Is it only me.... But are our children really that much smarter than us?
Those of you who know me well, and I am pleased to say that to remain an enigma it is important that few do, will know that I have hold a long held belief that you can only call yourself a university if it was founded before 1500. In my world anything after that date is merely a polytechnic. Sure it may call itself a university but that does not mean that it is one or deserves to take its place alongside the likes of Padua, Heidelberg, Glasgow.
Naturally I was educated at such an ancient site of learning.
Now some of my acquaintance have scoffed at such reactionary views but news has reached me that vindicates my opinion.
Earlier in week I learnt that the child of one who is known to me has just got a first. Now you might think that this should be cause for celebration. And in my day it would be.
But when I tell you that this young man, who is bright but not especially so, managed this awesome feat by failing to turn up for 2 of his final degree exam papers, you do have to question the rigour of the marking and the challenge of the exam.
Oh, yes, and before I forget the 'university' in a question was in a provincial Yorkshire seaside town and was founded barely 10 years ago. It is hardly Baliol, Oriel or Kings, would you not agree? All seats of learning with pedigree, heritage and class. Unlike the University of E Ba Gum.
Quod erat demonstrandum, methinks.
It surely can't just be me who thinks this is right, can it?
In my day when I was really earning my academic spurs, in a class of about 100, no one got a first, not even yours truly; only six got upper seconds; and the bulk got lower seconds. And we had to sit every paper.
Now there is a chance that the current crop of students are just so much brighter and intellectually superior to my graduate cadre. You only have to see the yoof of today in the workplace to perhaps draw that conclusion (and here I am being deeply caustic).
Alternatively we can draw the conclusion that if awesome degrees are being given out like smarties by jumped up polytechnics, then these places should be stripped forthwith of their university title until and unless they learn to behave like one.
In other words they adopt the standards, mores and rigour of those founded before 1500.
Have a great week. I am now off to sail the seas for the next 10 days.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
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Wednesday, 27 June 2012
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
Dedicated follower of fashion
Thank you for last week’s comments on my appreciation of the Two Caesar’s policy of listening to us, The Great British Public. I know not all of you agree with this stance which is fine but I do find it interesting that it is my views on the political situation that gets people stirred up.
No politics this week however.
Is it only me...but some people really do need protecting from themselves.
A few nights back I was travelling home. And standing at a bus stop at the side of the road was a man five feet nothing tall and roughly the same in breadth and depth. He was almost a perfect cube.
However it was not his shape that intrigued me but what he was wearing.
Now before I go on, I acknowledge freely that fashions and clothes are not my strong suit but I do know what goes with what and I do respect some basic rules of society’s dress code.
Sadly this man didn’t.
And too often these days we are seeing men, and women, failing to pay the slightest attention to what they are wearing, how they are wearing and how ridiculous they look.
Let me try describe this man’s outfit.
Firstly he was wearing on his feet a pair of light brown ersatz suede slip-on training shoes. However given this man’s shape the only sport he could possibly be in training for was darts.
Above these shoes he wore a pair of very long baggy shorts in the bri-est of black bri-nylon whose length ballooned down his skinny pale legs to just a couple of inches above his trainers.
And the shirt completed the ensemble. It was a baggy green shirt in the finest polystyrene. However the green was not the green of grass but was a shade of green that you would only see in a Dali painting or when under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs. Indeed the last time I saw this particular shade of puce was after an especially dodgy prawn bhuna.
Get the picture?
I cannot believe that this man thought his dress was acceptable.
Sadly this is a sight we see too often these days on our high streets. And it is not a sight confined to men. Women too have been known to put together some absolutely horrendous collections of colours and styles. Sometimes with women all that happens is they end up looking like mutton dressed as mutton.
And when we see these pictures we only want to scream ‘....what exactly were you thinking of when you bought those clothes? What made you think that that combination of styles and colours made you look good?’
Now maybe it’s only me but I do think that some people need to be stopped from buying certain items of inappropriate clothing before they make a right fool of themselves when out in public. Just like my man.
Those of you who are regular readers of these fine words will be aware that I am not a big fan of nanny-ism but sometimes there is no alternative and it is in some people’s best interests that they are stopped from self harm and self humiliation.
Yes, I do know that fashion is a subjective thing but some people and some wardrobe items just do not mix and even those deemed visually impaired could take steps to stop such obvious fashion faux pas.
