I've been thinking more about my doctrine of "reasonable expectation" in the light of my re-entry into "normal life" in the UK. I understood, of course, that the journey home from Auckland would be long and not much fun . This was true: three hours at Auckland Airport, three hours twenty to Melbourne, around two hours wait in Melbourne, and then six or so to Singapore. The Tanglin Club was the usual wonderful sanctuary but in about forty-eight hours we were off again with thirteen and a half hours after a three hour wait. The Customs shed was a nightmare and so in a different (and over-priced way) was the Heathrow Express. The Oyster Card to Waterloo worked but the man issuing a ticket to Tisbury spoke no known language and appeared to have started his job about five minutes earlier. The bag for my hot chocolate was too weak and collapsed. All this was depressing if predictable.
However I really hadn't expected to get to the barrier and be met by a jobsworth obviously transferred from duty on the East German side of the Old Berlin Wall who told me firmly that I had the "wrong" ticket and she could not let me on to the train. I'm afraid I was unamused and got on the train nonetheless, had a word with the very civilized guard who said the whole thing was ludicrous, I had paid quite enough already (over £36)and I was not to worry.
So she was contrary to "reasonable expectation" whereas everybody and everything else came within my definition. The only moral seems to me that you have to meet unreasonable expectation with equally unreasonable (though scrupulously polite) ingenuity. This time it worked. Apart from anything else I have a real loathing of mindless bureaucracy. Which this was.
Anyone I'm home and I wish I could say it was great. Sadly it's not much. In fact it's pretty dire. The Ray Gosling story depressed me enormously. It wasn't so much the core of the perceived story - Gosling's apparent "confession" that he had assisted the death of a gay lover. In any case this is sub judice so I can't comment even if I wanted to. What really saddened me was the uncontested observation that Gosling, now 70, had been declared bankrupt about a decade ago and was living in some sort of sheltered home in Nottingham. This is a man who brought pleasure to lots of us during his radio career and this is how he is rewarded. Compare and contrast the umber of out and out spivs who have tried to make our lives as miserable as possible and you have the reason for my depression. It's not right and just makes me want a nasty old corrupt communist regime whereby entertainers were rewarded with vodka, dancing girls and dachas and being an entrepreneur was a crime. I think there's a lot to be said for it and I'm only half joking. I don't feel Gosling has enjoyed "reasonable expectation".
I sent quite a lot of this blog, which now goes back seven years, to a friend in the writing business and he read it and said that at times it seemed slightly "Pooterish". Naturally, I have been pondering this, not least because he also said that this might be deliberate. He was referring, of course, to the humorous classic first serialized in Punch towards the end of the nineteenth century by George and Weedon Grossmith and later published in volume form as the "Diary of a Nobody."
At first I was mildly offended by the verdict not least because the most important feature of Mr. Pooter's diary is described in "Wikipedia" as "a tendency to take oneself excessively seriously". Another definition I found on the internet says "somewhat pompous, unintellectual and unimaginative (but basically well-meaning) traditionally with an unexciting lifestyle; probably derogatory if used by a Guardian reader, more sympathetic if by a Telegraph reader".
On reflection, however, I have decided to take it as a compliment on the grounds that the original was predicated on the notion that there were far too many diaries of "somebodies" and not nearly enough, ie none, by nobodies. Let's hear it for nobodies, is therefore the distinctive cry of the Pooter. In an age of celebrities and bankers I'm inclined to think this rather a good thing. Yes, of course, Pooter is self-important (though who is to pontificate on what's important and what not, besides which if you yourself aren't important to you then who on earth is?) and he is snobbish and right-wing and probably a Telegraph reader. On the other hand he hasn't done anyone any harm and his values , though conservative, are, on the whole, admirable. A friend rang this morning and said we all should have been bankers: the more you screw up the greater your rewardz. Pretty true. More so in the UK than most places and the net result is to persuade the majority to pay no attention to rewards, money and so on. No matter how hard you work, how worthwhile the things you do, it makes no difference. I'm afraid that breeds indifference and cynicism not to mention a complete distrust of the alleged system.
Incidentally I suppose I began blogging because I thought it was the correct thing to do and also because publishers seemed to be turning so many blogs into lucrative books. I now realise, however, that most of these were the work of people who had not previously written anything and certainly nothing commercial. I also realise that part of the essence of the true blog is to engage in conversation which I don't wish to do. Also that the true bloggers- see Richard Dawkins and others - are amazingly angry. I am not yet angry enough. Just Pooterish.
