Aw Diddums

It used to be possible to obtain commercial videos (such as Jurassic Park or You’ve Got Mail) which included closed captioning. A couple of times when looking at old videos on eBay, I wasn’t sure whether or not they were captioned, and wrote to the sellers to ask if they were. They were confused – they had no idea that any of their videotapes had this ability.

To start with there was a little box thingy (a decoder) which cost £100 (around the time I discovered it) and could be run with an ordinary VCR to decode the closed captioning on Jurassic Park, You’ve Got Mail and others of that ilk. Eventually they stopped making and supporting the little decoder (that’s what I was told when mine broke down). By this time it was possible to obtain VCRs with the decoders built in. Not all VCRs; just some. You had to be careful which you bought.

The Panasonic VCR I have here in this room can read closed captioning. My sister took my old (very expensive) Grundig VCR along with the little decoding box (which appears to work for her).

My mother’s ancient VCR could never read closed captioning as it was too old, so she threw it out about a year ago and bought a DVD/VCR combi. We can watch subtitled DVDs on this, of course, but for some reason (we’re normally so careful when choosing new technology!) it came as a shock when I tried to watch a captioned video on it, and discovered it couldn’t decode the captions. In other words, it’s a normal bog-standard VCR.

I couldn’t understand this… one half of the machine is a DVD player with the capability of reading captions, and the other half of the machine is a VCR without. That makes it 100% useful for the hearing, and only 50% useful for the deaf. If you’re not going to build a decoder into the VCR, what’s the point of having any part of this machine decoding subtitles? That facility is probably only used by a small percentage of the hearing. You might say it’s too clever for some and not clever enough for others.

I said to Mum maybe we should get rid of that one and look for a combi I would find 100% useful… so tonight I looked in the Argos catalogue, and on Amazon, and on other sites. I drew a complete blank. It might just be that they fail to mention it in the marketing information, but as far as I can make out, none of the new VCRs (in the UK) have decoders.

I’ve seen hints that old videos don’t play well on new VCRs anyway… I saw a complaint by an Amazon customer who said old videos played badly on his new machine but beautifully on his old machine. The manufacturers told him he had no business playing old videotapes on their shiny new VCRs anyway.

We are all expected to change eventually… videos are out on their ear. But it incenses me that though hearing people still have the option of purchasing new machines to play their old videos (even if rather badly, it seems), the deaf no longer have that option at all.

Normally, around this time of year, I’m muttering about crowded cafés, shops, streets and roads. Not so much this year! For a couple of weeks now I’ve been smiling happily, feeling warm and giving… I suspect it has something to do with the art sites I frequent. When people are being people around you, having their quirks, weaknesses, concerns and their strengths (largely the creative process, or at least the desire to do well at it) – it gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling!

When folk come along and add your work to their favourites, that doesn’t hurt either… all sorts of people, from teenage girls to 65 year-old guys in Finland. You have something in common with them and so you’re no longer thinking (for example) that older people play Bridge rather than get on the net, or that younger people are an alien species who lurk on street corners. When I was 16, if I’d known other 16 year-olds who were keen to share their passion for drawing, painting or photography with me, I’d have been delighted. Who knows what difference the internet would have made to me at that age?

Getting back to my recent resurgence of love and goodwill to all humankind, a possible factor is that phenomenon I mentioned in an earlier blog post: when I don’t do something very much, I glide through it with ease. If I was going to town every other day, I’d be a lot grumpier than I am now.

A couple of days ago, Mum asked me why I was grinning. I told her I got a new comment on my ‘introvert bloggers’ post and was thinking about how disastrous it would be if the internet collapsed all of a sudden. “Imagine life without it,” I said.

“Aiee!” said Mum, then (after a pause), “introverts have a warped view of life.”

Pushing away the niggling thought that I have a tendency to ‘think’ myself into tight corners, I said “but you’re an introvert yourself.”
“Yes – I’m an introvert.”
“Though you have lots of friends and sit on all those committees.”
“When I was your age, I wouldn’t have been able to give speeches and talks, but it’s not so bad now. Anyway, we can’t let idiots run everything.”
“By idiots… do you mean extroverts?”
“Er… more or less. There’s usually a balance.”
“Extroverts go out and do stuff without thinking, while introverts think about things so much they don’t want to do them?”
“Something like that.”

Hmm…

A stray memory surfaced in my mind just now. I was working on a large poster with a friend in art class at school. It was beginning to grate on me that she was so bossy; she would say “do this” and we did it all her way, though I was a better artist. I found I was scared to touch the picture without permission. Further back in this post I was complaining that I couldn’t share the fun of artwork with friends (apart from the odd scribble with felt tip pens), but what was going on here was not sharing.

One day I decided it was my picture too, and I was jolly well going to put some dots in. Of course they looked terrible, and if I’d been in my right senses I would never have bothered with them. When my friend saw them, she got very cross and painted all the dots out again, and I didn’t object. She was completely unaware, I think, that I hadn’t put the dots in because I wanted dots… I’d put them in to assert myself a little.

This is doubtless one good reason why introverts and extroverts don’t always work well together. If someone you know at work or school is acting mulishly, throwing senseless spanners in the works, it’s possible that something similar is going on. If you don’t want me to break out in a rash of dots, don’t boss me. (Ahem).

Saw this in the paper yesterday: blind woman refused access to her pension.

It makes me want to stop the world and get off.

I watched a Natural World documentary on the rescue of swimmers by dolphins. It was so amazing that I watched it again the next night. The incidents were not all that recent, but I don’t remember reading about them in the news.