To avoid future fashion disasters it might be best if we trained our sales assistants to politely advise their customers that if they wore what they are intent on purchasing they would be committing a crime against human decency and that they would be better buying something else.
Don’t you agree?
Please feel free to share the fashion disasters you have seen.
Have a great week.
Sis Felix. Et sis fortunatus.
No politics this week however.
Is it only me...but some people really do need protecting from themselves.
A few nights back I was travelling home. And standing at a bus stop at the side of the road was a man five feet nothing tall and roughly the same in breadth and depth. He was almost a perfect cube.
However it was not his shape that intrigued me but what he was wearing.
Now before I go on, I acknowledge freely that fashions and clothes are not my strong suit but I do know what goes with what and I do respect some basic rules of society’s dress code.
Sadly this man didn’t.
And too often these days we are seeing men, and women, failing to pay the slightest attention to what they are wearing, how they are wearing and how ridiculous they look.
Let me try describe this man’s outfit.
Firstly he was wearing on his feet a pair of light brown ersatz suede slip-on training shoes. However given this man’s shape the only sport he could possibly be in training for was darts.
Above these shoes he wore a pair of very long baggy shorts in the bri-est of black bri-nylon whose length ballooned down his skinny pale legs to just a couple of inches above his trainers.
And the shirt completed the ensemble. It was a baggy green shirt in the finest polystyrene. However the green was not the green of grass but was a shade of green that you would only see in a Dali painting or when under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs. Indeed the last time I saw this particular shade of puce was after an especially dodgy prawn bhuna.
Get the picture?
I cannot believe that this man thought his dress was acceptable.
Sadly this is a sight we see too often these days on our high streets. And it is not a sight confined to men. Women too have been known to put together some absolutely horrendous collections of colours and styles. Sometimes with women all that happens is they end up looking like mutton dressed as mutton.
And when we see these pictures we only want to scream ‘....what exactly were you thinking of when you bought those clothes? What made you think that that combination of styles and colours made you look good?’
Now maybe it’s only me but I do think that some people need to be stopped from buying certain items of inappropriate clothing before they make a right fool of themselves when out in public. Just like my man.
Those of you who are regular readers of these fine words will be aware that I am not a big fan of nanny-ism but sometimes there is no alternative and it is in some people’s best interests that they are stopped from self harm and self humiliation.
Yes, I do know that fashion is a subjective thing but some people and some wardrobe items just do not mix and even those deemed visually impaired could take steps to stop such obvious fashion faux pas.
To avoid future fashion disasters it might be best if we trained our sales assistants to politely advise their customers that if they wore what they are intent on purchasing they would be committing a crime against human decency and that they would be better buying something else.
Don’t you agree?
Please feel free to share the fashion disasters you have seen.
Have a great week.
Sis Felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Thursday, 7 June 2012
You turn if you want to
Well, thank god that the huge extravaganza that was the Jubilee is over. Maybe now we can get back to doing some work and help get Your Queen’s nation back on its feet. Someone has to.
I am not going to prolong the monopolisation of our media by this orgy of obsequious fawning but instead respond to some recent political happenings.
And maybe it’s only me...but I do prefer to be governed by people who listen.
In recent weeks we have seen the Two Caesars, and their Money Man, change tack on tax on pasties, charities and caravans. And every change of tack has been greeted with howls of derision from the Last Lot and accusations of making a u-turn as if this was a very bad thing to do.
The intention to change the tax regime on these items was announced in the Budget and then having listened to the concerns of those affected, the Two Caesars and their supporters decided that these changes would cause more harm than good.
Now maybe it’s only me but I think that is a good thing. It shows that we are governed by people who listen.
So unlike the Last Lot who ploughed on regardless of the damage inflicted by their policies. And boy did they cause some damage. We are in fact still paying for their headlong pursuit of policies on which they believed they were right and everyone else was wrong.
Now it could be argued that maybe those in charge of the tax policy on pasties and the other things should have done their consultation beforehand. How could they? If they had done this, as sure as eggs, their thinking and proposals would have leaked and been attacked by all sorts of crusading lobby groups. Budgets are like sausages and it is not edifying to know how they are made, to mis-quote Bismarck.
Instead they did the right thing. Sharpened their thinking and proposition behind the scenes, as any business developing a new product might, and then road tested the policy with those most affected. Is this not the right way to do things?
