Sod's Law.

    The news has been dominated by the policewomen in Norfolk who tripped over the curb whilst investigating a possible burglary. She claims she injured herself so she is suing the garage owner. Pathetic is the most moderate language that springs to mind. If you want an easy life don't join the police force.

    I wouldn't normally be interested except that it reinforced a theory of mine that the world is ruled, not by a mysterious god on high, but simply by that mysterious force, known as Sod's Law over here and Murphy's Law by our American cousins.

Most of you will know the axiom 'Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.' Its a perfectly NATURAL tendency for things to go wrong wherever possible. Plus things don't just go wrong, they do so at the most annoying moments. (or when you least need it.) There are mathematical formulas for all this. It's all a bit clever for me, but if you are interested, look up NULL HYPOTHESIS; very scientific, very intriguing.

    When I was a small child I 'borrowed' a bike. I was going to take it back, honest! Only I wasn't very good at riding it as I wasn't used to riding one and I fell off. I broke my arm; definitely Sod's Law. I wasn't as big as the other kids. So I tried extra hard to do what the other kids did. I swung from the cricket roller like they did; only I fell off and broke my arm; definitely Sod's Law. When I worked for F W Woolworths we were all young and daft lads together. We sent the empty lift back down with a matchstick in a buttonhole. Only the lift came off its runners and there was no-one in the lift to stop it. One very broken lift and five very scared, hard to find stockroom boys; definitely Sod's Law personified.

    No doubt the policewomen is after a 'payout'. Its a legal situation, involving money, money and more money. But note I mentioned the legal situation, and the law is a funny thing; not 'funny ha ha'.   IF, note IF her lawyer can get Sods Law incorporated, officially into the British Legal System she's laughing. Everything and anything from hence on will be attributed, officially to 'Sod's Law'. Look at the possibilities; look at the potential! (Falling over a curb, no problem, it was bound to be there.) This is the future, remember, you've read it here first. 

    Stick your head outside the door, step outside and wait for something, anything to happen. Life will never be the same again. Hurrah for Sod's Law to be made official; I can't wait.......

Heroes All; Past and Present.

    There is a television series running at the moment called Born to be Different. It is an inspirational, unsentimental, candid British Channel 4 series filmed over several years chartering the lives of six disabled children and their families. It is remarkable for several reasons. It is totally lacking in self pity, and not without humour in spite of adversity; courageous individuals all, children and adults alike. I have seldom felt so humbled for many a year; compulsive viewing which will be for ever remembered.

Like many other instances in life, the present, in this instance Born to be Different made me recall the past, and in my case, brought about an awareness not previously present.

    I was born in November, 1939. My mother was unmarried, my father's name a secret she took to her grave (in 1953). I was born with a condition which I was told in later years was a twisted bowel but was almost certainly pyloric stenosis. I was operated on within twelve or so hours of birth. I also spent many months hospitalised in infancy suffering from rickets (Lack of pre-natal care and general poor diet.) The hospital in Bretby, South Derbyshire was around twenty miles from my mother's home; my mother did not drive or own a vehicle. We were poor in the extreme. My mother married a soldier, Ernest, who, in 1942 was found drowned in the River Derwent whilst home on leave from the Pioneer Corp in the British Army. My mother attended, alone, an inquest in Derby in order to identify Ernest's body.

    All these facts and more are covered at length in A Childhood Revisited on Kindle, Amazon. (See the lengthy review at the beginning of my blogs. May I ask, if nothing else, you read the FREE introduction here, and you DON'T need a Kindle to read it! Very easy, just click the arrow\ cursor on the book cover.)

    My mother died at the age of forty seven; I was thirteen years of age. (The death certificate stated cause of death, pneumonia; it ought to have said, 'cause of death, worn out due to overwork'.

  Born to be Different reminded me of my childhood. How resilient are children, particularly in adversity. How different they look at life in so many ways.

    For all the problems of my own childhood, I have happy memories. Different to the norm, maybe but often happy. I now realise how difficult it is to be a parent. I was unaware to the nth degree of such things. Perhaps it is 'clever stuff', that often the problems of the world are 'missed' by the young.

