THINGS NOT TO DO IN RETIREMENT.
At the end of March 1989, faced with yet another unnecessary change in the structure of the National Health Service, I retired. I was fifty eight and had been in the business for thirty two years. I was glad to see the back of it.
Since 1974 there had been several pointless major changes, clearly politically motivated and obviously designed to give bigger empires to ambitious little creeps in the civil service. None of the changes had ever benefited the patient.
The NHS was a mess and still is.
As soon as politicians sense the political gain to be made from mindlessly meddling with a public service you can be sure they will turn it into an administrative nightmare. Currently the NHS is controlled by bunches of faceless, unelected yes-persons called Trusts. I wouldn't trust any of them to control off-peak traffic in a remote village.
Anyway, there was I, retired and still young enough to do something other than go out and sit on a park bench or stay in and watch television.
"Lots of retired blokes play golf," I said to my Leader. "Perhaps I should learn to play golf."
She dismissed the notion instantly.
"I don't think so. You would very soon find that you were not going to become another Faldo or Ballesteros. You'd be in a permanently bad temper and your blood pressure would suffer."
I knew she was right. Always erratic at games, I've never been much of an outdoor type.
I needed an indoor hobby.
"How about the piano then? I had a couple of lessons when I was little. I can still play Drink To Me Only with both hands."
"But you'd never get to play Rachmaninov 2 like John Ogden or the Grieg like Philip Fowke. Think how frustrating that would be for you."
I sighed: I knew she was right.
"Why not try art classes or something?" she prompted. "Or maybe get a little part-time job."
So I obtained - worked at for three years, then took my second and final retirement from - a little part time job.
The job was with Age Concern, a registered charity.
CHARITY IS A SHREWD BUSINESS.
One of the first things you have to understand as an employee new to a national charity is that you are not working for a benign benefactor you are working for a shrewd business.
Charities have honed their collecting techniques over the years and there are now few lucrative avenues left for them to explore. They have become landlords, shopkeepers and insurance brokers. Their manipulation of self-serving politicians is experienced and clever. The vast office blocks from which most of them operate and the plethora of high street charity shops and local administrative offices under their control are not subject to normal business council tax.
They appeal to the well-meaning and are an irresistable draw to publicity conscious celebrities.
I was the district organizer (known here as The Secretary) of Age Concern, Isle of Wight. I worked weekday mornings, was on a small honorarium which barely covered my travel to and from the office, parking and the telephone calls which I frequently made from home in the afternoon. But I was happy enough.
As time went by I came to meet district organizers from across the water; a bloke from Hampshire who I soon learned not to take at face value - either of them - and a nice chap in Portsmouth who had once been a Catholic Monsignor or something and had abandoned his calling to get married. I liked him. I found that they (and hundreds more like them within the organization) were full-timers on very decent salaries. Nothing wrong with that. They were, after all, working for a sacred cow.
I think it was Robert Townsend in his book Up The Organization who maintained that three years was enough time for a manager who gives fully to his job: the rascal should then go gracefully or be carried out kicking and screaming.
I decided it was time to depart.
I wrote a letter to my Chairperson recommending the direction in which Age Concern, Isle of Wight, should head: it included the appointment of a full-time Organizer (which, I stipulated, would not be me) a move from the coastal town of Ryde to the capital town of Newport and the setting up of an Island A.C. shop which at that time it did not have.
I had done all I could. I departed gracefully.
My only connection with Age Concern from then on was through the car insurance which I took out with them in the early nineties and, because I paid monthly by direct debit, was too apathetic to change.
Recently I became disenchanted with their insurance branch. It had developed cunning plans for levying additional revenue. These included turning over the customer's direct debit to a credit company (which, of course, charged interest) and exacting a payment (usually £10) whenever any change was made to the customer's computer details.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't completely dismiss Age Concern. I just started to take their concern for the aged cum grano salis.
So this year I found a far better car insurance deal on the internet.
It pleases me to report that all my recommendations for A.C. Isle of Wight were later implemented.
I wonder who took the credit for them?
BRIEF CHAT WITH A SLEEPY CAT.
"Bit dire without the golf," the cat Shadow ventured, snug and half asleep in my Leader's chair.
"Good, wasn't it, Padraig Harrington winning the Open?" I said. "Nice to have an Irishman as champion again."
"Were you alive when the last one won it?"
"1947, Fred Daly. He was the only other Irishman. Yeah, I was alive."
