DIARY OF A SEPTUAGENARIAN
- John Copeland-
Friday 2nd May - Thursday 8th May, 2008
Springtime flowers
"The credit boom was the outcome of Thatcherite deregulation, irresponsible behaviour by banks and building societies, and an extraordinary cultural shift in which the 'Ango-Saxon' economies stretched the consept of 'hire purchase' for domestic capital goods (consumer durables) to the point where the prevailing culture became one of 'buy whatever you feel like now; get one free; and pay later when the bills come in, at exorbitant rates of interest".
William Keegan in "The Observer" for 4th May, 2008. It is the best analysis of the credit crunch that I have read so far.
FRIDAY 2 MAY
In the hope that I might learn the result of the district council election in the ward in which I vote, I switched on the local pop & pap station, Radio Lincolnshire, early in the morning. For all the good this did, hearing the date being given as April 2nd instead of May 2nd, I might as well have tuned into Radio Moscow, on which I might at least have heard some decent music. Alas, amidst all the jingles, including "This is Radio Lincolnshire" being played every few minutes in a station obviously aimed at the illiterate and ignorant Great Unwashed, there was more interest in a chick being born to two emus in the county called Posh and Becks than the local election.
It is many years since I have listened to this appalling station, and many years will pass before I ever switch it on again. The news bulletins are read by announcers, principally wimmin, who give the impression that they have no understanding of voice modulation and articulation, some of them sounding as if they have a nasty cold. However, in fairness to the station presenters, they clearly and rightly understand that they are dealing with an uneducated and largely illiterate audience that is not going to be interested in politics, economics or anything of a serious nation, being far more concerned about the progress of an emu chick
It also has to be remembered that the listeners are probably mainly young, not having the same seriousness of geriatrics such as myself. Consequently, the station with its cheerful mediocrity is therefore for entertainment rather than enlightenment, nothing being taken seriously. Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. Nevertheless, when listening to this pop and pap station, I realise that I largely wasted my days in education, only about 10% of children ever benefiting from their schooling.
Today, for instance, there was a knocking noise in the background and something to do with a hole appearing in the studio. As might be expected, this promoted hilarious laughter, interspersed with the playing of the jingle "This is Radio Lincolnshire." At least the station is marginally better than the commercial station "Lincs F.M.", the F.M. apparently representing "for morons."
Not having the information I wanted from the radio station, I went in to Lincoln to purchase a copy of "The Lincolnshire Echo," our local paper, hoping that the election details would be presented in full. Fortunately they were, and much to my delight I saw that the Lib-Dim candidate for whom I voted had been returned, receiving almost twice the number of votes of the Conservative.
Maybe the trouble with the Conservative candidate, a fellow in retirement, was that he looked far too genial with his shoulder-length hair and bow tie. Conservatives should look mean and nasty, like farmers who have heard that their subsidies have been cut and that there is no new Range Rover this year. They should therefore give the impression that they are going to slash all services, including having a household refuse collection service once a year instead of once a week, preferably during leap years, in addition to reducing staffing levels to the very bone.
The district council has now been won by the Conservatives, it being said nationally that these are the best-run councils. So the election result so far as I am concerned was the best of all possible worlds - a ward councillor who has the rare distinction among district councillors of being able to do joined-up writing, and a Conservative Council that will keep the lid on wasteful bureaucracy.
I thought that the result of the London mayoral election would be announced at midday, but the timing kept being delayed. It was then going to be 3 o'clock, then 5 o'clock, then probably about 9 p.m , making me wonder whether this was going to be a repeat of old Bob Mugabe's delaying tactics. I tried again at 11 p.m., but still no result. How on earth can they take so long? It is a good job the Americans do not have the same arrangements for elections as we do, otherwise their November presidential election result would not be known until about the end of January.
I suppose these appalling election results for Labour mean that Prime Minister Mr. (Tiny Dot) Bean now has his authority further weakened. However, he has at least another two years to serve, and it is obvious that he will stay on until the bitter end, however big a muddle he gets into, knowing that he is never going to win the next election. On the other hand, it can be argued, as I have suggested so many times in this diary, that the decline of this country has gone beyond any political solution, so it does not matter all that much who is in power, all of them being little Canutes. (Yes - I know what Canute was really trying to show).
During his final days, perhaps Mr. Bean should make an attempt at becoming a real Labour Prime Minister, taking the poorer people out of the tax bands altogether, instead of penalising them by removing the 10 pence band, paying for the measure by bringing in a 60% tax on incomes over £100,000, and 75% above £250,000.
And don't let anybody tell me that this would drive executives to America. They know full well that if they did go across the Atlantic they would have to do some real work, not being able to raid the pension fund, or sell the firm down the river for a song to the Germans or French. Additionally in these Labour measures, there could be windfall taxes on companies such as Shell and British Gas with their excessive and immoral profits, using the revenue to finance our ailing hospitals and schools. And the taxpayer could even stop bailing out the grasping banks when their greed overreaches itself.
He could also bring back our troops from Iraq and Afghanistan, where they are totally wasting their time, getting killed in utterly hopeless campaigns. This one measure would instantly restore Mr. Bean's political fortunes, earning him the gratitude of the entire population. Sadly, I fear that he is too indecisive to ever make such a grand gesture, with the result that we are going to see a government hopelessly drifting until it eventually falls completely apart.