If you are out in the car and you come to a dead end. What do you do? Plough on and write off the car? Or U Turn? Surely turning round is the right thing to do in this instance. And no one would criticise you for doing this.
And in my humble opinion our political process and our democracy are better served when listening and responding to the electorate is to be applauded rather than characterised as a humiliating climb-down.
As Maynard Keynes once said ‘’When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?’’
Hear hear.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
I am not going to prolong the monopolisation of our media by this orgy of obsequious fawning but instead respond to some recent political happenings.
And maybe it’s only me...but I do prefer to be governed by people who listen.
In recent weeks we have seen the Two Caesars, and their Money Man, change tack on tax on pasties, charities and caravans. And every change of tack has been greeted with howls of derision from the Last Lot and accusations of making a u-turn as if this was a very bad thing to do.
The intention to change the tax regime on these items was announced in the Budget and then having listened to the concerns of those affected, the Two Caesars and their supporters decided that these changes would cause more harm than good.
Now maybe it’s only me but I think that is a good thing. It shows that we are governed by people who listen.
So unlike the Last Lot who ploughed on regardless of the damage inflicted by their policies. And boy did they cause some damage. We are in fact still paying for their headlong pursuit of policies on which they believed they were right and everyone else was wrong.
Now it could be argued that maybe those in charge of the tax policy on pasties and the other things should have done their consultation beforehand. How could they? If they had done this, as sure as eggs, their thinking and proposals would have leaked and been attacked by all sorts of crusading lobby groups. Budgets are like sausages and it is not edifying to know how they are made, to mis-quote Bismarck.
Instead they did the right thing. Sharpened their thinking and proposition behind the scenes, as any business developing a new product might, and then road tested the policy with those most affected. Is this not the right way to do things?
If you are out in the car and you come to a dead end. What do you do? Plough on and write off the car? Or U Turn? Surely turning round is the right thing to do in this instance. And no one would criticise you for doing this.
And in my humble opinion our political process and our democracy are better served when listening and responding to the electorate is to be applauded rather than characterised as a humiliating climb-down.
As Maynard Keynes once said ‘’When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?’’
Hear hear.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Sunday, 20 May 2012
Can I see your passport?
Is it only me but...we do seem to have one law for the rich and another for the poor.
Did you see the Olympic torch arrive in Britain last week? I know it was a lot of fuss about nothing and you can bet that the 5 Ring Circus soon to kick off will be the subject of many words of wisdom over the coming weeks. But for the moment I want to focus our attention on the wee flame.
With mounting excitement (!) we watched the plane carrying the sacred light arrive from Greece. It landed and drew up in front of the usual Union Flag waving gaggle of school children and assorted dignitaries dressed to the nines in their flummery and regalia.
And then the moment the nation has all (with at least one exception) been looking forward to with great expectation and excitement as Annie Windsor, Seb Coe and David Beckham descended from the plane carrying the fire in its miner’s lamp. It was an impressive moment.
But one thing intrigued me.
As far as I know Greece is not Britain. It is foreign. It is beyond our boundaries. Therefore those carrying the flame had left and re-entered the country. But where were the Passport Apparatchiks to check their passports? Where were the queues for these people?
I know these people are special, they are famous, they are royalty but surely to protect our borders and to maintain security everyone ought to be checked in. How else do we know who is in this country?
I do hope that I have not spotted a relaxation of border controls. Apparatchiks have been fired for less in recent months. Maybe Theresa May should be questioned about this on the floor of the House.
Or maybe the normal rules do not apply if you are special. Heaven forbid that we should expect special people to queue up to share their passport photo with a Passport Apparatchik.
Mow maybe it’s only me but we are never going to see any improvements for ordinary people at our Border while the rich, famous and the privileged manage to skip the stressful parts of international travel that everyone else has to endure. We have no voice.
I always remember being told once that if you want to improve the quality of airline food, serve it in the boardrooms of the airlines for lunch. The same applies here.
Only once the likes of Princess Anne, David Beckham and Lord Coe have endured long waits for the Passport Apparatchiks to decide whether or not you can enter your own country will we see any real improvements in the way our Borders are guarded and patrolled.
It was once said by someone rich that ‘only the poor people pay taxes’. It now seems that only the poor people queue up to get their passports checked too.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Did you see the Olympic torch arrive in Britain last week? I know it was a lot of fuss about nothing and you can bet that the 5 Ring Circus soon to kick off will be the subject of many words of wisdom over the coming weeks. But for the moment I want to focus our attention on the wee flame.
