July 31st

Hello Once more,

As this will be the last letter for a while due to there being a lot going on across the next few months, it’ll be a bit longer. Realistically though, probably not as long as the next letter, which will catch you up on my life in August, September and October. So, let’s crack on.

While this letter is dated at the end of July, it was started somewhere in the middle and finished tonight Aug 5th. Back in July, I heard a snippet on the radio that got me thinking about loneliness. Not that I find myself in this sad state - more, that it caused me to reflect on the loneliness that appears to burden so many souls in our society - without anyone noticing or minding.

            Having had Annie, John and Elliot visit me twice since my arrival here, plus Gav McMahon (who lives in Canada but was visiting his parents in the next village), join me for a round of golf at Spalding GC a couple of weeks ago, then, Morgy, Micky Flynn, Ernie and Johnny Parrott visit last weekend, I find my social life here not much different from what it was in Essex. Add to that, these letters and the one-to-one mails and phone calls that they precipitate, and I find that remaining in contact with old friends is proving easy.

            What caught my attention was a Twitter pronouncement publicised on Ken Bruce’s show. He was talking to Jeremy Vine who mentioned the tweet. At the moment (mid-July), the service from O2 is down and being re-established. A Drama Queen who doesn’t look very much past the superficial pretence that is today’s world, complained that due to being unable to access Twitter, Facebook and Wikipedia due to this downtime, he had lost ‘10 hours of my life that I will never get back’. Instead of seeing this as an opportunity to talk to someone, and interact on a human level, this (thinking?) person bemoaned the loss of remote, insular, introvert contact with a virtual world. It seems we are reduced to avatars in the phones of Arm’s Length ‘friends’.

            Isaac Asimov - a legend in science fiction writing in the 50s, made such a projection. He wrote of a world where people lived their day-to-day lives as individuals, miles from any neighbour, served by robots as servants and sexual partners, without any human contact; that had become distasteful. Ah well, almost there.

            We are so used to pretending that we are fun-loving, social animals, despite many favouring avoidance of eye-contact and touch, and having next-to-no social skills. To assist this façade, hi-tech facilities provide a sanitised, remote world - accepted as the norm, like the lonely soul on Twitter complaining about his lost 10 hours. Luckily, I am old enough to remember hugs and handshakes, the genuine pleasure displayed at meeting a real live friend (rather than an electronic greeting from an avatar), conversations and company, smiles and the ability to laugh out loud when the guffaw was the clue that you found something funny, not an impersonal use of punctuation marks and emoticons to indicate your mood. How sad that so many people today can be alone in a crowd.

Since the last letter, so much has happened. It is difficult to know where to begin or what to leave out. I went to France for a few days to visit Ken & Maria, old friends of many years. They live in Central France, east of Poitiers; a lovely relaxed lifestyle - apart from when it’s time to mow the lawns in their three acres of garden or clean the pool filters - what hardship.

             This is the view from their balcony. Click on it. The handrail isn’t curved. That’s the effect from Photoshop’s Panorama feature joining three post-box-wide photos to give you the full vista. The park that you see just in front of the cornfield is a bit of their garden. Maria does the lawns, but Ken has got her a ride-on mower. Ken, you spoil that woman.

            Apart from enjoying the garden and some wine on their patio in the warm afternoon sun, I met some of their ex-pat friends for drinks and a genial chat outside a bar in the village square (this was the view from our table), then enjoying ‘aperitifs’ with friends Janet & Ulli. When it comes to civilised living, the continental lifestyle has much to recommend it. The pace of everything about my hosts’ way of life was slow, measured and relaxed - bliss. A long walk with the dogs brought photos of the countryside; fields of gold, leafy glades and charming, rustic scenes of farmhouses, barns and rusting machinery. My camera was in overdrive, It caught fire at one stage.

            All in all, I had a wonderful, relaxing time, setting me up nicely for HMRC to bring more sunshine and showers into my life. You may remember that The Euston office told me NOT to report certain periods as they were incorrect, defining other periods as their recommendation, which I have met, then fined me heavily for not reporting the incorrect periods.

             A Collector of Taxes in Wales got involved, threatening me with SWAT teams of trained assassins to collect the fines, but kindly gave me 6 more weeks to put things right.  As I have moved, Euston has now passed the matter to Nottingham. They started well, generating more fines for the incorrect periods and telling me that they could not find key letters that I had sent - with accompanying returns and accounts - for the correct periods. Then Mrs Rothwell messed it all up by finding the missing letters, returns and accounts and agreeing the reporting periods that I had met (and paid for). It seems HMRC has ONE competent employee.