The main problem is that there is no obvious successor. Jack the Straw is yesterday's man, and the wimmin, especially the hopeless Jacqui Smith, could not run a successful Wimmn's Institute jam stall, let alone become Prime Minister. So it looks as if Labour will go on to the bitter end under Brown, and bitter it will certainly be, embarrassing to watch.
At least the City was delighted with the election results, the FTSE rising by 128. You would never think that a recession is just around the corner. And there was the good news that the ridiculous UKIP Party, which believes we should come out of the European Union and concentrate on the empire instead, probably believing that the world is flat, won no seats at all anywhere in the country. The party is now a laughing stock, as dead as old Marley in the washed up waters.
What I continue to admire so much about Tony Blair, even though he made that almighty mistake about Iraq, is his incredible sense of timing. He obviously realised that our supposed economic growth with its smoke and mirrors, based almost entirely on ever rising house prices, was going to come crashing down, weighed down with the burden of debt. So off he went, leaving the mess to Mr. Bean who is now floundering in the mire, everything falling apart around him. They have their exits and their entrances, indeed, everything depending on timing, just as it is with the stock market, knowing when to get out.
Free range. Chickens loose in the village
During the morning I reread the review in "Digital Camera Buyer" of the Panasonic Lumix FZ18 camera that I had been thinking of buying. To my disappointment, I read: "Image quality is a mixed bag, especially suffering in the hands of dynamic range. Granted, colour reproduction is near spot-on, but highlights go out of the window and you can wave those blue skies goodbye as they turn into pale insignificance. Noise-wise the story isn't brilliant either, with disappointing results at settings over ISO 200."
Initially I had been impressed with the camera's 16x zoom lens, which would be an improvement on my present Panasonic Lumix TZ3 with its 10x (any digital camera needs to have at least 6x zoom to be any good). However, since I take numerous landscape photographs, the absence of a blue sky with the FZ18 would be a big disadvantage, and I have therefore decided not to buy the camera.
What I cannot understand is why the FZ18 was the "editor's choice" when there are these serious criticisms. I think I shall therefore save up to buy the digital SLR Nikon D80, which is currently selling around £700, plus £40 for a case and £20 for a decent card. It will take me about eight months to save up, by the end of which time a new model may be announced. The advantage is that I will be able to use the Nikon AF lens that I have with an older Nikon camera.
On a sunny morning, I took advantage of the fine weather to clean the windows, saving myself the £7.50 services of a professional window cleaner who comes once a month to the village, doing a poor job of the cleaning. I also did some touch-up painting of the external window-frames. After a half bottle of wine at lunch (our main meal of the day), I had what is becoming the traditional doze in the conservatory, falling asleep in the wonderful warmth for an hour or so. This is really health-giving, far better than walking.
In the evening one of our friends called in, bringing two of his associates, one of whom lives in Zambia dealing in metal transactions, and the other a young man on the Lincoln City Council. It made for a fascinating political discussion, during which I bet the friend a bottle of good quality wine that Boris Johnson would win, assuming the result is ever announced.
SATURDAY 3 MAY
On going to bed at 12.30 this morning, I switched on the idiot's lantern to see whether the London mayoral election result had been announced - and it had, Boris Johnson having become the new Lord Mayor of London. My reaction was one of initial sadness, for the appointment of an irresponsible jester, who earlier had spent his days writing naughty and silly right-wing articles in the offices of "The Spectator", seemed to represent the very nadir of British politics. Panem et circenses, indeed!
The result made me realise how fortunes can change. Who would have thought five or even fewer years ago, for instance, that an Old Etonian jester would become mayor of London, and that we now face the prospect of another Old Etonian becoming Prime Minister, suggesting that the Old Guard, having patiently waiting in the wings on the assumption that all Labour governments destroy eventually themselves, were coming back into office, the return of the ancient regime.
It amused me that Polly Toynbee, whom "The Sunday Times" calls Puffer Toynbee, was away with fairies yet again when she wrote in "The Guardian" on the 22nd April, 2008: "Fed up with Labour is not translated yet into a country yearning for the Tories." Clang! When a columnist is so incredibly wrong, all his/her credibility is totally destroyed. As the old saying has it: "When the clock strikes 13, it is as well to check its accuracy." As might be expected, pathetic Polly parrots the traditional view that all governments face this electoral downturn mid-term. What she does not tell us is that Labour now has a hopeless leader, totally out of his depth, who is assuredly going to lose the party the next general election.
The problem with Puffer is that, like so many columnists, she allows prejudice and wishful thinking to dominate reasoned and logical debate, her polemics losing all sense of reality. The same is true of Anatole Kalestsky whose articles on the state of the economy are brimming over with unjustified confidence that all in the garden is coming up roses, when all reality gives the impression that the rose bushes are quite dead. Maybe in fairness it has to be recognised that columnists have to express the views of the proprietor. Hence all articles in "The Times" have to hurl abuse at the European Union, while in "The Guardian" Labour can do no wrong, even if it is on the way out.
