Blogging

D is for Death

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This post is part of the A to Z 2020 Challenge. I have decided to theme the posts around personal and societal responses to the Covid 19 crisis, including my resumption of Blogging!

Does Death give Meaning to Life?

My mother served in the Second World War as a signaling Sergeant and she said that over the course of the war, there were six men, any of whom she might have made a life with if they hadn’t gone off to where the action was and never come back. In that sentence, I have not used the word death, but you know what I mean. Death is the elephant in the room. My mother had certainly had enough of it and so, when my grandparents died, the first people I knew who died, my sisters and I were not allowed to go to the funeral – my mother did not want to expose us to death. Those funerals were the proper hole in the ground in an English country churchyard funerals. Soon after that though, funerals in England moved, mostly, to being cremations. A poll in 2016 showed that 75% of people in the UK prefer cremation. Whether it is the cost, £1000 more on average, for a traditional funeral; the move away from religion and thus church burials; the lack of space in churchyards – I don’t know the answer to why we have moved away from burials to cremations. But I do know one of the effects of this switch and that is the waiting list that means it can be three or four weeks between a person dying and the catharsis of a funeral.

Why does this wait make a difference? Well in 1995 I went to live in Ireland and at first I was deceived by the fact that everyone spoke “English”, into thinking that the culture was also similar. I mean if you went to France and had to learn to speak a different language, then you would also expect the culture to be different too. So the first thing that made me appreciate the difference in Ireland, was the way of death, or rather, what happens when someone dies. Firstly the word goes out to all relatives and significant friends. Everyone drops what they are doing, all over Ireland and even abroad and by the evening, everyone is at the deceased’s home in time for a service where the body arrives at the church. The night will be spent remembering the person and the next day, everyone goes to another service and the coffin is processed by all the mourners to the local burial ground. Another difference – the burial grounds are usually multi-denominational and the churchyards are not usually used for graves. The party or wake may then continue for the next night or more… Now the Postmaster whose mother had passed at that first Irish funeral I encountered, told me he had been going to funerals in his village all his life but this was the first time he had been at the receiving end of one. For the first time, he realized how supportive it was to have all the family around him so quickly. Contrast this with the three-week wait in England and a quick service at a crematorium in whatever religious denomination you require and another group of mourners lining up outside as you complete. It might only be my opinion, but I feel that in England, we are particularly detached from death.

My partner, on the other hand, feels that the Irish are naturally more demonstrative and that the English have always been more reserved rather than any effect of the war and that children were not taken to funerals because they were not regarded as mature enough for the experience – take your pick or any other answers on a postcard (comment box)…

So different cultures respond differently or if not differently, then in degree, to death both in terms of emotion, practices of remembrance and of religious rituals – but is there some essential similarity? Well, evidence of burying the dead is often taken to be the sign of transition from ape to hominid – a sign that our big brains had developed to the point of self-consciousness where we could imagine an afterlife or conceptualize the preciousness of the Ancestor or simply identify with a corpse and not wish to leave it unburied and prey to animals. All these things require acts of imagination, feats of language and co-operation, all signs of big brain development or to put it another way, funereal arrangements are fundamental to being human.

The Covid 19 is having a very distressing effect as people are essentially dying alone, being buried without ceremony and as so often, when we are deprived of something, we appreciate what we have lost much more. Will we find new ways to celebrate the passing of relatives and friends and strangers?

At the end of the last post, I suggested that life has no intrinsic meaning and I stand by that, but the way that we treat our dead shows that humans create their own meanings, light their own flames of imagination, art, scientific enquiry and philosophy in the dark vastness of the universe. How long that flame will burn given the way we are treating the planet is open to question but as the warnings of Greta Thunberg are temporarily eclipsed by the Covid 19 crisis, there is a little hope in that crisis. Pollution is down, businesses being re-configured, priorities are being re-assessed at all levels from the individual to governments. We are pausing to draw breath and consider where we find ourselves. It’s not all good news though, the forces of repression are trying to claw more influence through emergency powers but then more people have time to scrutinize everything. Who knows where we will be on the other side of the crisis, but we live in interesting times…

C is for Covid 19

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This post is part of the A to Z 2020 Challenge. Since I didn’t discover the challenge till April 1st. – the first day of the challenge, I missed the pre-challenge post where you let readers know what theme your A to Z will be outlining. As this is day three, I have decided to theme the posts around personal and societal responses to the Covid 19 crisis, including my resumption of Blogging!