Four years ago I was talking with a friend who swam with dolphins. She said she was told by the trainers that dolphins were just curious and did what they were trained to do. Looking back at that email conversation, it seems I had seen the following:

There was something on the news recently about a trainer being attacked by a killer whale, who went berserk and tried to drown him in front of everybody… do killer whales suffer from burnout and breakdowns too?? I would have done the same to some of the folk at the office, given a large pool and a bucket of fish.

My friend said she’d heard that the whale in question was an adolescent, probably wigging out teenager-style.

All of the dolphins in the recent Natural World documentary were wild. They were not performing for fish. Dolphins are obviously no friend of sharks… it could be a case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” That still points to emotion – a more active emotion than swimming away thinking “thank goodness it wasn’t our turn to get eaten.”

Whatever their aims, it doesn’t seem to me to prove anything when someone points to the fact that dolphins can be aggressive and cruel to humans and each other. Nobody ever said that humans were angels; we still consider ourselves capable of altruism. We recognize that we have personality differences, imbalances, feuds, rivalries, suspicion and so on… why would dolphins be any different? They’re not fairytale creatures; they’re flesh and blood.

While feeling so tired and disillusioned, it’s nice for me to ‘believe’ in something that’s out there, particularly something dwelling in an environment as alien and frightening as the sea. It’s the next best thing to believing in superheroes… no; it’s better than that.

Are we completely on our own here, or are some animals prepared to show kindness?

All the time I was writing this (most especially in the middle of my last sentence), the girl kitten (Delilah) gave me at least three playful, painful, completely unexpected scratches. On thumb, finger, and the inside of my elbow. Apart from Cheeky, she’s the worst kitten for scratches I’ve ever encountered. She’ll land on a bare arm or hand with all her claws digging, or suddenly slash at you as though your finger, hand or foot was a mouse to be slaughtered. No holds barred.

The boy kitten, Samson, is old enough to be gentle. When he’s playing, he just holds your fingers with sheathed paws and touches them with his teeth. That’s what Sharky (my last cat) used to do. Delilah will learn too – most kittens do. When kittens are too fierce with my friend Kristin, she will draw back and say severely: “don’t do that – that’s BARE SKIN.” Cats seem to get the message eventually.

Humans are soft, fragile and defenceless in some situations – they need to be cared for.

Out of interest, I fished out an assortment of links on dolphins, and on animal emotions in general.

Three Dolphins Rescue Tourist from Sharks

Dolphins Rescue Swimmers from 3m Great White

Dolphins and Animal Assisted Therapy

Do Animals Have Emotions?

Animal Emotion: Do We Drug Normal Human Behavior?

Animal Sentience

Farm Animals ‘Need Emotional TLC’

I liked them all, but especially the last article. “Please do not shout at the cows.”

In an earlier blog post, I was mumbling about the ratings received by the more ‘different’ names on Baby Names Country. There are also ratings on Baby Names World, but I couldn’t see a way to do that, so I imagine you have to register.

On Baby Names Country I was reading advice claiming that in the U.S., 85% of first names are chosen from a list of only 200 names – and other countries are more or less the same, presumably including the U.K.

That is shocking – I thought humans were supposed to be imaginative and adventurous? So many people would like to consider themselves as being apart from the crowd, but this naming convention is proof that most people prefer not to be all that different.

Of course there tend to be naming conventions within families as well – the same first name being used for the oldest son (so that you have to distinguish between ‘Carl senior’ and ‘Carl junior’ as in Snow Falling on Cedars), or the wife’s maiden name is used as the middle name of one of her children, or the mother-in-law hints she would be delighted if the first-born bore her name, and so on. Family connections are important, but when they restrict naming opportunities this way, they complicate life.

Perhaps it’s comforting to believe that there will always be a John Brown, son of John Brown, son of John Brown living in the village, and it all runs into one in your mind… you feel that life goes on forever. But sometimes you don’t want the different people to merge in that way.

There will always be bad and unfortunate names as well as good, but I wish we could have the courage to strike out a bit more; to search for a little more individuality.

I hate banks.

I’m not an Egg customer myself, but I didn’t know whether or not I was surprised when I saw this piece of news on the television last night. I stared at it with horror, thinking to myself “that can’t have done anybody’s self-esteem much good. It’s the last thing we need in this world, which is hard enough.”

“Stupid bank!” I said out loud.
“Stupid guinea pigs,” said Mum.

Total Sensory Deprivation – a few nights ago I recorded a Horizon documentary on the subject. It reminded me of the office I used to work in.

You would expect everyone to have a fair number of office connections and opportunities for socializing (if only by the water cooler, though we didn’t have one). Unfortunately I wasn’t really talking to anyone after my original friends and contacts left for pastures new. I tried in my quiet way to make new friends, but people had their own friends already and didn’t pay a lot of attention. I think they didn’t want to get involved with someone so deaf and so ’shy’, feeling that I was not their responsibility. They could get on with office life in their own comfortable bubbles and leave me to my colleagues in my own small department. After all, the folk in my department were the ones who chose me.

The feeling was awful, actually, and the longer it went on, the worse I felt. I wasn’t getting any of the office news or gossip, and I had no one to vent steam with or help me get a sense of proportion about things.

Some people were quite kind and friendly, but when I asked one what happened at a pension-related meeting, she forwarded my email (without checking with me first) to the Human Resources Manager. He told me people were not allowed to advise others, for legal reasons. It was now office policy.

Because of my profound hearing loss, I never knew what people were saying at meetings or amongst themselves. It made me wonder how I was ever going to inform myself if no one was allowed to discuss meetings with me… I wanted to tear my hair out!

There was an image in my mind of what I was going through, and I can still recall it. It felt to me as though I was falling down a bottomless well. I was trying to reach out and touch the sides but all I felt was air whistling past my fingertips. Not Alice in Wonderland – more like Diddums in Limbo.

