Sunday 9th December

Far be it for me to endorse a product; that was never what this blog was about.  For years I have wanted a decent coffee machine, and indeed I have bought a few along the way, from a pour-over filter, through Caffetieres and even a proper espresso machine, but none, especially the last were satisfactory.  Part of the problem is the coffee itself; if you buy beans you have to grind them (and I enjoy a good grind as well as the next man) and grinding then correctly is not easy.  Then there is all the paraphernalia, the filter papers, the tamping down of the coffee, the screwing it into the machine, the whamming the grounds out, and the worst of all – the milk frothing.  No machine I ever had could froth milk correctly. It is all in the bar or barometric pressure and most domestic machines just aren’t strong enough.  So I gave up, but kept eyeing new machines as they came on the market.

At last we gave in and decided to buy a DeLonghi Nespresso Latissimo, all of £230 worth, although you do get £40 worth of coffee pods free.  The pods cost about 30p each so it had  better  be worth it. Well I only have to say that the result is outstanding; beautifully frothed great tasting coffee, so easy to use – just drop the pod in and a one touch operation, easy to fill with water and milk, easy to clean and a very cool to look at.  But best of all it makes a perfect cup of coffee.

Nothing else to say really except every home should have one, so as we have two other homes we need to buy two more.  Cheap at the price.

Saturday 8th December

Unlike Haircut 100 is it not ‘down to the lake I fear’ but maybe down and down in a spiral of which one can see no end in sight.  And it is the same almost everywhere one looks; Europe is locked into the same spiral as we are – deficit increases, therefore cuts and austerity, therefore lower growth, therefore rising deficits, therefore more cuts ; the US which saved itself by pumping money into the economy is now facing a ‘fiscal cliff’ which the Republicans are doing their best to fall off.  And what is the answer?  Even Labour knows that if elected in 2015 they will face an even steeper cliff than they would have had they managed to hang on in 2010.  It is easy for them to say that they would not have cut so hard or so fast, but by the time they might get back in Government those cuts will be history, and it will be doubly difficult to reverse them.  And this is the clever trap that George Osborne is setting; he is far more a political Chancellor than a financial one, his main concern is to see the Tories retain power no matter what his policies may have reduced the country to.  And he will go to the electorate basically saying “Yes, we have cocked up badly, our policies are not really working, but at least we still have fairly cheap borrowing costs.  And bad as we have been – the other lot would be far far worse.”

So what is to be done?  Where do we go from here?  I am tempted to believe that armed insurrection may be the only solution – change the system, declare a new regime and cancel all old debt and start again.  But failing that, which does not look too imminent I would welcome some ideas.  Please send in your suggestions in a brown envelope marked “DAFT IDEA I KNOW BUT…..”

Friday 7th December

In ‘Catherines Story’ I had Catherine comment thtat the trouble with Christmas is that it comes around every year without fail, and that if we had a year without it occasionally then we might appreciate it more.  Of course these are actually my sentiments and it is true that partly because of its frequency we do not really appreciate it.  But when I was a child that year stretch from one Christmas to another seemed to last forever.  This was mainly because we were so unspoiled that it was only at Christmas and Birthdays that we had anything special at all, toys, new clothes or food included.

Toys, let’s start with toys.  Firstly there were hardly any shop-bought toys, I had a handful of dinky toy cars and that was it.   My dad had a pedal driven fret saw with which he conjured out of plywood a garage, a farmyard and a fort on successive Christmases, painted and enlivened by a few plastic accessories these were treasured possessions, not least because no-one else had them, they were unique.  One year I got a small tent for scout-camps, and another year a bike – second hand and repainted by my father, and another year a second-hand reel to reel tape recorder (the height of technology).  Favourite presents were a box of six pencils with my name in gold lettering and a tin of toffees that must have contained 10 toffees if you were lucky, but you were allowed to eat these yourself – a real treat as usually we had to share any sweets.  New clothes such as pyjamas and slippers and scarves and gloves (handknitted) were always amongst your Christmas presents too, though most kids would throw them back at you today I suspect.  Food, ah now we are talking a real difference.  Chicken was a luxury which we usually had only at Easter and Christmas, a turkey was even rarer.  Exotic fruits such as tangerines were a special treat, as were nuts and dates and we did actually roast chestnuts on the fire-grate every year.  Christmas cake and pudding had been baked by mum months ago, and matured on the top shelf of the pantry.  Their richness was unbelievable for us, full of candied peel and cherries and sultanas which were unheard of all year round.