What is the point of a virus?

Our lives have been turned upside down by a virus, an object so tiny it is invisible to the naked eye. I say object, because although some commentators have referred to Covid 19, a Coronavirus, as “living” on different surfaces for various lengths of time, a virus is not really alive in the usual sense – it is a parasite that cannot exist long outside its host cell nor reproduce on its own. Scientists still debate whether the many viruses should be included in the “tree of life” for they do contain DNA and/ or RNA which are the building plans for all life and the chances are that they have accompanied us closely on our evolutionary journey. But if they are not really alive and their only capability is replication – in the process, damaging or even killing their hosts – what is the point of them?


Darwin, who gave us the Theory of Evolution, was originally training to be a clergyman but far from debunking the ideas that geology was spreading about the Earth being millions of years older than the Bible indicated, Darwin disappointed the devout Robert FitzRoy, Captain of HMS Beagle by postulating the theory which would explain the progression of life to be found in the rocks. After the voyage of the Beagle, Darwin settled down to marriage, family and working on his theory, holding back from publishing his work until the last minute, when others threatened to get there first, out of a touching desire not to upset his friend FitzRoy’s religious sensibilities. But during this period, Darwin’s beloved daughter – Annie, died of Scarlet Fever (a bacterial rather than viral) and Darwin’s own belief in God took a terrible knock. The final nail in the coffin for Darwin’s beliefs was his learning of species of parasitical wasps that lay their eggs inside a living caterpillar so that when the eggs hatch, the wasp young feed and grow – eating their host from within. For Darwin, the idea that God could create such cruelty not to mention take the innocent life of his daughter, was too much to bear.


So Darwin would have been fascinated but appalled had he been around to see how the development of our understanding of the parallel evolution of viruses and animals, reveals something so pointless and so potentially devastating for the animal kingdom. We sit transfixed by daily news broadcasts announcing death tolls reaching and exceeding thousands in different countries but this is nothing compared to the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918. We think that 50 million people died worldwide but it could have been up to 100 million – our means of recording the deaths in that pre-global village world was simply not adequate enough to know. Given the ease of the spreading of the virus by modern transport and mass travel, we might think that we are doing very well to have contained the pandemic as well as we have, government failure to act notwithstanding…

So what is the point of virus? Well there simply is no point, they just are because they are. They hone our immune systems but if they didn’t exist we wouldn’t need such defenses. They are not living organisms such as bacteria (though we could do without some of those little critters too). If you believe in God, you would have to ask yourself why he would create such a thing. If you don’t believe in God then and you accept evolution as the roller-coaster ride that has brought species and their attendant parasites, including viruses, to the place we are today, then, ironically, something which is arguably “life”, is a metaphor for life itself. Life appears to have been, likely, accidental though probably inevitable given the inconceivable multitude of planets that exist in the universe. Life, apparently, exists for no purpose other than to exist and reproduce and as the mathematician  Augustus De Morgan, said in his short rhyme “Siphonaptera”, from his book A Budget of Paradoxes (1872), (Siphonaptera being the biological order to which fleas belong)

Great fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite ’em,
And little fleas have lesser fleas, and so ad infinitum.
And the great fleas themselves, in turn, have greater fleas to go on;
While these again have greater still, and greater still, and so on.
(Wikipedia)

If that analysis seems a little negative, stay with me, it’s not the whole story…

Now to the technical stuff:-
If you want to understand what a virus is, there is a good article here. This excellent article explains the body’s defence mechanisms – in particular B-cells and T-cells. A very technical article explains the body’s immune system over-reaction called the Cytokine Storm which is mostly the cause of death with Covid 19.



B is for Blog

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This post is part of the A to Z 2020 Challenge

Why do we Blog?