That was my state of mind not so long before I crashed.

Total Sensory Deprivation? No, not quite. But the concept reminds me of that office situation – of me falling down my dark well, disassociated from everybody else.

The Horizon documentary was interesting – in an experiment, people were shut for 48 hours in small, bare cells without light, sound, human interaction or entertainment. It had quite a disturbing effect on them – some started to hallucinate, but I wondered how much that had to do with tiredness. That’s probably the point – they’d feel tired, out of touch and less sure of themselves.

One man who was kept in solitary confinement in real life talked of his experiences. When he mentioned his auditory hallucinations, I laughed out loud. The more he described them, the louder I laughed – and this was in the middle of me grieving for my cat, so I felt slightly hysterical. It wasn’t because I thought what happened to the man was funny, but because I get those… those auditory hallucinations.

I hear music – choirs, orchestras, jazz singers, country singers, opera singers. When you allow them to disturb you, they get louder. And then suddenly they stop, just like that! As though someone took a needle off a record.

It’s very strange.

I never thought of it as hallucinating, which is probably why I’ve been more fascinated than stressed; even comforted sometimes. To me it’s a form of tinnitus. Maybe it even masks the real tinnitus, which to many people is just a wasp’s scream (description courtesy of my mother).

Nor is it like having pop hits playing in your head, or (you’ll hate me for this) How Much is That Doggy in the Window? You can HEAR heavenly choirs or beautiful baritones or whatever – the sounds are in your ears.

At my old house I abandoned my bedroom, preferring to sleep on my sofa. I was never quite sure why I did that, apart from a general feeling of claustrophobia. The documentary offered me a fresh insight. Was it so different from the kind of experiences the people in the experiment were going through? With my blinds closed and lined curtains drawn, it was fairly dark in my room – and without my glasses I’m very myopic. Without my hearing aids I’m almost stone deaf. There were no other humans to talk to in that house: lack of human interaction. Then, when you’re lying there, trying to get to sleep, there is nothing to occupy yourself with. Thus I got the auditory hallucinations quite frequently, and when I was absolutely exhausted but not dropping off for any reason, I very occasionally got visual hallucinations as well. (Like Mr Guppy). Now that DID frighten me, in a way that the heavenly choirs didn’t.

It wasn’t Total Sensory Deprivation, but it wasn’t all that far off.

When I moved out to the sofa, I had two windows and a glass door – it was a lighter room. There were the cats strolling in and out: company. There was the TV… talking people and entertainment just a switch away. I feel sure now that’s why I changed rooms… and I’m not potty or anything, I’m just like any other human being. I like to be a part of life.

Some people love painting their houses. They finish redecorating and promptly start planning a new colour scheme for next year. Nothing is ever allowed to peel or get dingy and flaky. But I hate painting. Probably because it takes me ages to do, and I manage to get paint everywhere, including the taps in the bathroom. No matter how carefully I prepare and clean the area, the fresh paint is quickly teeming with fluff, dirt and lumps – and when I paint outdoors, there are always greenflies and tiny spiders wriggling in it, which makes me feel bad.

I hate the paint itself, and the vicious fluid that cleans the paintbrushes. Mum said I could wash the brushes with water – but it didn’t turn out like that. It washed off, then stuck back on. So we had to fetch the vicious stuff from the shed to sort it out.

I said “I’m the worst painter in the family.”
“That’s not possible,” said Mum. “Your father was the worst painter in the family.”
Maybe so – but he’s not alive any more, so that puts me in pride of place. It makes me feel a little better – I can blame my painting failures on him!

Later, I was flicking quickly through a small book on decluttering that Mum left lying around. (I can’t give title or author at the moment, as it’s still at her house). It said “you can’t take it with you”, then elaborated. It said that we never own things outright, even if we think we do. We don’t even own our own bodies – they are on temporary loan from the universe. And if something we possess gets lost or damaged, we might think it’s a terrible calamity, but in fact it’s not going to spoil our lives – generally we can live without ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ was.

I discussed this with Mum. I was no stranger to the idea that we own nothing. The houses themselves are not ours – we live in them for a while and then we move out, and other people move in. Antiques and collectables are not ours – we simply look after them for a while, then pass them on. I’ve known this since I was a teenager. It doesn’t stop me feeling possessive about things that I think are ‘mine’. My house. My cats. My teeth.

I felt there was something not quite right about the author’s theories, though I agreed with some of it – I haven’t put my finger on exactly what. It’s reassuring that ultimately I can depart this mortal coil, and nothing matters all that much, but…

If we really don’t own anything, not even our own bodies, that means there is much else that we don’t own. Husbands, wives, partners? If we don’t own our own bodies, we certainly don’t ‘have’ children. Does one have a life? What about the food we eat? Do we own that? In theory the food is free-floating, and if someone comes along and grabs it from you, they have as much right to eat it as you do – but if they grab it from you every time, and never let you have a bite, you will eventually die. At some point you have to insist on keeping that food. Reminds me of a TV commercial that’s on just now – the girl is moody and pushes her plate away, but when someone tries to take it, the girl goes into attack mode and grates: “touch my food, feel my fork!” She owns that food, alright.

Then there’s the issue about damage or loss of possessions not being the end of the world. I can’t help feeling there’s something more to that than simple possessiveness. Perhaps you have lost an item that gave you something that nothing else could do in quite that way. Maybe the jacket made you look especially smart, and you got a job when you wore it to an interview. Maybe the dress brought out the colour of your eyes and made you feel better as a result. Maybe the draft you wrote was going to be your bestseller and you couldn’t rewrite it quite as well. Even if it’s something you haven’t had time to get attached to yet, you will feel you didn’t get the use of it for your money. If you lose all these things, they won’t ruin your life but they can affect it up to a point. It’s telling that, even while saying “you don’t own anything, not even your life,” you have to use the words “your life.” Your life. What other words are you going to use?

