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Brave hearts

Photo by W. L. Tarbert on Wikimedia CommonsI have – to this point – made no comment on this blog or anywhere else regarding the recent campaign which culminated in yesterday’s referendum on Scottish independence.

I am a Scot by (slightly remote) ancestry. Though I have never lived in Scotland I know parts of the country pretty well. I was rightly not entitled to vote in the referendum and therefore thought it appropriate to maintain a dignified distance and to say nowt!

I know that the nationalists will be hugely disappointed by this morning’s results. I really do believe – however – that the outcome will in the long run prove to have been for the best for of all of the constituent parts of the United Kingdom.

What has been fascinating has been to observe how the referendum has re-invigorated political debate in Scotland. The Scots have given the rest of us an object lesson in how to address, debate and resolve complex issues. They have done so in the main in spite of the blandishments of the politicians rather than because of them. Voting has quite clearly not split on party lines but rather with disregard for them.

The fact that the turnout was more than 84% – from the massive 97% of the population that had registered to vote – is truly staggering – particularly given that disenchantment with the political process has over recent years become endemic throughout these blessed isles. The Scots showed the rest of us how to energise an issue – how to take debate away from the political elites and to return it to the drawing rooms and kitchens – to the bars and cafes – to the street corner and to the garden fence!

The challenge for the political classes now is to work out out how to enthuse voters throughout the UK with similar passion, enthusiasm and commitment for the regular electoral process. Perhaps the now almost inevitable movement towards a federal framework for this patchwork nation will have the desired effect? Perhaps a re-focusing away from the whims and fancies of the 1% would help? Perhaps a determined ambition to renounce cynicism and self-interest would do the trick? Who knows…

In any event, it is good to see the Scots – as so often in the past – showing the rest of us the way. This evening I will – I believe – raise a glass of good cheer to them…

Here’s tae us, wha’s like us? Damned few an’ they’re a’ deid.

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Saturday last saw the final match of the season for the itinerant band of cricketing misfits for whom I still – on occasion – turn out. The fixture took place in a gloriously bosky setting in the Surrey hills, at a venue which – though I have long known of it – I have never previously visited.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe ground at Holmbury St. Mary is the highest in the south of England and is reached by means of an unmade and deeply rutted track that might feel more familiar to residents of the Canadian wilds than it does to the natives here.

The track up Holmbury Hill is – however – considered a great improvement from the early days of the club, when all concerned had to trek up a narrow path carrying all of the required gear and equipment – not to mention foodstuffs and water, of which there was at the time no supply on site. At the end of the day – of course – everything had also to be laboriously carried by the weary contestants back down the hill to the village.

It struck me – as I journeyed hence – that the occasion might actually represent for me rather more than just the end of another season. It is quite likely that I will not get to play any cricket at all next year, since I anticipate that the preparations for our move to Canada – not to mention the event itself – will occupy much of our time and efforts during the temperate months.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidBy the time we are suitably established in BC I will be sixty two years old and somewhat long in the tooth for this sort of carry on. I have written previously concerning the cricketing scene in Victoria – the which would seem to be in good health – but I doubt that it will prove a broad enough church to provide a haven for a geriatric veteran of dubious ability such as myself.

If indeed that turns out to be the case then my cricketing days are over and I will have played my last match.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidI came late to the game – having effectively given up on it (as a participant – not as an enthusiast!) subsequent to my notably undistinguished career at school. I took it up again in my mid 40s at a time when I was re-evaluating many things in my life and have played consistently since. Though never achieving my fondly held ambition of scoring a fifty I have nonetheless derived a great deal of pleasure from the game – not least from some of the characters that I have encountered and from the wonderful mise en scènes in which the sporting drama is frequently enacted.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPerhaps – now that so many more things in our lives are changing – it might indeed be time to call it a day. Who can tell?

If this does turn out to be the case then this particular game was sadly not (the sylvan setting aside) one which by which I would have hoped my egress would be marked. We had not played the opposing side before (themselves also a wandering side) and it turned out to be a dramatic mismatch.  Having humiliated us in short order – and presumably not feeling that they had had their money’s worth – they insisted that we stay on for a further 20/20 game… so that they could crush us all over again!

I – for one – did not stay on for the beers!

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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Fevvers

(With apologies to Angela Carter!)

Whilst whiling away some sun-filled moments on the boundary last weekend – during the penultimate cricket match of the season – I became aware that I was surrounded by the results either of some over-enthusiastic avian preening or mayhap – and on a darker note – of some nocturnal vulpine carnage.

Either way a photographic study seemed to be called for:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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Image from PixabayIt is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness.
Charles Spurgeon

Last Sunday’s Observer newspaper contained an item on the emerging field of ‘happiness studies’. I kid you not! And when it comes down to it – given the current state of this terrene body – who could argue that anything that leads to an increase in happiness be anything but a good thing?

