About 10 years ago, a some friends of mine were exchanging a computer system.
The receiver of the computer had never had one before, and knew next to nothing about the internet, which, it is interesting to note, was not uncommon 10 years ago. He asked what the internet was all about.
I suggested that it was mainly about 3 things- making money, mad religion and perhaps most of all, sex.
He was most taken with the later of the three, and asked what I meant by sex.
I replied that every sexual perversion known (and a few that are not) was available at the click of a button.
Unable to resist, he asked “Like what?”
Not wanting to reveal any expertise whatsoever, I asked him for suggestions. He (rather quickly I felt) came up with sex with donkeys.
Quick as a flash, my other friend typed into the address bar http://www.donk…….. (best not complete the link just in case I lead you into temptation!)
And there is was.
Which kind of made the point. And then some.
A few months ago, in response to the hysteria around the Olympics, I posted a poem called ‘Cheerleading’ (here).
This item is the most popular one I ever wrote in terms of the ‘hits’ it receives. It has a picture of some Cheerleaders, but I can not imagine that most of the people who visit this post linger there for very long. Poetry probably amounts to a big disappointment.
Which brings me, in a round about way, to the point of this post. A question-
There is one other thing that occurs to me- the viewing of pornography is clearly something that is common to many men (and some women.) It seems at least possible that this secretive and shameful activity is as common amongst Christians as without. It is just that we are even less likely to be open and honest about it. Which will almost certainly make the activity even more secretive and compulsive.
If this is an issue with you, or you just want to protect your computer from uses that you are unhappy with- then you might like to check out X3 watch.
What is happening in the economic world? The news is full of competing ‘expert’ voices- some seeking to reassure and proclaim business as usual, others taking on the role of doom mongers, proclaiming the end of the world as we know it. If the later group are to be believed, then pretty soon we will have to throw away our plastic and start bartering with chickens and baskets of logs…
Whoever we believe, it seems clear that there are huge changes afoot. Here is a quote from this article from The Independent newspaper…
The Western world is in an economic crisis similar in scale to the oil shock of 1973. What we are seeing is nothing less than the unravelling of neo-liberalism – the dominant economic and ideological model of the last 30 years.
The disintegration of Anglo-Saxon-inspired markets has come about largely because of the confluence of two tendencies of the “free market”: speculation and monopoly capitalism. Contrary to received opinion, free markets – unless subject to civil regulation, asset distribution and persistent intervention – always tend to monopoly.
Similarly, there is nothing inherently efficient about free markets – they do not of themselves promote sound investment or wise management. Rather, when markets are conceived wholly in terms of price and return, and when asset wealth and the leverage that this provides becomes as concentrated as it was in the 19th century (which is a scenario we are approaching), then markets encourage nothing other than gambling masking itself as sound investment.
Regulation?
In the free market? What would Thatcher say?
Is this finally the time when the stranglehold that neoliberal thinking has had on the economic world for the last 30 years is broken?
Will the IMF and the World Bank stop deifying the free market?
There seems to be a resurgence of confidence in the old leftist politicians- check out this article from the Guardian newspaper- and the quotes taken from is below;
Sadly, I don’t think this will be the end of capitalism. But there is going to have to be a return to a much, much more interventionist state. As a system for the distribution and exchange of goods, you can’t beat the market. But the mistake a lot of politicians have made is to think that because the market was good at that, it could be good at everything: it could train workers, create infrastructure, protect the environment, regulate itself. Quite obviously, it can’t.
Ken Livingstone, former mayor of London.
I remember the 1930s. What the Depression did then was to stimulate antisemitism. I met Oswald Mosley in 1928 when he was a Labour MP. The next time I met him he was wearing a blackshirt. Where there is fear, there is scapegoating, and that is very dangerous.
Blair and Brown based their politics on a belief in the market: the market answered all your needs and the state had to be kept out. That confidence has now collapsed and New Labour is seen for what it is. You can’t, as New Labour believed, nurse capitalism.
Tony Benn
What next then? Is Tony Benn right, and we live in a time when fear could stimulate the rise of hate politics, where we look again for scapegoats, and we retreat into our tribal enclosures and look with loathing at those outside? History warns us of our tendency look for messiah figures who appeal to the base instincts of the human animal.