I love blogging, both writing and reading and hopefully, interacting with other people, bloggers or not, through comments. What makes a good blog for me? Words like interesting, quirky, fresh, well written and, mostly, personal come to mind.

What do I mean by personal? Well even if someone is writing about some thing, I like it if, in the way that they tell it – I learn something about that person. As I said in the previous post, blogs were conceived as nothing more than dated entries – diaries in effect, and though they have gone in many other directions since then, some people still use them as diaries. If you read such a blog, then you don’t need to ask the question which you might ask upon reading an old-school paper diary. Did this person write for themselves or did they have a view to publication and a wider readership? If a blog is published, made public it’s author hopes to be read. Those that are published privately are equivalent to the old private diaries – anyone keep one of these? Please, comment and tell us how it is for you and why you use digital to diary… One group who keep private diaries but with an eye to their future readership, are politicians who mine their diaries for their autobiographies. Do you use your blog – refer back to past posts – do tell!

I have no time for those who say they don’t read or watch fiction because fiction is the one way we have to see what it might be like to be someone else and some blogs can offer this too. I would go so far as to say that story-telling is one of our fundamental human characteristics – “Look! These paw-prints show that a lioness, oh and her cub, passed this way say, 3 days ago and she was limping.” A story formed in our big brains. They say that 80% of our big brains developed to work out what other people were going to do next – that all the other things we accomplish are byproducts of those big brain capabilities – transferable skills! I think that storytelling whether aural, novel, short-story or blog, is one of those defining characteristics of humans that emerged as byproducts of our need to understand “the other”. Never be afraid to share your stories…

Many blogs fall by the wayside after a few posts, a few months, and that is reminiscent of those New Year’s Resolution to “Keep a Diary” but then sometimes you catch the habit, your life’s schedules permit the space to write without struggle and best of all you find it rewarding either for yourself or because you get feedback from others. We all like interaction, but building an audience is hard work and it has to be said that Blogger does not make it easy to find other people – only by searching one “interest” at a time and sometimes it would be nice to conflate two or more – for example, science buffs who also play the ukulele and crochet…

I was spoilt by the experience of my first blog Ripple, hosted on Mo’time. Mo’time was a small blog operated by the manager of a large Italian blog which he used as a testbed before incorporating new wrinkles into the main one. I say small but if I remember correctly, some 10,000 bloggers had started blogs but due to the aforementioned rapid attrition factor, it seemed like there was quite a small core of stalwarts. A more accessible listing made it easier than Blogger to connect and befriend other bloggers. Sadly, the main Italian blog was sold and after a couple of months, the new owners closed down Mo’time. We were bereft at losing our eclectic community bunk-house and some of us tried to find alternatives and a few have ended up staying in touch via Facebook – a scattering of friends around the world…

So! Here I am having picked up this blog again after a few years when writing didn’t seem to fit, liberated by the lockdown and determined to complete the A to Z 2020 Challenge and hoping to make some new friends – hit that comment button, please!

A is for Alistair Cooke

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Part of childhood Sunday mornings back in the 1960s, was my father switching on the radio on the upstairs landing of our house whereby everybody in the house could listen whilst having a lie-in. After “Hymns from the little chapel in the valley” – a precursor of Songs of Praise and before the omnibus edition of “The Archers” there was “Alistair Cooke’s Letter from America”. I am starting the A to Z 2020 challenge with this seminal broadcasting giant because for me, this is where my love of the blog form begins.


There may be some among you who ask how a long-running radio series which began before blogs were conceived of, before PC’s were dreamt of and in fact before mainframe computers were invented, could be considered a Blog! Well in the beginning, Blogs were conceived as a simple sequence of dated posts – ideal for say, a diary. One of the hallmarks of a truly great piece of new technology is perhaps the degree and breadth of mission-creep which accrues to it as people explore it and blogs have moved from a diary to documentary, educational tool, club forum, therapeutic vent, political rant, and blogs cover every subject imaginable. But for me, the classic form is a missive from the individual to the world which reveals their thoughts, reflections and most enjoyably, their personality and it is in this respect that Alistair Cooke is the model for the form. In 2,869 episodes over 58 years, the longest running, spoken word broadcast ever, he spoke with a mellifluous, mid-Atlantic accent that gave his observations on America, explaining it if you will, not only to Britain but to the world via the BBC World Service, but as well, to Americans themselves. They were already used to Alistair’s voice because before he emigrated to America from Britain in 1937, he had delivered “London Letter” for NBS explaining British ways to America.