The other aspect of the mayoral election was that so many of the opinion polls were hopelessly wrong. Although "You Gov" in the London "Evening Standard" got it right, saying that Johnson had a 10% lead over Livingstone, both the "mruk" in "The Sunday Times" and the "IPSOSMori" engaged by Unison were both hopelessly wrong, having respectively forecast that Livingstone was in the lead by 2% and 4%.
Once again we see the utter unreliability and worthlessness of opinion polls when their forecasts can be actually tested. When polls say that 57% favour hunting, there is no way of checking this figure, but elections expose the opinion polls in all their nonsense. I would like to see them banned during election run-ups, as they are in some other countries. Alternatively, they should display a warning: "For entertainment only."
The chimney at the Club, the subject of two conflicting builders' reports.
Mrs. Copeland has decided to clear up the garden at our local Club as it is looking in a frightful mess, just as the rest of the Club is, having seen better times. I went to help by cutting the grass, finding it rather difficult as the grass had become so long. The poor little electric lawnmower really had its work cut out, but eventually the work was completed..
While at the Club I had another look at the chimney. We have had two very different assessments on its state, one builder saying that it needed extensive rebuilding, and the other expressing the view that it was only necessary to undertake some flaunching and pointing. We have therefore referred the matter to the landlord's agents, asking for their surveyor to give us a report. This examination is still awaited. Judging by the photograph above, I find it difficult to believe that rebuilding is necessary, but we obviously need an independent professional report.
At 2 p.m. we set off in the Peugeot 207 to travel down to spend the weekend with mother-in-law. I was surprised that there was little traffic on the road, despite this being yet another bloody bank holiday weekend. Most of the lorries were foreign owned, suggesting that people abroad are not nearly as lazy as our contingent. At least with the docks all closed for three days, this will help our trade deficit, about 10 times more products being imported than exported.
In the evening we went with mother-in-law and Mrs. Copeland's elder brother, Andrew (whom I call Andy in Essex parlance) and his wife Pat and their 18-year-old son Christopher who will soon be going off to St. Andrew's University.
Andy is a housing surveyor, and I was interested to hear him saying that the property market was in a hopeless state, but the full effects would not be felt until the late Autumn. This is when the economists, other than Kaletsky and David Smith, are predicting a large fall in unemployment as the recession takes hold. I find it interesting to hear from people who are actually involved in the property market, rather than having to rely on columnists who peddle the line their employer currently endorses.
The meal, with drinks and a fairly meagre tip, cost us £27.50 a head, far more than we have paid before, yet the meal I had at the "Pyewipe" last Tuesday with the Retired Gentlemen's Club cost £20, again the most we have ever paid. Food, so it is recockoned, has gone up by 12% so far this year, so this obviously explains the increases. A steak on this evening's menu cost £17.50, whereas this time last year it would have been no more than £14.50.
Normally the pubs and restaurants, especially down here in wealthy Essex, are packed on a Saturday, but this evening there were only three other couples in the pub. Pat was saying that they go out for a meal most weeks, having found that trade has gone down significantly, there no longer being any need to book, not even on Fridays and Saturdays. I have read reports in the press about people now staying at home, but it is always advisable to have firsthand accounts rather than rely on journalists.
What amazed me so much in the restaurant this evening was the large number of incredibly fat wimmin, huge females shaped like Easter eggs. Back in Lincolnshire I often feel that I have put on too much weight in recent years, but every time I go down to Essex I feel undernourished. It seems strange that, although there is so much emphasis on diet and healthy eating, Essex man and especially the woman are huge, waddling around creatures.
SUNDAY 4 MAY
I usually have a glass of full-cream milk at breakfast, but today I had the awful misfortune to be given semi-skimmed milk instead. It was utterly horrible, so tasteless and all the goodness taken out of it, that I threw it away, regarding it as little better than ditchwater. How can anybody buy that semi-skimmed milk? Surely it would be better to give up milk altogether, rather than have what is known in the dairy trade as "funny milk.".
On a glorious sunny morning, I went round to the local village shop to purchase a "Sunday Times" and an "Observer", spending some time immediately after breakfast reading them.
As always, I read David Smith's "Economic Outlook" in "The Sunday Times", once again becoming annoyed by questions he raises in the heading to the column, but which he never answers. Today, for instance, he asks: "Will housing crush the UK economy", but restricts his comments to quoting David Blanchflower, a member of the Monetary Policy Committee, who has warned that Britain was likely to follow America into recession, and that house prices were likely to fall by a third in the next two or three years - surely the most realistic assessment, and one that bears out my brother-in-law's assessment.
However, instead of answering his own question, Smith infuriatingly merely concludes that, "This time it is not the price of credit that is the problem but its availability, which is affecting housing and, if left unchecked, will hit consumers and businesses." He therefore believes that the banks should move out of their present overkill phase and return to normal lending, helped by a further lowering of interest rates. Presumably "normal lending" means irresponsible lending, charging usury on the excessive loans. and being baled out by the taxpayer when they come a cropper.
What Smith does not mention is that the days of excessive credit, especially 120% mortgages, have gone for ever, and that henceforth lenders will require a 10% deposit before granting a mortgage. This, more than anything, will cause the housing market to fall substantially, and since our economic growth is based almost entirely in rising house prices, the economy will therefore go into a recession. The answer to Smith's question is "Decidedly yes", but it will not be until the late Autumn that we feel the real severity of the credit crunch.
