Showing posts with label Flippancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flippancy. Show all posts
Wednesday, 17 February 2016
170216
And like so many pheonixes...
Um, hi. On the basis that I'm now entombed here and speaking entirely to myself, which frankly was my suspicion all along, there probably isn't too much point embarking on some elaborate explanation or update. But I think I might be back, and more or less intact at that - physically certainly; mentally and emotionally perhaps a tad less so, but writing here can be my self-prescribed therapy.
Since Decade 4 is drawing to close for me later this year, I daresay I'll take an even more reflective tone than I did before. I'd like to unearth some creativity if I can, as well as waffle, talk about myself, and philosophise really badly. Same old same old.
And yes I did have to google the plural of 'pheonix'.
I won't invite anyone to say hi, as there's clearly no-one there.
Monday, 20 February 2012
200212
I don’t know why I haven’t posted for a while. I’d like to say I’m lacking in inspiration, but that’s something of a default state for me, so can hardly be used as an excuse. If anything I’ve felt lately as though I ought to be coming out with something weighty, something profound, maybe even something worthwhile. I’d like to move or inspire people rather than provoking a half-smile and another whimsical exchange (that’s not to say that I don’t value the whimsical exchanges – they are frequently the highlight of an otherwise uneventful day).
It’s very chicken and egg, this whole civil service business. Does the nature of the work and the reputation civil servants have attract dull, lifeless individuals who can not imagine any life other than forty years behind a desk; or does the grinding repetition and endless procession of bland days, trips to the photocopier and cups of tea chisel away at the will, the individuality, the very soul of those who strayed too close to the flypaper and became stuck?
I’m about ninety-three per cent certain I would have been more fulfilled doing something else, yet I have very consciously decided every day for sixteen years (the anniversary is this week) not to do something else. It’s difficult to say whether my creative faculties would have calcified in this way had I sought employment in a different field. I’m sure I was brighter twenty years ago than I am now. I can see that it’s alarming, yet I am totally relaxed about it. It only occasionally annoys me very slightly, and even then only because I am aware that other people think I ought to be annoyed by it. In truth it feels natural, and comfortable. A kind of self-medication, if you will. And I don’t think I’m settling for what I have because of the effort that would be involved in changing course (although I concede I wouldn’t relish it). Neither do I think I’m scared of failing in any attempt to start afresh (although now there’s a high probability I would). Neither do I categorise my attitude as defeatist, or as being resigned to my fate (no caveat needed for this one – I’m really not). No, not any of those. In the end it always boils down to where I assign importance in my life. Up to this point the answer to the subconscious question “am I happy enough?” has always been “just about”.
There’s certainly no shortage of people here who claim to have joined ‘as a temp for the summer’, only to remain a decade or three later. I am here because I’m from a time and place where that was what people did when they didn’t know what they wanted to do. That time is gone, and it no longer applies in that place, but thousands of us remain – relics of a time when you could wander into employment, dull as it was, without so much as a decent A Level to your name, let alone any kind of higher education. And yet even in these austere times, relatively few of my colleagues seem to value their career here. Applications for recent voluntary redundancy schemes have been massively oversubscribed, and not entirely due to the ageing workforce. These peoples’ experiences here are very similar to mine, but their tolerance levels obviously differ from mine. They have decided to leave in search of something different, something better than the life I continually choose to endure.
There was a stat doing the rounds a while back claiming that civil servants ‘enjoyed’ the lowest average post-retirement lifespan of any profession, at roughly eighteen months. I have no idea if this is true, but I suspect some jealous pensionless individual in the private sector made it up. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from writing ‘have a good eighteen months’ in one or two retirement cards. It’s in my nature to trivialise. That’s my defence mechanism. I convince myself the things which matter to other people don’t matter to me. I’m brilliant at it. I whistle so that people think I’m cheerful. I am always on hand with a flippant remark, laced with just the right amount of black humour. If I were to release a fragrance, it would be called ‘Futility’ ™.