    My life aged around aged five to fifteen revolved around football, trips up the fields, train spotting, dens, and dams; my pleasures, my life, me, me, me. My mother's world consisted mainly of work, work and more work. School cook, skivy, mother of two children. Minimum income for maximum effort. (One of my mother's jobs as school cook/dogsbody in 1948 paid £38.8.9 for a year's work. Three hours per day per five day week; actually paid for, two and a half hours per day. When the school, Ockbrook Junior became short of money it was debated as whether to cut my mothers wage! Some kind soul in fact decided otherwise! )

    I had no real comprehension concerning rationing and shortages; the ever presence of impetigo, nits; ringworm, scarlet fever, whooping cough and the like. I reckon I had almost no comprehension of anything beyond my selfish existence.

    On a bad day I am filled with remorse as to what a hard, relentless existence was my mother's lot in life.  It is a fact that I was unaware as to the world beyond my cocooned, sheltered, safe, oblivious little existence. And it should be obvious why I had such a cocooned, sheltered, safe, oblivious existence. That's what hurts most. Had I the right to be so happy I wonder.
    Many, many adults, my mother included sacrificed their lives in order that their children had chances in life they themselves were denied. Make no mistake, for many they were hard times. Austerity, a buzz word indeed; the majority today do not really know the meaning of the word. ( Though there are many today who still live for their children; love for one's offspring will always be with us. Without love we are all nothing.)
    Life is seldom simple. There is a popular saying, 'Life is what you make it'. The older I get, the less I know. What I do know is that there were and still are are some wonderful people in the world. The families in the documentaries;  plus my mother, Mary Elizabeth Stevens. 

I Thought by Now I Would Understand Everything.

    I am trying to make sense of the human condition. Please bear with me.

When I was little, for many years I lived in a village; I lived in the bottom end of the village; we kids at the bottom formed gangs, and we 'fought' the top end of the village. sometimes violently, with home made weapons. Not surprisingly, for we were boys, and that's what we understood boys did. (Some might like to read A Childhood Revisited. Kindle, Amazon. Ah, happy days.)

Around the age of eleven we went to new schools, not all of us to the same schools. And we made new friends, wore new uniforms and continued fighting, given the chance. Sometimes new foes from different schools, sometimes children in different uniforms, who used to be friends. Because we were now mobile, we made new friends outside of the village, but also new foes out of the village; naturally, inevitably, because that what boys did.

    We liked football and we 'belonged' to the local football team (in our case Derby County); or did they belong to us? Some swore allegiance to more famous or successful teams like Manchester United but their's was a strange affair. They seldom if ever went to their matches and, horror of horrors, they were even known to change to another club if one was so inclined. All part of 'belonging', of 'being someone, not merely one of the crowd. It was all part of growing up.

    Some of us were  were taught 'religion'. The idea of a life after death pleases. To some it makes sense, to others no sense.The idea of being special pleases. Unfortunately many, many religious people feel they, and only they are right and must 'teach' others; by killing the 'opposition' if need be.

Despite the protestations of the pious that it is otherwise 'religion' has been responsible for much death from time immemorial. (All for the off chance of a life after death for a chosen few. Sounds a bit selfish and dictatorial to me.)

    Nevertheless I understand more concerning life than I did in my youth. Not too much more, granted. And if I don't always agree with why people do the things the way they do, at least I can usually understand their thinking. Many people in the United Kingdom for instance have strong views on immigration. They see it in terms of 'them and us', 'our'  not 'their' country and so on. I do not subscribe to this viewpoint but I can well see where this viewpoint comes from. And this is important because yet again this is a post I had not intended to write. Something happened in the week that I cannot for the life of me fathom. The reason for this somewhat convoluted post.

    There was a football match a week or two ago; Tottenham Hotspur v Inter Milan. an Italian team versus a British team. A match that will be remembered yet again for some spectators (not all but not a tiny number either) who were abusive to any black players playing for Tottenham. A frequent occurrence in Italian football. Am I totally 'thick' in not being able to understand this moronic abuse of a fellow human being. Can someone TRY to get in the mind of those responsible for me. I am fortunate that this blog goes to many parts of the world. Please, will someone explain what it is all about. I assume it is not typically Italian behaviour. (It occurs elsewhere.)  Is it a male thing? A class thing? A football thing? Are some people naturally full of hate, and colour of skin is an easy 'marker' as who to 'pick on',

    How frightening that such people may be parents; perhaps they may people in positions of power in the world. How can ANYONE take offence solely because of the colour of a persons skin. I suspect the older I get the less I understand.

An Awesome Event of Great Personal Importance.

    Something of the utmost gravity, of mind bending importance happened last week.