            Just my luck to have found her. I am SO ANGRY. I now have nothing to whinge about (writes Deflated Dabz). There is a simple joy in being right in a dispute with a behemoth that steadfastly refuses to believe that its left and right hands are part of the same body - no one communicates, not even within the same department, as Euston demonstrated often. I was happy to carry this on to the point of them taking me to court as I’m sure my records are better than theirs. I would love this to get to the press but I don’t have the time or the vindictive nature to pursue this approach at the moment. However, that’s just “at the moment”. Watch the Reflections web site. I am working on a piece to draw press attention to this saga for a small business whose contribution to the country’s finances is nearly nothing.

            Which brings me nicely to the main use of my time. I am writing again. I don’t mean these letters to you. I mean stories and poems, and also observations on life for the other web site - Ventarant. On this minor tributary of my writing regime, how spoiled are we for choice of things to moan about? With the state of Current Affairs, some of you must be thinking you’ve died and gone to Heaven. Look at Cameron - how he stays PM Heaven Only Knows! He makes so many bad appointments, yet no one is calling for his head. ‘Yet’ seem to be the pivotal word here.

            Look at his poor judgement evidenced by the disasters associated with his appointments: Liam Fox, ignoring the advice of his advisors about looking after his mate and then having to resign for it. Jeremy Hunt knifing coalition partner Vince Cable in the back and now only just surviving an accusation of lying (for the moment; doubt if Vince is finished with payback just yet). Hiring Andy Coulson despite being told by paid advisors not to hire him - “No. I know best.” Then, attacking Jimmy Carr for doing nothing illegal but taking advantage of (deliberately?) badly-made tax laws - just like his own dad who surprisingly, didn’t get a mention in the Jimmy Carr attack, all the while, not commenting on the boss of HMRC who got taken to lunch 100 times, then let Goldman Sachs and Vodafone off millions in tax. Plus, Theresa May who, being promoted well above her ability (a bit of positive discrimination perhaps?), has survived a litany of disasters - immigration, extradition and Olympic Security - where we are calling in troops to cover for poor preparation. Troops who will be made redundant once this convenience is met. How arrogant and selfish is that? She seems to be forever justifying her actions. Surely she can’t last much longer?

            Best of all, appointing the amateur theoretician Osborne as Chancellor of the Exchequer - slowly reversing his budget, one gaff at a time. That appointment is understandable though. Cameron used to work in the Treasury in the early-90s and got sacked himself so his own experience of the quality of intellect and ability needed for that job explains that appointment.

            All the above are Cameron choices. How many more times can he apologise for himself and the people he’s chosen, before being ditched by the Tories? The bloke is just not a leader. Look at his self-conscious smirk when Sarkozy blanked him at that meeting of World Leaders - no backbone, no dignity, no stature, no class. Then, look at how he handled that black guy that accosted him in the street on his first walk-about as the new leader. Again, the self-conscious grin was in evidence. He couldn’t pull away fast enough. Finally, look at his aggressive defensiveness at the Despatch Box; not really a leader, is he?

            Most of my voting life, I have chosen Tory. I started with Labour as Dad was a raging socialist, and took my lead from the man I admired most in my life. Then, as I found my feet, I tried Don’t Know - or Liberals, as we used to call them, settling on Tory from the Thatcher Years onwards - largely because she kneecapped Arthur Scargill. If that’s your idea of a cool haircut, then you deserve everything that’s coming to you.

            Mainly though, because she promoted the Right To Buy my council house and put me on the housing market. The facility already existed but councils and politicians dragged their heels till Thatcher came along. As she put a chance of greater wealth my way and raised my personal expectations, Tories have had my vote ever since. Now though, they are without a leader, unity or new ideas. It seems the Old Guard continues to rule and maintains the ancient status quo; a tired party of old men, promoting in their own image. Ed Miliband, on the other hand, not much of a politician what with him being articulate and realistic, besting Cameron at every encounter; sadly with little or no talent to back him up. As my choices are Poor and Rubbish, I probably won’t vote again, however, there will be a piece on the Ventarant site soon about Democracy.

            I heard a radio programme on Radio 4 recently, in a political debate. A very earnest 24 year-old, obviously from the left, was expounding a return to nationalisation of the railways, angrily belittling the privatisation of the Thatcher years. Norman Lamont was invited to reply and started by asking the previous speaker his age. The young man could see where that was heading so immediately went on the defensive by sneering at Lamont and accusing him of being patronising - employing aggression, the first reflex of a defensive mind-set. However, Lamont, being an experienced politician and used to Defence by Attack, smoothly outmanoeuvred him. If you’ve survived the Hades that must have been a debate with minds like Thatcher, Hurd, Heseltine et al, 30 years ago, dealing with a child using anger to intimidate and distract, will be a stroll in the park. Anyway, he eventually, made the point gently and politely by asking the young man what his experience was of nationalised industries. Being 24, it had to be zero so his enthusiasm for them could only be theoretical - a triumph of experience over bluster.