Despite dismantling and restructuring this post more than once (okay, twice), it still flows not. Fairly apt, I suppose.
It’s very chicken and egg, this whole civil service business. Does the nature of the work and the reputation civil servants have attract dull, lifeless individuals who can not imagine any life other than forty years behind a desk; or does the grinding repetition and endless procession of bland days, trips to the photocopier and cups of tea chisel away at the will, the individuality, the very soul of those who strayed too close to the flypaper and became stuck?
I’m about ninety-three per cent certain I would have been more fulfilled doing something else, yet I have very consciously decided every day for sixteen years (the anniversary is this week) not to do something else. It’s difficult to say whether my creative faculties would have calcified in this way had I sought employment in a different field. I’m sure I was brighter twenty years ago than I am now. I can see that it’s alarming, yet I am totally relaxed about it. It only occasionally annoys me very slightly, and even then only because I am aware that other people think I ought to be annoyed by it. In truth it feels natural, and comfortable. A kind of self-medication, if you will. And I don’t think I’m settling for what I have because of the effort that would be involved in changing course (although I concede I wouldn’t relish it). Neither do I think I’m scared of failing in any attempt to start afresh (although now there’s a high probability I would). Neither do I categorise my attitude as defeatist, or as being resigned to my fate (no caveat needed for this one – I’m really not). No, not any of those. In the end it always boils down to where I assign importance in my life. Up to this point the answer to the subconscious question “am I happy enough?” has always been “just about”.
There’s certainly no shortage of people here who claim to have joined ‘as a temp for the summer’, only to remain a decade or three later. I am here because I’m from a time and place where that was what people did when they didn’t know what they wanted to do. That time is gone, and it no longer applies in that place, but thousands of us remain – relics of a time when you could wander into employment, dull as it was, without so much as a decent A Level to your name, let alone any kind of higher education. And yet even in these austere times, relatively few of my colleagues seem to value their career here. Applications for recent voluntary redundancy schemes have been massively oversubscribed, and not entirely due to the ageing workforce. These peoples’ experiences here are very similar to mine, but their tolerance levels obviously differ from mine. They have decided to leave in search of something different, something better than the life I continually choose to endure.
There was a stat doing the rounds a while back claiming that civil servants ‘enjoyed’ the lowest average post-retirement lifespan of any profession, at roughly eighteen months. I have no idea if this is true, but I suspect some jealous pensionless individual in the private sector made it up. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from writing ‘have a good eighteen months’ in one or two retirement cards. It’s in my nature to trivialise. That’s my defence mechanism. I convince myself the things which matter to other people don’t matter to me. I’m brilliant at it. I whistle so that people think I’m cheerful. I am always on hand with a flippant remark, laced with just the right amount of black humour. If I were to release a fragrance, it would be called ‘Futility’ ™.
Despite dismantling and restructuring this post more than once (okay, twice), it still flows not. Fairly apt, I suppose.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
170810
Considering that this is essentially a private space, it's remarkable how difficult I've found it to be truly honest in what I write here. Anyone who knows me through this site doesn't know me in real life. Everyone who knows me in real life doesn't know about this site, apart from one, and I'm hardly in contact with him at all these days, even though he's right up there on my list of favourite people.
So what's the point of having a secret space if I never reveal any secrets? I guess I'm a little ashamed of certain things, and don't wish to share them with strangers. I may allude to them, but I doubt I could ever openly discuss them, even in writing. Perhaps shutting them out makes them less real, and renders my questioning of my own decency invalid. A form of denial, if you will.
Suffice it to say that I have, err, erred. But I know I have it in me to rediscover the right path. Sorry - religious imagery not good. What I mean to say is that I intend to make certain modifications in my behaviour from here on in. I'll let you know how it goes, in a very vague and non-specific way of course.