I cannot understand why Mr. Smith asks questions that he seldom answers, merely quoting other people. I get the impression that he is one of those people who, when you ask the time, tells you how a clock works, never finding out the time. I do not think I shall bother to read his articles in future, for they only make me annoyed.
No Sunday entry in this diary would be complete without an expression of my loathing and utter contempt for charities. Today in the "The Sunday Times" there was an advertisement in the appointments section for a Chief Executive on £75,000 - £90,000 for a Chief Executive for a charity called "Public Concern at Work". According to the specification, "Public Concern at Work is the UK's leading authority on public interest whistleblowing. Launched in 1993, we are an independent charity and strive to ensure that genuine concerns about wrongdoing in the workplace are raised and dealt with constructively." The mind boggles!
However, I am thinking of setting up a charity to be called "Friends of Distressed Estate Agents" [FODEA] now that the agents have their windows full of big notices saying "Prices slashed. Buy one house and get one free." The chief executive will be on a six figure salary, plus benefits and a very big car (replaced annually), and donations should be sent (cash only, please) to me in brown envelopes marked FODEA.
Unfortunately, until we get a proper financial system set up, it will not be possible to acknowledge donations. Administrative expenses, which will include a little something for the Conservatives, will not exceed 90% of donations. The Duchess of Watford has promised to be our president, providing she can have some good expenses and a free holiday every year.
Lake in the village. Formerly a gravel pit, now used for fishing.
After reading the papers I tried to cut the grass at mother-in-law's using her electric Flymo lawnmower. Alas, I find these lawnmowers impossibly heavy to use, and after a few minutes I had to give up, taking the view that it would be easier to push Mrs. Copeland's 207 down the road than that lawnmower. I suppose it could be argued that I am getting old and no longer have the strength to push one of the machines, but some years ago I bought a Flymo, having to scrap it after a few months as I found it too exhausting to use. I subsequently bought a "Qualcast", which is excellent, doing a fine job on the cutting and so light to use.
At noon we drove round to Andy's house, where I had a game of lawn darts with him. In years gone by I used to be reasonably good at the game, but today I lost all three games, and quite hopelessly, ending up feeling like a defeated Labour candidate. It is no doubt yet another reminder of the ravages of old age: no longer can I play lawn darts, and I cannot even push a Flymo. It is all rather sad, but there is nothing that I can do about the decline. Rather like the economy, it is downhill all the way from now on.
Mrs. Copeland's younger brother, Jonathan, and his attractive wife, Carol, came to tea at mother-in-law's at 5 o'clock. We sat out in the garden for most of the time, at one point having an interesting discussion on the great social divide in this country, somebody mentioning that in the good old days the pubs all had two separate bars - the public bar for the lower orders, and the saloon bar for people who wore ties.
It was a segregation that was widely welcomed, recognising that the social groups did not mix, having very different interests Those were also the days when wimmin were seldom seen in a pub, and certainly not children, giving the husband an opportunity to escape from the turmoil of domestic pressures to a safe house. Today, this happy segregation has gone, and the wimmin and children, even babies, are now to be seen in the pubs, husbands no longer having an escape in what has become an egalitarian misery.
We were also talking about the McCann family whose child Madeleine is still missing after a year. I suppose the general view is that the parents were highly irresponsible in leaving the children and going off to a restaurant, but I find it sad that the parents have been receiving hate mail. It makes me wonder what pleasure these haters gain from their spiteful letters, always anonymous and invariably badly written, subject and verb seldom agreeing.
Where I criticise the family is in taking children under 10 years old abroad, sometimes going on holiday even with babies. This is what I find so irresponsible, for it effectively means that the parents do not want to forego their pleasures in the interests of their children. It is a misery for a baby or an infant to be dragged abroad subjected to miserable heat and strange surroundings, but today, whatever the unhappiness endured by babies and youngsters, the parents have to have their fun. It is yet another example of the extreme selfishness of our society.
In the evening, when the rest of the family had departed, Mrs. Copeland's mother watched the snooker with the sound turned down as she does not like the overwhelming commentary. Mrs. Copeland read the papers, while I finished reading "From Anger to Apathy" - not the most impressive of books. Unfortunately, mother-in-law has installed the "Four Candles" energy-saving lightbulbs, which are quite unsuitable for reading by. The light was so dim, even from a quite high-powered "Four Candles", that I had to give up after a while. It makes me so thankful that I have built up a stock of 200 of the tungsten bulbs.
MONDAY 5 MAY
Over breakfast we were talking about Boris Johnson becoming mayor of London. After my initial shock and disappointment, I am beginning to think that Boris is just what London needs, especially when I read in the papers yesterday what he is planning to do. To begin with he is going to wake up the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, expressing a vote of no confidence in him if he does not start to do something about the ever rising crime in London. As a further measure, may more policemen will be appearing on the streets of London.
