Disillusionment

There's a band I've seen playing a few times which specialises in danceable jazzy swing music and seems to have a regular fan base so that the band's gigs are always busy. The members of the band seem to dress appropriately on stage, wearing loud clothes which hark back to various periods from the 40's to the 70's. The lead singer in particular always seemed very striking as he is tall and gangly with a chiselled face with an intense air about him.

But the last time we saw the band play was a disappointment of sorts. The music seemed less driven, and the lead singer looked grubby and uncared for instead of louche. His clothes were the same but they looked unkempt instead of smart, and seemed unwashed.

Then last weekend I saw the lead singer in the street, where I was quite disturbed by his experience. He just looked dirty, and not in a good way. He was walking along the pavement with that fixed stare and disregard for other pedestrians which I feel indicates a propensity for violence. He looked old, gaunt instead of slender, unshaven, unwashed, uncaring. His boots were unlaced, his trousers and jacket shiny with ingrained grease. In short, he looked unpleasant.
I don't think I want to go to another of their gigs.

:o(

Will I be a Siphon?

Writing yesterday of giving back after receiving for many years and incipient thoughts of my own Third Age, prompts me to wonder whether the analogy of a siphon will be correct. I hope so.

For much of my life I have read, watched, absorbed information from many sources, but I've not produced anything of consequence. Yes, I've written for work, I've benefitted my family & colleagues and associates, but nothing for the consumption of the wider world.

I hope that my vessel of knowledge & experience is full enough, and it has now flooded the outlet pipe to a level at which I will be able to pour it out to share around, so that I and others can gain from this.

Of course, this could be semi-drunk twaddle, and it needs a diagram, but still.............

;o)

Cameron's Big Society?

The more time that this government spends in power, the more disillusioned I become. There's no forethought, no sense of commonwealth about the slimy fuckers who are now controlling our lives. Funny how they're not controlling the lives of the financial conjurers who helped our economy into the pits.

This morning I spent some time cutting back brambles at the Lake as a therapy for the hangover which I earned last night by drinking too much wine and eating too much cheese late at night. (Tom came along as well, which was really appreciated by the few other volunteers. I appreciated it even more. Thanks, Tom.)

I'd volunteered for this task and quite enjoyed the semi-somnambulant quality of the work, but was a little shocked by the small numbers of other volunteers there: only a half-dozen or so of the eighteen-hundred members. For the first day of the work part sessions a fortnight ago there were a ew more, but even so, that's far too few.

Does this make me fit for the Big Society bollocks beloved by Cameron? It's something which benefits many more fellows than are contributing, as is the time which I have spent in committee members. I won't pretend that I enjoy the meetings but somehow I feel that I ought to give something back to society at large for the benefits which I receive; yet this particular series of voluntary activities is really benefitting a small and rich section of society, namely the members of the Lake swimming club. It's a start, I suppose. It may also be a start to easing myself into the Third Age, beyond the time of either striving for or enjoying full employment.

:0)

Counting the days

Since I started taking Lisinopril for my high blood pressure, over a year ago, I have become very aware of how the days are measured out by the calendar packs of pills by my bedside. From the fresh packet every fortnight the ritual of taking one every morning is reflected in the growing number of empty bubbles as the days go by.

Somehow this has given me a real sensation of time going by, much more immediate than is felt in the daily newspaper or change of location on a calendar. In itself this is ironic, because I hope that by taking these pharmaceutical reminders of time and mortality I am in fact improving my chances of reaching a very ripe old age. That's ripe as in mature, not ripe as is pungent.

;o)