So what's the point of having a secret space if I never reveal any secrets? I guess I'm a little ashamed of certain things, and don't wish to share them with strangers. I may allude to them, but I doubt I could ever openly discuss them, even in writing. Perhaps shutting them out makes them less real, and renders my questioning of my own decency invalid. A form of denial, if you will.
Suffice it to say that I have, err, erred. But I know I have it in me to rediscover the right path. Sorry - religious imagery not good. What I mean to say is that I intend to make certain modifications in my behaviour from here on in. I'll let you know how it goes, in a very vague and non-specific way of course.
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
290610
There was a time (I refer readers to my previous post), when England's elimination from the FIFA World Cup (TM) would have left me devastated. I'm talking genuine trauma. Tears, anger, denial, that feeling like you've been punched in the stomach. Now? Utter indifference. Within twenty minutes I had shrugged it off and gone off to consult cinema listings. (Ignore the terrible reviews of 'Whatever Works' - it's pretty good).
Yet I don't think this change of attitude has come about as a result of our national team's ever lengthier list of not quites, nearlys and nowhere bloody nears. Three moderately successful World Cups followed by an awful one have worn away the blind faith of most people I know, but I know myself to still be capable of donning the blinkers and hoping for, even expecting a positive outcome. Yet I choose not to, at least where sport is concerned. There was a time when I would sit in front of the TV, quietly whispering to a God that I knew full well didn't exist, that if Nick Faldo could make this putt, or Jeremy Bates could somehow win this tie-break, or Peter Schmeichel could save this penalty, or David Bryant could win this end (maybe not that last one), I would happily do his evil bidding for the rest of my days. Am I mixing up God and the Devil there? Not sure.
I suppose my point is that in recent years I've allowed the perspective of which I was always capable to occupy the driving seat more. It's not that there are more important things in life than sport, it's that there is nothing important in life full stop. Some might say I've matured. Perhaps I'm a little more cynical than I used to be. Either way, on some level it saddens me that my emotions are stirred so rarely these days.
In respect of the passing of my youthful exuberance, I will decline to sign off with a typically flippant remark.
Yet I don't think this change of attitude has come about as a result of our national team's ever lengthier list of not quites, nearlys and nowhere bloody nears. Three moderately successful World Cups followed by an awful one have worn away the blind faith of most people I know, but I know myself to still be capable of donning the blinkers and hoping for, even expecting a positive outcome. Yet I choose not to, at least where sport is concerned. There was a time when I would sit in front of the TV, quietly whispering to a God that I knew full well didn't exist, that if Nick Faldo could make this putt, or Jeremy Bates could somehow win this tie-break, or Peter Schmeichel could save this penalty, or David Bryant could win this end (maybe not that last one), I would happily do his evil bidding for the rest of my days. Am I mixing up God and the Devil there? Not sure.
I suppose my point is that in recent years I've allowed the perspective of which I was always capable to occupy the driving seat more. It's not that there are more important things in life than sport, it's that there is nothing important in life full stop. Some might say I've matured. Perhaps I'm a little more cynical than I used to be. Either way, on some level it saddens me that my emotions are stirred so rarely these days.
In respect of the passing of my youthful exuberance, I will decline to sign off with a typically flippant remark.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
250510
Second funeral of the month coming up this Friday. It's difficult to remember them all, but I think this will be the tenth funeral I've attended - is this a fairly high number for someone of my age? I'm not sure. Most have been for family members, thankfully none more immediate than grandparents, of which I have been bereft for almost twenty years now. Some of the more recent funerals have been those of people who I've regarded as of the same generation as my parents, which sets in train all sorts of uncomfortable thoughts. The funeral I went to earlier in the month was that of my uncle, who was younger than either of my parents. I'm hardly world empathy champion at the best of times, but it was quite disturbing to sit behind his wife, children and grandchildren in the service, as they sobbed pretty much uncontrollably at various points throughout. I had to tell them to shut up at one point.
Joking.