Then again, there are things we have no particular need to keep… you liked the dress, but even if you get full use out of it, it will fall apart eventually. When I pointed that out, Mum laughed, and said “like men and their jackets. They can never let go. Even if it’s old and limp and all out at the elbows, with the cupboard full of snazzy new ones, they won’t let you throw it out because ‘that’s my GOOD jacket.’”

Sometimes it’s a case of altering our mindset towards the items that we ‘own’. When we are used to thinking of something as being ‘good’, it can be hard to let it go. Though Mum had a qualification even there: “it might have been a more comfortable jacket than the others.”

Well, I’ve just had to throw out my extra large denim shirt. For years I wore it as a kind of light jacket with the sleeves rolled up, but now it’s worn completely through at collar, elbows and cuffs. I have put it in the rag bag with the other rejected clothes. I gave it a wash first, hung it up to dry, then placed it in the bag last, with a pat and a hug. It’s on its way back to the universe.

Edit Feb 2008: Comments for this entry (copied across from the old blog site):

1. Pacian wrote at Feb 20, 2007 at 16:59:
“In theory the food is free-floating, and if someone comes along and grabs it from you, they have as much right to eat it as you do – but if they grab it from you every time, and never let you have a bite, you will eventually die.”

And yet couldn’t it be argued that by repeatedly grabbing it from you, they are really claiming ownership of it, in a rather underhanded fashion? Or perhaps you’re right, and in this case a more socialist notion of collective property is necessary, and the food should be eaten by whichever of you needs it most…

Because, of course, in the opposite case to your scenario, if you keep all the food that you own to yourself, then those who owned no food would starve instead.

2. Diddums wrote at Feb 21, 2007 at 01:30:
All food for thought…

I’ve been realizing that there’s an assumption that ‘you’ (your spirit) are separate from the universe in all sorts of ways – we are borrowing our bodies from the universe but are not part of it ourselves. I suggest that we are part of the universe (both spirit and body) and therefore own everything just as much as we own nothing. Not sure where that gets us in the food-grabbing dilemma.

3. kateblogs wrote at Feb 22, 2007 at 17:37:
Hmm, yes, I see what you mean. If we are borrowing our bodies from the universe how can we be separate from it? Surely that would mean we are not part of this universe and originate elsewhere and if the writer expects the reader to believe that, he/she is making all sorts of assumptions, not least that the reader shares his/her view of the reality of ‘things’.

4. geosomin wrote at Feb 22, 2007 at 19:13:
I love painting…but hate all the stuff leading up to the color part.

My husband on the other hand is cursed – I watch him paint and it should look good…but it always looks terrible when he paints. So usually he hangs out while I paint and brings me coffee and tries to make me laugh hard enough to fall off the ladder. Makes it more fun for both of us.

Hope the moving/settling is coming along well…

The idea of ownership and “stuff” is always something I struggle with. I like to think I’m not too materialistic, but there are sentimental things that matter to me…on the other hand I firmly believe I own my life…as much as I can. I don’t want to be guilty for having things I like, and yet I don’t want them to ever be the reason I live for. Maybe I’m an optimist and stubborn, but I don’t want someone else dictating what I do or say…I believe in giving and helping, but if you wear yourself out for others is that healthy? It’s when my life is taken over by other things that make it feel as though it isn’t my own that I generally get at odds with things and myself.

5. Diddums wrote at Feb 23, 2007 at 23:37:
It would be interesting to think we are not the centre of the universe, but the universe itself… ‘we are stardust’, or something.

Mum’s ‘let us paint together’ technique is to have me using a roller on the middle parts of the wall while she does the edges and fiddly bits with a small roller and a brush. It doesn’t stop me splodging paint on the new wallpaper, though…

“Maybe I’m an optimist and stubborn, but I don’t want someone else dictating what I do or say…”

That’s exactly why I wouldn’t go on one of those programmes – I’m sure there were several in which people had to declutter their houses, and they were made to get rid of some things they obviously didn’t want to give away. Even worse, there was a ‘crusher’, so when they sold their things, they could keep maybe one thing but the rest had to go in the crusher. Well maybe someone else would have liked those things and just wasn’t at the boot sale…

Someone who was keeping clothes as souvenirs was told to cut squares from them and throw out the rest. I’m quite sure she eventually ditched the entire box because they just wouldn’t have meant anything.

6. Bunnyman wrote at Feb 27, 2007 at 20:59:
I’m for the stardust theory.

Methinks we’re are all made up of tiny pieces of the Universe, even our souls – the breath that brings our fleshy substance to life. One moment we’re here, one moment elsewhere. Like my “good” jacket, one day I’ll wear out and all my pieces will eventually be recycled (hopefully minus lumps).

Mind you, while I’m still here, I too feel possessive about my teeth, More importantly perhaps, so do my gums.

I had been hoping to find volunteers to help me with the painting … I’ll keep looking

7. Diddums wrote at Feb 28, 2007 at 01:45:
Good decision – you really wouldn’t want me painting ‘delicately’ round the window or skirting board. And I was trying to roller the ceiling (that’s a horrible job) and suddenly there was a loud clatter and the roller fell off the stick and thudded down onto the blankets which were protecting the carpet. Mum came over to investigate and put her foot in the paint. Sigh.

I have friends who smoke, and my father also smoked, so I’m careful how I express myself on this subject. When it comes down to it, though, my feeling is that the smokers have had their way for long enough and now it’s our turn.