"Did you follow it?"
"No, all I can remember about golf then was Norman Von Nida throwing his clubs over hedges."
"South African was he?"
"Australian: I think they named a tournament after him."
"Funny how they always honour the bad tempered buggers," he said. "I'm surprised they've not renamed Wimbledon McEnroe Fortnight and had the finalists competing for the You Cannot Be Serious Cup."
I pointed out that ol' Mac has mellowed a lot over the years and that Norman, who died in May this year aged 93, was probably a lovely bloke away from the golf course...
Then I heard a faint snore mixed with the purr and it was clear that he had dropped off again.
His conversations can be quite brief.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
80. A week of Pottering
POTTER IS STILL WORTH THE WATCHING...
We made it to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on the day after the opening. Five of us went and four enjoyed it. Well, I reckon if you manage to please 80% of your audience you've not done badly.
I thought it was like the other films, good so long as you didn't expect a replica of the book: I enjoyed it. Mind you, I did not believe it to be that much better or worse than the previous four Potter outings. True there is an increasing darkness in the narrative, but that only reflects the mood of the books.
I cannot see why some critics have chosen to unfavourably compare Chris Columbus's direction of Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets with the later offerings of other directors. Not only had he the task of transforming a bunch of inexperienced children into actors but he had also to set the standard for later productions. I think he did a splendid job.
My apologies now if you have not seen any of the films. Currently there are some good DVD offers on the internet.
Probably my favourite of the series so far has been The Prisoner of Azkaban. Just how much director Alfonso Cuaron had to do with it I don't know, but the recounting of J.K.s clever idea about Hermione using a Time-Turner to transport her and Harry back to where they thought Buckbeak had been executed and thence to the lakeside where Sirius had been magically saved from the Dementors was excellent, as was the earlier scene where Hermione, much to the amazement and admiration of Harry and Ron, punched Draco Malfoy on the nose.
I thought The Goblet of Fire was a bit truncated but it was quite a long book so I suppose director Mike Newell, faced with obvious time constraints, had to resort to some massive scene and character cutting.
This also applied to The Order of the Phoenix which is but a shadow of the book. The director, David Yates, has also been chosen to direct The Half Blood Prince and shooting should commence in September.
It is thought that Deathly Hallows should be out around 2010.
That's my eightieth year but I don't mind waiting.
AND THE READING
I have just finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: allegedly the last book in the Potter saga.
It is a combination of rip-roaring action and stultifying inaction.
My son, fearful of spoilers, read it over the weekend. The action, he opined, was written with a canny eye to the film adaptation. The inaction (my opinion) was either a deliberate ploy to influence the mood of the reader at that point in the narrative or an example of J.K. treading water whilst she determined in which direction to swim next. He thinks definitely the latter.
We are agreed that publishers Bloomsbury need not worry too much about the permanent departure of their famous son. Even if Harry does not come back, Hogwarts will.
Incidentally, without spoiling anything, I knew right away by whom the silver doe Patronus had been sent. Long ago guessed the sender's secret, too. It was a lovely notion and it has kept me a bit smugly know-all since the very first book.
Heck, Jo, I've been reading whodunnits since I was nine years old.
On the lightest of notes, it has rained throughout most of my reading time. When I left the house for the shops the other day I realized that I could remember neither Hermione's spell, finite incantatum, nor Arthur Weasley's meteolojinx recanto (both rain stoppers, courtesy of J.K.) so I pointed my umbrella skywards and formed my own incantation, rainomoroverus, which I terminated suddenly when it dawned on me that I could get back home to find I had brought to an abrupt end the reign of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 2 (an elderly woman who has done me no harm).
Joanne Rowling, if by magic you should ever read this, you remain high on my list of favourite writers. Even in the talent blind world of publishing somebody would have had to find you. I'm glad they did it in my lifetime.
We made it to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on the day after the opening. Five of us went and four enjoyed it. Well, I reckon if you manage to please 80% of your audience you've not done badly.
I thought it was like the other films, good so long as you didn't expect a replica of the book: I enjoyed it. Mind you, I did not believe it to be that much better or worse than the previous four Potter outings. True there is an increasing darkness in the narrative, but that only reflects the mood of the books.
I cannot see why some critics have chosen to unfavourably compare Chris Columbus's direction of Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets with the later offerings of other directors. Not only had he the task of transforming a bunch of inexperienced children into actors but he had also to set the standard for later productions. I think he did a splendid job.