            By any standards, the current running of the railways is poor, expensive and unsafe - no argument there. The old running of nationalised railways was little different though. Few who have experienced both can argue with this. Sadly today, people favour the mono-threaded Silver Bullet approach - a simple “This or That”. For me, the solution has to be a mix of both regimes tinged with some honesty and integrity - what’s the chance of that ever happening? We live in a world of dichotomy separated by 180 degrees; Left & Right in politics, even when they agree, they have to oppose and criticise (nit-pick). It’s the rules of the game. Or, in our personal lives, how common is “I’m right, you’re wrong”? There’s no middle ground. And of course, the current battlefield, “Keep the Greek economy afloat or let it go under”. Why is it so difficult to consider the merits of a negotiated settlement where both parties are big enough to adopt the best of each other’s arguments, giving up something and gaining something? No one takes the trouble to look beyond the one-dimensional Silver Bullet. As you see, there is plenty for the web site, where I expect the dozen or so mates from both the left and the right, who are members, will want to air their views.

            The other web site - Reflections, where these letters are published, is now getting outside viewings. I had a comment (in Flemish I think), that I ran through an Internet translator but that just translated it literally. I only got the gist of what was said. It seemed complimentary though. As a result, it prompted me to put some of the poetry on there (or ‘here’ if you’re reading this on the Reflections web site). I’ve also put some more of the Letters To My Grandchildren’s Grandchildren on there. That was, after all, its original intent.

            Additionally, there is the odd piece of new poetry when the inspiration arises. Mainly though, I’ve started rewriting Heads & Hearts. A few of you may remember that I first wrote this 20 years ago, just as I started working in Portugal. It was published in ’93 and sold several copies almost making double figure. While I am proud of its poetry and storyline, it wasn’t that well written so I am revisiting it. There were aspects that I wasn’t happy with then but I had a lot of distractions at the time and was being pushed to release it by the publishers - and I caved.

            However, in the 20 years that have passed, I have learned a lot about writing. I don’t accept it all as much of it was from teachers who although good at teaching, were talking theory, and you know from past letters and this one where I stand on theory and one-size-fits-all formulae. They were honest people but not successful in their own right so told us how to write to the formulae that earn money, which I abhor. Nonetheless, much of their teaching was also recognised wisdom and therefore worthy advice, so cannot be ignored.

            Add to that, as I read, I note the styles of authors that I find engaging, Pratchett, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tom Robbins, Dan Brown, Sam Bourne, Mark Twain, PG Wodehouse, Gyles Brandreth etc. As well as enjoying a complex storyline, I note how they paint with words. Again, I don’t want to just copy them; that’s only using another formula. Instead, I try to learn from their way of telling a story and conveying visual images. I’m finding the rewrite of Heads & Hearts and other stories in this PC, is proving demanding, and at the same time rewarding. Hopefully, they’ll result in works that have my voice and not be just reflections of accepted formulae.

            Tonight, I watched a documentary about the phenomenal success that is 50 Shades of Grey. As well as summarising the book’s essence, it solicited the view of successful female authors Bonnie Greer OBE, Rachel Johnson and Kathy Lette, plus a few more that I hadn’t heard of, editors including the current and previous (female) editor of Erotic Review, the psychologist Pamela Stephenson, a single comedienne, what looked and sounded like a WAG reclining alluringly on a chaise longue, an all-woman book group from Colchester and two people in the S&M business. Yes, this deviation is a business. You can be humiliated for just £120 an hour (or you can support West Ham; it’s cheaper and there’s a lot more humiliation to the Pound). But, back to the book…

            The general consensus of the authors was undisguised contempt. Balancing that, they also expressed admiration for an author who has managed to appeal to the 20 million people that have bought it so far.

            At one stage in the programme, the book group got to feel the rough edge of the tongue of a rather large and strident feminist who made her disapproval of the prevailing theme of the book - BDSM (Bondage, Domination and Sado-Masochism), very clear, announcing (because she’d decided it was for her to judge), the book sets back the cause of equality by many years. Oddly enough, she wasn’t able to see the irony in criticising ‘domination’ by - being loud and abrasive. That aside, her innocence in matters erotic prevailed. She didn’t realise that in such games, the Submissive is the one in control. You don’t pay £120 an hour unless you want to be the victim.

