Not quite sure where the end of October went

.. because, despite the date appearing on the top of this item, I'm actually putting fingers to keyboard on 3rd November and the last post I made on here was eons ago!. In truth, I did start to write a post on the specified date but for various reasons didn't get to finish it... so instead, I'll open November's batting with it - and hope my readership approve of my green attitude towards recycling hehe.

What I got worked up about this time was the fuss about the BBC's Question Time which included the leader of the BNP, Nick Griffin.

I'd like to state right now that I find this guy's (and his party's) political viewpoint absolutely abhorrent, and to give them credit, it came across loud and clear that everybody on the panel and most of the audience shares my opinion. What I found distressing was not his presence so much as it didn't seem to me that any of the representatives of the major political parties seemed able to see beyond their disgust for him and what he stands for and realise just what a dangerous person he is. I use that word very carefully, because I am very firmly of the opinion that he and his pals are a major threat and one which the more liberal political movements need to take very seriously indeed.

Packing the studio with people calculated to be on the opposing side to Mr Griffin, although understandable, was monumentally stupid and an act of cowardice on the part of the BBC, I would suggest, as all it did was play into the man's hands and hand him the opportunity to claim the exercise was a 'witchhunt' (which indeed he later, unsurprisingly, did). All we actually saw was everybody ganging up on Mr Griffin (rightly of course), but as a result I doubt whether anybody watching who might be tempted to support the man would have had their minds changed on the fundamentals - rather the opposite in fact. It would have been a substantially more interesting and valuable exercise if the Beeb had found a few more BNP members or general supporters to form some of the audience; then a reasonable and more even-handed debate might have ensued - which just might have exposed the BNP to be the repulsive organisation it in fact is. All we saw really, was evidence, as if any more were needed, that we DO NOT live in a country where free speech is tolerated - and if anybody is under any illusions about that just remember that if you make a statement which is judged to be inciting racial hatred you are liable for prosecution. In saying that I am not saying it is desireable that anybody DOES promote racial hatred, but rather that we cannot pretend we have free speech when we clearly do not and in some ways we might be a more healthy (and certainly less internationally hypocritical) society if we were more able to tolerate listening to views we find repugnant. See my comments further below on this one...

Part of my unease about the whole BNP/Nick Griffin shebang stems from the fact that if media representations are to be believed I know exactly what section of society Mr Griffin and his party colleagues are targeting, where their main support lies, and which buttons they are pressing to hit that target audience: I know, because I grew up amongst it. I am not talking about the skinhead, 'bovver boy' element traditionally associated with the BNP (or the National Front as it was known in those days), although admittedly there were a fair few of those around my neighbourhood when I was a child, but rather the largely honest, 'salt of the earth' working-class people who form the majority of the communities in which the BNP have had their successes lately.

Naturally, in discussing my youth, I am talking about the 1970s and 80s which, as anybody who has seen episodes of Life on Mars will know was culturally a rather different place: these days even 'ordinary people' - who from experience largely didn't (and still don't) raise an eyebrow at the casual racism and sexism back then - know there's a general feeling of unease if they start making too many unfavourable statements about coloured people, immigrants or 'stupid women'. However - and make no mistake about this - in private they still come out with viewpoints that would make Nick Griffin laugh all the way to Downing Street - AND HE KNOWS THIS which is probably why he was grinning like an ape at certain points this evening. I'm afraid the overwhelming impression I received from the rest of tonight's panel is that our mainstream politicians are delusional enough to believe that the majority of people in this country have swallowed the equality message wholesale and to be frank, this frightens the pants off me.

