Goodbye 2010, Hullo 2011!

The countdown to the New Year has begun and, just as with the lead-up to Christmas Day, there's a sense of expectation in the air. But on top of that is a feeling that one door is closing as another opens, the sensation of a certain finality. The end of one year and the start of another makes us acutely aware of the passage of time, and the older we are the more aware of this we become. The years truly seem to whizz by.

The clock ticks on into yet another year



But as we cannot do anything about the march of time and, as yet, very little about our ageing bodies, the best thing to do is to try and make the most of the time we have left and to resolve to lead more constructive and more worthwhile lives in this incoming new year and in every year henceforth. This means appreciating all the good things we have and valuing the natural world around us and the human qualities that really matter, and not worshipping at the altar of materialism, self-gain and self-aggrandisement.

Party fun to see us into the New Year

It's good to see in the new year with friends and family, with celebration and exaggeration, and to make it a fun occasion in general. After all, it is a significant moment in time, one of many milestones in our lives. And, after the parties, the fireworks, the eating and drinking, the singing and dancing, the jubilation and the general madness of New Year's Eve, there remains only one thing to say before the lights go out on 2010:




SEE YOU NEXT YEAR, FOLKS!

 

Dialogues with God II

Man:  Hey, God, where are you? I need to talk to you.



Hey, God!

God: Well, what’s the matter now, old fellow? Why are you looking so down at the mouth?
M: You've noticed. I’m feeling depressed, you know how it is.
G: No, I don’t know how it is. What on earth are you depressed about at this joyful time of the year?
M: Well, that’s just it, you’ve put your finger on it.
G: Put my finger on what precisely?
M: It’s the Christmas thing, the whole shebang.
G: This Christmas thing? The whole shebang? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.
M: Well, it’s true. Christmas just gets me down.
G: This shebang, as you call it, is the celebration of my beloved son’s birth, divine spirit made into human flesh. This shebang is about the Saviour of mankind. And all you can do is mope around and complain?
M: Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, God, and it’s not really about your son.
G: Not really about my son? It’s Christmas... Christ... mass... and you say it’s not really about my son, the anointed Christ? Kindly explain yourself before you incur my divine wrath and I send down a lightning bolt to turn you into a heap of smouldering dust!
M: No, no, you don’t understand! What I meant is that it’s more about me and the way I feel rather than your son Jesus or Christ or whatever you call him.
G: Tell me more, because I’m still mad at you and I haven’t given up the idea of making you go up in a puff of smoke!
M: Calm down, God, and I’ll explain.
G: Go on, I’m listening...
M: Well, there isn’t much to it, really. But in simple terms, all this Christmas business... you know... all the shopping, present-buying, card-sending, carol-singing, goodwill to all men lark... and even the partying, boozing and bingeing that goes with it... all this enforced merry-making and jollity... is doing my mind in. It’s not my thing really.
G: Not your thing? I could take this personally and turn you into a leper this very second , but you’ve roused my curiosity now. What IS your thing then?
M: Well, it’s not so much that it’s not my thing, some of it IS my thing, like the noshing and boozing, but the rest of it I could do without. I mean, I lost my job this year, our mortgage payments went up and we’ve fallen behind with them, the price of everything in the shops has hit the fuckin’ roof, I’m pretty-well skint, the missus is spending the social money on presents like there’s no tomorrow, and we’ve got to go around smiling and laughing and be joyful in front of the kids and everyone else just because your son was born on this day a couple of thousand years ago. And the worst thing about it is that he probably wasn’t even born on 26 December!
G: Hmmmm... I see what you mean. I’m still hurting but I see your point. I must admit I don’t rightly remember myself when he was born exactly, but that doesn’t really matter, it’s the principle not the date that’s important. As for the rest, I can see you’re not having a great time of it, but Christmas comes just once a year and you could make an effort, for the kids at least.
M: Yeah, sure, for the kids. I haven’t got a penny to my name, we’re about to lose our house, I’m unemployable, the kids are driving me round the twist, the wife’s giving me grief every day cos things are getting shittier by the day, and you want me to make an effort. That’s just great!
G: You’re not a believer, are you, old man?
M: Believer? I suppose not.
G: No suppose about it. You’ve lost your faith.
M: Well, maybe I have. What’s that got to do with anything?
G: It has everything to do with anything.
M: Oh yeah? Like what?
G: Listen, my friend, I want to help you.
M: Help me? You’ve never helped me before all the times we’ve talked, so why should you help me now?
G: What’s gone on in the past is not necessarily relevant to what could happen now. Why do you think I’m having these chats with you?
M: I’ve asked myself that and I don’t have an answer. Maybe it’s to make me lose my mind. I’ve made the mistake of telling my wife about you and she told me to pull myself together and not mention it to another soul. She’s starting to think I’m mentally unbalanced. That’s what you’ve done to me!
G: That’s what you’ve done to yourself, old fellow! And I advise you to keep all this to yourself. But let’s get back to the matter in hand.
M: And what’s the matter in hand other than I’ve fucked my life up and everyone thinks I’m a born fuckin’ loser?
G: The matter in hand is that I can help you get things back on track if you do as I ask you.
M: Well the first part sounds good but I’m not so sure about the second part.
G: Well that’s the deal, my friend. Remember, I’m the Almighty and I can do anything I want. Nonetheless, I want you to do your part.
M: Okay, let me have the deal.
G: It’s simple. Turn back to me... err... to God.
M: What does that mean?
G: Embrace the faith again.
M: Are you having a laugh?
G: No. I’m deadly serious. Do you accept the deal or not?
M: Hmmm... maybe... depends on what it means.
G: It means that you should say your prayers every day, go to church every Sunday and on all religious holidays, bring Me back into your life and go back to being a real Christian.
M: Jesus! Oh, sorry...
G: That’s one bad habit you’ll have to put an end to. Now, do you accept the deal?
M: Hang on, you haven’t told me yet what’s in it for me.
G: Oh yes, I forgot. Well, simply put, it would mean the end of all your problems.
M: How’s that then?
G: Never mind how, just trust me. All I ask is that you come back to me, and then I’ll make all your problems go away. One by one, little by little, you’re life will turn around and happiness and fulfilment will come back into it.
M: You’re asking a lot of me, God.
G: I don’t think so, especially as the benefits for you are immeasurable.
M: You’re right. For a deal like that I would sign my life away to the devil himself!
G: Bite your tongue! For that remark alone I should take back the deal and send you to him to do just that! You ungrateful fellow!
M: I’m sorry, God, I’m sorry, it just came out, I didn’t mean it.
G: Okay. Now I don’t have much time, I have a lot of things to do today. So let me have your answer now.
M: Alright, alright... it’s a deal! I’ll do what you say if you get me out of this mess.
G: Good man! Here’s the contract to sign...
M: Contract?
G: Of course. You don’t think we could tie up a deal without making a binding agreement, do you?
M: I hadn’t really thought of that.
G: Well, that’s the deal, take it or leave it. Sign on the dotted line and your life will be transformed for the better.
M: I’ll sign, yes. Give me the contract and I’ll sign it.