One of the subjects of the article was a study by two American professors – Amit Bhattacharjee and Cassie Mogilner – a prominent finding of which was that the older people get, the more content they are with ‘ordinary’ experiences. “In fact” – the piece proclaims  – “the potential to be content with everyday pursuits eventually grows equal to exotic trips or pricey restaurant meals.

Whilst I would not claim to have quite reached this point – my fondness for the delights of  Epicurus being yet strong – I am becoming aware as I age of a significant re-orientation in this general direction. I now discover much pleasure in really quite simple things.

When I was young I quite naturally burned with the desire to achieve things – to become ‘someone’ – to make some kind of mark. Though not, perhaps, particularly ambitious in the conventional way, I really was quite desperate to be taken seriously – certainly in artistic and creative terms but also in my chosen career – or, should I say, in the career that had apparently chosen me. I obviously required considerable levels of validation – of affirmation – from others if I was to achieve a sufficient degree of self-esteem that I felt comfortable about my place in the world.

This restlessness must have made me quite a difficult person to live with – or even to be around – and I should perhaps offer my apologies to those that had to endure it. Youth – as Shaw has it – is indeed sometimes wasted on the young!

Though much has since changed, this is surely not merely a case of all passion being spent. The passion is rather now considerably more focused than once it was – such being essential when one must work with a more circumscribed supply of energy and life-force.

We are, as a species, by our nature hungry for knowledge and imbued with the desire to create. The path to happiness – as has been pointed out by many more learned than I – lies in the adoption of ‘projects’ that allow us to exercise these basic needs – but with the proviso that we must be able to set achievable targets by which our progress may be measured. If we have either taken on too much and are unsuccessful in our endeavors – or have not challenged ourselves sufficiently – the outcome is unhappiness…

As we advance in years and – hopefully – in wisdom, this careful balancing act requires finer and finer control. If we are fortunate we will by this point have acquired the skills through which successful outcomes may be achieved.

You will have noticed that this brief discourse on happiness makes no mention of love. This is not because I consider this fundamental to be unimportant – or even worse, antithetical – to happiness, but more because its very great import means that it must needs have a forum of its own.

Happy days!

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Image by Andy Dawson Reid

…things will be different!

 

Einstein had it right with this incontrovertible aphorism:

“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

It is widely acknowledged throughout the circle of my acquaintance that I habitually suffer a not inconsiderable degree of discomfort at this calendrical juncture. This has – of course – much to do with the onset of the new academic year (and with all that that implies) – not to mention the increasing impingement of that which is – by me at any rate – the least favoured of the seasons.

Proof of this sad state of affairs can be educed from my postings from around this time over the past several years, such as this, this  and even this – although I feel sure that you have far better things to do with your time than to subject yourself to my historical moans and grumbles.

Recent levels of stress emanating from my place of employ suggest that this year will be little different. There are reasons – however – to hope for an alternative outcome – that this time things will indeed be different.

Two years ago – in a somewhat precipitate post – I rashly announced that I was about to embark upon my last year at work before retirement. The gods – naturally – wasted little time in punishing me for this hubris and – as you are doubtless aware – I am still here…

Well – I now grit my teeth – gird my loins – summon up my courage – and make the same pronouncement again… this time with nobs on! I am contemplating several possible scenarios. The worst case has me retiring at the end of the summer term next year. The most optimistic has me packing my bags and waving good-bye in January. The intermediate options might involve working a reduced week in the new year to see me through. Negotiations with my employers commence almost immediately.

The Kickass Canada Girl is – at the same time – examining her possible courses of action. She would also love to slow down. One thing of which we are certain is that – once we have sold our UK property – there is very little to hold us here. Our retirement projections – though of course flexible – are all predicated on a start date of January 1st 2015.

Now – this is clearly a much more positive and realistic declaration than that which I made two years ago. This – of course – simply reflects just how much water has flowed under the bridge since then.

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…on our recent sojourn on the continent!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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A good photograph is knowing where to stand
Ansell Adams

I do not claim for a moment to know where to stand… but I cannot in any case resist posting some more random images from France.

This is La Rochelle – which we had not previously visited.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

These are random passing sights that took my fancy:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

And this is from the Chateau de Tennessus:

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I must also at this point express hearty congratulations to the English ladies who triumphed against the Canadians in the Women’s Rugby World Cup on Sunday evening last in Paris. The Canadians were not by any means disgraced, having put up a really strong performance. They will certainly feature strongly in future competitions. The Kickass Canada Girl is just about speaking to me again!

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On our way to the charming region of the Poitou Charente that is to be our home for the next week we spent a couple of nights in what might best be described as a fairytale medieval castle – the Chateau de Tennessus. This twenty five year labour of love on the part of its English owners is a testament to what can be achieved if one is prepared to invest a simply extraordinary amount of work, art and money into what is quite clearly an overarching passion.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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england canadaAvid followers of these obscure obita dicta may well recognise the image at the top of this post. I used it for the occasion last year on which the Kickass Canada Girl and I ventured to the Twickenham Stoop to see the English ladies take on their Canadian counterparts at the ‘gentlemanly’ pastime of ‘rugger’. In that instance – to the Girl’s chagrin – the home team proved too strong for the visitors.

