(Written 14/6/2011 in response to a question about downloading a podcast I contribute to. Yes, I felt like being daft.)
> As the actress said to the bishop.
>
> Explicit instructions might be a good idea though
Always happy to oblige, mate. It depends on whether you want to be an actress or a bishop, and you pretty much have to decide at the outset, because the career paths are very different. Apart from the occasional need for a nice frock.
If you want to be an actress, well, you have to start with a little talent, I suppose. Unless you look good naked and have an interest in bodily fluids, in which case you can probably get work quite easily, and you'll require no further advice from me. If, however, you hope to tackle some of the major Shakespearian roles at the Old Vic rather than rolling some of the major tackles, like old Vic's, then you'll need to gain a place at one of our major drama colleges, like RADA or the Central School of Speech and Drama. You'll have the chance to take part in many student productions where potential agents can appreciate your talent. A word of warning, though. You will almost certainly be offered parts in "experimental student films". Turn them down firmly, as only frightfulness can come from them. They will not further your career, they will only be seen by three people at 4 a.m. as part of the Sunderland Film Festival. Unless you become a celebrity, at which point certain stills will be seen by millions as part of a News of the World exclusive story.
After college, it's the dreary round of agents, auditions, callbacks, extra work, stand-in work, walk-on roles, chorus parts and cheap adverts for tat that is exclusive to Wilkinsons. (You'll find that the JML/Wilkinsons advert roles can be divided into three main types - Happy Housewife, Ex-Bloater and Woman Who No Longer Wets Herself.) Then at last, that happy day comes when a casting director realises that you are perfect for a meaty part in "Doctors" and, assuming that you play a character that is still alive, your career can really take off!
Now, if it's a bishop's mitre you desire, you ought to start with a belief in God. Some ecumenical colleges don't insist on that to a great degree, but you'll find it comes in quite handy as you go along. You may need to study quite hard at school, because your chosen profession will include "reading aloud" surprisingly often. Depending on what kind of bishop you want to be, you might not be allowed to give up Latin before GCSEs, either. A working knowledge of older English will be helpful, too, especially that silly way of writing the letter "s" in really old Bibles. Your future congregation will only be confused if you warn them to avoid Fatan and all his works. Need I add that your verger, Derek Fatan, will be the most confused?
OK, good exam results and it's on to college. There isn't too much to learn there... except ALL of The Bible! Try not to get bogged down in too much detail, and watch out for tricky questions in exams, like "Who is 'The Beast' referred to in Revelations?" Nailing that one down firmly will probably take several years and result in a multi-volume book, hardly achievable in the three hours allowed for the exam. What the examiners are looking for is a quick sketch to show that you've got the hang of things - although a cartoon may be stretching their patience a little. The rest of the classes are quite easy, though, being about how to do all the services, getting dressed up properly, writing sermons and swinging a censer without taking out half the choir. If nobody has mentioned it yet, now would be a
good time to find out whether bishops of your religion are expected to have no wife, one wife, or many wives.
After college, you'll probably start as a curate, or semi-vicar. Do all that is expected of you, keep your hands to yourself (really, I can't emphasise that aspect too much), and a parish of your own will be your reward. Still keeping your hands to yourself (honest, it's super important), do what you can to build up the number of regular worshippers, get yourself on lots of committees, write good sermons, write to the papers, write a book, but whatever you do, Get Noticed. In order to bolster your image as a deep thinker, memorise some simple phrases, like "That puts us in mind of the words of St Augustine of Hippo, doesn't it?" (Nobody knows the first thing about St Augustine of Hippo, but everyone knows his daft name. Trust me on this.)
Eventually, a Bishop will die and need to be replaced. With luck, assuming your Archbishop can't open a paper, watch the local news, or sit on any committee without seeing your shiny face, when he's asked for suggestion about a replacement, he'll... OK, could be "she'll", but that infers some pretty rapid enlightenment in a lot of religions, and a downright miracle in the others... he'll say "Well, what about thingummy, you know, the Augustine of Hippo feller? Seems fairly sound. Keeps his hands to himself, at least."
Your crook and mitre will then be assured.
Hope this helps!
> explicit instructions as to downloading, not about how to do
> actressy/bishopy things.
Oh, fuck...
Monday 28 October 2013
Archbishops and icecream
(Written 6/6/2011)
Choral Evensong at Portsmouth Cathedral tonight, for the interment of the ashes of our much-loved Bishop, Kenneth Stevenson. As with his funeral, there was a fair number of clergy from other dioceses, potentially leading to squabbles about who got to do what, but this time the incumbent of Lambeth Palace pulled rank and came along to do the actual interring. Yes, the Archbishop of Canterbury wanted to be involved, a mark of how respected and loved our Kenneth was in the religious community. That included the wider religious community, too, as there were several representatives of other faiths in the congregation, too.
Kenneth got leukaemia several years ago, fought it off twice, but then succumbed to pneumonia, eventually choosing to refrain from further treatment when it became clear that little, if anything, could be done to beat the pneumonia. The years spent staring death in the face and blowing raspberries at it gave him time to concentrate on two things - the Christian attitude to death, and planning every detail of his funeral and interment. Kenneth was a popular, and intellectual author of books about the journey of faith that Christians undertake, but many people regard his output of books, articles and sermons during the last few years of his life to be the finest them all. I'm no critic, and certainly no intellectual, but his reflections on the nature of death and what comes afterwards have made me think, persuaded me into new views, given me comfort and made me laugh.