I went to a huge cat show once, and though people mustn’t smoke amongst the cats, they were allowed to smoke in the rest area at the side of the hall. Eventually the smoke drifted into the Siamese cat section. At first I didn’t pay a lot of attention, but after a while I realized I was having trouble breathing. And in the next moment I realized it was because of the drifting smoke, which always seems to affect me that way.

When I got home, I sent an email to the show manager, saying it was a good show and very well managed, but the one niggle I had was the smoke. In her response she said it wasn’t a problem as they weren’t smoking anywhere near the cats.

Ha! I was standing in the middle of the Siamese section and there was plenty of smoke drifting around. It wouldn’t have affected me otherwise, as I never sat in the rest area. The smokers, the non-smokers and the cats were trapped together in the same hall all day, and there wasn’t really anywhere else for any of us to go. Not good.

Well now there’s a smoking ban in Scotland. There are those who agree with it, and those who disagree. There are those whose horizons have broadened and whose profits have increased, and those whose scope has narrowed and whose profits have shrunk, and there is very little middle ground. Probably because you either need smoke or you can’t stand it. There IS no middle ground.

Even if there was, the smoke would drift across it and permeate everybody.

Remembering that my father was a smoker (though he never smoked in the house, and quit a short time before he died) I don’t like to throw my weight around. But the other day I was in our usual café and noticed smoke. I was puzzled. When I investigated, I realized it was someone sitting at a table outside the door. He’s allowed to smoke there, but his fumes blew right into the shop.

I couldn’t help smiling slightly when I read this article from The Scotsman: MSPs look at calls to extend smoking ban. There is all the usual anger from smokers who feel hard done by, but I understand the reasons for people wanting the smoking ban to go a little bit further yet. It’s not walking through or past the smoke that bothers me so much – it just seems futile to have a smoking ban and then sit in a smoky café anyway.

When I reached the end of my blog post, I suddenly realized I had a fascinated audience – see photo below.

Peeping out of the bookcase behind my hairy reader is a red book with a green dustjacket. There’s only one reason why I kept it – it belonged to my father, and has his name on the flyleaf, in small neat capitals. And it doesn’t smell of smoke – it smells of book.

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was on Blogigo:

1. Iain wrote at Sep 27, 2006 at 23:55:
The inevitable question: what’s the book?

2. Diddums wrote at Sep 28, 2006 at 00:05:
‘The New Beginners Please: for those who want to invest profitably’ published by the Investors Chronicle. I don’t dip into it very much.

3. Pacian wrote at Sep 28, 2006 at 13:18:
I want one!

The sloth I mean.

I found this Scotsman article (with lots of comments from its readers) and thought “why has this started up again?”

Cumming hits out at Jack’s ‘racist’ own goal

I like Alan Cumming as an actor and first noticed him in Bernard and the Genie (a much-mourned film that we never see in the UK anymore). He’s also the evil hacker in the James Bond film Goldeneye – the one who shouts “I am invincible!” and then something happens… Yes, him.

Anyway, it sounds to me as though he got onto this topic when he was discussing what it means to be an expatriate Scot on the prowl for work. The media, as usual, blows everything out of proportion; Alan Cumming’s part in the discussion as much as Jack McConnell’s own personal stance. Granted, the politician could have expressed himself more carefully, though who asked them these questions in the first place? If we don’t want to have to deal with their replies, or are only expecting a bland “may the best team win,” why ask politicians (or actors) where they stand in a football match – and then publish their responses widely?

What is not explained here, exactly, is why Alan Cumming was given advice to pretend he wasn’t Scottish if he wanted a job. Why should any of us have to pretend to be something we’re not because of other people’s prejudices or expectations? I can’t believe it was purely because of one man’s comments about a football game – in fact I doubt it, which makes me wonder if this is a much larger issue than it’s being presented as.

As for tourists in Scotland – I’ve blogged recently about falling ill again with agoraphobia because of the sheer numbers of holidaymakers in town. Mum reported hearing plenty of English accents – not because we were discussing whether or not they liked us enough to come over here, but because she was trying to identify who the tourists were and what sort of holiday they were having. If a few decided on the strength of World Cup clashes not to visit Scotland… I have to say we really didn’t notice! There are a lot of forgiving, intelligent, broad-minded people out there, so thank you. You are really very welcome.

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this entry when it was hosted on Blogigo:

1. Diddums wrote at Sep 17, 2006 at 16:25:
PS The Google ads on that news article are advertising Scottish holiday cottages, which is ironic. And I didn’t realize Alan Cummings was exactly my age – hmm!

2. drifting wrote at Sep 18, 2006 at 07:11:
Golly – what a to-do about nothing! (the ‘anti-English’ comments). McConnell was simply stating his preference for football teams surely. Anyone who takes offence and decides either to leave Scotland or not holiday there as a result is totally overreacting!

My brother is an avid football fan and will always barrack for the ‘other’ side – ie the country he’s not currently living in – so while in Germany he never supported German teams – while in New Zealand, he doesn’t support NZ teams – it’s one of his contrary ways – probably more to annoy the locals than anything. I must admit – I enjoy supporting Australia if there’s a NZ vs Aust rugby match and am forced to watch it. Love the reactions from the patriotic All Black supporters. Hehehehe.

3. Diddums wrote at Sep 18, 2006 at 20:12:
Absolutely right – I agree with the ones who say it’s about rivalry, not racism. On both sides there are always those who go over the top, but that doesn’t mean the heart of the entire nation is in the wrong place. Someone suggested (in the comments to the news article) that it exposed a flaw in the politician, that he was anti-English – but he was actually quite careful to say it was about the sport, not politics.