WHY they so obviously think this is beyond me; given that we now, to our shame, have two BNP MEPs and over a hundred councillors you think they would have twigged there is a problem and at least given some indication they mean to do something about it. Votes should after all, speak much louder than ever they or the repulsive Nick Griffin ever could. However, to me, they still seem hell bent on carrying on down the road which had created the environment where people feel so disillusioned with the mainstream political parties they feel there is no other choice than to vote BNP. To quote one of my favourite films - The American President - (which, by the way, isn't quite the lightweight chick-flik it might at first seem but does ask some fairly heavy questions amongst the Michael Douglas/Annette Bening generated froth) the way you get votes is to take people who are 'ordinary', who can perhaps remember with nostalgia better times, and then you scare the hell out of them so that they turn to whatever ideology you are peddling as an comforting alternative to the status quo. Nick Griffin and his foul party are past masters of this particular little ploy: they tell people that don't have a job or are on low wages, don't have adequate housing etc etc that the reason they are suffering is because the naughty government has let all the 'immigrants' in to take away the said jobs, money and houses from the honest hardworking British. Where have the BNP had the majority of their successes? - where there are large concentrations of minority groups and immigrant populations in working class areas.

The bottom line of all this is that I believe the political classes should wake up to the fact that the traditional 'working class' haven't changed their opinions very much in the last 40 or so years and they are still pretty bigoted when it comes down to issues of immigration and race. I would suggest the fact that for various reasons we've allowed the lentil-knitting mob to have their way and grab media attention with their over the top politically-correct initiatives has been the biggest factor ensuring the 'working classes' haven't been nudged into holding rather more tolerant views: because present your average blinkered working-class Brit with some of the off-the-scale garbage these people come out with almost guaranteed to result in blank incomprehension at best, and a stream of abusive invective at worst. Ultimately, and this is the uncomfortable fact a lot of people don't like facing, Brits, of whatever class, are generally inclined to be rather racist anyway; whether this is down to having been an imperial power in the not too distant past I wouldn't like to say, but in that sort of climate I'd argue shoving luvvie-generated material around willy-nilly in front of a largely pretty poorly-educated populace is calculated to merely generate ridicule rather than enlightenment and, more importantly, leave the door open for bigots such as Nick Griffin who are prepared to peddle a more superficially attractive ideology.

Whether Nick Griffin and his pals SHOULD be allowed to have their say is another matter which I touched on briefly above. I would argue that they indeed should - if only because by exposing their ideology to the light of open examination will it be shown up to be the nonsense it is. Make something secret, illicit or 'underground' and it initially becomes more attractive; that's human nature, unfortunately. Also, I'd like to believe we should be more inclined to free speech than we are; to again refer to The American President, the character Michael Douglas plays makes the point that we cannot just point to the flag, celebrate it, and say we are 'free' - we have to realise that real freedom is allowing people to revile and burn that flag if they so wish. Even if this means having to listen to views we find offensive or bigoted: such ideologies aren't going to just disappear if we merely deny people the right to voice them.

Unfortunately I don't have a suggestion as regards what we can DO about all this; again as in many of my rants, I would suggest the underlying problem is down to the lack of an enlightened, but realistic, educational philosophy in the UK. Solve that one, and we just might find a few other things are a lot easier to handle... in the meantime politicians in the mainstream parties need to get out on the streets in the BNP stronghold areas and confront the myths they are peddling; engage in open and honest debate. Not with more politically-correct, media-massaged information but with a bit of bald truth, however uncomfortable that might be. Alas, in the current climate I think the pigs are cleared and ready for take off on that one...

Peace, perfect peace

Aha playmates... it's late at night and I'm sitting here having a quick blog and swift glass of red before I slither off to bed. For once, words are failing me as I attempt to sum up what the past few days of solitude and total lack of responsibility have meant to me... suffice it to say I am now beginning to realise just how much I needed to Get Away from Chateau Angevin And Get Some Perspective. Which is a bit of a shame as I've only got two whole days left of this before I have to go back and face the grisly reality of what the collective Trolls have done to my kitchen between them. I have a lurking suspicion that it Ain't Gonna Be Pretty; but then, given my current feelings of indolence-induced love and bonhomie I could be doing them an injustice and be surprised. Only time will tell on that one...