I have written previously about my encounters with him, and how he showed me a way out of a deep hole I'd fallen into, with stern love and a belief in the essential goodness in all of us, so I won't revisit those rememberances. I'll simply say that Bishop Kenneth, in essence, was a loud and joyful noise - so much so, that when we sang the anthem "God Is Gone Up With A Triumphant Shout", Mum whispered to me "It's Kenneth set to music!"
The Dean of Chichester Cathedral gave the sermon, and sketched a fine portrait of the retired Bishop Ken he came to know. He was one of many who were at Kenneth's bedside on what was expected to be his last night in this world. Kenneth had taken Communion, been anointed with oil, and then, quite peacefully, fallen asleep. Everyone resigned themselves to the inevitable, gave thanks for a life well lived, and prayed for a gentle end.
At twenty past six the following morning Kenneth woke up, and started apologising profusely for still being here. Then he remembered - "It's Sunday! Have to celebrate Holy Eucharist!" The Mass was said, and Communion taken, the Host being bread from a patient's breakfast tray and Ribena from a vending machine. "And then," said the Dean, with a smile of great satisfaction, "It was champagne to the end." Kenneth loved champagne, he took a glass every day, even when he was very ill. The end came that Sunday - and it was gentle.
As I mentioned when recounting Bishop Kenneth's funeral, his detailed planning of that event included a glass of champagne for everyone who attended. Well, for his interment, he'd decided that we should all enjoy another of his pleasures, provided by one of his great friends.
Edward Minghella and his wife Gloria have been making icecream and screenwriters on the Isle of Wight for many years now. Their icecream is good, their screenwriter sons Anthony and Dominic are also good. The late Anthony, of course, won a Best Director Oscar for The English Patient. He also wrote Truly, Madly, Deeply, and the screenplay for The Talented Mr Ripley. Dominic wrote Doc Martin for ITV and Robin Hood for the BBC. It was Mr Minghella Senior's icecream that featured large after the interment, though.
Yes, after the service, we were all invited to enjoy a cornet of Bishop Ken's favourite Minghella confection - marzipan icecream. Had you walked into Portsmouth Cathedral a little after seven tonight, you would have found the Archbishop of Canterbury, assorted bishops and other clerics, officials of many religions, and a whole lot of other people who really, really liked Bishop Kenneth Stevenson... smiling, talking, and licking an icecream.
I tell you this. If, at my funeral or interment, my life could inspire one hundredth, one thousandth of the love and joyful daftness that graced our Cathedral tonight, I'd be honoured. I fully believe that God allows us to attend our own funerals, either to see the love that a well-lived life brings, or the paucity of feeling that attends a mean spirit. I believe, therefore, that Kenneth was with us, nudged by God into attendance with the words "After all, my friend - there'll be icecream!"
He was a lovely, lovely man.
Choral Evensong at Portsmouth Cathedral tonight, for the interment of the ashes of our much-loved Bishop, Kenneth Stevenson. As with his funeral, there was a fair number of clergy from other dioceses, potentially leading to squabbles about who got to do what, but this time the incumbent of Lambeth Palace pulled rank and came along to do the actual interring. Yes, the Archbishop of Canterbury wanted to be involved, a mark of how respected and loved our Kenneth was in the religious community. That included the wider religious community, too, as there were several representatives of other faiths in the congregation, too.
Kenneth got leukaemia several years ago, fought it off twice, but then succumbed to pneumonia, eventually choosing to refrain from further treatment when it became clear that little, if anything, could be done to beat the pneumonia. The years spent staring death in the face and blowing raspberries at it gave him time to concentrate on two things - the Christian attitude to death, and planning every detail of his funeral and interment. Kenneth was a popular, and intellectual author of books about the journey of faith that Christians undertake, but many people regard his output of books, articles and sermons during the last few years of his life to be the finest them all. I'm no critic, and certainly no intellectual, but his reflections on the nature of death and what comes afterwards have made me think, persuaded me into new views, given me comfort and made me laugh.
I have written previously about my encounters with him, and how he showed me a way out of a deep hole I'd fallen into, with stern love and a belief in the essential goodness in all of us, so I won't revisit those rememberances. I'll simply say that Bishop Kenneth, in essence, was a loud and joyful noise - so much so, that when we sang the anthem "God Is Gone Up With A Triumphant Shout", Mum whispered to me "It's Kenneth set to music!"
The Dean of Chichester Cathedral gave the sermon, and sketched a fine portrait of the retired Bishop Ken he came to know. He was one of many who were at Kenneth's bedside on what was expected to be his last night in this world. Kenneth had taken Communion, been anointed with oil, and then, quite peacefully, fallen asleep. Everyone resigned themselves to the inevitable, gave thanks for a life well lived, and prayed for a gentle end.
At twenty past six the following morning Kenneth woke up, and started apologising profusely for still being here. Then he remembered - "It's Sunday! Have to celebrate Holy Eucharist!" The Mass was said, and Communion taken, the Host being bread from a patient's breakfast tray and Ribena from a vending machine. "And then," said the Dean, with a smile of great satisfaction, "It was champagne to the end." Kenneth loved champagne, he took a glass every day, even when he was very ill. The end came that Sunday - and it was gentle.
As I mentioned when recounting Bishop Kenneth's funeral, his detailed planning of that event included a glass of champagne for everyone who attended. Well, for his interment, he'd decided that we should all enjoy another of his pleasures, provided by one of his great friends.