At teatime today I finished Make Room! Make Room! by Harry Harrison. I bought it two days ago (see my last blog post Sunday Retail Therapy). The book’s tone is serious compared to others by this author, but he has a serious message about over-population, strained world resources and birth control.

The hero of the book seems to welcome rain as much as I do… it keeps people off the streets and even reduces the likelihood of riots (he’s a policeman and therefore has a particular interest in quelling trouble). At one point he says that he’s fighting to hold things together while all the other blackguards are intent on tearing them apart.

Self-interest will be the downfall of civilization, but I love the thought that even in such times, there could still be those who fight to stop things degenerating into total chaos.

It was published in 1966 but the topics of overpopulation, street crime and birth control have not gone away. I was interested in the bibliography at the back of the book – it includes titles like Controlled Parenthood, Our Plundered Planet and Must You Conform? They were all published between 1948 and 1965.

I’m sorry I finished the book. It’s a lovely rainy day and it was wonderful not to have to go anywhere – just curl up and read. I was looking forward to it, and now I’ve read it and I don’t have it to look forward to any more! Still, there are billions of other books, written by billions of other people.

Last night I saw Saving Private Ryan for the first and last time. “Earn this,” rasps Tom Hanks as he dies. I thought, “The whole world and everything in it (especially war) is messed up and people die all the time for nothing – I don’t understand why you try to put a price on just one life saved from the ashes.”

Maybe the message is for all of us, not just for Private Ryan. If we cheat and lie and steal and kill, and take more than our fair share, living only for ourselves and our close family members, how are we going to be worth anything at all?

It got four stars in the Radio Times. It’s not the first time I’ve considered the ratings and reviews by the Radio Times to be thoroughly screwed up. It gives four stars to films that tell me nothing I didn’t know already, three stars to ‘relentless’ films that are a waste of my time, and two stars to films which I suspect might have been relatively pleasant – only I missed them this time round. The tone of many of the reviews irritate me, and I’ve stopped reading the ones for Lost because they give the plot away!

Give me books any time…

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was hosted by Blogigo:

Pete wrote at Sep 5, 2006 at 19:32:
Not read that one. I enjoyed the early Rat books.

Did you read the Eden novels?

Diddums wrote at Sep 6, 2006 at 01:29:
Not yet, I’ve not read very many Harry Harrison books yet. I just read them as they turn up.

Pacian wrote at Sep 6, 2006 at 13:41:
What a contrast! The only reason I always get the Radio Times is because it’s the only TV guide whose film reviews don’t annoy the **** out of me.

Diddums wrote at Sep 6, 2006 at 14:24:
Maybe there are ones out there I would find even more annoying, then :-). Either that or they take the mickey out of things I like – that could well be it.

Diddums wrote at Sep 6, 2006 at 14:26:
PS Pete, I’ve just noticed a couple of ‘Eden’ hardbacks tottering on the top of my bookcase over there! If it’s a series I’m probably waiting till I have the full set.

Mood: Angry
Listening to: My sap rising

I’ve just realized that I’ve been in a bit of a cynical frame of mind today. Maybe for a few days in fact. Yes, definitely for a few days. Maybe even a few years, or a decade or two.

This must be something that catches up with all bloggers eventually. Or maybe it has nothing to do with blogging at all.

For the past few days when reading online news articles, my only reaction was to snort to myself. “12 year old runs off to Pakistan without leave? Her poor mother. 18 year old resurfaces in Austria and won’t have her family round her? Well I’ll try to understand… but her poor mother! Councils want to be allowed to charge for non-recyclable rubbish – they say its purely so we are galvanized into recycling more. Well, I’ve been trying to recycle my paper for months but they only come round every two weeks at 07:00 hours, and I never remember in time. I don’t put my bin out the night before because I don’t want it to block the pavement. Council in Edinburgh tries to pinch people’s residential parking bays and sell them back to them? I don’t trust councils or bureaucrats. It’s very sad.”

And then there are all the people who post rubbish and insults at the foot of news articles and don’t seem to have anything sensible to say.

I get a letter from my gas company saying “oops – we put the price up without telling you.” All I can think is “what am I still doing with them anyway?”

Royal Mail decides to charge by size as well as weight, throwing everything into disarray and causing confusion. I don’t want to use Royal Mail again – how can I avoid it? It’s just the way I feel. I want nothing to do with them now! Maybe I’m too old and set in my ways.

Seem to remember reading …. oh, it was in Ask Mamma by R.S. Surtees – that people were horrified at the idea of pre-paid postage, and did everything in their power to avoid using the postal service at all. Well, now I know how they felt.

On TV, an airport employee was chasing away a cloud of starlings because they were dangerous to planes. The planes were delayed till the birds were gone. The Chief Bird Scarer said “every second that the planes stay on the ground costs thousands.” The whole idea tires me. Why not let the starlings fly where they like and ban these expensive metal and fuel things? Why can’t we all stay were we live and make the best of it? If we have to go anywhere, it should be by foot or by hoof.

Then (in another programme which I forget the name of) there was the guy who says you have to prove to your would-be employers that you’re a peach, not a lemon. Why? And is there really anybody who’s completely one thing or the other? There are so many grey areas… and when the sober suited executive says “we are looking for employees with self-confidence,” you wonder what happens to all the people who have very little self-confidence or different ways of looking at things? Don’t tell me that they have to pull their socks up and catch up with the others – life is far more complicated than that, and self-confidence… well it’s hard to measure. Being a confident salesman is one thing, out there making good money for yourself and your company, in some cases making other people’s lives a misery. Being confident in the way you think about life and what you see as its real needs and priorities is something else. Not everything is about money, and not everything is about being peaches and extroverts. That’s not a world worth living in.