Still, I'm intending to make the most of what time I have left... so far I've done pretty much precisely what I've wanted, which in this instance has meant read crappy chick-lit novels, watch crappy chick-flik movies and quilt - not crappily. Oh and stuff nice morsels of nibbly food and some bottles of vino I lifted from Troll's stash down my grateful neck. For those who aren't familiar with the back story on this little excursion, my quilter friend Jo had the good sense to marry a farmer and then persuade the dear man to convert one building into a quilt shop and some other buildings into self-catering holiday cottages; I am therefore staying in one of the latter and have been busily sniffing around the goodies in the former. On my own, without any pressures to Do Things For The Family and with boundless time to indulge in any craziness which takes my fancy (including, it has to be said, various forms of Haagen Daas with most meals and at any time of the day or night I chose). Sound good? Well, it's probably better than my poor writing skills can attempt to describe, so I will leave it to the fertile imaginations which I know my various readers possess... And it gets better because Jo has a truly massive tabby tomcat going by the name of Tiger, who has been the only person allowed in to share my solitude (and, admittedly, a tiny bowl of Haagen Daas from time to time for which he seems to have a particular passion). Pictures will follow as soon as I get access to the thingy Troll has which can move pictures from phone to PC.

AND, one of the best things about this whole thing is that I can feel entirely virtuous on two counts:
Firstly - that I cooked enough ready meals before my departure to keep a whole army of Trolls alive for considerably more than a week. I understand, that this, however, has not prevented semi-furtive visits to the curry-house in my absence, but I am Closing My Eyes.
Secondly - that I have made the top of Baby Troll's latest quilt whilst I've been here, which will doubtless cause much excitment on my return. And nagging to get the thing actually quilted and finished, but that's another story. (For those who want to know, it's in the 'Fresh Squeezed' range by Sandy Gervais for Moda - a particularly eye-watering collection of various citrus shades which Baby absolutely adores). Pictures will doubtless follow...

I wonder would they notice if I stowed away here....

Back in the land of the living...

... just about. Thanks all those who expressed concern about The Bug - I am up and about again now and have been busily engaged in pacifying Troll (now back from the AAMC), ensuring Mini doesn't cause a danger to himself and others, attempting to control the mayhem that is the run up to the choir Christmas events, domestica (unfortunately) and various other tasks too tedious to mention. Oh, and preparing for my week away which is now ONLY TWO DAYS AWAY!!

This, however, hasn't stopped me finding things about which to blog and for today's offering we have two issues. Get the kettle on now, chaps...

Firstly, whilst wandering around Waitrose doing the usual supermarket sweep otherwise known as Getting Enough Food In The House To Feed Various Trolls For More Than Half A Day, I noticed the wording on the butter wrapping (above). Now... call me either daft or ignorant as you will, but I would have thought butter is by definition DAIRY... and therefore the adjectival addition of the word is completely unnecessary? Turning to that beloved organ of online research, Wikipedia, for some reassurance that I am not completely crazy I found the following...

Butter is a dairy product made by churning fresh or fermented cream or milk.
and
A dairy is a facility for the extraction and processing of animal milk—mostly from cows or goats, but also from buffalo, sheep, horses or camels —for human consumption.

Aha... as I thought. I would suggest this is a shameless attempt on the part of Waitrose to conjure up images in the shoppers' subconscious of rolling pastures and plump docile hay-munching cows. Buxom wenches plonking themselves on rustic stools with their buckets to milk the latter. Cool, dim, stone-floored buildings where the said buxom wenches sit churning and patting the butter into shape... etc etc...

GET REAL, WAITROSE.. thanks to the likes of Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall, Jamie Oliver et al, we all KNOW the grisly reality of a modern dairy owes far more to the floodlit industrial unit than the rural past of a Hovis commercial. Have the honesty to be as matter-of-fact and utilitarian as your 'Essential' range would like to make us think it is and bin the soothing adjectives PLEASE. We aren't all as daft as your suit-clad, Ferragamo-tie-wearing marketing muppets would have us believe. And, just for your information, I get Rachel's butter anyway - doing my bit for Wales' ecomony is a lot more important to me than the pennies difference in price between the two products. Oh, and note - Rachel's manages to get by with just the tag 'butter' without any daft adjectival massaging (and menyn as well just in case there was any bi-lingual doubt).