Apparently, Boris also plans to cut out all manner of fanciful posts at County Hall, in addition to saying that political correctness is now well and truly out. Furthermore, he has pledged to cut out some of the corruption links. One way and another, it therefore seems that London is going to have a breath of fresh air, and maybe we should all welcome some good old fashioned Tory principles being used to cut out all the spurious posts and the hateful emphasis on political correctness. Good luck, Boris! His lead might even help us to get rid of the present hopeless morons at Number 10 and 11 Downing Street.
Maybe Boris will even help Boy David and the Cameroons to think up some policies for the Tory Party, for they are now entirely bereft of any ideas, other than hurling abuse at the European Union. Amazingly, the Boy is even opposed to grammar schools, and it seems that he has no idea what to do about taxes and the funding of the public services. Indeed, he has even kept quiet about the present credit crunch, presumably for fear of upsetting banking and City chums, and there appears to be no policy on Iraq and Afghanistan. In other words, in voting Conservative we are giving the Cameroons a blank cheque.
The new estate on the western boundary of the village, some two miles away from the old village. The estate, still in course of construction, is likely to have about 400 houses when it is completed.
We departed for home about 9.30 a.m., having an easy journey, there not being a lot of traffic on the road. There were, however, quite a few caravans that were slowing down the traffic. It amazes me that there is not an additional licence for towing caravans, £150 not being unreasonable. As it is, I cannot for the life of me understand how anybody can enjoy caravanning, having to pull an enormous load behind the car. If I could not afford to stay in hotels, I would rather stay at home rather than endure the discomfort of caravans.
We could have gone to have a drink at the Club as it was open from 2 - 5 p.m. today, but although Mrs. Copeland went with granddaughter (who had earlier had some friends here to rehearse a play) I stayed at home, feeling rather upset that we have had so much whinging and whining at the Club recently. Accordingly, I shall give the Club a miss for a few Sundays, hoping that the whingers, whiners and knicker-wetters have run out of grumbles.
These grumbles reminded me of the comment in Mark Garnett's book "From Anger to Apathy - The British Experience since 1975," which I finished reading yesterday. At the end of the book he explains the Lax Britannica character as: "Far from being 'at home in it own skin', Britain is stressed out, full of troubled people who had turned inwards to brood over real or imagined inadequacies. Perhaps the worst aspect of the situation was the tendency of misery to multiply: even those who resolved to remain cheerful could hardly do so when so much of their life was absorbed by shallow encounters with lugubrious people."
In the evening, sitting in the conservatory now that we have adjourned there from the parlour's winter fireside, I made a start on "Balfour - The Last Grandee" by R.J.Q.Adams [John Murray, 2007, £30]. I have a great admiration for the old aristocracy, for when good breeding is combined with intelligence (as it was in the past with many of the ruling families, if not all), it is a formidable combination, the best that nature has to offer
It is the horrible egalitarianism of Puffer Polly, despising good breeding and excellence, wanting to drag everything down to the lowest common denominator in its left-wing extremism, that I loathe so much. Maybe I can understand that the great gulf between rich and poor was too great in Victorian times, that a life of inherited luxury was in striking contrast to the poverty of the masses, but even that divide seems better than the present wealth of spivs and wideboys in the City of London, who would not know what patriotism meant, being prepared to sell the country short at the first opportunity.
TUESDAY 6 MAY
A fellow in a nearby village is developing a scheme whereby he is heating a number of cottages he owns with the use of a massive wood-burning stove. This involves felling scores of trees, which are cut up into suitable logs, and then burnt on the boiler. Bearing in mind the immense loss of trees in the landscape and the smoke pollution, I suppose this makes sense to somebody, even if it is the kind of thing you might expect to see in China.
In this context, I was not in the least bit surprised to see on the BBC news web site last week that German scientists are now convinced that there will be no global warming during the next decade, their computer studies showing that climate change in the form of cooling will balance out the much predicted heating. In other words, all this nonsense about global warming has been so much hot air. Nevertheless, this has not stopped all manner of commercial interests from jumping onto the bandwaggon, firms such as supermarkets even saving the expense of not providing bags.
I suppose the Government frighteners on climate change and global warming are a device for taking the public's mind off the appalling state of the economy. The same is no doubt true of the warnings about terrism. Just occasionally the scaremongers get caught out, as in the case of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, who in last week's "Sunday Times" is reported as admitting "misleading MPs by overstating the gravity of the terror threat to Britain." I have always maintained in this diary that this threat has been exaggerated, terrists no doubt taking the view that Mr. Bean is perfectly capable of doing all the harm to this country on his own without their assistance. Yet again you read it here first.
Felled trees for a woodburning appliance in a nearby village.
House maintenance during the morning. During the afternoon I went to the Club to check on the arrangements for the showing of "Fitzcarraldo" at the Film Society this evening. One of my friends had brought a pressure-washed to clean the remaining table that we did not manage to get round to last Wednesday. Apparently, one of the neighbours has moaned that we made too much noise when cleaning the tables last Wednesday. This really does seem like National Moaning Month.
There were 12 people at the film showing this evening, but I suppose it was a somewhat esoteric film, not likely to be of popular appeal. Nevertheless, those of us who attended enjoyed the film.