Time will tell…
But as for me, the uncertainty and fear that such change brings into our lives is combined with an excitement over the dawning of something new. Capitalism is not dead- but it will not be the same.
If you have seen any of Loach’s other films, you will know roughly what to expect- beautifully filmed characterisations in intimate detail- with improvised scripts and wonderful acting. This film was no exception. Loach has this way of making you squirm uncomfortably, whilst you laugh indulgently, and in fully sympathy with the characters in all their very human flaws and failings. His films can be bleak, but somehow also kind, and life afirming.
This one follows the life of the main character- the wonderful Poppy, a teacher, whose niceness almost verges on the psychotic. But you come to love her even as you wince at her dizziness.
I heard Loach being interviewed about this film on release, along with a wider discussion about the nature of happiness, both as an individual, and in the collective. This is the source material for this film…
According to Professor Diener the evidence suggests that happy people live longer than depressed people.”In one study, the difference was nine years between the happiest group and the unhappiest group, so that’s a huge effect. Cigarette smoking can knock a few years off your life, three years, if you really smoke a lot, six years.So nine years for happiness is a huge effect.”
Happiness seems to have almost magical properties. We have not got proof, but the science suggests it leads to long life, health, resilience and good performance.
Scientists work by comparing people’s reported happiness and a host of other factors such as age, sex, marital status, religion, health, income, unemployment and so on.
In survey after survey involving huge groups of people, significant correlations between happiness and some other factors are repeated. At the moment scientists cannot prove causation, whether for example people are healthy because they are happy, or whether people are happy because they are healthy. However, psychologists have been able to identify some very strong links.
Standard of living has increased dramatically and happiness has increased not at all Professor Daniel Kahneman, University of Princeton.
There seems to be a strange truth in this research- if you are happy, if you set your life towards good and positive things- if you seek the good in people around you, and look to bring it out- if you spend time with your friends and love well- if you refuse to give up hope for the world around you, and choose to emphasise the good news rather than the bad.
These things will transform life. Even extend it.
This is not the same thing as living under the positive police, and is certainly no promise that you will not be hurt along the way.
So, lets all be Poppys. If not Polyannas.
It seems to me to have something of the Kingdom of God about it…
My closest friends know that I have this secret addiction. Some would describe it as an affliction.
It is called… cricket.
If all sport is distraction then it seems to me that cricket is one of the best ways to waste time. Today, for instance, is Saturday. The weather has closed in outside and the rain is rattling against the windows. We have an empty house after a week full of family and hard work re-plumbing. The house is warm and the kids happy.
And India are playing Australia in the heat of the Punjab- brought to me by the power of TV here in autumnal Scotland. India are in the ascendancy after a drawn first test match. The Genius Sachin Tendulkar has broken the record by compiling the most runs scored by a batsman in a career, and two spin bowlers are twirling away in the kind of attritional subtle cricket that Indians excel at.
Some of you will not have a clue what I am talking about. Others will already be curling a sardonic smile at my stupidity for suggesting that cricket is worth watching. It is like watching paint dry you say. Here in Scotland, despite the fact that cricket is still played, most people love to have a go at the game. Perhaps this is because cricket is seen as an English game- conjuring up images of imperialism and empire.
This makes little sense- as the powerhouse of cricket has shifted permanently east- where it is the obsession of millions of Pakistani’s and Indians. English teams have become famous for getting well beaten all around the world.
In Scotland, cricket was the most popular sport with working people until around 1900, when that other English invention- football- began to take over. Celtic bought the site of their football stadium from a cricket club.
Well, I thought I would indulge in a little cricket apologetics… For the sake of the argument, I will limit the discussion to international cricket.
Cricket is boring. Some of the games last for 5 DAYS for heaven’s sake!
Test matches do indeed last 5 days. Most purists think this is the ultimate test of skill, captaincy, stamina and strategy. These matches are full of individual one-on-one battles of wit and talent, and the whole thing ebbs and flows with high drama and tension. It is a team game, played out by individuals. Strategy is everything, and the captain’s role is crucial.
Like all things- this will indeed be boring if you do not understand what you are watching- and test matches are not for everyone. Numbers attending have been falling around the world- apart from India, and surprisingly, England, where matches are sold out routinely.