You can read the quite astonishing history of this prolific broadcaster and writer here and you can listen to the best of the broadcasts here but it’s the style and tone of Alistair Cooke which I love and aspire to channel in my own writing and although he read his broadcast aloud, – his material was, in the first instance, written. You can find the scripts here. He might begin with some observations about squirrels preparing for winter and then take you around the political action in Washington, the reaction of the people before returning effortlessly to the Fall, and the squirrels. The political content would be teased out and explained for the world in a way that was comfortable, reassuring without any hint of patronage. And when you needed to hear about the gravest moments in American history, such as the assassination of JF Kennedy, there was no safer pair of hands, no more moving commentator to describe the events and the reaction of Americans.

That radio on our landing, itself an object of Americana which my father adapted to UK voltage by mounting a light-bulb on top, took us to another country each week – to Alistair Cooke’s America as we lay in bed and listened.

2,869 letters – blog that!

Published as part of the A to Z 2020 Challenge

We Find Ourselves in Strange Times…

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With the Covid 19 Corona Virus filling the airwaves, the over-the-garden-fence the Messenger, WhatsApp and Zoom conversations and yes Old School Texts and Phone calls, the virus thrusting change upon us faster than we could imagine, is it too early to look to the future beyond the outbreak and ask what might be in store for us?

I have not posted here since 2013 when during the early years in this house in Yorkshire, without friends hereabouts, I had continued to develop online exchanges and a new type of friendship. Mo’time, my first serious blog platform, came and went with a change of ownership but having tried a few possible alternatives, some of us found our way onto Facebook where a half dozen of us still hang out and observe each other’s lives from afar. At least one I met in person, in the real world and though there are others I would like to meet, for the moment, the virus has stopped all real-world meetings. But there is an upside, the deaths of thousands notwithstanding, in our social isolation, we have time to think, to draw breath and to reach out to old friends across the void, to finish old projects and begin new ones, rediscover what makes us who we are and where, singularly and collectively, we might head from here.

One thing I never embraced ever since I first encountered it in 2011, is Twitter. Don’t get me wrong, it is a valuable tool if you want to get early warning of an earthquake (Google indexes Twitter in real-time thus picking up important news wherever it might be trending) but the idea of size limited communications just does not appeal to me and it is no surprise that it has become the favourite mouthpiece of the world’s most vacuous ranter. Complex truths need more nuanced treatment, space to grow, so for me, the blog form is the one and it feels good to be back, writing again, thinking on the hoof and in between posts, chewing the cud. (Don’t know where the sudden bovine imagery came from – I’ll be referring to the milk of human kindness next!)

I will let some old friends know and hopefully make some new ones along the way and I will reference things I find too, starting with this article I found on Flipboard https://www.vice.com/en_in/article/wxekvw/the-world-after-coronavirus-healthcare-labor-climate-internet which examines just some of the questions about the future we can begin to wonder about, and although it is written from an American viewpoint, there is much that applies to the rest of our global village…

A Writer is someone who writes…

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A blogger on my reading list has thrown down a challenge that chimes with a decision I had already arrived at, namely that I must write more and set myself some specific challenges. Over on “Off go the Panties”, Panty Parade has posted the “The Stop Whining Twelve Step, Twelve Week Challenge” to all recalcitrant writers claiming to be blocked, too busy yada, yada, yada. 

I’m in!

I started or rather re-started writing creatively a few years back when I lived in Co. Sligo, Ireland – a place steeped in the likes of WB Yeats and soused with a barful of contemporary writers. The vicissitudes of schooling had meant giving up anything but criticising other people’s writing at an early age and I had forgotten the pleasure of setting sail down an open page…

I progressed from short pieces generated in a writing group to a novel that now stands at some 40 thousand words and which I have added to in the last few years in a desultory fashion – but now the time has come to knuckle down and finish it. So below I will list some goals and seek a mentor as per the challenge but first let me share an insight.