Edward Minghella and his wife Gloria have been making icecream and screenwriters on the Isle of Wight for many years now. Their icecream is good, their screenwriter sons Anthony and Dominic are also good. The late Anthony, of course, won a Best Director Oscar for The English Patient. He also wrote Truly, Madly, Deeply, and the screenplay for The Talented Mr Ripley. Dominic wrote Doc Martin for ITV and Robin Hood for the BBC. It was Mr Minghella Senior's icecream that featured large after the interment, though.
Yes, after the service, we were all invited to enjoy a cornet of Bishop Ken's favourite Minghella confection - marzipan icecream. Had you walked into Portsmouth Cathedral a little after seven tonight, you would have found the Archbishop of Canterbury, assorted bishops and other clerics, officials of many religions, and a whole lot of other people who really, really liked Bishop Kenneth Stevenson... smiling, talking, and licking an icecream.
I tell you this. If, at my funeral or interment, my life could inspire one hundredth, one thousandth of the love and joyful daftness that graced our Cathedral tonight, I'd be honoured. I fully believe that God allows us to attend our own funerals, either to see the love that a well-lived life brings, or the paucity of feeling that attends a mean spirit. I believe, therefore, that Kenneth was with us, nudged by God into attendance with the words "After all, my friend - there'll be icecream!"
He was a lovely, lovely man.
Sunday 27 October 2013
Selling the silver
(Written 11/6/2011)
I have a friend who buys and sells warships, and she put me on to this potential bargain:
(URL long expired)
Yes, it's the Ark Royal, listed on the Govt version of eBay. It'll go for some millions, but probably fewer than you'd expect, and well below cost price. It'll be sold to some friendly nation, or it will be sold for scrap. Not only do I think that this is wrong, it also goes to show how near-sighted the British Govt are.
Pray do not steel yourself for a rant about Britain needing aircraft carriers, or a wail about "selling off our heritage", or any sentimental crap. No, it's just daft to sell this particular asset when it could be put to a profitable use.
London is seriously short of heliports, particularly close to the City. So, moor the Ark Royal in the Thames and run it as a heliport. Also as a free home for the London Air Ambulance Service. Despite support from Virgin, they are short of cash. Plus, the Ark Royal could easily become a tourist attraction in the same way that HMS Belfast is.
(HMS Belfast forms a small part of the defence of London, as her well-maintained guns are trained on the M1 service area at Scratchwood, where forces invading from the north might be stopped, or severely embuggeranced. The Ark Royal has lots more guns. They'll be removed before the sale, together with all targeting systems. Keep the Ark Royal, though, moor it in the Thames, and several M25 junctions could be secured.)
Ah, but won't running the Ark Royal as a heliport and tourist attraction require some specialised staff? Too right, FUGgers, but luckily, thanks to Navy staff cuts, quite a lot of well-qualified people have suddenly and reluctantly entered the job market.
Here in Portsmouth, we have HMS Victory, in dry dock and welcoming paying visitors for nearly a century. The revenues generated by visitors now exceed the construction price and all operating costs during her active life, - even allowing for inflation. We also have the Mary Rose, and her lengthy and hugely expensive restoration has been paid for by the tourists who want to see her being restored. Nearby is HMS Warrior, restoration now fully paid by - oh, you guessed. Should you wish to see these three fine ships, it will cost you £26.00, but that doesn't seem to put people off.
Despite these fairly obvious examples, the Ark Royal will be sold to raise several millions and reduce the tax burden by roughly the same as the Govt will spend on bombing Libya during the remainder of this month. Daft, ain't it? When we could have a convenient heliport, quite a lot of jobs for ex-Navy people and a new tourist attraction for the cost of not selling something we own already?
This, though, is the problem with democratically-elected Governments. They have to try to win elections every five years, and the Ark Royal won't go into profit in that time. Oh, it will be a net asset in twenty years time, and will carry on being so for at least a hundred years more, but come the next election it will still represent a net loss and foolish Government spending. (Actually, if anything, it will represent foolish Government "not selling", but that kind of concept is too difficult for many voters to grasp.)
When I was on the National Trust tour, I saw many lovely gardens and parkland. The wealthy people who planted them did so for the future, because the vistas they planned would not mature during their lifetime. But then, they were not elected, and nobody questioned their spending, nor their not-selling.
There are many reasons to question this Coalitions' ability to govern Britain, and selling the Ark Royal is probably a small one. It's a damn good example, though.
I have a friend who buys and sells warships, and she put me on to this potential bargain:
(URL long expired)
Yes, it's the Ark Royal, listed on the Govt version of eBay. It'll go for some millions, but probably fewer than you'd expect, and well below cost price. It'll be sold to some friendly nation, or it will be sold for scrap. Not only do I think that this is wrong, it also goes to show how near-sighted the British Govt are.
Pray do not steel yourself for a rant about Britain needing aircraft carriers, or a wail about "selling off our heritage", or any sentimental crap. No, it's just daft to sell this particular asset when it could be put to a profitable use.
London is seriously short of heliports, particularly close to the City. So, moor the Ark Royal in the Thames and run it as a heliport. Also as a free home for the London Air Ambulance Service. Despite support from Virgin, they are short of cash. Plus, the Ark Royal could easily become a tourist attraction in the same way that HMS Belfast is.
(HMS Belfast forms a small part of the defence of London, as her well-maintained guns are trained on the M1 service area at Scratchwood, where forces invading from the north might be stopped, or severely embuggeranced. The Ark Royal has lots more guns. They'll be removed before the sale, together with all targeting systems. Keep the Ark Royal, though, moor it in the Thames, and several M25 junctions could be secured.)