With mounting excitement (!) we watched the plane carrying the sacred light arrive from Greece. It landed and drew up in front of the usual Union Flag waving gaggle of school children and assorted dignitaries dressed to the nines in their flummery and regalia.
And then the moment the nation has all (with at least one exception) been looking forward to with great expectation and excitement as Annie Windsor, Seb Coe and David Beckham descended from the plane carrying the fire in its miner’s lamp. It was an impressive moment.
But one thing intrigued me.
As far as I know Greece is not Britain. It is foreign. It is beyond our boundaries. Therefore those carrying the flame had left and re-entered the country. But where were the Passport Apparatchiks to check their passports? Where were the queues for these people?
I know these people are special, they are famous, they are royalty but surely to protect our borders and to maintain security everyone ought to be checked in. How else do we know who is in this country?
I do hope that I have not spotted a relaxation of border controls. Apparatchiks have been fired for less in recent months. Maybe Theresa May should be questioned about this on the floor of the House.
Or maybe the normal rules do not apply if you are special. Heaven forbid that we should expect special people to queue up to share their passport photo with a Passport Apparatchik.
Mow maybe it’s only me but we are never going to see any improvements for ordinary people at our Border while the rich, famous and the privileged manage to skip the stressful parts of international travel that everyone else has to endure. We have no voice.
I always remember being told once that if you want to improve the quality of airline food, serve it in the boardrooms of the airlines for lunch. The same applies here.
Only once the likes of Princess Anne, David Beckham and Lord Coe have endured long waits for the Passport Apparatchiks to decide whether or not you can enter your own country will we see any real improvements in the way our Borders are guarded and patrolled.
It was once said by someone rich that ‘only the poor people pay taxes’. It now seems that only the poor people queue up to get their passports checked too.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
The Apprentice
Well seemingly my cri de coeur last week chastising people for failing to vote struck a nerve last week. Good. Art should stir the emotions. Maybe I am the Tracy Emin of the blogosphere.
And so to this week’s thought provoking piece.
Is it only I...but I think that this might be another issue for Leveson.
Do you watch The Apprentice?
Yes I know it is just another programme for fame seeking wannabees. And I do appreciate is gives a very unrealistic and unflattering view of the world of business. And yes I know Lord Sugar’s bullying hectoring and ego maniacal management style is Neolithic.
But saying all this it is fascinating how none of the fresh faced sales people who volunteer to take part in return for a ticket to fame and fortune learn the lessons from past series and each new candidate quickly loses reason and resorts to highly primitive and unsubtle backstabbing to try to claw their way to the top. Or at least to get their 15 minutes of fame as Lord Sugar’s Apprentice.
By the by it is interesting to see how few of these who win this so called coveted position are ever heard of again. We never learn just how successful they are as The Apprentice.
But I have another question which really interests me.
As we see the group gather in the Boardroom to learn their fate they all come with their trolley dolly cases, the kind that are a real health hazard when used on the streets and pavements by commuters, travellers and the like.
Now we are expected to believe that these kids are living cheek by jowl in some flash yuppie property for quite a few months. And for every task they turn up suited and booted. All this requires a wardrobe of clothes and for the women shoes, handbags, and a range of chemical and electrical enhancers.
How do they get all this into a wee trolley dolly suitcase?
Maybe it is only me but in my experience when embarking on a trip, whether for business or pleasure, for any period of time, we require to take with us a load of stuff. There is no way that these people can get all their stuff into such a wee case. You need a bigger case just to cart around all the chargers we need these days for everyday living.
This leads me to think that either their cases have been borrowed from the set of Dr Who and the principles of the Tardis have been applied to their manufacture in which case they should apply their business acumen to produce and sell these-they would go like hotcakes; or their clothes are discarded when worn; or they are badly crushed; or just like on line telephone voting for the Blue Peter cat it is rigged. If the latter I think we should let Lord Leveson know. This is not how the media ought to behave.
I will leave you to ponder.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
And so to this week’s thought provoking piece.
Is it only I...but I think that this might be another issue for Leveson.
Do you watch The Apprentice?
Yes I know it is just another programme for fame seeking wannabees. And I do appreciate is gives a very unrealistic and unflattering view of the world of business. And yes I know Lord Sugar’s bullying hectoring and ego maniacal management style is Neolithic.