..........................

 God? Lord? Where are you? Where’s the contract? What’s happened? Where are you, God? Speak to me... speak to me... please... I said I’ll sign the contract... come back... I’ll sign... where are you, Lord? Where are you? I’ll sign... I’ll sign... I’ll sign.... don’t leave me, Lord... I’ll sign....

Passers-by wonder at the incoherent mutterings of the vagrant sprawled in the shop doorway and hurry on past, shaking their heads, as the night turns bitterly cold.

Are you an Early Bird or a Night Owl?

Are you the kind of person who rises at the crack of dawn, full of energy and vim and raring to go, eager to get down to the day’s business?  Do you begin to noticeably slow down in the late afternoon, run out of steam at the onset of evening, and shut down completely by around nine at night, with just enough strength left to drag yourself off to bed, completely and utterly drained?

Or are you the type of person who grudgingly hauls himself out of bed somewhat later in the morning, sluggish and dull-eyed, good for very little, and then as the day wears on you build up a head of steam that keeps you going through the day, into the evening and well into the night, long after the early riser has retired for the day?

Early Bird kit

In other words, are you a so-called ‘early bird’ or a ‘night owl’? A day-time person or a night-time person? An early riser/retirer or a late riser/retirer? Do you greet the dawn or welcome the dusk?

For my part, I definitely come within the second category and have always been thus, as far as I can recall. I have difficulty in getting up early and when I am up it takes me some while to become fully ‘functional’, but once I get going, my energy levels gradually begin to rise and then stay high throughout the rest of the day, into the evening, and on into the night, long after the early riser, who started the day off with a bang, has retired to bed for the night, dead to the world.