My second topic concerns Bob Marley's Christmas CD. Speaking as a musician, I have to take my hat off to the guy... anybody who can make as much dosh as he can from doing something quite so badly deserves only admiration and praise. I had tears of laughter rolling down my face listening to the clip of him growling out Here Comes Santa Claus - which is more than I suspect I'll be able to say for what is doubtless going to be foisted upon us as the 'real' Christmas offerings from other stars this year. Every penny of the cash rolling in from Bob's latest release is going to charity too... 'Bravo, old boy' is my only further comment.....

Aaaargh

The last couple of days I have been feeling less than 100%. Today was undoubtedly the worst, and I accepted defeat, got Dave the Slave to do the chickens when he came round, threw some food at Baby Troll and went back to bed for most of the day. Only emerging to put the kettle on for tea at intermittent intervals, change the book of choice, and sling more sustenance Baby's way.

The latter was delighted... for once he was permitted to watch as much TV and play as many PC games as he wished, depredate on his bike (on the strict understanding he stayed in the yard and did NOT go down the drive) and generally slob out without the omnipresent guiding hand of Mummy making sure he did his quota of chores and work. The Kittens and the other cats were also pretty chuffed that they had a nice warm body in the big bed to snuggle up to and a captive hand giving them a stroke from time to time. Troll was patently somewhat relieved that he is still ensconced in the Algerian Autistic Man Camp and therefore was not expected to supervise Mini/be asked to make edible food (unlikely, but in extremis the attempt has to be made)/look after me or otherwise Do Useful Things. The only person suffering, therefore, is ME.

Naturally I am NOT happy. Don't worry, guys, this isn't swine flu - it's just a minor bug - but normal transmission will be suspended until I'm back on my feet again. In the meantime doubtless the world at large will continue to throw events in my path calculated to make my blood boil to blogging temperature so watch this space...

It costs nothing!

Some of you will know even an old techophobe like me hasn't managed to avoid the gargantuan pit of prurience otherwise known as Facebook. What FEW of you know is, in an attempt to avoid Troll's wrath over the increasing size of my Amazon account, I've taken to tinkering with a couple of applications on Facebook rather than reading whilst the morning bucket of tea is quaffed.... namely Farmville and Farmtown.

Now, these are seemingly innocent little pasttimes - you go in, create your own farm and gradually work your way up the various scales until you reach the giddy heights of level 34 where there is no more left to learn. All very cute and totally pointless you might think... until you realise that on Farmtown you have to engage with other players to get them to come and harvest and plough for you - both sides obtain benefits that way. And THIS, gentle readers, is where the problem lies; because once again we come up against the repulsive brick wall formed of the lack of manners instilled in the general public. It's bad enough when the time comes, your crops are ripe and you need to go to the marketplace to find bods to do the work for you - there are usually plenty of people in there giving ample evidence that the Government's literacy programmes are doing nothing to make the country more able to express itself in print in a coherent fashion, believe me. 'Hire me plzzzzzzzzz' is the standard request - which in my case earns the pleader an instant click of the 'ignore' button. You get the picture: I suppose I should be grateful there is at least a 'plzz' in there. However, the situation just gets even more appalling when the little critters are actually hired and supposedly doing the 'jobs' on your farm ...

If you employ somebody to harvest, they get paid in the currency of the game. This means they have more to spend on geegaws to tart up their own farms or merely to buy seeds to grow their own crops. If you employ somebody to PLOUGH (not 'plow' as the game unfortunately insists you spell it) they get paid a smaller amount but also get 'experience' (XP) points which help them progress up the levels. Because of the way in which the game is weighted, you tend to end up being a multimillionnaire once you've reached a certain level, but you still need XPs... so ploughing jobs are more sought after by the higher graded players.

Why I am I boring you all with this? Principally because this morning, I employed a taciturn little soul to come and harvest various things which had ripened overnight. Normally I automatically give the subsequent ploughing to the person I employ - viewing it as a sort of reward in some ways I suppose. Anyway, this little madam pottered around with some of the crops (the higher value ones of course) but then claimed she couldn't see that some of them were indeed ready for her desultory attention. Not once was a 'please' or a 'thank you' used. She then, without missing a beat said 'I want to plow'. Red rag to bull time, here we come....