            It didn’t get any better for her when a couple of the women in the group announced that they would quite like be ravished in unspeakable ways by a virile, randy billionaire at the end of a tedious day of running a home, tending to the kids and hanging out the washing. I think she felt betrayed by the sisterhood - probably went home and kicked the cat.

            Few - and by ‘few’, I mean none, of the authors liked the twee language such as - “He touched me down there…” Apparently it is supposed to be a raunchy book so when timid and politically correct euphemisms or medical terms were used for describing body parts and hot action, their dismay at EL James’s ‘tame’ writing style, came dressed as derision.

             To be fair, EL James is naturally dull. At her own admission, her research for the book was not by personal experience but via the Internet. And in interviews on American chat shows, she was decidedly uncomfortable talking about sex so cannot be mistaken for an uninhibited, sexy woman. The two S&M professionals also thought that the activities described in the book were tame. So if you’ve read it and think that it is racy, I suggest you don’t try the bits that make your toes curl - stay in the shallows. The book dresses love up as acceptable lust. That never ends well.

            Let me close this bit with a couple of quotes from the programme. One tweet held that “Even if you don’t like the writing style, you can’t deny what it has done for sales of nipple clamps.” To illustrate this, they showed a Sales Planning meeting at an Ann Summers-style shop where, since the book, sales of nipple clamps had apparently shot through the roof - not unlike those trying one for the first time. For me, the author Rachel Johnson had the best line. When asked what she thought of the sex scenes she said, “Call me old-fashioned if you like but I don’t know of anyone who likes an anal fisting of a Friday night.” (Is that even possible?)

            With head still swimming, I must talk about the Olympics for a while. Did you see that Opening Ceremony? What a fabulous piece of theatre! I was bowled over by the originality, the  complexity, the spectacle - WOW! What organisational skills it must have taken to put it together such a smooth production. It really was a wonderful visual representation of what it is to be British. ‘This green and pleasant land’ to start, the Industrial Revolution, the hilarious sketch of Mr Bean playing Chariots of Fire, the Queen greeting James Bond (was it really her?) and then jumping from the helicopter, the Beatles, the 60s, Punk, the World Wars, the electric blue birds circling the stadium, Beckham driving the speedboat with the flame, and then the lighting of the flame. Breath-taking, captivating, compulsive watching. What a creative mind that Danny Boyle has. Also kudos to the team that dreamt it all up - and then made it happen.

            I was in the gym yesterday, on the rowing machine, watching the rowing on one of the many TVs that show you the goal you’re trying to attain. As in most gyms, these are generally pop stars with toned, baby-oiled bodies doing a dance video on 4 Music. Now, in Olympic fortnight, we turn to athletes, gymnasts and swimmers to provide the same example. As I rock back and forth, with the iPod providing inspiration, I tend to tickle along at about 27 (strokes per min.), and was watching the heats of the men’s fours where they were doing their bog-standard 35 s.p.m.

            I don’t know why, and now that I reflect, I still don’t know why - in a moment of what was sheer madness and potentially heart attack material, I tried to match them for just one minute. A sprint for me - a steady pace for them. Not a snowball’s chance in Hell. Luckily, I came to my senses as Smokey Robinson reminded me of what’s really important. Appealing to me on a visceral level, he advised that I’d “better shop around”; much more in keeping with what speaks to my nature, and a lot smarter than trying to keep up with the German Quad boat.

            With the football season fast approaching, I look forward to 10 months of frustration, elation, bemusement and swearing robustly at my TV on a Saturday night. Greater than the anger precipitated by one-footed, overpaid, narcissistic cheats demonstrating what men they are for ninety minutes, there is the tantalising addiction that is Fantasy Football. Here, the constant shifting puzzle that is ‘current form’, brings all the logistical challenge of plaiting fog. I can hardly wait.

            To close now, I’d like to mention the Olympics again. Last night I watched Jessica Ennis, Mo Farrah and Greg Rutherford get their Golds; what a buzz; what joy to watch their triumphs. Today, I heard Chris Evans interview Greg R on the radio. Greg Who? Exactly. No one had ever heard of him before his win. What an articulate, humble, well-mannered, dignified man. The guy, praised Jess E and Mo F - accepting his own praise from Chris Evans quietly without making it all about himself - as is so common nowadays. What a hard act to follow. Footballers must cringe when a microphone is thrust under their noses after this. I don’t think we can accuse them of being humble, dignified and articulate. How can they possibly match that?

            That’s it for a while. I hope to see many of you in the weeks that follow. If I don’t, be sure you are in still my thoughts - not in a 50 Shades of Grey sort of way, obviously, well… perhaps a bit.