I did get a bit of joy when the ‘peach or lemon’ presenter suggested to a boy (who probably wasn’t particularly wealthy) that he pay someone to listen to his tape, and if they didn’t like it, they keep the money; but if they did like it, they give him a recording contract or something of the kind. And the boy said with astonishment “but they’ll cash the cheque and not listen to the tape!” and marched off with his eyebrows beetling. Of course they will. Jeez.

It’s not just everybody else you’re questioning. You look around your own home and think sadly about the things you took for granted when younger and the things you bought that you didn’t need. The things you thought you wanted that you never used. The things you meant to do but instead you sit watching TV shows about how the very birds are told where they can or can’t go. But it can be a hard routine to break, and sometimes all you feel like doing is hiding your head under a blanket and pretending you don’t exist and that nobody will come and demand that you post letters using a new system or pay increased gas bills or prove to them (preferably at own monetary and mental health risk) that you’re a peach and not a lemon.

I’m tired.

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was hosted by Blogigo.

Tony wrote at Sep 2, 2006 at 04:07:
Hey there,That’s one hell of a rant.
I suppose we all feel like a bit of a black mood every now and again.
Good for you.

Thanks for including me in some rarified company (rebecca blood). Just noticed your blog — a tip of that hap to your regularity. That’s one hell of a run you’re on (almost daily for how long?)

Cheers and keep up the good work
Tony @ DJI (Deep Jive Interests)

Diddums wrote at Sep 2, 2006 at 10:10:
I dread to think :-). I take a break now and then.
It’s funny how much better you do feel after a big rant; it cleared the air in a way my last few posts didn’t. I suppose it was building up for a while, and at first it doesn’t really occur to you to share it.

Pete wrote at Sep 2, 2006 at 17:06:
I was cynical long before I was a blogger.
Diddums my dear you are always assured a few quacks from me

Did you know there were ‘ethical banks’? Yep, news to me as well! I’ve been enjoying Drifting’s reflections on living more ethically, which were sparked by a book.

The whole ideal sounds like a minefield, as I can’t imagine there is all that much left in our society that is completely ethical. Even to live within the framework of Western society as it stands seems to me to go against the grain of nature. Still, it might not be impossible to fight our way out again by consistently rejecting the more unethical groups and corporations, even if little by little – and learning to live within the boundaries of what we have as a population, rather than within the boundaries of what we have as individuals.

None of this sounds as exciting as a ‘bloody revolution’ but it’s maybe less violent – and we don’t replace one bad authority with another.

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was hosted by Blogigo:

drifting wrote at Jul 29, 2006 at 06:34:
Hey, thanks for the plug.
One thing the author of that book does say is that you should start small and you can’t do everything. Every little bit helps. For example I avoided buying something today because of what I perceived as excessive packaging. I don’t need a small object encased in a large see-through plastic package! Recycling, composting, using the car only when necessary (unfortunately for me that’s every day as there is no suitable public transport and I live too far away from places to walk), and a general awareness that products may contain poisons or unhealthy additives and finding alternatives, are all little ways we can be kinder to the earth.

Diddums wrote at Jul 29, 2006 at 12:30:
That reminds me of when I bought (tsk) some packaged sweetcorn cobs, took them home, peeled off the outer wrapping, then started to peel off the inner wrapping, much more difficult. Suddenly stopped and thought “WHY is it wrapped twice? Something odd going on here.” Took a closer look – turned out they were pre-cooked! I was supposed to leave them in their boil-in-a-bag and heat them up for 5 minutes. I thought it only took that to cook the things in the first place?

In this world, confidence is vital. Not just confidence in your own abilities, but also confidence in how you communicate and how you face the world.

This reminds me of two songs from old musicals. The first being Have Confidence In Yourself (Oliver Twist) and the second being Whistle a Happy Tune (The King and I).

There may well be others, and with reason – can you imagine how far any of us would get in this kind of civilization without confidence? How far would one get without friends and contacts, and the ability to communicate well with them?

Well I started to blog about this issue, but it’s a truly difficult one, so I’m hesitating. The problem with confidence, ‘fitting in’ and generally being normal (this topic was recently discussed by Goldfish on her blog)… well, the problem with that is, if you don’t feel able to get along as smoothly as others do, (for instance I’m profoundly hard of hearing), your confidence takes a dive. It takes a dive nearly every day. And when your confidence has banged its nose on the ocean floor often enough, you can end up with panic disorder and agoraphobia. After which everything gets still harder!

How do you contemplate a job in an office, supermarket, shop or anywhere else when you’re not even sure you can face the interview? Well you can go to the doctor for help, but how do you (a) make the appointment? (b) get there? (c) cope with the very claustrophobic waiting room? Particularly if it’s the kind of waiting room where you wait to hear your name being called.

Actually I’ve been through that in the past. I was starting to get stressed out at work, so I went to the doctor and said I was worried. She said “oh – what are you going to do about it?”

The problem with that was that I wasn’t really able to talk to people about something that I was finding increasingly difficult to handle. I didn’t feel able to say all the right things, ask for all the right things (even if I knew what they were – what I REALLY wanted was never to have to darken their doors again) … and on top of all that, how to avoid the inevitable hearing complications. Perhaps I had left it a bit late to ask for help, but there is no ‘right time’ as people won’t take you seriously till they see you actually disintegrating in front of their eyes. And then they panic.

My immediate superior was terrified I was going to turn round and say it was the work that made me ill. When I said to him the work was not the problem, he was so relieved that I had to smile. It was never about the work. It was never about him either.