But saying all this it is fascinating how none of the fresh faced sales people who volunteer to take part in return for a ticket to fame and fortune learn the lessons from past series and each new candidate quickly loses reason and resorts to highly primitive and unsubtle backstabbing to try to claw their way to the top. Or at least to get their 15 minutes of fame as Lord Sugar’s Apprentice.
By the by it is interesting to see how few of these who win this so called coveted position are ever heard of again. We never learn just how successful they are as The Apprentice.
But I have another question which really interests me.
As we see the group gather in the Boardroom to learn their fate they all come with their trolley dolly cases, the kind that are a real health hazard when used on the streets and pavements by commuters, travellers and the like.
Now we are expected to believe that these kids are living cheek by jowl in some flash yuppie property for quite a few months. And for every task they turn up suited and booted. All this requires a wardrobe of clothes and for the women shoes, handbags, and a range of chemical and electrical enhancers.
How do they get all this into a wee trolley dolly suitcase?
Maybe it is only me but in my experience when embarking on a trip, whether for business or pleasure, for any period of time, we require to take with us a load of stuff. There is no way that these people can get all their stuff into such a wee case. You need a bigger case just to cart around all the chargers we need these days for everyday living.
This leads me to think that either their cases have been borrowed from the set of Dr Who and the principles of the Tardis have been applied to their manufacture in which case they should apply their business acumen to produce and sell these-they would go like hotcakes; or their clothes are discarded when worn; or they are badly crushed; or just like on line telephone voting for the Blue Peter cat it is rigged. If the latter I think we should let Lord Leveson know. This is not how the media ought to behave.
I will leave you to ponder.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
Vote for me
I am sorry for my lack of wit and wisdom for a week or so now but nothing has really riled me enough to put pen to paper. But now something has, you will no doubt be pleased to know.
Is it only me...but why is it so difficult for many of us to vote?
Last week in many parts of this country we had local elections. And unless you live overseas when you read this or have been away visiting relatives on the moon, you will know by now that the Two Caesars got a bit of a bloody nose. I am however slightly baffled why people think that issues decided and determined on a national scale should influence the election of local busy bodies to local councils. Does it never occur to anyone that your councillor is not in charge of deficit reduction policies, the re-organisation of the NHS or even the tax rate for hot pasties?
This however is not my Gripe of the Week.
It was striking to me that in most parts of the country turnout for the Busy Body Elections barely got above 30%. In other words more than two thirds of those eligible to vote decided that EastEnders and Corrie was more enticing than turning out to put their X on the spot. This is absolutely shocking and a very bad thing. And this shocking figure is readily inflated by fraudulent multiple voting in some areas.
No doubt many will have sound reasons for failing to turn out. The weather, an engaging episode of Emmerdale, a sock drawer to be cleared out or some such excuse. Some might even look to blame the politicians and those local Busy Bodies aspiring to be politicians for not doing enough to engage with us, I certainly make this accusation, but these are excuses for our failure to fulfil our civic responsibilities. The effects of the electoral process are all around us and if we fail to engage then we get the politics and the democracy we deserve.
Now it might only be me but we ought to remember what others gave and did that we might vote. We are prepared to vote in record numbers for some fame wannabee on X FACTOR, Britain’s Got Talent, The Voice, or some other end of pier talent show, who will make one record and then disappear from view, than we are for people who will impact on our lives. Maybe we should resort to text voting.
From Magna Carta through the bloody Civil War to the Bill of Rights and the Suffragettes people died and fought for the right to vote. And if we look across the Pond to Uncle Sam there is plenty more evidence of people, mostly black, who fought, struggled and laid down their life that others might vote. Indeed right around the world the history of many countries is marked, often bloodily, by the struggles of people to earn the right to take part in the democratic process. Think South Africa, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya.
And yet in this country we are put off exercising our democratic right, duty and privilege by a wee bit of rain or a better programme on TV. I would have thought that getting a wee bit damp or foregoing the latest soap shenanigans was not too much of a sacrifice to take part in the electoral process. Others after all have done far more than brave a wee drizzle to further the cause of democracy.
As you can tell I am well agitated by this.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Is it only me...but why is it so difficult for many of us to vote?
Last week in many parts of this country we had local elections. And unless you live overseas when you read this or have been away visiting relatives on the moon, you will know by now that the Two Caesars got a bit of a bloody nose. I am however slightly baffled why people think that issues decided and determined on a national scale should influence the election of local busy bodies to local councils. Does it never occur to anyone that your councillor is not in charge of deficit reduction policies, the re-organisation of the NHS or even the tax rate for hot pasties?