I went to a buddy's farm to request they come and finish off the harvesting and gave THEM the ploughing. Instant 'I want to plow' repetition from Muppet, who went ballistic when I pointed out that she'd not shown any evidence of having any manners, hadn't finished the harvesting and therefore her services were no longer required. In the course of the ensuring cyber-spat, it turned out it was all MY fault she hadn't said 'please' or 'thank you' and that she couldn't 'see' that there were other things waiting to be harvested. Work that one out if you will... add 'omnipotent' to my list of accomplishments, shall I?

God give me strength. The manners issue is one I've come to understand is completely ubiquitous: ie. it's extremely unusual these days to come across somebody who behaves with any degree of politeness. But I admit I have a problem coming to terms with the complete inability of the general population to accept responsibility for their own actions: either in a piddly little nothing-game like Farmtown or in a wider sense in the world at large. This general failure to understand that just sometimes it's better to put your hands up and say 'yes, I cocked up', or 'yes it was me' and actually follow this with 'SORRY' without first saying 'but it was really because of x and therefore I am really completely blameless' I would suggest is causing far more problems than anything the Government are doing.

I have to go and do something vaguely useful now, so I haven't got the time - or, I admit, the energy - to soapbox about this any more but I will close by saying that I believe the only way we're going to actually get out of the mess in which we've got ourselves is by teaching children from the earliest age possible that if they make a mistake they MUST accept it is THEIR mistake, and, more crucially, LEARN FROM IT. Trying to muddy the waters by passing the blame onto somebody else isn't going to do them or the rest of us any good in the long term (although admittedly in the short term it might mean they aren't punished, and therefore the option's tempting, it's true). It's a superficially small, very basic, but truly profound change which would, I believe, alter for the better so much about the world around us.

Oh, and walloping some notion of when to say 'please' and 'thank you' into the little dears wouldn't be bad either... one step at a time...

Grrrrr

Well, it's well past midnight again and ONCE AGAIN today I have had zero time to do any sewing.... this is driving me nuts.

I have projects which are sitting there crying 'do me, do me' every time I walk past with my arms crammed full of laundry/on the way to the Ray Mears Nuclear Survival Cupboard to get more ingredients for the latest meal/towards the back door to go and do chicken-related stuff. And each time I have to reply 'Maybe later'... in the full and certain knowledge that the chances of me getting any clear space in the schedule for a bit of stress-reducing Me Time are pretty close to zero. Either that, or just as I get to a point where I can think 'Oh I could sit and do some sewing now', without guilt, Baby Troll or The Kittens do something potentially life-threatening which demands my immediate attention. Or one of my friends rings up with the latest crisis. Or Troll rings up with some problem or other he can't solve from the Autistic Man Camp and which I therefore have to Drop Everything And Deal With As A Matter Of Cosmic Importance. You get the picture...

It's got to stop soon... I don't know about everybody else, but in situations like this I find myself mentally squatting, Krakatoa-like, (the bodily me meanwhile is scampering around like a cockroach on a hot rock) until the critical point is reached and in a frenzy of consummate disgust I throw every deeply boring task which I Know Should Be Done For The Benefit Of The Household onto the backburner and spend a lovely time Being Completely Selfish And Doing My Own Thing. And WOE BETIDE ANYBODY OR ANYTHING which might even have a nanosecond of dreaming it can disturb me once I get into that state.... the house can go shipwreck itself for all I care when I'm in my East of Java moda (and yes, I do know Krakatoa was WEST of Java before anybody starts trying to be smart).

Unfortunately, as Troll is due back from the AAMC next week, and will expect the house to be more Mary Poppins than Mary Rose, I know it's going to be best for all concerned if I can manage to contain myself for another few days. Anybody who has a spare troupe of cleaners/a house chef with a taste for producing gourmet freezer food/a nanny to make Jo Frost resemble an experiment in chaos theory knows where to find me....

Well that's me told then..

Mini Troll to me, today, when picking up a letter addressed to me: 'That's not your name - you're MUM'

Nice to know my identity's been totally subsumed in the monster ego that is Mini, isn't it?