But there are also one day matches- where each team has one innings of 50 overs (each over is 6 balls). whole different set of skills and talents need to be honed.
The current craze is for 20/20 cricket though- each side facing only 20 overs. This is frenetic, crash bang whallop stuff, often played under lights in the evening. Not for the purists, but great fun and seems to be a marketing phenomenon.
It is not a sport- people walk about in white clothes in the sunshine. You can be fat and still play cricket. It is a soft game played by wimps.
Anyone who has ever tried to bowl fast, or face a ball bowled by someone who knows what they are doing and is out to hurt you, will suggest that cricket can be a serious business. At the highest level it demands great fitness, huge concentration, and above all things, strength of character.
It was the West Indian bowlers of the 70’s and 80’s whose tall fast bowlers terrified and humbled cricketers around the world. The bouncer, aimed at up into the ribs of the batsman, or whistling into the odd nose, became stock in trade. Most batsman since these days, despite helmets, padding and glove, walk from the field covered in bruises. This summer a wicked bouncer from James Anderson knocked the teeth from an unfortunate New Zealand batsman. And we were all impressed.
See if you think you could face this kind of pressure. Here is England’s talisman in full flow
Cricket is all about snobbery and English stiff upper lip affectation. It lacks passion and real emotion.
Nonsense.
Cricket is played all over the world (unlike the American baseball so-called ‘world series’) and different nations bring their own characteristics to the the game. So the West Indians bring a calypso cavalier brilliance, the Australians bring ruthless professional gritty determination to win, the New Zealanders somehow maximise the mixed bag of limited talent through working as a close team, and the English- well expectations are usually exceeded by achievements.
Then there is the fine art of sledging- the practice of teasing, humiliating and abusing the batsman. The Australians became past masters at this- a ring of foul mouthed close fielders for whom nothing was off limits. It was criticised around the world- particularly by the ‘whinging poms’ as the English were termed by the Australian media. And damn it- the Aussies kept winning!
But sledging is here to stay- here is another bit of Flintoff. The famous ‘mind the windows Tino’ episode. You decide whether English cricket is soft and gentlemanly!
Cricket is a waste of time.
I could go on about the old imperial stereotypes of preparation for life by the building of character- but of course, cricket is indeed a waste of time.
But there are so many others. I reckon this is better than most.
In the dying days of the ill fated Labour government in the late 1970’s, a report was commissioned from Sir Douglas Black into the causes and potential solutions to the inequalities in the health of the people of Britain.
This report, known as the Black report has become infamous amongst political and social scientists.
By the time the report had been completed, Thatcher had been swept into power on a platform of promises to break the power of the Unions, and to cut and control public expenditure. The report must have landed on her desk like an old kipper The Government wanted to bury it, but eventually released it on a bank holiday Monday, with a minimum of publicity. The report was never published- instead 260 photocopies were made available.
What was so controversial?
Black provided convincing figures that showed what many suspected—that the poorest had the highest rates of ill health and death. He argued that these rates could not be explained solely by income, education, mobility, or lifestyle, but were also caused by a lack of a coordinated policy that would ensure uniform delivery of services. He recommended health goals, tax changes, benefit increases, and restrictions on the sale and advertising of tobacco. Patrick Jenkin, the social services secretary, estimated with a shudder that Black’s proposals, which he hinted were little short of outrageous, would cost an unthinkable £2bn a year.
Leaving aside the economic questions raised by the cost of Trident nuclear weapons systems, or a war in the Falklands, the real political dynamite of this report was simply this- poverty makes people ill, and many of them die young.
This report was not talking about people who living marginal existences in sub-Saharan Africa- it was describing families living in one of the richest countries in the world- the worlds first industrialised country- Great Britain.
The Black report was not alone in reaching this conclusion. 28 years later World Health Organisation figures record a gap of 10 years between affluent Kensington and Chelsea, and post industrial Glasgow. Check out this article from the BBC.
This hides the real issues though- the figures represent areas, not individuals at risk. For example, if you are a homeless rough sleeper, your life expectancy is 42 years.
There have been many discussions about how poverty leads to poor health in Britain. Poor diets, obesity, poor education, poor housing, unequal access to health services, stress- all these no doubt play a part- but the common issue that even the New Labour administration are not happy to dwell on is… poverty.