My apologies now if you have not seen any of the films. Currently there are some good DVD offers on the internet.
Probably my favourite of the series so far has been The Prisoner of Azkaban. Just how much director Alfonso Cuaron had to do with it I don't know, but the recounting of J.K.s clever idea about Hermione using a Time-Turner to transport her and Harry back to where they thought Buckbeak had been executed and thence to the lakeside where Sirius had been magically saved from the Dementors was excellent, as was the earlier scene where Hermione, much to the amazement and admiration of Harry and Ron, punched Draco Malfoy on the nose.
I thought The Goblet of Fire was a bit truncated but it was quite a long book so I suppose director Mike Newell, faced with obvious time constraints, had to resort to some massive scene and character cutting.
This also applied to The Order of the Phoenix which is but a shadow of the book. The director, David Yates, has also been chosen to direct The Half Blood Prince and shooting should commence in September.
It is thought that Deathly Hallows should be out around 2010.
That's my eightieth year but I don't mind waiting.
AND THE READING
I have just finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: allegedly the last book in the Potter saga.
It is a combination of rip-roaring action and stultifying inaction.
My son, fearful of spoilers, read it over the weekend. The action, he opined, was written with a canny eye to the film adaptation. The inaction (my opinion) was either a deliberate ploy to influence the mood of the reader at that point in the narrative or an example of J.K. treading water whilst she determined in which direction to swim next. He thinks definitely the latter.
We are agreed that publishers Bloomsbury need not worry too much about the permanent departure of their famous son. Even if Harry does not come back, Hogwarts will.
Incidentally, without spoiling anything, I knew right away by whom the silver doe Patronus had been sent. Long ago guessed the sender's secret, too. It was a lovely notion and it has kept me a bit smugly know-all since the very first book.
Heck, Jo, I've been reading whodunnits since I was nine years old.
On the lightest of notes, it has rained throughout most of my reading time. When I left the house for the shops the other day I realized that I could remember neither Hermione's spell, finite incantatum, nor Arthur Weasley's meteolojinx recanto (both rain stoppers, courtesy of J.K.) so I pointed my umbrella skywards and formed my own incantation, rainomoroverus, which I terminated suddenly when it dawned on me that I could get back home to find I had brought to an abrupt end the reign of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 2 (an elderly woman who has done me no harm).
Joanne Rowling, if by magic you should ever read this, you remain high on my list of favourite writers. Even in the talent blind world of publishing somebody would have had to find you. I'm glad they did it in my lifetime.
Monday, July 09, 2007
79. Floods, fanatics and a film.
FLOODS AND LETHAL FREAKS.
What a week. First of all the floods which left thousands of people in desperate straits, then the attempts at mass murder by religious maniacs.
The floods are proof of just how wicked nature can be and the terrorists' activities are a reminder of the depths to which depraved humanity can descend.
Only time, a massive effort by the social services, a determination by government at all levels to spend more of the taxpayer's money on the needs of the taxpayer and less on unnecessary wars, quangos and pointless consultancies, will enable us to overcome similar or worse flooding in the future. The cure will be up to the politicians
They will doubtles appoint a quango to report and teams of consultants to advise...
I fear there is no cure for the mind of the twisted fanatic, either.
On Tuesday it became clear that the majority of those intent on indiscriminate killing were - and in some cases still are - employees of the National Health Service.
Doctors, would you believe?
In my time in the NHS all doctors took the Hippocratic oath which bound them to a code of medical ethics. I thought the standards of some of them tended more towards hypocritical than Hippocratic but I seldom experienced any evil in the medical profession. Minor larceny, lechery, arrogance, indifference and political connivance, yes; evil, no.
So what the hell has driven some apparently intelligent professional people to become monsters?
Who knows?
When it comes to analysing lethal freaks in pursuit of a divine mission I defer to the experts. Writing in The Independent, Yasmin Alibhai-Brown and Johann Hari gave reasoned opinions as to what had motivated the abortive bomb attacks in London and Glasgow.
I carefully digested their views and I am trying to be level-headed.
But my conclusion is that the bomb happy bastards are mad.
FAREWELL WIMBLEDON
The cat Shadow stirred on my lap, lifted a sleepy head, inquired: "Is it over?"
"Yes. And you're getting very heavy. Want your dinner?"
He stretched languidly, got to the floor, scratched behind an ear, said: "Who won?"