Ah, but won't running the Ark Royal as a heliport and tourist attraction require some specialised staff? Too right, FUGgers, but luckily, thanks to Navy staff cuts, quite a lot of well-qualified people have suddenly and reluctantly entered the job market.
Here in Portsmouth, we have HMS Victory, in dry dock and welcoming paying visitors for nearly a century. The revenues generated by visitors now exceed the construction price and all operating costs during her active life, - even allowing for inflation. We also have the Mary Rose, and her lengthy and hugely expensive restoration has been paid for by the tourists who want to see her being restored. Nearby is HMS Warrior, restoration now fully paid by - oh, you guessed. Should you wish to see these three fine ships, it will cost you £26.00, but that doesn't seem to put people off.
Despite these fairly obvious examples, the Ark Royal will be sold to raise several millions and reduce the tax burden by roughly the same as the Govt will spend on bombing Libya during the remainder of this month. Daft, ain't it? When we could have a convenient heliport, quite a lot of jobs for ex-Navy people and a new tourist attraction for the cost of not selling something we own already?
This, though, is the problem with democratically-elected Governments. They have to try to win elections every five years, and the Ark Royal won't go into profit in that time. Oh, it will be a net asset in twenty years time, and will carry on being so for at least a hundred years more, but come the next election it will still represent a net loss and foolish Government spending. (Actually, if anything, it will represent foolish Government "not selling", but that kind of concept is too difficult for many voters to grasp.)
When I was on the National Trust tour, I saw many lovely gardens and parkland. The wealthy people who planted them did so for the future, because the vistas they planned would not mature during their lifetime. But then, they were not elected, and nobody questioned their spending, nor their not-selling.
There are many reasons to question this Coalitions' ability to govern Britain, and selling the Ark Royal is probably a small one. It's a damn good example, though.
Saturday 26 October 2013
That wanker Gove
(Written 27/6/2011, and still true today. Don't get me started on Free Schools.)
Forgive me for a moment, folks, while I leave my ragged trousers and socialist jacket at the door, because this is intended to be a non-political post. I will happily argue the left-wing view politely, recognising that we live under a democratic system, where all views are allowed. What annoys me, and often leads to much ranting, are Govts and Ministers who are just no damn good.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present one Michael Gove, wanker of the parish of Surrey Heath, and a man who does really bad impressions of a Secretary of State for Education. In a Cabinet of dithering wobble-bottoms, he stands out with a remarkable record of never getting anything right - and gracious, he's had to be particularly inept to emerge from the likes of William Hague (foreign policy still pretty much on the back of an envelope), Caroline Spellman and her useless, unworkable, voter-hating plan to sell off forests, Ken "Smarmy be-robed dribbling idiot" Clarke, Cheryl "Where's Wally?" Gillan and David Fotherington-Cameron ("Hello clouds, hello sky... on further consideration, there are no clouds, there is no sky, let's go back to where we were and start again. It is the strong choice.")
And yet, among this bunch of grinning lackwits, Michael Gove has risen to Tosser-in-Chief, by dint of working hard on being wrong on absolutely everything. This is the fool who claimed that 1,000 schools had applied for Academy status, when the total was actually 153. Noting the lack of obesity in our young people, he cut funding to School Sport Partnerships... then, when it was pointed out that children ought to run about a bit, especially the fat kids, plus Britain would like to win a few sporting trophies in ten years time, and "World Wheezing Championship" wasn't so much a sports competition but a World Health Organisation test of national fitness - he reinstated the funding.
Seeking other ways to promote education, Gove then stopped the funding of free books to three million children. Presumably, someone told him that one of the three "R"s stood for "reading", and one of the very basic tests of a good education is the ability to read, because he reinstated the grant. Two policies down the line, lots of meetings, considerable trousering of his £132,000 p.a. salary, result - well, nothing so far.
Gove also tried to stop the school re-building and repair programme, possibly on the basis that it could be taken over by Class 3b as a useful metalwork and woodwork project. This one, folks, went to the High Court, where Mr Justice Holman (yes, I looked that up) not only told Mr Wanker Gove that he couldn't do it, but also said that, in his view, the way that said Wanker Gove had gone about it "must be characterised as being so unfair as to amount to an abuse of power". So, three wickets for no score, then.
Moving on, Gove then removed the Education Maintenance Grant, the £30 a week payment to encourage older children to stay on at school and get some higher qualifications. Quite a lot of 17 year-olds who were half way through their A-level studies said "You what?", and Gove found himself back amongst the judiciary - who said "Pay up, you blithering idiot." I might add that they based a part of their judgement on a statement made by a Shadow Minister for Education (initials MG) when in opposition, viz - "I have never said that we will scrap the EMA. We won't."
He has, of course, recently argued that all schoolchildren ought to understand a few basic scientific principles, like Newton's Laws of Thermodynamics. Yes, you can see it coming, can't you? Newton did not say word one about thermodynamics, probably because they were only properly defined by Lord Kelvin in 1854. Mind, if Newton had only lived to the age of 211, I daresay he would have congratulated Kelvin. And if only he were alive today, I expect he'd say "This man is a fool. He obviously knows nothing of my work. He's probably a wanker."
And so, Michael Gove, winner of the Cabinet "most likely to be diagnosed with spongiform encephalitis" award despite stiff competition, idiot-in-chief to the Prime Minister, Secretary of State for Being As Useless As A Useless Thing Welded To Another Useless Thing In Such A Way As To Become Not Simply Twice As Useless But A Fire Hazard With Sharp Edges, Too (anyone else think that was getting away from me a bit? About half way through? I did.), then arrived at his next brilliant plan. What's better than some money? More money, of course! In fact, when you think about it, having more of almost everything is usually better, thought the infant Gove, as he played with his bricks. More education has to be better than some education, obviously.
