I prefer the old-fashioned word to the commonly used abbreviation – blog, from web-log. My journal is made up of occasional observations on things that interest me. Strictly speaking, a journal is a daily record, but its not every day that something worth writing about happens. Every other week at best, or just occasionally. Come back once a month and I will do my best to make sure that you find something new.

Latest Post

Infantilising the nation

I have begun to wonder whether the government has conspired with the BBC to infantilise the nation.

Participants in television programmes are encouraged to behave like children, jumping up and down, waving their arms about, hugging each other. Men, even very old men, wear short trousers. Grown men and women are encouraged to lose their inhibitions, to hide nothing, to cry for the camera. In other words, to behave like characters in a soap opera, a genre to which all television drama now belongs.

Television programmes that aim to inform and educate must entertain as well. News presenters wander through a maze of giant video screens. Intrepid reporters take us with them on their adventures, like teachers taking children on a visit to a park or a museum. When the news is over, the weather men and women, dressed to kill, swoop and sway in front of their maps like ballet dancers.

George Orwell in 1984 foresaw the Ten Minute Hate, in which citizens were encouraged, or rather obliged, to hurl abuse at people the government told them were their enemies. The present government has found a better way to manage the people. With the help of the BBC, they want to stop us from growing up.


Previous Posts

No clapping please, we’re mindful

Last week's 'Mindfulness Prom' was a quiet affair. The music was all lento and pianissimo. Just when clapping between movements has begun to be permitted, if only at the Proms, the audience for this concert listened in total silence. There were times when I had to...

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There’s something about a pub

There's something about a pub that loosens the tongue, sloughs off inhibition, turns the tide of imagination. How many novels, plays and poems have been conceived in a pub? How many ideas hastily scribbled down? How many hitherto unnoticed faults revealed when a draft...

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“One evening
when they are sitting quietly together
she breaks the silence
and starts to talk”

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