On Sunday mornings my parents, and by custom, us children too, had a lie in. My father would switch on a small radio on the landing and we would all hear “Songs form the Little Chapel in the Valley”, “The Archers” Omnibus edition and Alastair Cooke’s “Letter from America” and it came to me suddenly the other day that my blogging style owes much to Mr Cooke’s wonderful rambles that would start and return to some key observation on American life by way of several other fascinating stories. Blogs are like a diary and all diaries are addressed to some future audience whatever anyone says and Alastair Cooke was definitely and directly addressing the British audience with his observations softly dropped into our Sunday morning ears. So perhaps he was the prototypical blogger from before the internet was born. I wonder how many others had their writing sensibilities subtle shaped by the wonderful Mr Cooke.

Back to the challenge…

Goals:-

1. What kind of writer am I (and what programme of writing will suit me)?
I am a morning person by choice and I can get out of bed and write before I have even had a cup of tea and if I can do this regularly it suits me and I will steadily increase the words in my novel. I have thought enough about the novel I have plenty that just needs to get out. 

2. I also like blogging and besides this one which takes me when I feel inspired, I also started a new one dealing with my relationship to photography. This is partly an excuse to get my brain in gear in another way so although it might seem counter-productive to finishing the novel. I also commit to posting at least once a week both here and there.

3. I am going to seek a mentor for the novel writing and by way of a fishing trip, I include a fragment below and to anyone who cares to read more I will send 2 chapters of what is a sub-plot of the book. As a result of any comments I receive back, I may request a mentor.

There are other goals to the challenge but I will return to them in later posts.
Any other stalled writers out there? Take the challenge…

The novel – a fragment…

As the Dublin coach made it ‘s way along the banks of the Liffey, through the evening rush hour traffic, a pedestrian with more than a little “drink taken”, lurched off the pavement. The jolt of brakes applied suddenly together with the driver’s curses brought Margaret out of the trance she had been in for the whole journey. The same song had been going round and round in her head without registering but now she realised with a certain amount of chagrin, it was The Beatles “She’s Leaving Home”. Before the words could unfold their story again, at this moment too painfully close to her own home, Margaret switched her attention to the river running alongside The Quays. In the Margaret of all previous journeys heading into Dublin along the Liffey had always produced a barely suppressed excitement. A teacher had once told her class how every breath you take contains a molecule of air expelled by Julius Caesar in his dying breath. Peering down into the green walled channel, the water always at a different height depending on the state of the tide, Margaret had thenceforth imagined the Liffey as a lung for Dublin – breathing it’s slow, twice daily intake of water that might have come from anywhere in the world. What foreign ports had breathed in this water before and where would it waft to next? Further down The Quays, you could see the ships moored that went to other countries and as a child she had pictured herself on board some vessel, swimming out the river, through the sea and up some other river in “foreign parts. Tonight, the dream would become reality, she would change at Bus Aras an head out to the North Wall and board the night ferry to Holyhead, not the most exotic destination possible but a gateway to a new life nevertheless. She would take the train to London and do a little sight seeing but she wouldn’t stay there in case she was followed – no, she would move on somewhere else, somewhere less obvious, somewhere special. Exactly where she wasn’t sure, but it would come to her, or rather shewould come to it.

The Blog Title

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I should explain the title of this blog it is from a Haiku I made up as part of an artwork I created some years back

” How would you know it was just a dream if you don’t know you’re asleep!”

I was pretty pleased with it as it is not just the 17 syllable rule that make it a Haiku but there has to be some reference to time or seasons passing. I hope the shift in tense between would and don’t, imply the difference between a waking and sleeping state hence the passage of time.
Even without the time reference, I still love John Cooper Clarke, the Punk Poet’s skit of a Haiku

“Writing a poem in seventeen syllables is very dific”

Any favourites?