Which is why he floated the proposal to extend the teaching year to 49 weeks, on the basis that giving children more education will mean better exam results. Yeah, that one floated for hardly any time at all before a nasty gurgle announced another policy going down with all hands, and still not one single advance in education since taking office.
The wanker Gove has now realised that some teachers will be going on strike next week because, as they are public servants, they're being asked to work longer and pay more for the pensions that they agreed to pay more for a few years ago. Naturally, Gove has sprung into action, and asked "Why can't Mums go into school and teach in place of the striking lefties?" At this point, a civil servant muttered "Er, Little Ted's Nursery, remember?" and the Secretary of State almost shouted, "I mean, why can't CRB checked Mums go into school and teach? I shall recruit a 'Mums Army' to keep schools open!"
Obviously, the schools are going to shut, because, going on his record so far, if Gove thought of it, it's certainly unworkable, quite probably more expensive and has every chance of being unlawful. It's easy to dismiss the idea as one more blithering suggestion from this waste of good blood and organs. Yet, examine the suggestion more closely, and what do we find but the inner workings of the mind of our Secretary of State for Education. He not only thinks that anyone can teach, a worrying thought at best, he thinks that teaching is woman's work - and that there is an Army of Mums who have the spare time to pop into schools for a few days and take over teaching differential calculus, design and technology, art theory and practice, English Literature, several languages and, for all I know, the
finer points of Homer to children studying for GCSEs and higher qualifications. Which, when you consider that he's supposed to know a bit about what happens in our schools, and how much teachers have to know before they are allowed near a trusting young mind - after all, that's what he's paid £132,000 a year to know about - is staggering, to say the least. A lesser man might ask, "So what the hell has this wanker been doing during his year in office?" What I say is, "Why the hell do we tolerate this amatuer?"
See, I may not like what a Government does, I may argue, organise and march against it, but I really do feel that I have the right to demand that they actually do something to justify the cost of having someone in charge.
Otherwise, we might just as well leave everything alone, let the Governer of the Bank of England twiddle with interest rates and the money supply, and give the millions saved to the widows and orphans fund. And if ever there was a figurehead for this vacant, useless, feckless, worthless, incompetent Coalition of goat-botherers, you need look no further than a pinhead announcing another crackpot policy, no longer even trying to get a ball over the net, just trying to serve something that doesn't brain the umpire.
Friends, I present Michael Gove. A wanker.
Forgive me for a moment, folks, while I leave my ragged trousers and socialist jacket at the door, because this is intended to be a non-political post. I will happily argue the left-wing view politely, recognising that we live under a democratic system, where all views are allowed. What annoys me, and often leads to much ranting, are Govts and Ministers who are just no damn good.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present one Michael Gove, wanker of the parish of Surrey Heath, and a man who does really bad impressions of a Secretary of State for Education. In a Cabinet of dithering wobble-bottoms, he stands out with a remarkable record of never getting anything right - and gracious, he's had to be particularly inept to emerge from the likes of William Hague (foreign policy still pretty much on the back of an envelope), Caroline Spellman and her useless, unworkable, voter-hating plan to sell off forests, Ken "Smarmy be-robed dribbling idiot" Clarke, Cheryl "Where's Wally?" Gillan and David Fotherington-Cameron ("Hello clouds, hello sky... on further consideration, there are no clouds, there is no sky, let's go back to where we were and start again. It is the strong choice.")
And yet, among this bunch of grinning lackwits, Michael Gove has risen to Tosser-in-Chief, by dint of working hard on being wrong on absolutely everything. This is the fool who claimed that 1,000 schools had applied for Academy status, when the total was actually 153. Noting the lack of obesity in our young people, he cut funding to School Sport Partnerships... then, when it was pointed out that children ought to run about a bit, especially the fat kids, plus Britain would like to win a few sporting trophies in ten years time, and "World Wheezing Championship" wasn't so much a sports competition but a World Health Organisation test of national fitness - he reinstated the funding.
Seeking other ways to promote education, Gove then stopped the funding of free books to three million children. Presumably, someone told him that one of the three "R"s stood for "reading", and one of the very basic tests of a good education is the ability to read, because he reinstated the grant. Two policies down the line, lots of meetings, considerable trousering of his £132,000 p.a. salary, result - well, nothing so far.
Gove also tried to stop the school re-building and repair programme, possibly on the basis that it could be taken over by Class 3b as a useful metalwork and woodwork project. This one, folks, went to the High Court, where Mr Justice Holman (yes, I looked that up) not only told Mr Wanker Gove that he couldn't do it, but also said that, in his view, the way that said Wanker Gove had gone about it "must be characterised as being so unfair as to amount to an abuse of power". So, three wickets for no score, then.
Moving on, Gove then removed the Education Maintenance Grant, the £30 a week payment to encourage older children to stay on at school and get some higher qualifications. Quite a lot of 17 year-olds who were half way through their A-level studies said "You what?", and Gove found himself back amongst the judiciary - who said "Pay up, you blithering idiot." I might add that they based a part of their judgement on a statement made by a Shadow Minister for Education (initials MG) when in opposition, viz - "I have never said that we will scrap the EMA. We won't."