This however is not my Gripe of the Week.
It was striking to me that in most parts of the country turnout for the Busy Body Elections barely got above 30%. In other words more than two thirds of those eligible to vote decided that EastEnders and Corrie was more enticing than turning out to put their X on the spot. This is absolutely shocking and a very bad thing. And this shocking figure is readily inflated by fraudulent multiple voting in some areas.
No doubt many will have sound reasons for failing to turn out. The weather, an engaging episode of Emmerdale, a sock drawer to be cleared out or some such excuse. Some might even look to blame the politicians and those local Busy Bodies aspiring to be politicians for not doing enough to engage with us, I certainly make this accusation, but these are excuses for our failure to fulfil our civic responsibilities. The effects of the electoral process are all around us and if we fail to engage then we get the politics and the democracy we deserve.
Now it might only be me but we ought to remember what others gave and did that we might vote. We are prepared to vote in record numbers for some fame wannabee on X FACTOR, Britain’s Got Talent, The Voice, or some other end of pier talent show, who will make one record and then disappear from view, than we are for people who will impact on our lives. Maybe we should resort to text voting.
From Magna Carta through the bloody Civil War to the Bill of Rights and the Suffragettes people died and fought for the right to vote. And if we look across the Pond to Uncle Sam there is plenty more evidence of people, mostly black, who fought, struggled and laid down their life that others might vote. Indeed right around the world the history of many countries is marked, often bloodily, by the struggles of people to earn the right to take part in the democratic process. Think South Africa, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya.
And yet in this country we are put off exercising our democratic right, duty and privilege by a wee bit of rain or a better programme on TV. I would have thought that getting a wee bit damp or foregoing the latest soap shenanigans was not too much of a sacrifice to take part in the electoral process. Others after all have done far more than brave a wee drizzle to further the cause of democracy.
As you can tell I am well agitated by this.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Singing in the rain
If you have been watching watching to see if I am showing a softer tone now that I have met a real life Health and Safety Gauleiter, I would be interested if any discernible difference has been noted. It is however still early days and we have not yet had the chance to have a substantive discussion on health and safety nanny-ism. I shall of course keep you posted on how the discussions progress. I know you will be waiting with bated breath.
Is it only me...but we are never happy even though Shakespeare did refer to us as ‘this happy breed.
As I write these musings for your education and enlightenment I can hear and feel the rain battering against the fenestration, or windows if sadly you lack a Classical education. The sky is slate grey and it is clear that we are in the grip of an Atlantic depression which will surely last for a few days bringing with it low slung leaden skies, blowy winds and liquid precipitation or rain.
You would think this might make us happy or at least allow us to blow a wee sigh of relief. Heaven forbid. We are never happy.
Yet only last week parts of the land were declared arid and in the grip of a dry drought. And in these parts watering with sprinklers and hosepipes was declared verboten.
And straightaway people took to the airwaves to complain about the effect such restrictions would have on their gladioli, geraniums and fuchsias.
Poor you, was my instant reaction. Livestock might be soon crying out for a drink, people might be trekking miles to the nearest well and Bob Geldof might be needed to swear at us to donate money now to stop famine and drought in Tunbridge Wells, but so long as you can water your plants and gardens, all is well in the world.
Now it might only be me but I would have thought that the arrival of the rains on the plains of the Home Counties would be really welcome news. You would have thought that this might mean that we might delay the inevitability of a charity record for a wee bit; that we would not be seeing the sight of the women of Epsom, Ascot and Esher trekking for miles in their Volvos and BMWS to collect water from the nearest artesian well; and most importantly that our herbaceous borders might be saved. This news might have brought a smile to our faces.
Fat chance.
Instead we have depressed weather girls and meteorological Apparatchiks depressingly announcing the arrival of the depression and without any trace of a smile or relief letting us know that this depression was going to stick around for a wee bit.
Come on, people, surely this is good news for once. Let us celebrate, enjoy and exclaim the arrival of the rains. We might not see their like again for a bit.
Have a really great week (in the rain).
And should you find yourself stuck in doors on a grey and wet day, unable to water the garden, you might find an interesting read at www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com. Learn what Alan Sugar, Ariel and Domestos have in common in ‘You’re Fired’.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
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