I re-use the image now because the two sides meet again this coming Sunday – but this time in Paris for the final of the Women’s Rugby World Cup! How exciting!

The English ladies have made a number of appearances in World Cup finals and have indeed once lifted the trophy. On the last few occasions, however, they have been well beaten by New Zealand – who were indeed favourites again for this tournament. Canada have not previously finished higher than seventh – so really are entering uncharted territory. The two sides have already met in the pool stages this time around – the result being a tantalising 13 all draw.

The Irish ladies did everyone a favour by knocking out the All Blacks but seemed by yesterday’s semi-final against England to have exhausted themselves in the process – the English romping home 40 – 7. The Canadians then opened up a good lead against the hosts – France – but had to endure sustained pressure in the closing 20 minutes – just holding on to go through 18 – 16.

We wish the very best of luck to both sides for Sunday.

As it happens we will be in France over the weekend – though not particularly close to Paris. This is probably a good thing since we would be very tempted to try to get to the game in spite of it already being a sell-out – the which itself is a fantastic result for the women’s game.

We are taking a brief break from the rigours of work and spending a week in the company of the good friends whose wedding we attended in Hong Kong a couple of years back. They have rented a gite in the Poitou Charente for three weeks and we will spend the first of those with them. We leave this very evening!

Expect photographs…

 

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Skylight

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidTo Wyndhams Theatre in the West End last Friday eve to catch the revival of David Hare’s 1995 masterpiece – ‘Skylight‘ – starring Bill Nighy and Carey Mulligan.

As Canadians would say – but as Brits would mean… “Awesome“!

The Kickass Canada Girl and I found ourselves earlier that evening – as we journeyed into town prior to the performance – discussing the fact that it has been some considerable time since we have truly had a five-star theatrical experience.

Come to think of it – and we did – there has also been a lengthy lacuna since we last saw a five-star movie. And as for television! Well – the fact that we are spending a considerable chunk of our current down-time (such as it is) either re-playing (in the case of the Girl) or mostly viewing for the first time (in mine) the complete cycle of Aaron Sorkin’s wonderful ‘The West Wing‘ courtesy of LoveFilm – says pretty much all that need be said about the current state of television drama.

I digress…

For those who know him not Sir David Hare is one of the great knights of the English theatre – playwright, screenwriter and director. He is perhaps best known for his trilogy of ‘state of the nation’ plays for the Royal National Theatre in the early 90s – ‘Racing Demon‘, ‘Murmuring Judges‘ and ‘Absence of War‘ – as well as for his earlier play, ‘Plenty‘ – his own screen adaptation of which starred Meryl Streep. Streep featured again in the movie of his 2002 screenplay of Michael Cunningham’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel – ‘The Hours‘ – the which was directed by Stephen Daldry, who also does the honours for this revival of ‘Skylight‘. Hare’s 2011 one act play ‘South Downs‘ – based on his school days in Sussex and written to be played as a double bill with Terrence Rattigan’s ‘The Browning Version‘ for the centenary of the latter’s birth – is one of my favourite scripts of recent years.

Most recently Hare has turned his hand to writing and directing for television, producing a trilogy of dramas based on his long-serving MI5 character – Johnny Worricker. The ‘Worricker Trilogy‘ – comprising ‘Page Eight‘, ‘Turks and Caicos‘ and ‘Salting the Battlefield‘ features in the lead role no less than the estimable Bill Nighy. See above!

Hare is understandably widely regarded as a political writer – his work clearly reflecting his left of centre credentials. ‘Skylight‘ – written whilst the UK yet reverberated to the shrill cacophony of the Thatcher years – makes central the abyss between that era’s capitalist high-achievers and those left as human wreckage in their wake. Nighy’s driven and hugely successful alpha-manhood is pitted against Mulligan’s born-again social conscience. Not too difficult to imagine where Hare’s sympathies lie.

Skylight‘ is – praise be – much more nuanced than this, and considerably more complex and layered than first impressions might suggest. The play is in truth about these two engaging, much flawed and totally believable characters and their sad, funny, exasperating and moving relationship history with each other. Exquisitely written, Hare’s script eschews easy answers and ensures that should we as onlookers ever feel that we have enough of a handle on matters to form a judgement, we are rapidly disabused of the notion and forced to dig deeper.

One could posit that given such wonderful material all a decent actor need do is to hit the mark and to recite the lines. To suggest such in this case would be to damn Nighy and Mulligan with faint praise. I can’t recall when I last saw two thespists inhabit their characters as completely as do these two. This is acting of the very highest order.

But enough of my babbling. Instead of perusing my prattlings you should be online at once scrabbling to acquire a ticket for the last few weeks during which this wonderful show will be on the London stage. Such treasures are – by all accounts – yet to be had… though I doubt that they will remain so for long.

There are rumours of a Broadway transfer in the spring of 2015 – should you hail from across the pond or be feeling particularly flush – but who knows.

Don’t take the chance. Catch it now!

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