He has, of course, recently argued that all schoolchildren ought to understand a few basic scientific principles, like Newton's Laws of Thermodynamics. Yes, you can see it coming, can't you? Newton did not say word one about thermodynamics, probably because they were only properly defined by Lord Kelvin in 1854. Mind, if Newton had only lived to the age of 211, I daresay he would have congratulated Kelvin. And if only he were alive today, I expect he'd say "This man is a fool. He obviously knows nothing of my work. He's probably a wanker."
And so, Michael Gove, winner of the Cabinet "most likely to be diagnosed with spongiform encephalitis" award despite stiff competition, idiot-in-chief to the Prime Minister, Secretary of State for Being As Useless As A Useless Thing Welded To Another Useless Thing In Such A Way As To Become Not Simply Twice As Useless But A Fire Hazard With Sharp Edges, Too (anyone else think that was getting away from me a bit? About half way through? I did.), then arrived at his next brilliant plan. What's better than some money? More money, of course! In fact, when you think about it, having more of almost everything is usually better, thought the infant Gove, as he played with his bricks. More education has to be better than some education, obviously.
Which is why he floated the proposal to extend the teaching year to 49 weeks, on the basis that giving children more education will mean better exam results. Yeah, that one floated for hardly any time at all before a nasty gurgle announced another policy going down with all hands, and still not one single advance in education since taking office.
The wanker Gove has now realised that some teachers will be going on strike next week because, as they are public servants, they're being asked to work longer and pay more for the pensions that they agreed to pay more for a few years ago. Naturally, Gove has sprung into action, and asked "Why can't Mums go into school and teach in place of the striking lefties?" At this point, a civil servant muttered "Er, Little Ted's Nursery, remember?" and the Secretary of State almost shouted, "I mean, why can't CRB checked Mums go into school and teach? I shall recruit a 'Mums Army' to keep schools open!"
Obviously, the schools are going to shut, because, going on his record so far, if Gove thought of it, it's certainly unworkable, quite probably more expensive and has every chance of being unlawful. It's easy to dismiss the idea as one more blithering suggestion from this waste of good blood and organs. Yet, examine the suggestion more closely, and what do we find but the inner workings of the mind of our Secretary of State for Education. He not only thinks that anyone can teach, a worrying thought at best, he thinks that teaching is woman's work - and that there is an Army of Mums who have the spare time to pop into schools for a few days and take over teaching differential calculus, design and technology, art theory and practice, English Literature, several languages and, for all I know, the
finer points of Homer to children studying for GCSEs and higher qualifications. Which, when you consider that he's supposed to know a bit about what happens in our schools, and how much teachers have to know before they are allowed near a trusting young mind - after all, that's what he's paid £132,000 a year to know about - is staggering, to say the least. A lesser man might ask, "So what the hell has this wanker been doing during his year in office?" What I say is, "Why the hell do we tolerate this amatuer?"
See, I may not like what a Government does, I may argue, organise and march against it, but I really do feel that I have the right to demand that they actually do something to justify the cost of having someone in charge.
Otherwise, we might just as well leave everything alone, let the Governer of the Bank of England twiddle with interest rates and the money supply, and give the millions saved to the widows and orphans fund. And if ever there was a figurehead for this vacant, useless, feckless, worthless, incompetent Coalition of goat-botherers, you need look no further than a pinhead announcing another crackpot policy, no longer even trying to get a ball over the net, just trying to serve something that doesn't brain the umpire.
Friends, I present Michael Gove. A wanker.
Friday 25 October 2013
Linux
(Written 7/7/2011)
I have just seen the following posted by my brother on Facebook: "Just got Miro working on my new Ubuntu system, but seeing that I've got Charlotte Gainsbourg's Af607105 in my music collection makes me think everything might not have transferred as well as it could have."
Now, I have mentioned Ian here often enough. He's a vegetarian, technical librarian Green Party member who is one of a group converting an old light industrial site into co-housing, carbon-neutral homes, and to his credit, he's not smug at all. If you see him at Cropredy, it won't be at his modern sewn-in groundsheet tent, because he brings his home-made yurt, constructed from stout branches, tarpaulin and much rope. He's also a trained blacksmith, so if wood, tarpaulin and rope isn't an effective enough means of construction, he can knock something together with metal, too. I love him as a brother - indeed, I'm damned lucky to have him as a relative - and I respect his commitment to his principles.
Why, though, does he have to deliberately make his life complicated? As you know, folks, I never generalise, but Linux-based products are only used by people who look forward to solving big PC problems. And then lots of smaller problems. Now, I don't claim that Windows is entirely problem-free, but there's a reason why it's the industry standard, and why 95% of all companies use the Windows platform to distribute their IT applications. And that reason is that everything works on Windows for pretty much all of the time.
There's a strong theoretical argument for Linux operating systems - they're developed by hundreds of thousands of people, some of them being exceptionally clever, and anyone can have a bit of a tinker around because the code behind them is freely available. Most of the Linux OS's are supplied for no charge, whereas Windows 7 for a home PC costs £85.
In the real world, though, that's like buying a car that has been developed by several really good engineers and anyone else who fancied having a go at doing some engineering in their spare time. A car that has endless, tiny, upgrades for every single part, all free, but all of them user-installed and not all of them strictly roadworthy - although it is hoped that the car/tree interface will be addressed in a future upgrade. The car is available in several models, from the basic "Don't touch this and it will get you from A to B very safely but let's not expect too much, eh?" version, right up to the Clarkson Group "Berzerker!", which provides blistering performance with superior bells and whistles but tends to go badly wrong quite often, requiring extensive maintenance. (A Lotus, in other words.)