Now you lucky people can buy any foodstuff at any time of the year; there are toys galore in every child’s bedroom with more and more electronic wonders including computers for babies, and we all have so many clothes we cannot even wear them all.  So no wonder there is no ‘magic’ of Christmas anymore.

Thursday 6th December

I was having a discussion with a true believer in the market and realised that it didn’t matter what arguments I raised, what scenarios I painted, he was happy with whatever happened as long as it was the result of market forces.   As a lifelong socialist I have always believed that the end which one was striving for was important, not the means of getting there, but I realise that free-marketeers simply believe in the free untrammeled market and nothing else.  Even if disaster results from the actions of the greedy, which is the state I think we are rapidly approaching, it doesn’t matter because the market is always right.  But what is the market, but the collective actions of a large group of people who believe they are acting in their own interests and don’t give a fuck about anyone else.  Okay, you could also have described the entire German nation in that way in the Nazi era, it means nothing.  There is no ideology here except ‘Get Rich Quick’, ‘Take the Money and Run’ and ‘Devil Take the Hindmost.’  So, if current austerity policies in Europe result in mass unemployment, starvation, people dying in the streets even – then that is okay as long as the dividends keep on rolling in.

By all consensus the West is in the poo, and faces years of slow if any growth, falling living standards and ensuing chaos.  Caused almost certainly by a blind belief in the market.  Of course the first thing to notice about all believers in the market is that they are all on the right side of the market; they are those with money to invest, opportunities to exploit; they can afford private health so if the NHS collapses they will be alright, they have their own homes, they have lots of money already.  And why on earth should any Government have the audacity to suggest how that money should be spent for the common good when they can use the market to enrich themselves further.  So thanks Mr. Free Marketeer – it sure was nice talking to you.

Wednesday 5th December

I asked a woman once why she wore make-up, and she described it as ‘putting on the war-paint.’  Is that really how women see the world, and their place in it?   I know that women are far more conscious of their appearance than men, who without women’s nagging would easily sink into early bachelordom.  Women are also conscious that they are being observed the whole time, whereas men are seldom aware of it; the only time men worry about how they look is in formal settings, where they generally want to blend in and be as inconspicuous as possible, whereas women, again in general, want to be noticed, to be admired even.  But who is it for, all this dressing up, this wearing of jewelry, this heavy dowsing with scent, this pancake make-up, who are they presenting this image to.  In certain settings it is probably men; if they are in a nightclub or on a date, or if indeed they are single or between men.  But most of the time I believe it is for other women.   Men can happily wear the same suit, or in my case jeans and jacket, for a whole week and not worry what anyone thinks of them – though a clean shirt each day is a requirement, but they could all be white for all anyone cares.  But woe-betide the woman who wears the same clothes to work every day, because you can be sure other women will notice.  And so it is with makeup, which on all but the most beautiful women does nothing to improve their looks at all.  But it does give them confidence, it is a mask they can hide behind, a projection of how they want to be seen, but mostly it is war-paint, a sign to other women that they are ready for the struggle, the daily cat-fight, and without it they are making a statement – that they do not care about their image, that they are not playing the game, that they don’t care about their appearance, that they have lost (or maybe actually won) the war.

Tuesday 4th December

I have had this mantra, which I constantly have to remind myself of, that all music is good music.  The corollary being that there is some I am simply less familiar with.  And of course it isn’t true, as any parent listening to their child attempting to knock out a tune on a recorder will agree with.  But the point I am trying to make is that the vey attempt to make music is good, almost regardless of the outcome, and almost without exception all recorded music is good music.  I am not a fan of the wilder regions of thrash metal, and do not understand much of hip-hop; dissonant choral pieces leave me cold, as does much ‘modern’ classical music, and I hate what used to be called MOR (middle of the road) and I particularly loathe supermarket and lift muzak.  But that is possibly because I haven’t really listened to it, not because it is bad in itself.

