Post 405. THE INVISIBLE MAN.

THERE'S A JOY TO BEING HIM.

BELIEVE ME.

When that splendid writer H.G. Wells wrote The Invisible Man in 1897 he introduced readers of Pearson's Weekly to optics scientist Griffin.
Griffin, a bit of a psychopath in the days before elementary students so much as heard the word, invented a way of making himself invisible (see Wiki entry on Invisibility containing the above diagram) but did not have the foresight to ensure he could reverse the procedure. He then took to killing people until he was himself killed.
Served him right.

Being an invisible man today is nothing like as grim. Depending on whether or not you take to killing people - and most of us thankfully don't - it can be a joy: you feel unencumbered by responsibility. All you have to do is live until you are old. Preferably far beyond the age of retirement. Then, at first unwittingly, you will become every bit as invisible as you want, or sometimes don't want, to be. I quite enjoy it. It's like being one of those trusted servants of posh people in the eighteen and nineteen hundreds. People impart all sorts of private information to you simply by holding highly confidential conversations with others in your presence without noticing you are there. It helps if you are not easily offended: in direct contrast to how physically thin-skinned you come to be, you have to become mentally thick-skinned with age. It helps even more if you have a sense of humour: but doesn't everything?

Things I cannot laugh at I dismiss. They include many 'ists.' Racists, sexists, ageists, opportunists, privileged careerists and imitation socialists. And when it comes to those opposing pandemic vaccination, supporting the government, or denying global warming. Huh!
Let's get back to

TELEVISION.
Two fine old films:

The Titfield thunderbolt in which Stanley Holloway buys into the re-opening of an extinct railway in order to enjoy its extended licensing hours.Very British.
Plus: Witness for the Prosecution in which, on Tyrone Power's behalf, Marlene Dietrich fools Charles Laughton with a cockney accent that makes Dick Van Dyke's chimney sweep sound like a Pearly King. It was black and white and directed by Billy Wilder. Thoroughly enjoyed it.
Also: Vigil is a new BBC1 serial starring Suranne Jones and a threatened nuclear submarine. Two episodes down and four to go. Glorous escapism.
AND LAST BUT BY NO MEANS LEAST

Jac and Mike brought Mike's lovely daughter Hannah (above) to see us yesterday. Hans, who is studying at Notts University, is having a short holiday down here. It was great to see her again.
We are mightily fond of her and she will always be family to us. 

Now it's the end of the month and I must disappear.
Talk amongst yourselves... 

     

  

 

 

Post 404. HERE COME THE OPPORTUNISTS.

OR, IN THE VERNACULAR.

THE GREEDY BASTARDS.

They have had their eyes on the NHS ever since its inception and now, using the pandemic as reason, our populist government is publicly showing the truth of its concern for the great British public: it proposes inviting private healthcare firms (and how many MPs have 'advisory' roles, pals, shares, in them?) to take another generous helping from the NHS purse.

There is nothing new in this: private contracting has covertly taken place for years, but the current climate has enabled the acquisitive bastards to justify their greed, and there is now no disguising the privatized foot in the door. The excuse is the enormous backlog of patients awaiting hospital treatment, much of it surgical, in wake of the pandemic. NHS hospitals on their own, the crystal ball holders claim, will be quite unable to cope. So stand by for a flurry of expensively subsidized 'private' NHS care. Watch as the opportunistic new 'providers' unctuously undermine years of dedicated health care provided by NHS staff whose calling has gifted them scant remuneration and the requirement to pay parking fees in hospital grounds.

As for the PM:

"Our NHS," eh?

Who does the pernicious little prick think he is kidding? Given the chance, he and his cunning cronies will turn it back into an American-style (or pre 1948 British) health insurance bonanza before you can so much as say 'is there a doctor in the house?'
ALONG WITH THAT
Tried signing on with a dentist as a NHS patient recently? The majority of dental surgeries will politely tell you to bugger off. Business, my dears, has determinedly bypassed bureaucracy. It started to happen way before the pandemic and those of us who are the NHS patients of a dentist now remain so only out of our dental practitioner's kindness of heart. When we privileged folk are gone there will probably be no more family dentistry obtainable under NHS arrangements: the only place where such treatment may be found will be in increasingly overcrowded hospitals run by increasingly untrustworthy Trusts. Well, gullible Brit, you didn't think the incessant reorganization of 'our NHS' since 1974 was for your benefit, did you? Get real.
BUT THERE ARE STILL GENEROUS PEOPLE.

ROZ'S CHILDHOOD FRIEND WENDY.

Wendy, who recently visited here from Brighton (Post 402 refers) works in the Sussex Police Communications Department. Her palpable sadness over Roz's death moved us deeply and when she went back home we were in no doubt that she would seek a means of expressing her thanks to the health staff who unremittingly serve those beset by cancer. Now we learn that Wendy's colleagues have handed her £160 (an entire £1 per head mufti day collection) to donate to the Macmillan Nurses charity in Roz's name. Our heartfelt thanks to Wendy and those generous Sussex police colleagues.
THAT'S ALL FOR NOW.
Don't go too far. We may want to speak to you again.
(What police TV show didn't that come from?)