But there is a very real problem with my particular ‘modus vivendi’ or energy pattern, and the problem is that it is not generally facilitated by society. The way society is structured patently favours the early riser, and nowhere is this more evident than in the world of work. Working hours are geared to suit the person who rises early and is fully functional from the word go. Most employees have to be at work between the hours of 8 and 9 in the morning and must be ready, often after an exhausting commute to their place of work, to go into action as soon as they arrive at work. By the time they start to visibly slow down, it’s pretty-well time to clock off for the day anyway. There are of course exceptions to this (for example, top executives and night/shift workers), but by and large this is the working pattern that is universal in today’s society.

Inevitably, those who, like me, have difficulty in keeping to the predominant work pattern, find life as an employee well-nigh impossible, where punctuality in the morning is of the essence, something which was always a problem for me when, as an employee, I worked a 9-5 day. Of course, though the hours of work were 9am to 5.15pm, to be precise, the actual time taken up in work-related activity was much greater, as I had to get myself ready and get to work in the first place, so there might be up to two hours spent in preparing myself and then commuting to work, and of course there would be another hour of travel at the other end of the day to get back home. So the work-related day was more like 7.30 am to 6.30 pm – 11 hours! Personally, I found it an exhausting and  soul-destroying routine, though I recognise that many people do not see it that way, especially.. yes, you've guessed it... the early birds.

Let's see what the late late late film is about

Another social disadvantage to being a night owl or late riser is the stigma attached to it. We're usually branded lazy or work-shy or given a number of other unflattering labels. Yet I feel this attitude is due to widespread ignorance of the fundamental differences that exist between human beings in terms of energy levels, what we today call ‘biorhythm’. I firmly believe that whether one person is an early bird and another a night owl is determined by their biorhythm. In other words, that it is an innate genetic characteristic that allows one person to effortlessly rise early in the morning and prevents another from doing the same. I believe we’re all hard-wired from birth with a certain biorhythm that stays with us throughout our life and determines the way we function physically. This does not mean of course that an early riser cannot push himself to go on working into the evening or night or that a late riser cannot force himself to get up early for work. But it does mean that doing so is going against the grain and is costly to both in terms of mental and physical well-being. The stress and strain of trying to fit into a behavioural pattern that is not natural to the person has repercussions on his health, simply because he or she is going against their natural biorhythm.

Today, having already been self-employed for many years, it is a long time ago since I had to force myself to follow a daily pattern of functioning or working timetable which is alien to my physical and mental make-up. And as an autonomous worker, I am able to structure my own working day, subject to certain constraints of course, to match my personal biorhythm. This means that I may sometimes have to work into the evening, but, being a night owl, this is no great hardship for me and is certainly a zillion times better than having to step into immediate full-blown action first thing in the morning. To each his own, as they say, but it is still the case that society discriminates against the night owl in favour of the early bird. Perhaps this is how the saying “The early bird catches the worm” came about. Well, I have a new saying: “The night owl catches the mouse.” And that is a much more substantial meal !

Dialogues with God 1

It is said that the conversation went something like this, though I have my doubts:

God, we've fucked up!

God: What’s the matter, why are you looking so glum?

Man: Why d'you think?

G: Come on, don’t play games, tell me.

M: It’s this fucked-up world of ours, that’s what it is.

G: ‘Fucked-up world’? What do you mean?

M: Yeah, fucked-up world, you know what I mean.

G: I’m not sure I do, but even if it is in... err.. poor shape, you only have yourselves to blame. I gave you humans a wonderful place to live, more than you probably deserved, and you’ve… well… gone and spoilt it.

M: Maybe, but YOU made us and you must’ve known we’d fuck it up sooner or later.

G: You overestimate me. I may have made mankind but I had no way of knowing you’d make such an unholy mess of things.

M: But you made us what we are and part of what we are is to fuck up everything around us. That's what we do.

G: Well, that’s only part of you, as you say, most of you is good.

M: I don’t know about that.  I don't think the rest of us is much better, it's just one step away from the part that fucks up.

G: Oh come on, it isn’t sooooo bad, is it?

M: Oh no? Have you taken a look around lately? Have you seen the state of the world? We’re poisoning the air we breathe, tearing up the land we live on, dumping shit in the seas we fish in, wiping out the animals and plants, killing each other in all sorts of crazy wars, eating up the planet, and trashing the environment everywhere. Isn’t that bad enough?

G: Hmmm… I must admit I have noticed some dysfunctional behaviour lately.

M: ‘Dysfunctional’? There’s the understatement of the year! It’s fuckin' suicidal, mate.

G: Hmmm… well if you know you’re making such a mess of everything, why don’t you do something about it instead of whining about it to me?

M: Cos we can’t. You're the only one who can.

G: What do you mean you can’t?

M: Exactly that. We can’t do anything about it cos of the way you’ve made us, and you won't do anything about it cos you don't want to.