I have, in my life, been incarcerated in six different hospitals over seventy three years. I have suffered many illnesses and conditions that have affected my lifestyle at the time. Yet I have have experienced few things that have had the capacity to seriously affect my lifestyle. Something I find surprising, disturbing and food for thought.

    I have been producing a blog for around four years. Most people in the world don't know and don't care. But the very astute amongst amongst you will have noticed I'm late this week. But circumstances of such overwhelming awfullnes happening last week that it is only now that I can bear to talk about it. In fact it is only now I am PHYSICALLY ABLE to talk about it. The term deaf and dumb was much used after the war until a more accurate and sympathetic term came into vogue late in my youth. I have felt dumb and thus frustrated for the last few days. So what was the cause of such an excess of trauma.

    Simply without fuss or warning my computer died, or for  all useful purposes, perished. It expired, it ceased to be my friend. (Is anyone older enough to remember the days when 'normal service will be resumed as soon as possible' used to appear on your television. My grannie used to go round next door and ask them if it was on theirs.) Only in grannies' case it did reappear and in my cace it didn't.)

    I would not have believed how much I have come to use and rely on a computer. From writing, corresponding via e-mails and sending articles to looking up what are the best computers when you need one! (I even went to bed early one night because I was bored!) Suffice to say one week later I am the proud owner of a new computer and a much lighter bank balance.

    We will no doubt come back to all this. I don't even like the things but they are here to stay. Someone managed to retrieve years of work that I thought was lost for ever. Please don't even try to educate me regarding the things. I having great, great problems using our new toy without even trying to understand how it works. 

    By the way, I was advised, not to buy an Apple Mac as I would never handle it and not from PC World. So I bought, EVENTUALLY, an Apple Mac from PC World. There again, most people reckon I'm a might bit perverse. Have I done the right thing.

Birthdays.

    As I explained last week I seldom plan a post in advance, they follow no pattern and are not often topical. Often hard to find anything, then this little item turned up at the eleventh hour.

We have moved house two or three times over the last ten years or so. Much has gone missing, some still missing, some items resurface at intervals. Lifestyles change, we do things, hobbies for instance for a period of time then life moves on. I set up a little 'business' around 1990, creating Birthday Certificates. Fun particularly where 'family' were concerned, I also sent some to 'celebrities' and often received signed photographs in reply. (Eventually the master copy was destroyed; my entraprenerial days were at an end.)  My wife was sorting out papers this week. (Without wives many men would live in permanent squalor and unsorted muddle!) Amongst the papers the following certificate and photo. At some stage separated from his 'fellowmen'. How strange; a curio I did not realise I possessed. Strange too his chosen inscription. I make no comment regarding the man himself; it is not necessary. And I would be interested what YOU would do with these particular items.

  .

'It's Nice to be Nice.'

 The purpose of life is to contribute in some way to making things better.

 Robert F Kennedy

    I don't normally 'do' the news. Of any case things can appear gloomy at times. Triple credit ratings. (Whatever that means); an horrific shooting in South Africa; lecherous politicians and warped men of the cloth; freezing cold weather and no real sign of spring. But just as you feel like giving up on the world you meet someone who as they say 'makes a difference'.

    Ursula, a friend is eighty five. She has had a hard life. She was a refugee from Eastern Europe in WW2, is now widowed, housebound and is in poor health. She finds modern television technology, (like myself) difficult, and has an on going problem of long standing. A problem at least in part centering around an incorrect remote control  and an outdated system.

    Enter Peter Napier, a Sky system salesman. I met Peter 'peddling his wares', so to speak in a nondescript shopping centre in Burton on Trent. I explained Ursula's problems to him. He was obliged to do nothing but the next fifteen minutes were remarkable. Peter made three or four successive phone calls. Eventually a colleague was located in possession of the correct remote for the job. Which was delivered to me an hour or so later by another equally obliging 'Skyman'. Which was delivered to Ursula by myself and wife a further hour later, (no charge made for the remote.) (And a further appointment fixed up for Wednesday, via phone by yet another obliging 'Skyman' via my equally obliging wife who understands these things!) We had, by the way, gone out initially in the van to locate some logs for our wood burner; we were unsuccessful! All this on a Saturday afternoon.

     Peter was brilliant. (and his various colleagues.) How marvellous that such people exist. I met his wife and child briefly. I remarked what a great guy he was. And her reply. 'That's why I love him.' Lucky wife, lucky child, lucky Sky. I personally do not have Sky TV. I do not know if Sky have an 'employee of the month' award system. If they don't, they should. No doubt who deserves it for February!