I can't write about Linux from experience, because I only have two computers. My PC runs rock-solid old versions of applications on an XP platform, and that's what I do most of my work on. My laptop has the latest versions of the apps, and it runs on Vista. As soon as Windows 7 becomes an industry standard, I'll upgrade it. If I had a third, I might be tempted to try Linux, but it would only be for the experience, because knowledge of Linux has virtually no value in the commercial world.
It is, theoretically, a worthwhile project, with many good-hearted people working on it, and many evangelic supporters. Linux, though, is the Esperanto of the computing world - easy to get hold of, its aim to bring communities together on a level playing field and enabling the free sharing of knowledge and skills. The only drawback being that most people don't speak it.
As for Ian and his mp3-playing difficulties, I recommended he download iTunes. Apparently, "There isn't a Linux version of iTunes". Or, to put it a different way, not one single Linux developer, analyst or programmer has bothered to find a way of running a free application on their many free operating systems. Although, to be fair, some of them have spent quite a lot of time developing an alternative "open source" mp3 player that can take on the tyranny imposed by the freely downloadable iTunes.
Honestly, it's like spending thousands of hours trying to develop an alternative version of the square. For people who think that "alternative" means "better".
I have just seen the following posted by my brother on Facebook: "Just got Miro working on my new Ubuntu system, but seeing that I've got Charlotte Gainsbourg's Af607105 in my music collection makes me think everything might not have transferred as well as it could have."
Now, I have mentioned Ian here often enough. He's a vegetarian, technical librarian Green Party member who is one of a group converting an old light industrial site into co-housing, carbon-neutral homes, and to his credit, he's not smug at all. If you see him at Cropredy, it won't be at his modern sewn-in groundsheet tent, because he brings his home-made yurt, constructed from stout branches, tarpaulin and much rope. He's also a trained blacksmith, so if wood, tarpaulin and rope isn't an effective enough means of construction, he can knock something together with metal, too. I love him as a brother - indeed, I'm damned lucky to have him as a relative - and I respect his commitment to his principles.
Why, though, does he have to deliberately make his life complicated? As you know, folks, I never generalise, but Linux-based products are only used by people who look forward to solving big PC problems. And then lots of smaller problems. Now, I don't claim that Windows is entirely problem-free, but there's a reason why it's the industry standard, and why 95% of all companies use the Windows platform to distribute their IT applications. And that reason is that everything works on Windows for pretty much all of the time.
There's a strong theoretical argument for Linux operating systems - they're developed by hundreds of thousands of people, some of them being exceptionally clever, and anyone can have a bit of a tinker around because the code behind them is freely available. Most of the Linux OS's are supplied for no charge, whereas Windows 7 for a home PC costs £85.
In the real world, though, that's like buying a car that has been developed by several really good engineers and anyone else who fancied having a go at doing some engineering in their spare time. A car that has endless, tiny, upgrades for every single part, all free, but all of them user-installed and not all of them strictly roadworthy - although it is hoped that the car/tree interface will be addressed in a future upgrade. The car is available in several models, from the basic "Don't touch this and it will get you from A to B very safely but let's not expect too much, eh?" version, right up to the Clarkson Group "Berzerker!", which provides blistering performance with superior bells and whistles but tends to go badly wrong quite often, requiring extensive maintenance. (A Lotus, in other words.)
I can't write about Linux from experience, because I only have two computers. My PC runs rock-solid old versions of applications on an XP platform, and that's what I do most of my work on. My laptop has the latest versions of the apps, and it runs on Vista. As soon as Windows 7 becomes an industry standard, I'll upgrade it. If I had a third, I might be tempted to try Linux, but it would only be for the experience, because knowledge of Linux has virtually no value in the commercial world.
It is, theoretically, a worthwhile project, with many good-hearted people working on it, and many evangelic supporters. Linux, though, is the Esperanto of the computing world - easy to get hold of, its aim to bring communities together on a level playing field and enabling the free sharing of knowledge and skills. The only drawback being that most people don't speak it.
As for Ian and his mp3-playing difficulties, I recommended he download iTunes. Apparently, "There isn't a Linux version of iTunes". Or, to put it a different way, not one single Linux developer, analyst or programmer has bothered to find a way of running a free application on their many free operating systems. Although, to be fair, some of them have spent quite a lot of time developing an alternative "open source" mp3 player that can take on the tyranny imposed by the freely downloadable iTunes.
Honestly, it's like spending thousands of hours trying to develop an alternative version of the square. For people who think that "alternative" means "better".
Saturday 12 October 2013
That Higgs Boson
(Written 14/12/2011, in response to a conversation in the group I share my stuff with. Most of them write better than I do.)
> Imagine what other fundamental particles there might be: the moron (the
> fundamental particle of stupidity),
I believe you'll find that's the Groupon.
On an only slightly more serious note, thank goodness there seems to be tentative evidence of the existence of the particle that provides the missing mass for all other particles. I have it from a trusted source that the International Society of Top Boffins really didn't fancy going back and weighing the universe again. The travel is apparently very tedious, although the expenses are remarkably good.
Then there'd be the task of dividing the weight/mass of the universe by the number of atomic particles in it, to determine the mass of the average particle - again! This requires a special team who can count in zeros, because "Hang on... was that ten to the power of 4026821 or 4026820?" doesn't really cut it in scientific circles. Lest you doubt this, I'll remind you that I have trained mathematicians at Imperial College. (On re-reading the last sentence, I should make it clear that I did some training for mathematicians, not that I keep a pack of snarling Boolian algebra commandos in West Kensington, ready to pounce at my order.)