G: ‘The way I’ve made you?’ Don’t talk silly. And it's not for me to interfere.

M: There’s nothing silly about it. You’ve made us the way we are and to do the things we do. We kill and destroy cos that’s how you’ve programmed us. We don’t know any better.

G: That’s nonsense. Of course you know better. Anyway, what about free will?

M: Free will? Doesn’t exist, mate. It’s one of those myths. Sounds good and everyone gets all worked up over it but it’s just a myth. We’re hard-wired to piss on everything around us.

G: ‘Hard-wired’ to do what?

M: You heard. You’ve deliberately created us with a serious inbuilt flaw.

G: Oh really? And why would I do that?

M: Cos you’re a sadist. You’ve created us with the instinct to be destructive, so you could sit back and enjoy the action. It’s gone like clockwork for you and you’re loving every minute of it.

G: Don’t talk soft, man! Do you think I wanted this? I know you started off on the wrong foot but I was hoping that, given enough time, mankind would sort things out.

M: We’ve sorted things out alright. We’ve fucked everything up good and proper! And there's no unsorting it now.

G: Well ok, I must admit things are not looking too rosy at the moment, but the show’s not over yet.

M: Not for you, maybe, but the curtain's about to come down on us any minute now.

G: Oh come on, it can't be that bad.  Can it?

G: Oh no? Well take a good look around and tell me again if it can't be that bad.

G: Well, however bad it is, it could be worse, a lot worse.

M: Yeah, sure, we could all be stone dead already!

G: Well there you are then! Just be thankful for small mercies.

M: Oh I am, I am. Just because we’re busy blowing one another away, killing everything that moves and a lot that doesn't, putting shit into our environment and ripping up the planet we live on doesn’t mean things are going badly for us.

G: That’s more like it! All is not lost. And it’s not over till the fat lady sings.

M: Trouble is the fat lady HAS sung, and not just once but lots of times. We’re definitely living on borrowed time now.

G: Oh come now, it isn’t that bad… is it??

M: Not that bad? How can you say that? Have you taken a look round lately? Our species, your single-handed creation, is pumping shit into the air, tearing up the land, poisoning the seas, killing off all plant and animal life, wasting each other in shit-crazy wars, overruning the planet, and buggering up the environment everywhere, and….

It was evidently going to be a long night, as the dialogue was now in playback mode and, I dare say, you know what’s coming next. So, regardless of the outcome of this exchange, I leave you to be the judge of whether we’ve fucked up our planet or not and, perhaps more crucially, whether the fat lady has sung… or not.

Why do they do it?

A little while ago, while jogging through my neighbourhood park, I noticed that several of newly planted saplings, measuring around 8-9 ft in height, were now just broken stumps poking out of the ground! When I got near I saw that each sapling had clearly been snapped off about 8-10 in. from the ground, leaving a thin splintered stem, and the rest of the sapling, probably more than 95% of it, was nowhere to be seen. In one case the vestigial stem or thin trunk was practically level with the soil!

It was more than clear to me that this was the handiwork of vandals, and this was confirmed by the park-keeper on a later occasion who said that the saplings had been planted by a charitable group of nature lovers at their own expense. Worse still was the fact, as he told me, that the broken-off part of the saplings had been cast into the sandpit of the nearby children's playground! Just to rub the point in and add insult to injury, as it were. He also informed me that the stem which was flush with the ground had been broken a second time to make sure it would not re-sprout, as it had started to produce new shoots.

Quite honestly, readers, I’m at a loss for words (but not quite!) at the wanton destruction represented by such an act which, I recognise, is by no means a rare event in today's society. What possible benefit to the perpetrators, probably teenage youths, could such an act of mutilation be? One can at least understand the motive behind such acts as theft, burglary and fraud, unpleasant and reprehensible as they are – we can all understand the money motive behind these – but to commit gross acts of damage to the environment for no discernible gain is just beyond me. And it is all the more worrying because it has a sinister psychological undertone to it.

I say it is “beyond me” but of course one is forced to conclude that the sheer act of destroying public amenities and environmental improvements must bring pleasure to the warped minds of individuals whose mission in life seems to be to undo the efforts of those who strive to improve and embellish our surroundings. Given the nature of the act, it is very likely to be youths, as this seems to be the speciality of young people who have gone astray and have nothing better to do than damage and destroy property and amenities.