During the day I had an e-mail telling me that ""Love in the Time of Cholera" was an excellent film. I shall therefore order it when it comes out on DVD, having found that recommendations from intelligent people were of far more value than the comments of the film critics, especially those of "The Sunday Times" whose reviews I never agree with. In fairness, these reviewers seem to like the popular Hollywooden blockbusters, which have never appealed to me.
The credit crunch is now beginning to see the start of rising unemployment, somewhat earlier than expected. Swiss Bank UBS today announced 5,500, while "according to estimates, 18,000 British manufacturing jobs will be lost in the second quarter of this year. The largest job cuts in absolute terms (5,000) are expected in the south-east and London, according to the latest Regional Trends Survey from the CBI and Experian. Manufacturers' confidence is down over the last three months, particularly in the south, the survey found."
We really are in for a rough ride as the recession develops, indicating what a mess this country is in. How Tony Blair must be laughing, having got out just in time.
Back home from the Club in the evening, I spent some time reading "The Guardian", becoming incensed by some extremely silly letters written by professors of two northern universities, saying: "Rates of teenage pregnancy, obesity, drug abuse and bullying are all important indicators of child wellbeing. Although there is some evidence that school-based programmes can reduce these problems, our research shows that their roots lie in the deeper societal wounds of inequality....Our children are suffering from the long-term effects of the huge rise in inequality under Thatcher, which recent governments have failed to reverse."
Although I am only too keen to blame Thatcher the Great Destroyer for most of our modern ills, it is a nonsense to talk about inequality, there being no such thing as equality, and there never will be, principally because of the wide range of intelligence. No doubt the professors are right in blaming poor parenting can be blamed, but the Great Unwashed in our society are poor because they are indolent, not being prepared to do nothing to lift themselves out of their poverty and stupor. The children of the Great Unwashed cause immense problems in our schools, not being interested in education, yet when they leave school they wail about their poor status, not having bothered to study for any examinations.
Give the Great Unwashed £1000 on Monday, and it will all be frittered away by Thursday, no thought being given for the future - not that some of the new generation of the middle class is much better. Even though we have had several decades of state education, enormous sums of money being lavished on schools, what benefits has this expenditure ever brought us? Indeed, it could be argued that the working class is even more stupid than it was fifty or more years ago, certainly more irresponsible.
The irony is that the grammar schools, so despised by Labour because of their excellence and elitism (dirty words in the Socialist vocabulary), offered the chance for working class children to escape from their miserably restricted backgrounds. Yet Labour and now even the Boy David and the Cameroons want the remaining ones abolished in a programme that emphasises social engineering above education.
Although I generally enjoy "The Guardian", preferring it to the tatty dumbed down tabloid of "The Times," the letters and articles in "The Guardian" are nauseating, full of the whining about life being unfair and unequal, making me realise that, even though I have no great enthusiasm for the Tory Party, I have even more contempt for Socialism , especially in its dragging down of standards.
Much to my amusement, Puffer Polly Toynbee, having last year said that Gordon Brown would be a wonderful leader, and more recently insisting that the Conservatives were still unpopular, is now sounding a different song, reality having at last crept into her column. Today she was saying that Labour was hopelessly lost, as surely as Bo Peep's sheep (though it is often said that it was a compensation job), and that Boy David and the Cameroons had all the best policies, and were likely to be the winners at the next general election.
Appealing to the middle classes, the Tories will no doubt promise lower taxes; the abolition of inheritance tax under £1 million; coming out of the European Union so as not to expose inefficient Lax Britannican firms to too much competition; and the hounding of single mothers. It will be a remarkably successful manifesto, appealing to all the greed and selfishness of the residents of Acacia Avenue, who have suffered under Labour from the double whammy of higher mortgages and rapidly rising inflation, causing the two essential foreign holidays to be "at risk."
It was Dr. Samuel Johnson who said that where there is shame there is yet a chance of virtue, and this would certainly seem to be the case with Puffer's political turnabout.
WEDNESDAY 7 MAY
There was the splendid news on the wireless this morning that Mrs. Clinton's Democratic campaign is now virtually over, Obama having won a decisive victory in North Carolina, while Mrs. Clinton only just managed to win Indiana. All the commentators are now saying that she stands little chance of winning, thanks heavens, which means that a Third World War has been averted. As back numbers of this diary proclaim, I have never believed that America would elect a woman, especially after the terrible trauma we suffered in having one at the helm, the ship of State going all over the place.
There is no doubt that Obama is streets ahead in terms of intelligence, and I believe that, after the immense harm that Bush has done worldwide to the good name of his country, Obama would restore the greatness and generosity of America, no longer imposing its capitalistic and feigned democratic views on other countries. Obama therefore represents a wonderful opportunity for the Americans to set things right, and we can but hope that he goes to the White House, beating that dreadful man old man McCane, long past his sell before date, who gives the appearance of not knowing his elbow from his posterior.
In the post I had a "Dear John" invitation from the local Conservative Association to attend a 25th Anniversary Celebration of our local Member of Parliament, the cost being £30, which included a walk through the gardens of Norton Place, Bishop Norton. The guest of honour was the former Deputy Prime Minister Lord Heseltine, who would be giving the address. Although I am basically a Conservative supporter, I cannot think of anything I would less like to attend, having my photograph taken with a yesterday's politician at a further cost of £25.