I do not intend to get into a discussion about how we define poverty- the whole relative or absolute thing. Poverty, once seen, is recognised by most of us. It is easy to blame. It is easy to be repelled and repulsed by squalid living.
Because poverty brutalises.
I have worked as a social worker for all my adult life. I have seen people living in conditions that are hard to believe. A man who lived in a house with a broken overflowing toilet for 15 years. A young woman whose body was broken by drug use and prostitution to the extent that she simply forgot to eat. A woman who was so caught up in her need to escape that she drinks the alcohol based handwashes in the hospital. And many many people who live in fear of a loss of benefit, because life is so marginal- with choices to be made over whether to feed the electricity meter, or the cat, or sometimes- the kids.
These people are not described as poor. We now talk about ‘social exclusion’. Almost as if we stopped inviting them to parties.
There are no easy answers. This, I think, is the reason that Jesus said the the poor would always be with us– and why the early church seemed to have at it’s very heart a desire to serve the poor. Strange then to hear these words of Jesus spoken as justification for inaction.
There are some national policy decisions that will always impact the poor. Progressive taxation, as opposed to the imposition of tax on food or fuel. Public transport, good social housing, employment opportunities and support, adequate benefits- particularly to single parents or vulnerable older people. These things are all good- and we might raise our collective voices in support… but for me there is also a personal dimension.
Because those of us who are paid to try to make a difference soon realise that all we do is administrate. We may have some small success- and this keeps us trying- but ultimately, we bring only sticking plaster to road traffic accidents.
But I believe in redemption and renewal, and lives transformed. And for this to happen- this brings humanity and hope to my own brokenness- and richness to my own poverty. As Jean Vanier put it
Jesus came to bring good news to the poor, not those who serve the poor! … The healing power in us will not come from our capacities and our riches, but in and through our poverty. We are called to discover that God can bring peace, compassion and love through our wounds.
I kind of knew that something was happening today out on the Clyde.
It was a beautiful day- one of those soft sunny October days when summer kind of forgets her wrinkles and hitches the tweed skirts and goes for a paddle. And the water was full of boats and sails. Naval vessels like great grey sleek speed boats, tugs pushing a bow wave way above their station and countless craft whose size was proportionate to the wallets of their proud owners.
But there was a kind of hummm to the day that was more than the sum of the distant outboard motors.
And then, I glanced up, and there she was- filling my doorway.
Then I remembered.
The QE2- making her last ever visit to the Clyde- where she was built. In a different age.
When the Clyde still made the best and biggest ships that sailed the seas.
And whole generations lived a life in sight and sound of the shipyards.
Late tonight the mighty ship made its way out again- to a mooring somewhere far away as a floating hotel. Fireworks split to cold night air and temporarily obscured the stars.
And with long mournful blasts on her foghorn, she was gone.
Stuffed suits. Pin striped suits. Business suits. Power suits. Penguin suits.
Corporate uniforms.
Boys together in gentleman’s clubs.
Power. Control.
Management by the application of… image.
Or do I make too much of this?
Tomorrow I am going to a meeting in Lochgilphead for Social Work and Health managers, which is to discuss some governance issues thrown up by a redesign of Mental Health services (get the language there- ‘governance’ and ‘redesign’.) I will not wear a suit. I reckon I will be in a minority of perhaps, one.
Informality of dress seems to be trendy in some quarters. It is strange to me that within my social work department, things have gone entirely the other way for managers at least. The women, perhaps surprisingly, seem to escape this pressure for the most part.
Another redesign process recently replaced whole swathes of managers. The new folk often do not live in Argyll- they have not chosen to live and contribute to the communities they serve. That is not criticism- but it is just different.
For people like me, who try to find a way to carry that salt and light thing into the places I inhabit, the suits just seem to get in the way…
They seem like a barrier- a way to create distance between people.
I find myself at odds with the world about me… and the visible sign of this comes in the form of a table surrounded by men in dark suits.
I can see the point of this at times- the management thing- distance is sometimes required. But for me, this non-suit wearing has become my little point of rebellion, owing much to a lack of comfort with the work culture of my organisation- which at times seems highly toxic.
It is also how I choose to express something of my individuality- and my spirituality. I may yet be instructed to suit up-
this fragile tent 