On the other hand, it was heartening to see my great-uncle, younger brother of my grandmother, looking ridiculously sprightly, and almost younger than when I last saw him more than ten years ago. If my back is that straight in my late eighties I'll be very happy. Yet even the pleasure of seeing him again, and the couple of interesting chats I had with two of my father's cousins who I haven't seen for a similar number of years, is tempered by the knowledge that I may never see any of them again, and even if I do it will be on account of another death in the family.
Not drawing any particular conclusions - just remarking.
Joking.
On the other hand, it was heartening to see my great-uncle, younger brother of my grandmother, looking ridiculously sprightly, and almost younger than when I last saw him more than ten years ago. If my back is that straight in my late eighties I'll be very happy. Yet even the pleasure of seeing him again, and the couple of interesting chats I had with two of my father's cousins who I haven't seen for a similar number of years, is tempered by the knowledge that I may never see any of them again, and even if I do it will be on account of another death in the family.
Not drawing any particular conclusions - just remarking.
Monday, 24 May 2010
240510
Well it turns out that even if I have a fractured skull there isn't much to be done. Skull fractures are pretty interesting as it turns out. They can be described by location (temporal, basal) or type (linear, depressed). The depressed ones, and those accompanied by outer head wounds, obviously need some urgent treatment, what with the brain either being squashed or exposed to the world. The linear ones tend to be left alone though, since they heal by themselves given some time. I won't be playing any football for weeks and weeks now, so the risk of re-bumping that same area, even allowing for my penchant for walking into things, is negligible. Incidentally, I don't think I have fractured my skull - though I've been enjoying imagining what it would be like to have done so. I appreciate that the reality is probably less romantic. In fact, my skull is quite high up my list of bones I wouldn't like to fracture.
We picnicked at the beach yesterday. Some eye-catching people were on show. Parts of me are a rather darker shade than they used to be. It hurts a little. Summer, it would seem, has arrived.
We picnicked at the beach yesterday. Some eye-catching people were on show. Parts of me are a rather darker shade than they used to be. It hurts a little. Summer, it would seem, has arrived.
Monday, 11 January 2010
110110
New Year greetings, and if you happen to be a turkey, congratulations on having made it this far. I dread to think how many calories were thrown down my gullet between the middle of December and now, but cannot admit to any real sense of regret. Christmas Day is the only day of the year when I feel justified in eating an entire Terry's Chocolate Orange for breakfast. It's what Jesus would have wanted.
Coupled as it was with some time off work to have, and recover from, a small operation, my festive absence from work was the longest of my working life so far, a whopping 20 days, comprised of the following:
6 days of weekend
6 days of annual leave
4 days of public holiday / work shutdown
4 days of medical related absence
The extended period was a good opportunity to reflect on where I am in my personal development, on what I have achieved, and on what I want to do in the coming months and years. But instead I sat in the house eating, wandered around town people-watching and shopping, and watched TV.
That's not entirely true. Once I had recovered from the operation I was rather busy preparing for visits from, and making visits to, various family members. In summary, a pleasantly familiar Christmas and New Year. If I was in a fault-finding mood, perhaps a couple of extra days would have come in handy in order to catch up with certain individuals who are foolish enough to call themselves my friends, but I will no doubt bump into them over the coming months.
My employer allows its workers two days special paid leave in order to help them give up smoking, which seems a good incentive for a New Year's resolution. The first step for me is to take up smoking.
Coupled as it was with some time off work to have, and recover from, a small operation, my festive absence from work was the longest of my working life so far, a whopping 20 days, comprised of the following:
6 days of weekend
6 days of annual leave
4 days of public holiday / work shutdown
4 days of medical related absence
The extended period was a good opportunity to reflect on where I am in my personal development, on what I have achieved, and on what I want to do in the coming months and years. But instead I sat in the house eating, wandered around town people-watching and shopping, and watched TV.