Summer derobing of the Great Unwashed
Another glorious May day, the sun shining and the temperature reaching 24 C, which is a pleasant and civilised temperature, anything above that level being unbearable and not for sensitive souls. Unfortunately, the warm weather has brought out the bare-chested members of the Great Unwashed, tattoos showing, some of the others wearing those appalling singlets, the hallmark of the thick lower orders. This fraternity includes drivers who have hanging dollies in their clapped out cars. It makes me so thankful that I live in a village where there are none of these people to be seen.
I have been greatly relieved that our new neighbours are to be a retired couple, the husband aged 73, who will be coming to live here for some peace and quiet. We were dreading the prospect of a young noisy family, the parents in their thirties, possibly uncivilised, ill mannered and having a large television and a big dog, no doubt having no understanding of the use of the subjunctive. To have caravanners or teetotallers, possibly even vegetarians, would have been almost as bad.
I liked an e-mail that I have received correcting a Shakespearean quotation that I had used last week: "Finally, forgive my nit-picking over a mere preposition but Shakespeare wrote 'taken at the flood leads on to fortune,' not 'taken in the flood leads on to fortune'. A minor point, I know, but when the barbarians are at the gate we literati must defend our culture even if we risk becoming pedants!"
It delights me that there are such intelligent and cultured people who read this diary, certainly making up for the occasional illiterate rebuke that I receive.
After spending an hour or so on the computer answering e-mails, I cut the grass. Mrs. Copeland had gone out walking again with a female neighbour, with whom she is going to an island in the Canaries on a walking holiday in July. I cannot imagine anything worse than a walking holiday, not being able to see much of the countryside; indeed, I regard walking as a form of punishment. Give me a scooter any day, being able to cover much greater distances and seeing far more of the countryside. I am not even convinced that walking is "good for you", there being so many medical myths these days, most of which are gradually being exposed, such as the ridiculous former emphasis on drinking water wherever you go, 5 litres a day having been essential.
While cutting the grass, I noticed that the lawn is full of green moss, which I like immensely. It is wonderfully soft to tread on, and stays green however parched the lawn may become during the dry days of summer. Presumably there are some chemicals for encouraging the moss, probably called "Staygreen Mosslawns". I must look out for some when I next go to Focus Do-it-All.
From the newspaper, I see that thousands of people have been killed by Cyclone Nargis that has hit Burma, yet the terrible military regime is rejecting worldwide offers of help. Presumably even if aid is let in, it will end up in the hands of the military. It seems unbelievable that any regime, even one as corrupt and vicious as the military one in Burma, can behave in this appalling manner, while the world has to look helplessly on.
On Ceefax, I saw that the Woolwich Building Society, the main lending arm of Barclays Bank, was insisting on a 10% deposit for all new borrowers. This is what is going to take the property market into recession, always supposing it is not already there, for a blockage of first-time buyers affects the whole of the market, except at the very top end. The cheapest house these days is about £120,00, which means that a young couple would have to find £12,000 to enter the market - an impossible sum to find in these days of rapid inflation.
Not surprisingly, there was also a report on Ceefax that manufacturing output in this ailing land had fallen by 0.6% in March, the lowest increase for six months. There are thoughts that this will prompt the muddled Monetary Policy Committee of the Bank of England to lower interest rates yet again when the Committee meets this week, but I just cannot believe that there can be any lowering, given the relentless rise in inflation. However, there is no doubt that the Committee will be under enormous political pressure form the Treasury to make a further 0.25% cut, ineffective though it will be.
The cock pheasant that I have been feeding for several months has not been seen for the past two days, so I suppose he has either been eaten by the fox or moved on to new quarters. Alternatively, he could be on chick-rearing duties, having the horrors of parental leave. A shame, for I used to enjoy seeing him early in the morning and about 7 p.m. The birdseed that I put out for the other birds is not being eaten, so I have stopped feeding, there now being far more tasty food readily available. There are two schools of thought on bird-feeding: one that says they must be fed throughout the year; the other insisting that the feeding should stop in the better days of the Spring.
Experience has taught me that the second school of thought is the right one, for there is no doubt that all-the-year-round feeding makes the birds lazy and welfare dependent, just like the Great Unwashed. There is also the very real danger that the mother bird will feed the birdseed to her young chicks, which is most inadvisable. At least this selective feeding now saves me £3 a week, which is all very helpful at this time of raging inflation, oil having risen to $120 a barrel - not that this will be reflected in the inflation figures.
The "Red Arrows" were skimming over my chimneypots this morning. However, not to worry: all the latest indicators are that the team will be disbanded as part of the Ministry of Defence cutbacks, an announcement to this effect being made in December. Oh the joy there will be when this happens! There will be dancing in the village streets (for those still young enough to dance) and the lighting of celebratory bonfires in every garden, rejoicing that all the noise and pollution and the ridiculously dangerous flying are no more. Maybe we could even persuade the Parish Council to have a street party, though this might have to wait until next summer.
In the evening I joined some of the members of the Club in sanding down and oiling the three large picnic tables at the Club. The evening was wonderfully warm, enabling us to successfully complete the work Afterwards we had a few bottles of wine.