All this of course begs the question of what family background these young miscreants come from which makes it okay in their minds to commit such acts of blatant vandalism. One wonders what kind of parents they have, what sort of family life they experience, and what values are inculcated into them at home. The sad fact is that more often than not the children are a reflection of their parents and that the latter are wholly or partly to blame for such anti-social behaviour on the part of their offspring.

Often destructive children are brought up in a household where the parents swear a lot, smoke heavily, drink alcohol in excess, and use physical violence against their partner and kids. Such parents tend to be poorly educated (if at all), constantly in and out of work (more out than in), and badly behaved themselves. So they set their children the worst of examples by their own aberrant and undisciplined conduct. The children naturally take their cue from those closest to them, from those that bring them up and figure large in their life, and then they in turn export such anti-social behaviour into the wider world around them.

Instead of such kids going into a park to play in the nromal way and generally use and enjoy the amenities and the landscape afforded them, their idea of fun is to ruin things for others by wreaking damage and destruction on the environment. They are never so happy as when they are indulging in anti-social behaviour and making life less pleasant for others. They are the ones who will break what can be broken, steal what can be stolen, deface what can be defaced, and generally get up to as much mischief as they can for the hell of it.

This kind of anti-social conduct says a lot about any society. It says that schools have failed their pupils, that parents have failed their children, and that society in general is failing to properly educate, instruct and guide its young people and to instil morals in them which would set them on the right path to being good and considerate citizens. Somewhere along the line, society as a whole is failing and many youngsters grow up without a set of moral guidelines that would prompt them to do good rather than bad. And of course a proportion of them grow up to commit more serious offences and even become hardened criminals.

This is what they
should look like

Well, there you have it. It's all very sad, and though we must be optimistic (I suppose), it rather seems that vandalism, hooliganism and anti-social behaviour in one form or another are here to stay, being the by-products of a society that promotes selfishness, self-interest and opportunism, among other things, and praises materialism to the skies. To create a society of good, honest, caring and considerate citizens, very differen ideals and goals need to be fostered and encouraged. And I'm not talking about creating 'perfect' citizens, simply 'good' citizens, because none of us is or can ever be perfect. Is this an impossible aspiration? It's getting to look like it.

Causa Absentiae II

Me hard at work

Once again I find myself in the unenviable position of having to inform my countless loyal fans out there (yes, you know who you are) and readers of my blog (well, there's me and my shadow for starters) that the current lacuna in my blog posts is due to a very heavy workload (that's me opposite slogging away - dashing fellow, aren't I?) which leaves me no time to enlighten and entertain my large and dedicated following with my lavish servings of the thinking man's pearls of wisdom. 

But at the first opportunity I will be back with a new post in my continuing crusade to explain the world and everything in it to my readers and bring some light to bear on love, life and lederhosen! And the Universe, of course. So be patient, don't despair, the wait will be well worth it, as I will once again titillate your intellectual palate with more gems of penetrative observation and scintillating commentary, and maybe a bit of plain gossip... if you're lucky. 

Me rushing to an
appointment!

In the meantime I must dash, duty calls and work beckons and there's no time to lose if I'm to earn my meagre crust of bread. But in spite of the crushing workload, I have, as you can see, taken time out to inform you, my avid followers (wherever you're hiding), and set your minds at rest. Now how many other bloggers would bother to do that? Not many, I bet. My followers may not number in the thousands or hundreds, and may even struggle to reach double figures, but the handful of acolytes I have are worth their weight in gold - I can't afford to lose a single one of them!

Oh, and one other thing while I'm about it... err... never mind, I'll leave it till my return, I don't have the time and it can wait.

Growing old resentfully

HAVE you ever been in a public place with a large gathering of people and thought for a minute: “If every person here under a certain age (choose your cut-off age) were to be suddently made to disappear, I could be the only one left!”? Well it's happened to me and it's tending to happen more and more frequently now. Indeed, you know you're getting on (not to say 'old') when you can say this quite often and you know you may be over the hill (not to say 'past it') when it becomes commonplace! Admittedly, using a cut-off age of 30, as I'm doing, is perhaps a bit on the low side, but I can't help being a young buck! Hehhe...

THEY say that “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder”. And this is, I suppose, true, up to a limit (everything has a limit), and similarly that age is a question of mentality, that is to if you think young you ARE young. Well, that too may be true... up to a limit, and a much more uncompromising limit than the former, because age catches up with us sooner or later no matter how young-thinking we are or how young we believe ourselves to be.