That's not entirely true. Once I had recovered from the operation I was rather busy preparing for visits from, and making visits to, various family members. In summary, a pleasantly familiar Christmas and New Year. If I was in a fault-finding mood, perhaps a couple of extra days would have come in handy in order to catch up with certain individuals who are foolish enough to call themselves my friends, but I will no doubt bump into them over the coming months.
My employer allows its workers two days special paid leave in order to help them give up smoking, which seems a good incentive for a New Year's resolution. The first step for me is to take up smoking.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
031209
Diarist, sports correspondent, current affairs commentator and now music reviewer. I can do it all.
Album Review
I Dreamed A Dream - lovely Susan Boyle
Lovely, lovely, wonderful Susan. I have mentioned my admiration for lovely Susan Boyle in passing to a number of people, and for some reason they generally seem to think I'm joking. Let me declare, with as much seriousness as I can muster, that lovely Susan Boyle's uniquely rapid rise to world dominance is in my belief a genuinely heartwarming story. Admittedly, there are bound to be those in the background leeching money from the mind-boggling album sales, upcoming US tour and numerous public appearances, but at the root of it all is the story of a woman blessed with a voice of the purest crystal, yet denied the chance to share it on any significant stage until not far off the beginning of her sixth decade. And she's bloody lovely.
Track 1 - Wild Horses
I am not overly familiar with this as a Rolling Stones song, which is perhaps why it grabbed me so powerfully when I first heard lovely Susan's rendition on the radio. A gentle piano accompaniment leaves plenty of space for Susan's elegant tones to reverberate through what is an enchanting, catchy and very strong opening.
Track 2 - I Dreamed A Dream
Indeed you did Susan. Indeed you did. I think we're all familiar with that remarkable first audition, a moment which will no doubt remain career-defining no matter how many concerts or album sales are racked up over the coming years. I don't even need to go on YouTube any more it's so clear in my mind. Can't talk any more...tears welling in eyes... I LOVE YOU SUSAN!
Track 3 - Cry Me A River
Apparently a Boyle favourite from her limited early performance and recording career, and clearly a song she has an affinity with. Soulfully delivered, and without a trace of the schmulziness which can seep into the vocals of several contemporary male crooners I can think of.
Track 4 - How Great Thou Art
Eclectic old mix, this, but none the worse for it. Okay I'm no hymn lover, and in all honesty this isn't one of my favourites, but despite being little more than a repetition of the chorus gradually increasing in volume, this somehow doesn't turn into the droning dirge one might expect. It is a pleasant interlude between more meaty tracks, and provides some uplifting vocal arcs from lovely Susan, even if the lyrics are essentially religious claptrap.
Track 5 - You'll See
Poor, poor Madonna. Not only does lovely Susan waltz along and become the fastest selling female solo artist of all time (over 2 million albums worldwide in WEEK 1, for goodness sake), she also out-performs Mads at her own game. This song has never done that much for me, until now. Susan brings an integrity and operatic depth of which the queen of pop could only dream.
Track 6 - Daydream Believer
Perhaps the surprise track of the album, lovely Susan dusts down this Monkees singalong classic and gives it the West Lothian treatment. As big a fan as you probably realise by now I am, lovely Susan's versatility here caught me off guard. It's fresh, and stripped back, but doesn't neglect the essence of what is a joyful song.
Track 7 - Up To The Mountain
It's soul, it's gospel, it's solid gold. I haven't seen Kelly Clarkson's well-received American Idol performance of this Patty Griffin tune, but I feel safe in saying lovely Susan surpasses it here by several million miles.
Track 8 - Amazing Grace
Yeah, yeah. Predictable as hell, but you can't knock the tune, or John Newton writing something that appears on a contemporary album 230 years after he wrote it. Frankly I could listen to lovely Susan sing the yellow pages, so it may as well be this instead. Why does nobody ever record He Who Would Valiant Be?