THURSDAY 8 MAY
It had been hoped and anticipated that a decision on the capping of the 10.6% increase on the Lincolnshire County Council tax would have been announced last week, though there is still no indication of any decision. How wonderful it must be to work in the leisurely life of Government, everything being taken so unhurriedly, even manana being a bit of a rush. Presumably there will be some shabby political compromise. There usually is.
After a hundred pages or so, I have given up reading "The Last Grandee" by R.J.Q.Adams, finding that the exhausting detail of the political wheeling and dealing, back-stabbing and the abandonment of colleagues when they are of no further use, so tiresome. It has made me realise what a horrible business politics is, the pursuit of power far outstripping any concern or benefit to the country at large. And it is probably one of the most boring of all professional occupations, having to spend hours in dreary meetings, most of which never achieve anything, other than providing an opportunity to "knock" the opposition.
This is the fifth book that I have not enjoyed this year, making me feel that my book-buying days are coming to an end. In the evenings I find that I am far too tired to read much, invariably dozing off. It is a great shame, meaning the end of 40 years of book-buying I suppose, though, that it is something that I have to accept in my old age, no longer having the concentration that I had in better, younger days. At least I will be saving £80 a month, which is an economy that is much needed in these days of rapidly rising inflation.
However, I have not quite given up, for this evening I made a start on "Italy's Sorrow - A year of War, 1944-45" by James Holland [Harper £25; £12.50 from Amazon, including postage] If I cannot enjoy this book about the war, then I really will know that my book reading days have come to an end.
Cows at the bottom of the garden, out for the first time this year.
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Today the cows were out in the field behind us, grazing between the wonderful of avenue of oaks. It really in a delightful scene, making me realise how lucky I am in living in such a peaceful and tranquil environment, yet only a mile or so from Lincoln. On these May days the scene is perfection, reminding me of John Clare's description of May as "The Queen of months."
Much to my joy, the cock pheasant that I feed returned late this afternoon after an absence of several days. He looked a bit bedraggled, so goodness knows what he had got up to, though I can guess. Good luck to him"
During the morning, continuing after lunch, I repainted the iron railings on the balcony, the ravages of winter having taken some of the paint off. I quite enjoyed the work, being out in the glorious sunshine on yet another wonderful May day, the temperature reaching 24.5 C. I also sanded the paving slabs on the balcony.
There is a lot of maintenance work to be done on the house and garden, including external painting, clearing out the garden shed and replacing windows, and tidying up the area under the conservatory that we graciously call our cellar. All this work, which is never done in a hurry, will take several weeks to complete. At least I do not get bored in my retirement.
The evening will be spent reading, and no doubt dozing.
I was pleased to see that the muddled Monetary Policy Committee of the Bank of England kept interest rates on hold at 5%. At a time when inflation is galloping ahead (petrol went up a further 5 pence a gallon today, the second increase this month, it would have been highly irresponsible for any lowering of rates. Any lowering would have devalued the ailing pound even more, and would have done absolutely nothing to revive the economy, now steadily heading towards recession.
On Ceefax I saw that a boy who was brain damaged after being kicked on a bouncing castle, hired by parents to celebrate their triplets' party, had been awarded damages of over £1 million against the parents who were said to have provided inadequate supervision. Although the parents were insured, it is a fine example of the ubiquitous legislation that we now have to endure in our all-embracing nanny society, especially all the ridiculous health and safety rules and regulations that are making it too dangerous to get out of bed in the morning.
Petrol went up by a further 5 pence a gallon today, the second increase so far this month. However, the Office for National Statistics will be able to hide these increases and the large increases in the price of food, probably by saying that the cost of electric door-chimes fell substantially. Oh, how we are deceived!
Amidst all the analysis of the credit crunch, now getting steadily worse by the day, an e-mailed joke seemed to be very appropriate and timely::-
Albert Einstein dies and goes to heaven. At the gates, he's told his room isn't quite ready, and due to overcrowding he'll have to share with others in a dormitory for one night. No problem, says Einstein, no need for a great fuss. So the doorman leads him to the dormitory and introduces him to the other inhabitants. "Here's your first roommate", says the doorman, "He has an IQ of 180!"
"Wonderful", says Albert, "we can discuss mathematics!"
"And here is your second roommate. His IQ is 150!"
"That's great too", responds Albert, "we can talk physics!"
"And this is your third roommate. His IQ is 100!"
"Brilliant! We can chat about the latest movies!"
Just then another man wanders over to shake Einstein's hand. "I'm your last roommate, but I'm afraid my IQ is only 70."
Albert smiles back at him and says: "Great to meet you. Now tell me, where do you think the stock market's heading?"
Life in Lax Britannica today
"Church attendance in Britain is declining so fast that the number of regular churchgoers will be fewer than those attaneding mosques within a generation, research published today suggests,
The fall - from the four million people who attend church at least once a month today - means that the Church of England, the Roman Catholic Church and other denominations will become financially unviable."
Report in "The Times", May 8th, 2008.
E-mail: johncopeland@claranet - comments welcomed.
John Copeland
Lincolnshire, England, 8th May, 2008
"Take what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day." - Shakespeare "Macbeth".
No. 537
Diary of a Septuagenarian<BR>
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