He is convinced that tennis was invented as an armchair cure for insomnia.
"The women's was won by Venus Williams, an American," I related patiently. "The men's was won by a Swiss called Roger Federer."
"Just as well Andy Murray couldn't make it," he said. "He's too young, anyway. He'd have finished up like Tim Henman."
"Murray's older brother, Jamie, did very well," I informed him. "He and a Serb called Jelena Jankovic won the mixed doubles."
"Get away. Really?"
"Really. They were wild cards and they won 6-4, 3-6, 6-1 against a Swede and an Australian who were No. 5 seeds."
"Great." He started towards the kitchen: "Dinner."
I followed him.
"A Scot amongst the winners, eh?" he said. "Someone else to be described as British by the media."
I forbore the usual trite cliche about sarcasm.
He's right.
I gave him an extra helping of his most expensive cat food.
HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX
The film opens here on the 12th. We shall not book seats for that day. We'll let the over-priced sweets and drinks brigade fill the place with excitement and litter and wait to hear how much they enjoyed it. We'll go at a later date in a slightly quieter atmosphere. We'll sit back in comfort and make up our own minds.
Ah-h-h, my mind is made up already. I'm going to hate Dolores Umbridge, adore Linda Lovegood and revel in the rest of the superb cast playing roles they have made their own.
So that makes me childish?
Of course it does.
So what.
What a week. First of all the floods which left thousands of people in desperate straits, then the attempts at mass murder by religious maniacs.
The floods are proof of just how wicked nature can be and the terrorists' activities are a reminder of the depths to which depraved humanity can descend.
Only time, a massive effort by the social services, a determination by government at all levels to spend more of the taxpayer's money on the needs of the taxpayer and less on unnecessary wars, quangos and pointless consultancies, will enable us to overcome similar or worse flooding in the future. The cure will be up to the politicians
They will doubtles appoint a quango to report and teams of consultants to advise...
I fear there is no cure for the mind of the twisted fanatic, either.
On Tuesday it became clear that the majority of those intent on indiscriminate killing were - and in some cases still are - employees of the National Health Service.
Doctors, would you believe?
In my time in the NHS all doctors took the Hippocratic oath which bound them to a code of medical ethics. I thought the standards of some of them tended more towards hypocritical than Hippocratic but I seldom experienced any evil in the medical profession. Minor larceny, lechery, arrogance, indifference and political connivance, yes; evil, no.
So what the hell has driven some apparently intelligent professional people to become monsters?
Who knows?
When it comes to analysing lethal freaks in pursuit of a divine mission I defer to the experts. Writing in The Independent, Yasmin Alibhai-Brown and Johann Hari gave reasoned opinions as to what had motivated the abortive bomb attacks in London and Glasgow.
I carefully digested their views and I am trying to be level-headed.
But my conclusion is that the bomb happy bastards are mad.
FAREWELL WIMBLEDON
The cat Shadow stirred on my lap, lifted a sleepy head, inquired: "Is it over?"
"Yes. And you're getting very heavy. Want your dinner?"
He stretched languidly, got to the floor, scratched behind an ear, said: "Who won?"
He is convinced that tennis was invented as an armchair cure for insomnia.
"The women's was won by Venus Williams, an American," I related patiently. "The men's was won by a Swiss called Roger Federer."
"Just as well Andy Murray couldn't make it," he said. "He's too young, anyway. He'd have finished up like Tim Henman."
"Murray's older brother, Jamie, did very well," I informed him. "He and a Serb called Jelena Jankovic won the mixed doubles."
"Get away. Really?"
"Really. They were wild cards and they won 6-4, 3-6, 6-1 against a Swede and an Australian who were No. 5 seeds."
"Great." He started towards the kitchen: "Dinner."
I followed him.
"A Scot amongst the winners, eh?" he said. "Someone else to be described as British by the media."
I forbore the usual trite cliche about sarcasm.
He's right.
I gave him an extra helping of his most expensive cat food.
HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX
The film opens here on the 12th. We shall not book seats for that day. We'll let the over-priced sweets and drinks brigade fill the place with excitement and litter and wait to hear how much they enjoyed it. We'll go at a later date in a slightly quieter atmosphere. We'll sit back in comfort and make up our own minds.
Ah-h-h, my mind is made up already. I'm going to hate Dolores Umbridge, adore Linda Lovegood and revel in the rest of the superb cast playing roles they have made their own.
So that makes me childish?
Of course it does.
So what.
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