Track 9 - Who I Was Born To Be
The only original composition on the album, and a little unfairly hidden away down here at Track 9. Presumably chosen as much for it's lyrical poignancy as much as anything else, a track which continues to grow on me after ten or twelve plays. I look forward to more songs written especially for lovely Susan on her next album. Maybe I'll write her one. Royalties? You keep them all, Susan. It's the least I can do.
Track 10 - Proud
We love you Susan, we do
We love you Susan, we do
We love you Susan, we do
Oh Susan, we love you
Sorry, got distracted there for a moment. Good track.
Track 11 - The End Of The World
You come across a song you've never heard before, only to find out it was written in the early sixties, and has been covered by (amongst others): The Carpenters, Herman's Hermits, Brenda Lee, Bobby Vinton, John Cougar Mellencamp, Johnny Mathis, Nancy Sinatra, Sonia, Twiggy and Agnetha from ABBA. How has something so delightful eluded me for so long? Thankfully, it has not eluded lovely Susan.
Track 12 - Silent Night
Takes me back to GCSE German lessons around this time of year: Stille nacht, heilige nacht, o tannenbaum o tannenbaum - no, that's wrong. Three hymns in twelve tracks is acceptable I suppose - there are grannies to be catered for, after all. The singing, as it is all the way through, is monumental; the song a tad dreary and not the way I would have ended the album. I'm prepared to blame some faceless executive if you are?
And there you have it. Utterly biased confirmation that this is the album for you, no matter who you may be. Lovely Susan can turn her vocal chords to a fair few genres, it would seem. Despite the relatively short space of time between lovely Susan's 'discovery' and this album release, it in no way feels thrown together. We have elements of pop, soul, country, jazz, musicals, opera, gospel, hymns and many more things in between. If there's nothing for you in that little lot, then you are a fool, sir (or madam).
Album Review
I Dreamed A Dream - lovely Susan Boyle
Lovely, lovely, wonderful Susan. I have mentioned my admiration for lovely Susan Boyle in passing to a number of people, and for some reason they generally seem to think I'm joking. Let me declare, with as much seriousness as I can muster, that lovely Susan Boyle's uniquely rapid rise to world dominance is in my belief a genuinely heartwarming story. Admittedly, there are bound to be those in the background leeching money from the mind-boggling album sales, upcoming US tour and numerous public appearances, but at the root of it all is the story of a woman blessed with a voice of the purest crystal, yet denied the chance to share it on any significant stage until not far off the beginning of her sixth decade. And she's bloody lovely.
Track 1 - Wild Horses
I am not overly familiar with this as a Rolling Stones song, which is perhaps why it grabbed me so powerfully when I first heard lovely Susan's rendition on the radio. A gentle piano accompaniment leaves plenty of space for Susan's elegant tones to reverberate through what is an enchanting, catchy and very strong opening.
Track 2 - I Dreamed A Dream
Indeed you did Susan. Indeed you did. I think we're all familiar with that remarkable first audition, a moment which will no doubt remain career-defining no matter how many concerts or album sales are racked up over the coming years. I don't even need to go on YouTube any more it's so clear in my mind. Can't talk any more...tears welling in eyes... I LOVE YOU SUSAN!
Track 3 - Cry Me A River
Apparently a Boyle favourite from her limited early performance and recording career, and clearly a song she has an affinity with. Soulfully delivered, and without a trace of the schmulziness which can seep into the vocals of several contemporary male crooners I can think of.
Track 4 - How Great Thou Art
Eclectic old mix, this, but none the worse for it. Okay I'm no hymn lover, and in all honesty this isn't one of my favourites, but despite being little more than a repetition of the chorus gradually increasing in volume, this somehow doesn't turn into the droning dirge one might expect. It is a pleasant interlude between more meaty tracks, and provides some uplifting vocal arcs from lovely Susan, even if the lyrics are essentially religious claptrap.