Two well-known old fogies

HOWEVER, whether we think young or think ourselves to be younger than our years, as most of us tend to do nowadays - in keeping with the notion of never really growing up or maturing – we can never turn back the clock or the march of the years except perhaps in a very superficial way with something like cosmetic surgery, currently very much in vogue. Yet even disguising our age by such surgical means, we ourselves know how old we are and we know that our internal biological clock is still ticking away and has not slowed down by one iota because of the surgeon's knife.

BUT there's nothing like being in a roomful of people and noting that you're probably the oldest person there, and I’m not just talking about being at a kids' party! I’m talking about grown-ups' places. You're at work, at the cinema, in a restaurant, bar, party, family gathering, even in church, or in any other number of places with other people and they all look disconcertingly young and fresh-faced.

I SUPPOSE the ultimate recognition of one's advancing years is when the sort of people who were always older than you (and so they should be!) are now YOUNGER than you. People such as teachers in general and the head teacher in particular, high-ranking police officers, your family doctor, your local MP, hospital consultants and registrars, and the worst and scariest one of all: the Prime Minister himself (and the President of the United States!), not to mention the Dalai Lama! When all these types of people are younger than you, you know you're old, however young in spirit you might be or however immaturely you might behave. There's just no getting away from it. Once all these people were figures of professional, legal or religious authority who were ALWAYS older than you, now many of them appear to be fresh rosy-cheeked youths and here you are a dried-up old codger or matron visibly withering away!

Age piggy-back!

THE simple fact is that because old age or senility represents a state of being close to the end of life, few if any of us can entertain that thought without a certain amount of trepidation and anxiety, so we prefer not to acknowledge such a state. And who can blame us? Except in a few extreme cases, none of us can contemplate their own extinction with equanimity. Self-preservation and a strong desire to cling to life are natural instincts.

SO I suppose when we look around us and see lots of young people, or at least people younger than ourselves, we feel a tinge of envy of their youth and the many years still left to them. We may sometimes even resent their moving in on territory we considered our own, as we gradually get nudged out to a more peripheral role in society. But it is of course all part of the process of renewal which governs all forms of life and dynamic process.

SO I have no choice but to face up to the fact that my GP receiving me in his surgery is younger than me; that my local MP chairing a meeting of residents is younger than me; that the head teacher I may go and see about my child is younger than me; that the police sergeant I speak to at the local police station is younger than me; that the doctor on duty in accident and emergency is younger than me; that my neighbourhood vicar taking the service is younger than me; and finally, indignity of indignities, that the prime minister or president of my country is younger than me... MUCH younger!

There's a video game for everyone!

OF course, none of this applies to the real me, you understand... ahem... I’m still a fresh and feisty fellow of tender years. I’m using myself, 30 years hence, as a hypothetical example to make a point. But maybe it applies to YOU, or, if not to you, to people you know. Maybe it's something that just applies to other people, who seem to grow old before our very eyes while we stay forever youthful.

The Stranger in Red

The tall red-cloaked stranger was suddenly sighted among their number as they gathered on the village green but no-one could say how long he had been there. He moved through them as effortlessly as the wind, and a cold shiver coursed down the spine of every soul there present. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere and his proximity froze the blood of those he brushed past. His coming was unheralded and its motive unknown, but all knew that it was because of him that they now found themselves there.

A growing whisper rose among the assembled folk as heads turned to see where the cloaked figure passed, and somehow each of them knew that he or she must win his favour if they were to escape the dreadful end that was now impressed in their mind though they knew not the when or the how. The crowd suddenly began to move as one body, a wave of persons united by a common purpose.

The eerie hooded figure moved slowly over the ground, more floating than walking, its long red cloak billowing as it went, and there was no halting its motion though many instinctively tried as its presence was sensed close to them. They could see the red cloaked figure, but not the man; they felt its proximity, but could not lay hold of it; they looked upon its face but saw nothing save a dark void.

A cry went out that the mysterious apparition had halted in their midst for some purpose and they pointed to the spot. Heads whirled round to fix the stranger and a hush descended as the crowd held its breath as one. The red-cloaked figure appeared to shimmer and glow and then, just as suddenly, they all instinctively surged towards it, sensing this might be their last chance. Eyes strained to make out the stranger's face and hands stretched out to feel its emanations.

As day turned to night, the strange aura about the figure grew visibly more intense and seemed to radiate out. Those closest to the stranger moved nearer to enter his energy field while others pushed forward to join them. Those behind struggled to get closer even while the shimmering glow emanating from the stranger fanned out to take in more and more of the crowd. Commotion ensued as the people further back vied with each other to share the presence among them.