Around this time (it’s all blurred in my memory now), I had gone to the doctor to see what she said. (All this happened ten years ago)! She said she would refer me to a cognitive therapist, but as they were booked up (the rest of Scotland was cracking up as well, presumably) I wouldn’t get to see this person for six months. Meanwhile, what was I going to do about the job situation, asked the doctor solicitously? I said well I might feel a little better if I moved my desk somewhere quieter (even though I knew there was nowhere – the office was packed out like a sardine tin). She said good, come back next week and tell me how you’re getting on.

Well, next week, I was well along in my little nervous breakdown, thank you very much. I couldn’t even face my mother. I was at her house, and every time she came into a room I was in, I smiled politely, sidled out, and went somewhere else. Eventually she found me lying on the spare bed, gazing at the ceiling.

I sat up and started to slink away again, but she stopped me – in tears. She knew something was badly wrong. I said I had to go to the doctor’s that afternoon and wasn’t sure I wanted to go. She said I must keep my appointment and get this sorted out.

Even more upset, I toddled along the road rather as though I was drunk – in fits and starts, hiding behind lamp posts every time a car went past. I felt completely dizzy – the sky spun around and the cement seemed gritty beneath my feet. It loomed at me.

I got most of the way to the Health Centre and then got stuck outside the small shops just across the road from it. There were cars parked outside, and a man waiting in one of them, looking at me. I couldn’t force myself past him – it was like trying to get a nervous horse to pass a large flapping scarecrow. I just couldn’t. (Ever since then I’ve had a special sympathy for skittish horses). Eventually I turned round and went home.

Now, every time I hear someone say “we ought to make people pay for not keeping their appointments and wasting everybody’s time”, I cringe. I don’t want to live in this unforgiving kind of world. I’m not hinting that I’m going to jump off a bridge or something revolting like that – I just sometimes feel like saying “enough! Stop the world! I want to get off.”

But I can’t.
So.
Next step is to bolster my flagging confidence. For we are nowhere without it.

I whistle a happy tune
And ev’ry single time
The happiness in the tune
Convinces me that I’m not afraid

Make believe you’re brave
And the trick will take you far
You may be as brave
As you make believe you are…

Sorry, I’ve just realized – I can’t whistle either. Kind of stuck now :-).

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was hosted by Blogigo:

Pacian wrote at Jul 21, 2006 at 12:07:
Hum instead!

I haven’t had it quite as bad as you, but I sympathise with much of what you wrote. It would be nice if confidence came in pill form. Although I’d probably be too timid to ask for a prescription.

Diddums wrote at Jul 21, 2006 at 12:57:
And that’s the real problem, isn’t it :-). Maybe we should try Ally McBeal’s trick – her imaginary backing group.

When I was in my mid-20s, someone said to me, “you’re a rebel without a cause.” I was surprised to be called a rebel at all (being a person of no consequence), but when I thought about it, I wondered why he considered – after most of the discussions we had shared – that I had no cause? Isn’t the phrase rather flippant and belittling, particularly coming from someone who knew some of my main hang-ups?

Is it a way of saying “you’re always annoyed about something, and it’s always the little things”?

Maybe (without his quite meaning to) it’s a way of saying “I’ve never experienced what you’ve experienced and so it’s of no importance to me. If I don’t know what you experience, then it’s probably something that doesn’t even exist.”

I was uncertain what he meant – but something about the look on his face gave me the impression he was feeling particularly pleased with himself that day – “look, I’m using a poetic turn of phrase while being perceptive and sceptical. I don’t need to listen – I’ve got you figured out.”

I wonder if he realized I would remember and worry about it long after the other, more thoughtful things he said had been forgotten.

Well, years have passed since then, so would he still think it applies? I’m older now and… well, I tried to say “more mellow” but I really don’t think that’s true. Many of the same things trouble me, even more than they did when I was younger. Some issues I understand more and have quietly ditched by the wayside. I’ve found other things to rebel against. There are things I used to be OK with but along the way the red mist started to descend.

The main difference with growing older is that I slide away from some battles or phrase myself more carefully – well a few of you may not believe it, but I do :-). I could be quite a confrontational rattlesnake when I was in my 20s, but a lot of the time it was misplaced wit, or an attempt to impress with my frank views – immature, yes. Other times I didn’t really believe anybody was paying attention. The more frustrated I got, the harder I complained. Sometimes all I needed was a soothing “quite right too” to make me shut up. Try telling that to my victims though. I haven’t necessarily changed my mind about whatever issues upset me before… I handle them more cautiously, making more effort to see all sides – and ending up more confused in the process.

Meanwhile, it’s still a world where some of the people you clash with don’t appreciate what you’re trying to say even if you spell it out fifty times. If they respond, it’s with a completely distorted reflection of what you said. They never get it straightened out, often because they don’t want to – that’s something you do realize with age! In mankind there’s a strong desire to believe in pure goodness and black evil – folk can be all too willing to file you under the ‘E’.

Getting back to this expression ‘rebel without a cause’, I suspect that it says as much about the person who uses it as the one it’s used about. Is the first person listening? REALLY listening? …Probably not.

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was hosted on Blogigo:

ilovetchocky wrote at Jul 12, 2006 at 17:14:
I also feel at times that we are all walking around, making noise, only hearing ourselves.

Dilan wrote at Jul 11, 2007 at 07:10:
I think you’re right… if A tells B that B is opinionated, doesn’t that mean A is opinionated as well?

Know ye this: The world just doesn’t understand those who don’t conform with it. The world works off the basis that ’society’ is *always* right…

While I think that pure good and evil can exist, there are conflicting opinions on what this pure good/evil is… and a load of strife ‘cos of that….

Reckon you’re an anarchist/libertarian of sorts (no bad thing!)… and I guess that makes two of us…

D