Track 5 - You'll See
Poor, poor Madonna. Not only does lovely Susan waltz along and become the fastest selling female solo artist of all time (over 2 million albums worldwide in WEEK 1, for goodness sake), she also out-performs Mads at her own game. This song has never done that much for me, until now. Susan brings an integrity and operatic depth of which the queen of pop could only dream.
Track 6 - Daydream Believer
Perhaps the surprise track of the album, lovely Susan dusts down this Monkees singalong classic and gives it the West Lothian treatment. As big a fan as you probably realise by now I am, lovely Susan's versatility here caught me off guard. It's fresh, and stripped back, but doesn't neglect the essence of what is a joyful song.
Track 7 - Up To The Mountain
It's soul, it's gospel, it's solid gold. I haven't seen Kelly Clarkson's well-received American Idol performance of this Patty Griffin tune, but I feel safe in saying lovely Susan surpasses it here by several million miles.
Track 8 - Amazing Grace
Yeah, yeah. Predictable as hell, but you can't knock the tune, or John Newton writing something that appears on a contemporary album 230 years after he wrote it. Frankly I could listen to lovely Susan sing the yellow pages, so it may as well be this instead. Why does nobody ever record He Who Would Valiant Be?
Track 9 - Who I Was Born To Be
The only original composition on the album, and a little unfairly hidden away down here at Track 9. Presumably chosen as much for it's lyrical poignancy as much as anything else, a track which continues to grow on me after ten or twelve plays. I look forward to more songs written especially for lovely Susan on her next album. Maybe I'll write her one. Royalties? You keep them all, Susan. It's the least I can do.
Track 10 - Proud
We love you Susan, we do
We love you Susan, we do
We love you Susan, we do
Oh Susan, we love you
Sorry, got distracted there for a moment. Good track.
Track 11 - The End Of The World
You come across a song you've never heard before, only to find out it was written in the early sixties, and has been covered by (amongst others): The Carpenters, Herman's Hermits, Brenda Lee, Bobby Vinton, John Cougar Mellencamp, Johnny Mathis, Nancy Sinatra, Sonia, Twiggy and Agnetha from ABBA. How has something so delightful eluded me for so long? Thankfully, it has not eluded lovely Susan.
Track 12 - Silent Night
Takes me back to GCSE German lessons around this time of year: Stille nacht, heilige nacht, o tannenbaum o tannenbaum - no, that's wrong. Three hymns in twelve tracks is acceptable I suppose - there are grannies to be catered for, after all. The singing, as it is all the way through, is monumental; the song a tad dreary and not the way I would have ended the album. I'm prepared to blame some faceless executive if you are?
And there you have it. Utterly biased confirmation that this is the album for you, no matter who you may be. Lovely Susan can turn her vocal chords to a fair few genres, it would seem. Despite the relatively short space of time between lovely Susan's 'discovery' and this album release, it in no way feels thrown together. We have elements of pop, soul, country, jazz, musicals, opera, gospel, hymns and many more things in between. If there's nothing for you in that little lot, then you are a fool, sir (or madam).
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
301109
I'd like to state at the very top of this post that I did donate to Children in Need the other week, and I did buy a poppy earlier in the month. I also bought a raffle ticket in aid of RNIB only this morning.
In general, however, and particularly where people are concerned, I don't regard myself as a very charitable person. It's not compassion fatigue (love that phrase) either. If I'm completely honest with myself, I'm not sure that charities that help people are great causes. Try as I might, and believe it or not I really am trying not to sound utterly heartless, I think there are far too many human beings in the world, and we've become a bit of a nuisance. It seems more worthwhile to me to contribute to organisations who make it their business to clean up the mess we as a species have made, and continue to make, in the name of covering the face of the Earth with yet more of us.