Even as the crowd pressed in around the shimmering presence, appearing to brush its red cloak and hem it in on all sides, their hands met in the middle and their bodies clashed in the space that barely a moment ago had been occupied by the cloaked and hooded stranger. Terrified voices rent the air and the crowd surged back, attempting to disentagle itself and re-group. Somehow they knew they must not lose sight of the red-clad apparition that had come amongst them this day, though none of them knew the reason.

Suddenly a cry went up as the unknown stranger was sighted moving among their number again, freely and untrammelled, just moments after he seemed to be inescapably pinned down by the jostling crowd. Once again they turned and surged in its direction, determined to keep the stranger within their midst until they had secured safe passage from the darkness that now enveloped them and would, they now knew, draw their last breath from them before the night was out.

As the circle began to close in on the spectral figure which made no move to escape, one person advanced from the crowd and stood before it and, with tremulous voice, addressed it for the first time since its fateful appearance: "Your Excellency, we beseech you to intercede for us." For a moment there was unbroken silence, and then the hooded figure turned to the speaker, saying: "Why do you call me 'Your Excellency'? I have no title." At this, the man suddenly lunged forward in an act of brazen impetuosity, pulling the hood off the stranger's head.

A strangled gasp of horror escaped from the man's lips and echoed around the crowd as more of them now beheld the countenance of the shadowy red figure. For the face they saw there was none other than... their own! Each man and woman saw their own face staring back at them. But with one difference. Blood oozed out of every pore of that face, swollen fat with disease.

As the onlookers remained frozen to the spot, another voice from the crowd was heard to ask in a faltering manner: "Who are you, Sir, if not our Saviour? Why do we see our very own face in yours? What can this mean?" In a slow and deliberate rasp of a voice, the faceless figure answered back, saying: "When you look into the face of Death, you see yourself. For each man makes his own heaven and his own hell." In a final effort to ward off a grim fate, many cried out pleading for mercy. But the reply that met their pleas chilled their very blood: "Why should you people be afraid to die? Your souls have been dead for a long time."

At this the onlookers were immediately struck down by a malignant plague that cracked their skin and caused blood to ooze from every pore of their swollen bodies. They fell to the ground, writhing in agony, and their wails were heard in the surrounding countryside. Those who heard them barred their doors and blocked their ears, trembling with fear at what they heard on this death-ridden night.

Of the gaunt red-cloaked figure there was no trace save the evidence of his deadly work to show that he had passed that way.

P.S.  I am of course indebted to Edgar Allan Poe's short story "The Mask of the Red Death: A Fantasy" (1842) which was later turned into the film "The Masque of the Red Death" (1964). and from which I have here drawn inspiration.

Let's have a moan!

The most challenging thing about this blogging lark is to come up with a new topic each time that's worth writing about and, more to the point, that's worth reading. This is of course a subjective issue, as what is of interest to one person may be grindingly boring to another. As an example, you may have already decided this post is going to be mind-numbingly tedious and are exiting as you read this sentence!

Once, when many of us kept a paper diary, it was more of a spontaneous act and we did not much care what we wrote in it or even how we wrote. We scribbled away secure in the almost certain knowledge that it would end up in some dusty attic corner to be consumed by moths long after we had turned to dust ourselves! We never showed it to anyone, didn't think it would be of interest to anybody, and it was often so untidily written that it was doubtful if it could be deciphered by anyone who came by it even if they could be bothered to make the effort.

Well, all that changed with the advent of online blogging. Now when we keep a blog, which is I suppose a sort of electronic journal or diary, one's posts are likely to be read within minutes or hours of having been published, and many of those reading them are likely to be complete and utter strangers. And some of them will want, and will normally be able, to comment on our posts.  (In this respect, I count myself lucky as there is no danger of this happening to my blog which seems to be the best-kept secret on the Internet ... hehhe... so no-one will read this post either! But never mind, I will pretend I'm only doing it for myself.).

One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how may bloggers out there find the time to do what they do. They not only post every week and often more than once, they also tweet every day, they respond to comments from their many followers, they're on Facebook and other social networking websites, and they're into God knows how many other Internet activities! And some of these bloggers have hundreds or thousands of followers! Just as on FB where there are individuals with thousands of 'friends'! How do they do it? How do they manage to keep all these online sites of theirs updated, interact with visitors and still have some sort of a 'real' life? Beats me. Many bloggers are debating the issue of whether they should continue with an open-to-all blog or restrict it to just a few. To my mind, 'privatising' a blog in this way doesn't make much sense. The whole point of writing a journal online instead of keeping a paper diary, I venture to suggest, is to reach a wide audience, and not just in our own country, and to communicate one's ideas, opinions and convictions to such an audience. If our blog is only made accessible to a select few, it rather defeats the empowering and liberating purpose of the blogging ethos, I would have thought.

