Cameron, this is not just a matter of 'reducing the deficit (so why are you borrowing from the banks another £150 billion or so in this second year of your term?) it is a question of eliminating the national debt itself and eschewing ALL future borrowings.
In order to make any kind of headway with this, Mr Cameron, you need to make massive savings in the bloated NHS, and the equally bloated 'educational system' and the equally bloated Defence industry - you've already made a good start on the bloated Civil Service. With the money saved you need to build factories that make things (instead of leaching out your trreasury on the importation of them), factories that employ people who will pay taxes. It matters not one jot who owns these factories so long as they are run with maximum efficiency. It doesn't even matter if you sell the product abroad so long as it is needed and affordable at home. You must cut out the squanderous importation of those very same goods that so often were invented right here in these intellectually capable islands.
Yes, your friends in The City will squeal and run. For God's sake let them! They have forgotten their true role in society at large and now apparently exist only to nurture the spend and lend disease that you are - or should be - now trying to cure. There really is nothing complex about looking after other folks' money.
And if you can't do any of this, fuse GB into the Euro. Because Angela Merkel can! And for that, you and all of us should all get down on our knees and apologise to the millions of young Brits who lost their lives or their health in two world wars in order to protect that which we spoiled children have so prodigally thrown away.
January 1, 2012
A Time For Change
With our granddaughter Ella and her friend Lior here on a rare visit we saw out our Hogmanay in the Ocean View Hotel just up the road. Our visitors had flown up to Inverness, where they hired a car and did the eighty miles across the hills for the very first time in the pitch black. A new experience for Londoners, not seeing many if any cars and just a handful of houses on their way.
The ceilidh was brilliant. We've never seen such a gathering of partygoers up here. Most of them we knew by sight if not always by name. Music live and good and loud, even louder craic, queuing three deep at the bar, piles of 'stovies' on offer - if you're a Highlander you know the formula.
Although there doesn't seem a great deal of logic in celebrating January the first (every day being the start of another year if you think about it) I reckon it's just as well we do find grounds for celebration. Counteracts all the trials and tribulations, the slings and the arrows of everyday life for everyman / woman.
A time for new resolutions and, this particular year above all years, a time for lifestyle change - or at least the recognition of the need for lifestyle change. Hard to admit that the past x decades have seen us all rushing Gaderine swine-like towards what is now very evidently a dangerously high cliff edge - but very, very necessary to understand it.
We in the UK should not have to hear this kind of undiluted truth only from the likes of Angela Merkel. We after all elect our governments in the expectation that it will be they who are capable of seeing the big picture, and understanding it, and conveying it faithfully to us - as opposed to feeding us with their feel-good placebos, their suicidal 'quantitative easing' etc etc.
Problem: too many of we, too greedy folk for these poor old islands and our poor old social systems to bear. It's time we faced it, as our forebears always have in the past. Nothing to fear except fear itself.
The ceilidh was brilliant. We've never seen such a gathering of partygoers up here. Most of them we knew by sight if not always by name. Music live and good and loud, even louder craic, queuing three deep at the bar, piles of 'stovies' on offer - if you're a Highlander you know the formula.
Although there doesn't seem a great deal of logic in celebrating January the first (every day being the start of another year if you think about it) I reckon it's just as well we do find grounds for celebration. Counteracts all the trials and tribulations, the slings and the arrows of everyday life for everyman / woman.
A time for new resolutions and, this particular year above all years, a time for lifestyle change - or at least the recognition of the need for lifestyle change. Hard to admit that the past x decades have seen us all rushing Gaderine swine-like towards what is now very evidently a dangerously high cliff edge - but very, very necessary to understand it.
We in the UK should not have to hear this kind of undiluted truth only from the likes of Angela Merkel. We after all elect our governments in the expectation that it will be they who are capable of seeing the big picture, and understanding it, and conveying it faithfully to us - as opposed to feeding us with their feel-good placebos, their suicidal 'quantitative easing' etc etc.
Problem: too many of we, too greedy folk for these poor old islands and our poor old social systems to bear. It's time we faced it, as our forebears always have in the past. Nothing to fear except fear itself.