It's important, yet somewhat difficult, to separate the real compassion I feel for people around the globe who suffer from various types and severities of physical and/or mental impairment, and for those whose lives have been blighted by war, famine, drought, crime, extremist political regimes and natural disasters, from my belief that there are more serious issues for this planet and its inhabitants. Whilst I accept that there is a vast number of people with no option but to exist in horrific conditions, it's clear that Homo Sapiens is not about to die out. Quite the opposite - the latest estimates are that there are 6.9 billion of us, and by 2050 this is due to increase to approaching 9 billion. Set against no more than 200,000 gorillas (in the wild), around 20,000 rhinos, and fewer than 5,000 tigers, this hardly seems fair.
It's quite a philosophical wrestling match. Whilst indivuals may well merit and deserve our help and love, as a species we're fairly obnoxious. On a personal level, whilst I would certainly accept charity were I to find myself in need, how should I reconcile this with believing that we/I are/am not a worthwhile cause?
Furthermore, when should I put up my Christmas Tree?
In general, however, and particularly where people are concerned, I don't regard myself as a very charitable person. It's not compassion fatigue (love that phrase) either. If I'm completely honest with myself, I'm not sure that charities that help people are great causes. Try as I might, and believe it or not I really am trying not to sound utterly heartless, I think there are far too many human beings in the world, and we've become a bit of a nuisance. It seems more worthwhile to me to contribute to organisations who make it their business to clean up the mess we as a species have made, and continue to make, in the name of covering the face of the Earth with yet more of us.
It's important, yet somewhat difficult, to separate the real compassion I feel for people around the globe who suffer from various types and severities of physical and/or mental impairment, and for those whose lives have been blighted by war, famine, drought, crime, extremist political regimes and natural disasters, from my belief that there are more serious issues for this planet and its inhabitants. Whilst I accept that there is a vast number of people with no option but to exist in horrific conditions, it's clear that Homo Sapiens is not about to die out. Quite the opposite - the latest estimates are that there are 6.9 billion of us, and by 2050 this is due to increase to approaching 9 billion. Set against no more than 200,000 gorillas (in the wild), around 20,000 rhinos, and fewer than 5,000 tigers, this hardly seems fair.
It's quite a philosophical wrestling match. Whilst indivuals may well merit and deserve our help and love, as a species we're fairly obnoxious. On a personal level, whilst I would certainly accept charity were I to find myself in need, how should I reconcile this with believing that we/I are/am not a worthwhile cause?
Furthermore, when should I put up my Christmas Tree?
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
240908
Life in general isn't very interesting, and my own life certainly isn't one of the few exceptions. I exist quite happily from day to day, scoring minor successes and enjoying achievements which, in the wider scheme of things, really aren't too important. As a blogger I am demonstrably uninspired, have little to say, and pretty much a failure. I don't like talking or writing about myself very much. A little humility goes a long way, and I'm as humile as they come.
I told a woman to fuck off the other day. She deserved it (the inconsiderate bitch), but I was disappointed in myself for departing from my usual serene aloofness. Next thing you know I'll be hitting people. Or setting fire to their property. Or poisoning their pets. My favourite threat, though admittedly not one that I have so far had occasion to use, is: "I know where your children go to school". Sets all the right alarms ringing I reckon.
Calories today: 1000 (correct to 4pm). No this isn't a weight loss / fitness blog, but there's no harm in trying to appeal to a wider (get it?) audience.
Tip of the day: Don't start a 'tip of the day' section on your blog.
I told a woman to fuck off the other day. She deserved it (the inconsiderate bitch), but I was disappointed in myself for departing from my usual serene aloofness. Next thing you know I'll be hitting people. Or setting fire to their property. Or poisoning their pets. My favourite threat, though admittedly not one that I have so far had occasion to use, is: "I know where your children go to school". Sets all the right alarms ringing I reckon.
Calories today: 1000 (correct to 4pm). No this isn't a weight loss / fitness blog, but there's no harm in trying to appeal to a wider (get it?) audience.
Tip of the day: Don't start a 'tip of the day' section on your blog.
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