I subscribe to a music magazine called ‘Uncut’, and every month they issue a free CD; sometimes it is the latest Americana, or  new releases, but often goes off at weird tangents into the less usually heard realms of recorded music.  And the strange thing is that the more you listen to this unfamiliar music the more you begin to like it, or if not exactly like, appreciate and not loathe it.  So familiarity can breed not contempt but acceptance, and even enjoyment – I have ‘discovered’ quite a few artists I went on to love with these free CDs

I occasionally catch Desert Island Discs, and it has struck me that actually whatever 12 records you were shipwrecked with, you would come to love them eventually – because All Music Is Good Music in the end.  Except possibly Celine Dion – Hahaha

Monday 3rd December

Well it is now December, and one must I suppose try to feel Christmassy.  On Thursday I passed through the West End and all the Christmas Lights were up, but somehow they seem more and more like adverts than a celebration of Christmas – there was even a mention of Marmite, the least Christmassy food item I can think of.  And the Christmas decorations at Walton just look more and more tawdry each year, at least Mr. Bartall’s (the shop where you can literally  buy anything – one is rarely disappointed) had a fine display of Christmas lights he was selling.  I have done almost all of my Christmas shopping already, because it always seems that December is one of the busiest months; the restaurants are at last busy after a pretty quiet year, and most have their year-end coming up at the end of the month.  Then there is the distribution of the presents, which despite my not having a car, I seem to end up being largely responsible for organizing.  But none of this, or the writing of the Christmas cards, which I accomplished on Friday have seemed to make me feel remotely Christmassy.

On the drive home today we stopped, as usual for Diesel and Coffee and my partner couldn’t resist picking up a Christmas CD by Michael Buble.  He isn’t one of my favourites and I own no records of his, but he has, I must admit, a pleasant voice, and I have quite enjoyed his live TV shows.  So, at last a chance to start feeling Christmassy, and yes, looking on the cover were lots of well-known Christmas songs ‘Here come Santa Claus’, ‘Jingle Bells’, and ‘Silent Night’ to name but a few.  Slipping the CD in we sat back to enjoy….oh no, jazzy souped-up renditions of what we had hoped would be songs we could sing along to.  Why do they do it?  Firstly, why even bother in the first place – except a lazy way to make a lot of money (even Bob Dylan has disgraced himself with a Christmas Album), but even worse – why mess up the arrangements so much.  These are timeless classics, and timeless they should remain.  There was no way we could sing along, even to the choruses, and sat there, disappointed and even less Christmassy than before.

Sunday 2nd December

Yesterday (for you), (today for me) was cold.  No, it was bloody freezing actually.  Why is it that the first really cold spell of the winter feels so cold, so bone shatteringly icy.  Is it that we just aren’t used to it?  Is it that we are so molly-coddled in our double-glazed centrally heated homes that the first taste of winter hits us so hard?  Or are we just getting old, and feel it worse with every year that passes.  As a child I can remember the winters, especially 1963, when there was snow on the ground for months, but I remember it as a time of fun, of making huge slides in the playground, of snowball fights that went on for hours, of trying to play football in the snow, and not being able to see the ball, of building a huge snowman on the green outside our house.  The thing I don’t remember was the cold.

There was a sleety rain in the air too today that just made things worse.  I had walked the dogs on the beach at eight – there was no wind and a weak pinky red sun trying to rise and give us some heat – and I was wrapped up and walking briskly; I didn’t seem to mind the cold.  Then we went shopping, and I think that that trudging in and out of shops, in and out of warmth and cold, never really sure if you should unzip the layers or leave them done-up, that makes the cold feel so much worse, and my feet got steadily colder and colder.  We all seem to have a weak spot where cold is concerned.  I don’t mind my face getting cold, or my hands, I seldom resort to gloves, but once my feet start to get cold I feel truly miserable and as long as I have cold feet I can’t seem to shrug the mood, and I get more and more morose.