So it looks like there's good evidence that the universe works the way we think it does, and that everything from gravitational field theory to electromagnetism can still be explained without recourse to "And then a miracle happens..."
On the other hand, if the evidence proves false and there is no particle that adds mass to atoms, I will actually weigh considerably less. So that's a win either way. (I tried out some digital scales at a shop earlier today, scales that announce your weight in your choice of voices. Apparently, I weigh "Warranty void".)
Y'know, with my grasp of science, particle theory and quantum, I could be the next Professor Brian Cox! All I need is a hit single!
> Imagine what other fundamental particles there might be: the moron (the
> fundamental particle of stupidity),
I believe you'll find that's the Groupon.
On an only slightly more serious note, thank goodness there seems to be tentative evidence of the existence of the particle that provides the missing mass for all other particles. I have it from a trusted source that the International Society of Top Boffins really didn't fancy going back and weighing the universe again. The travel is apparently very tedious, although the expenses are remarkably good.
Then there'd be the task of dividing the weight/mass of the universe by the number of atomic particles in it, to determine the mass of the average particle - again! This requires a special team who can count in zeros, because "Hang on... was that ten to the power of 4026821 or 4026820?" doesn't really cut it in scientific circles. Lest you doubt this, I'll remind you that I have trained mathematicians at Imperial College. (On re-reading the last sentence, I should make it clear that I did some training for mathematicians, not that I keep a pack of snarling Boolian algebra commandos in West Kensington, ready to pounce at my order.)
So it looks like there's good evidence that the universe works the way we think it does, and that everything from gravitational field theory to electromagnetism can still be explained without recourse to "And then a miracle happens..."
On the other hand, if the evidence proves false and there is no particle that adds mass to atoms, I will actually weigh considerably less. So that's a win either way. (I tried out some digital scales at a shop earlier today, scales that announce your weight in your choice of voices. Apparently, I weigh "Warranty void".)
Y'know, with my grasp of science, particle theory and quantum, I could be the next Professor Brian Cox! All I need is a hit single!
Friday 11 October 2013
A Night With The Stars, aka Baffled Babba
(Written 19/12/2011)
Did anyone else see this programme tonight? And if so, can they explain it to me, because I got lost just after Professor Brian Cox dropped the apple - which hit the floor because it was trying to achieve a lower energy state, rather than due to the effect of gravity. Now I know that Newton has been supplanted by others in the Physics Hit Parade, and even dear old Einstein is no longer the chart-topper he used to be, but surely the law of gravity hasn't been repealed, has it? I mean, it would be in the papers, surely?
By the time he brought in Planck's Constant (without previous reference or any kind of explanation) to prove that a lump of diamond could jump out of a closed box, but it would take six times ten to the power of 27 seconds to do so, I was completely awash and going down by the stern. Mathematics has never been my strong point, so I was interested to learn that six times ten to the power of 27 seconds is a span greater than the age of the Universe - by quite a lot of time, except that time didn't exist before the Big Bang, so we're pretty much groping in the... er, whatever was pre-Big Bang.
Anyhow, that nugget has been stored away against a conversation where I can drop it in, to much solemn nodding. Mind, now that I'm no longer on speaking terms with Stephen Hawking after the incident with the horse and the balloon, I daresay that conversation will never happen.
But I digress... after watching "A Night With The Stars", all I know is that most of everything is composed of empty space. And by "most", I mean 99.9999999999999%, and that goes for all of us humans and everything that surrounds us. Honestly, we ought to be able to walk through walls, and the only reason why we don't slip through the Earth to burn horribly at its molten core is due to the repeal of the law of gravity, probably. Oh, and that every single molecule in the Universe is in communication with every other one, which makes TNT's parcel delivery charges a farce, as proved by rubbing a diamond, I think.
Oh, and that "quantum" means "Everything you know is wrong. Also, it's a licence to set James May on fire."
Did anyone else see this programme tonight? And if so, can they explain it to me, because I got lost just after Professor Brian Cox dropped the apple - which hit the floor because it was trying to achieve a lower energy state, rather than due to the effect of gravity. Now I know that Newton has been supplanted by others in the Physics Hit Parade, and even dear old Einstein is no longer the chart-topper he used to be, but surely the law of gravity hasn't been repealed, has it? I mean, it would be in the papers, surely?
By the time he brought in Planck's Constant (without previous reference or any kind of explanation) to prove that a lump of diamond could jump out of a closed box, but it would take six times ten to the power of 27 seconds to do so, I was completely awash and going down by the stern. Mathematics has never been my strong point, so I was interested to learn that six times ten to the power of 27 seconds is a span greater than the age of the Universe - by quite a lot of time, except that time didn't exist before the Big Bang, so we're pretty much groping in the... er, whatever was pre-Big Bang.
Anyhow, that nugget has been stored away against a conversation where I can drop it in, to much solemn nodding. Mind, now that I'm no longer on speaking terms with Stephen Hawking after the incident with the horse and the balloon, I daresay that conversation will never happen.
But I digress... after watching "A Night With The Stars", all I know is that most of everything is composed of empty space. And by "most", I mean 99.9999999999999%, and that goes for all of us humans and everything that surrounds us. Honestly, we ought to be able to walk through walls, and the only reason why we don't slip through the Earth to burn horribly at its molten core is due to the repeal of the law of gravity, probably. Oh, and that every single molecule in the Universe is in communication with every other one, which makes TNT's parcel delivery charges a farce, as proved by rubbing a diamond, I think.
Oh, and that "quantum" means "Everything you know is wrong. Also, it's a licence to set James May on fire."
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