    An innocuous event. But it does not necessarily take great events to show us life can be meaningful and worth living. There is also a serious side to this little post. Look how many were touched by one man's generosity of spirit; how much more pleasant the world can be at times. Why are some people so good; others so indifferent. Are good people rewarded? Or is the 'feelgood' factor the reward in itself? Be nice to each other. Its not rocket science, Sometimes we need a wee reminder, yes we CAN make a difference if we try.

The older I get, the less I know. What I do know is we need a few more Peter Napiers in the world. 

Never underestimate the difference you can make in the lives of others. Step forward, reach out and help. This week reach to someone who might need a lift.

Pablo Valle

The Joys of Getting Old.

I am feeling my age! 11.55am and I am just getting going. (At midnight I am usually quite lively.) Well as lively as a seventy three year old can be.Time is enevitably taking its toll. My wife has recently had explorative surgery for a heart condition and is suffering somewhat. She is waiting, apprehensively to have stents fitted. She has also been diagnosed with glaucoma. I am to find out next week if I am to have knee surgery. I am walking like an old man and I don't like it! This week alone the pair of us are at the doctors, the dentists, the hospital and the chiropodists! Mind you, many, many are worse off.
I am just going to buy some 'cheapo' reading glasses. from Costco. I have around six pairs but can find three pairs. One pair has an arm missing. One pair has part of an arm missing. One pair has screws missing. No pair stays on. I have just counted fourteen empty spectacle cases. I have no doubt there are further cases and glasses. No jokes about making a spectacle of myself please.

Charlie went to the doctor.
'Doctor' he said 'I keep seeing this spinning insect.'
'Don't worry' said the doctor, 'it's just a bug going round.'

My friend reckons the bloke next door has a glass eye. I asked him how he knew and he said it just came out when they were talking.

All this reminds me of a very early blog I did.(In April 2008 which would suggest I've been losing it for some time.) Considering I have just done a review for John Godber's play Losing the Plot at Derby Playhouse, all very apt don't you think!

An OAP let loose in the 20th Century

Like a weasel to a rabbit I am transfixed. Hours spent trying to master the technology, mainly unsucessfully yet the urge to continue is overpowering. What was it Albert Einstein said, "Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new." My incomprehension is unsurprising when you consider I even find an Idiot's Guide impossible to understand. Please tell me I am not the only one, or am I uniquely stupid when it comes to modern technology. And how strange I find myself posing questions to a screen, a substitite for the real world. An unreal situation akin to making love to a blow up doll or our childhood habit of smoking rolled up walnut leaves in an oakcup pipe. Both unsatisfactory substitutes for the real thing but better than nothing. I hasten to add I am not speaking from experience on the former.
Now I reckon my problems in the main stem from three sources. One, at my age I'm a bit long in the tooth to learn new technologies but I can but try. Two, I have recently been informed I am functioning on half a brain, maybe a bit more to be honest but some missing all the same. More of this at a later date but imagine what I could do it it was all there, so to speak.
And three, I need my eyes testing.
My ninety nine pence glasses from Home Bargains are good value but hardly the result of considered professional examination. But at least you get to try them out. Which is more than can be said for the local Lidl. A fierce gentleman, Croatian I think he is patrols the isles, and can spot from over twenty yards a customer opening the goods. As their glasses are packaged you therefore buy pot luck, so to speak. Their car park is full of wrecked cars or at least it deserves to be. Any day now they'll be selling white sticks.
I've thought my eyes needed testing for some time but a family function in The Devonshire, a posh pub in Baslow, Derbyshire finally made the fact inescapable. After a pint or two, or three, or four the need for the toilet was dire. Not surprising but at least it would suggest the old prostate is still working, if nothing else. Panic over and a might bit relieved so to speak, and, educated by frequent notices exorting us to 'Now wash your hands' I did as ordered and visited the hot air hand blower. Only posh as the pub was, the machine was totally ineffective, pathetic in the extreme. No rush of air, hot or otherwise. As I pondered so useless an apparatus and contemplated my next move I noticed a young man quizzically eyeing me from the urinal. Fearing I was about to be propositioned, I hastily withdrew my still wet hands from the machines orifice. It was only then I made out the wording on the machine, blurred in my case but cringingly embarrassing. The immortal words read 'Contraceptives, all colours and shapes, two pounds for three'.