When you think about it, one could quite easily get involved in so many online pursuits, Blogger and Facebook being just two of the best-known ones, that there are not enough hours in a day or a week to keep them going and to see to everything else that makes up one's life. It helps of course if one does not have a job and can while away the daylight hours (in addition to the night-time ones!) in all these online activities. And, judging by many people who are continually posting things on Facebook throughout the day (often announcing their progress or achivement in some FB application), there are many idle souls about.

But it's not just online applications that are taking up so much of people's time, it's also all the weird and wonderful hand-held electronic gadgets that are must-haves for everyone today, especially the young. In my case, I’m still getting the hang of the mobile phone! Yet the youth of today take to all this gadgetry so easily and so seamlessly. They have their MP4 player (or whatever version it is now) and their i-phone, and i-pad, and i-tunes, and the rest of it. Somehow it all gels together and makes sense to them, whereas to us 'older folk' it just adds to the confusion in our lives. Thus, when you're out and about and unable to use your computer, the cellphone doubles up as one! Never mind about taking photos, that's old hat now. Today's mobile phone can take you onto the Internet and you can browse around, send and receive e-mails, network, and do many other things that you would do on your desktop or laptop.

Coming back, however, to the 'original' function of the phone, it's become such a common sight nowadays to see people speaking on their mobile phone in the street, in shops, banks, on the bus and the train, and in the park, to name but a few places. Have you noticed how loudly people seem to talk when on the phone in any queue? When I’m in a bank or post office queue (which I try and avoid like the plague), anyone speaking on their mobile seems to feel the need to talk at the top of their voice, much more loudly than they would in a face-to-face conversation. Now why is that, I wonder? They don't appear to care that everyone can hear them or that they might be inconveniencing others around them and so they witter on and on about nothing in particular. You find yourself fighting off the urge to grab hold of the confounded device and throw it as far as you can until it shatters into a thousand pieces.

Still on the subject of the cellphone, the other day I was strolling in a small park near my house and saw a woman doing one of these fast walks around the park. When I spotted her she was already on the phone. She did one lap round the park and continued talking on the phone. She did another and was still yapping on her mobile. And, as I left the park, she was still with her hand raised holding the phone to her ear, prattling on as she continued fast-walking round the park. What on earth did she have to say that needed such a long phone conversation and in the middle of what was supposed to be a serious exercise session? She was seriously addicted to the damn thing!

How about when you get on the bus or in the tube and someone has earphones on as they listen to invariably ear-splittingly loud music. And of course you can hear it even though it's usually quite muted. Nevertheless it's annoying, to say the least, but you put up with it. To object would doubtless make things worse, as the culprit, almost certainly a 'yoof', will give you a mouthful and then carry on regardless. So you either put up or shut up, or ship out! That is you move to another seat. There's really no other sensible way.

I think that as a society we have become coarser in our manners, boorish and churlish in our ways. We are too ready to be rude to strangers, to use bad language in public, and to be a nuisance to others around us. We are more confrontational now, more vociferous, and more demanding. The inconsiderate way we use our mobile phone in public is just one example (but a good one) of the couldn't-care-less attitude we have adopted towards others. “I will talk loudly and endlessly on the phone even if I'm in a queue in a public place, because that's what I want to do!”  "I will wear headphones in crowded places and live in my own little world of blaring pop music as if no-one else exists, because that's what i want to do!"

For my final moan to round things off... I often see in my local park (yes, we're back in the park) an elderly person with a young person by their side (who looks to be in their late teens or early twenties).  The youth is obviously a sort of minder charged (probably by Social Services) with taking the elderly person out for a walk and looking after them in general. But what do I often see? I see the young minder with a mobile phone glued to their ear, busy nattering away. Just the other day I saw a flagrant example of this. Whilst I was doing several rounds of the park, the minder spent the whole time chatting on his mobile, totally oblivious to his charge who, poor old dear, just sat there looking around and looking lost. There was no attempt by the minder to engage her in conversation or to give her the slightest bit of attention. He was much too absorbed in his phone call. And this is not an isolated instance, as I have witnessed this sort of thing on a number of occasions - a clear example of where a praiseworthy act is done but in a half-hearted manner.

Well, that's enough griping from me - for the time-being. It seems I’m getting to be a right moaning minnie, or, in my case (for reasons of gender), a moaning manny! But what can I do? It's an age thing... I think.