So, at last the long expected cold weather is upon us, and in a day or two it won’t seem so bad.  We will even be saying ‘I don’t think it’s as cold as yesterday, do you?’   I think that coldness is partly a state of mind, and the more you get used to it the less awful it seems.  How else can people live happily in Canada or Sweden or any of those freezing countries.  Mind you – it is lovely when you get home and out of the cold and sit with a nice cup of tea and look out the window at all the frost and snow.

Saturday 1st December

Some days there is no news, and the weather or the ongoing slaughter in Syria, make the headlines.  But on Friday morning there was so much news that maybe the really significant news was lost in the flood of more sensational headlines.  Leveson seemed the only story in town, but maybe that is more because the media is so engrossed in navel-gazing, whereas the general public had no delusions about the press anyway, but also probably suspect that after all the speeches and promises of good behaviour, and maybe even an Act of Parliament to somehow regulate the press – nothing will really change.  But in a changing world the Press are less and less powerful; the internet and general public apathy are far more worrying for Freedom in the long run.

There was a vote at the UN which would normally have been Headline News too, where despite Britain abstaining and Isreali and US opposition, Palestine was recognized at last as a state; not quite a full state but at least officially recognized now.

There were also three by-elections on Thursday night, which amid all the other news hardly got a look in.  But just possibly this might have been the most significant news of all.  Labour won all three, which they had previously held, and quite easily as it turned out.  But UKIP came second in two of them and polled well in the third.  UKIP has for a few years been seen as on the loony fringe, but slowly they have been gaining both ground and credibility.  Could it just be that the recent opinion polls are right and that UKIP are rapidly becoming the third party, or is it just a flash in the pan?  Time will tell, but one might have thought that the LibDems would have started to recover in the polls by now; that is if they were to stand any chance at the next election.  But the people, or a large number who voted LibDems last time cannot forgive them for allowing Tory policies to be successful.  And the Tories are not happy at all with David Cameron, who many see as leaning too far to the centre, especially where Europe is concerned, despite his brave talk he seems to crumble when the crunch comes.  So an interesting slew of news; I just suspect that the third item will actually be the most significant in the long run.

Friday 30th November

This covers the period from ‘Don’t Shoot me’ and the single ‘Daniel’ to ‘A Single Man’ and the elegiac and beautiful ‘Song for Guy’.  It was a time when Elton could do no wrong, every album was full of wonderful songs, each one seeming to top the last and everything he touched turned to gold.  And he was becoming more and more outrageous on stage, wearing gold cat-suits and Donald Duck costumes, flamboyant glasses and ridiculous footwear – why we never really guessed he might be gay remains a mystery – at the time he just seemed to be taking Glam to new heights.  What we didn’t realise also was that poor Elton was consuming prodigious quantities of cocaine, which may well have helped create a few masterpieces but were slowly destroying him.   Of course, as we now know, nobody can remain at the top forever, and the public’s attention span will always move onto others sooner or later; incidentally the period of Elton’s greatest fame – about 8 years is more or less the same as The Beatles achieved.  And maybe it was a split that ended it too, because he certainly had a rift with Bernie Taupin, his lyricist who had not only written brilliant words but in many ways grounded Elton and certainly inspired his best melodies.   They did get back together again later but never in quite the same way; they no longer actually wrote together as they used to but Bernie would send Elton lyrics which he would write the music to.  And though they had a few renaissance albums such as ‘Too low for Zero’ and ‘Sleeping with the Past’ there was a lot of dross too.

Elton has now settled into the elder statesman of rock role, and is now as famous for being an adoptive father and a celebrity as for his music.  He has become a national treasure, but to his credit he still writes some good stuff, such as ‘The Union’ with Leon Russell, even if his obligatory appearances at Olympics and Jubilees become more and more awful.

I prefer to remember him through his wonderful music, ‘Candle in the Wind’, ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me’ ‘Philadelphia Freedom’ and ‘Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word’ to name but a few.  And the wonderful anticipation when you brought home his latest release and put it on the Stereo and dropped the needle into the groove, full of expectancy at what he would do this time.  And for a few years we were never disappointed at all.