Anyway I have almost finished a second crime novel; I await response to various ideas and pieces of work; I went on behalf of "The lady" magazine to see the Duchess of Cornwall in action at Helston,, friends have been to see us.other friends are coming; I have booked tickets for the States in May; it is very cold and the wind is blowing. Oh, and the computer is on the blink and with the expert's brother. The expert is in Bali. I wish I were there as well.
I cannot think how people got through this long,long abject winter and I am incredibly relieved that I was able to spend so much of it away. I can't think how so many survived and seem optimistic and cheerful. It's very salutary.
However I really hadn't expected to get to the barrier and be met by a jobsworth obviously transferred from duty on the East German side of the Old Berlin Wall who told me firmly that I had the "wrong" ticket and she could not let me on to the train. I'm afraid I was unamused and got on the train nonetheless, had a word with the very civilized guard who said the whole thing was ludicrous, I had paid quite enough already (over £36)and I was not to worry.
So she was contrary to "reasonable expectation" whereas everybody and everything else came within my definition. The only moral seems to me that you have to meet unreasonable expectation with equally unreasonable (though scrupulously polite) ingenuity. This time it worked. Apart from anything else I have a real loathing of mindless bureaucracy. Which this was.
Anyone I'm home and I wish I could say it was great. Sadly it's not much. In fact it's pretty dire. The Ray Gosling story depressed me enormously. It wasn't so much the core of the perceived story - Gosling's apparent "confession" that he had assisted the death of a gay lover. In any case this is sub judice so I can't comment even if I wanted to. What really saddened me was the uncontested observation that Gosling, now 70, had been declared bankrupt about a decade ago and was living in some sort of sheltered home in Nottingham. This is a man who brought pleasure to lots of us during his radio career and this is how he is rewarded. Compare and contrast the umber of out and out spivs who have tried to make our lives as miserable as possible and you have the reason for my depression. It's not right and just makes me want a nasty old corrupt communist regime whereby entertainers were rewarded with vodka, dancing girls and dachas and being an entrepreneur was a crime. I think there's a lot to be said for it and I'm only half joking. I don't feel Gosling has enjoyed "reasonable expectation".
I sent quite a lot of this blog, which now goes back seven years, to a friend in the writing business and he read it and said that at times it seemed slightly "Pooterish". Naturally, I have been pondering this, not least because he also said that this might be deliberate. He was referring, of course, to the humorous classic first serialized in Punch towards the end of the nineteenth century by George and Weedon Grossmith and later published in volume form as the "Diary of a Nobody."
At first I was mildly offended by the verdict not least because the most important feature of Mr. Pooter's diary is described in "Wikipedia" as "a tendency to take oneself excessively seriously". Another definition I found on the internet says "somewhat pompous, unintellectual and unimaginative (but basically well-meaning) traditionally with an unexciting lifestyle; probably derogatory if used by a Guardian reader, more sympathetic if by a Telegraph reader".
On reflection, however, I have decided to take it as a compliment on the grounds that the original was predicated on the notion that there were far too many diaries of "somebodies" and not nearly enough, ie none, by nobodies. Let's hear it for nobodies, is therefore the distinctive cry of the Pooter. In an age of celebrities and bankers I'm inclined to think this rather a good thing. Yes, of course, Pooter is self-important (though who is to pontificate on what's important and what not, besides which if you yourself aren't important to you then who on earth is?) and he is snobbish and right-wing and probably a Telegraph reader. On the other hand he hasn't done anyone any harm and his values , though conservative, are, on the whole, admirable. A friend rang this morning and said we all should have been bankers: the more you screw up the greater your rewardz. Pretty true. More so in the UK than most places and the net result is to persuade the majority to pay no attention to rewards, money and so on. No matter how hard you work, how worthwhile the things you do, it makes no difference. I'm afraid that breeds indifference and cynicism not to mention a complete distrust of the alleged system.
Incidentally I suppose I began blogging because I thought it was the correct thing to do and also because publishers seemed to be turning so many blogs into lucrative books. I now realise, however, that most of these were the work of people who had not previously written anything and certainly nothing commercial. I also realise that part of the essence of the true blog is to engage in conversation which I don't wish to do. Also that the true bloggers- see Richard Dawkins and others - are amazingly angry. I am not yet angry enough. Just Pooterish.
Anyway I have almost finished a second crime novel; I await response to various ideas and pieces of work; I went on behalf of "The lady" magazine to see the Duchess of Cornwall in action at Helston,, friends have been to see us.other friends are coming; I have booked tickets for the States in May; it is very cold and the wind is blowing. Oh, and the computer is on the blink and with the expert's brother. The expert is in Bali. I wish I were there as well.
I cannot think how people got through this long,long abject winter and I am incredibly relieved that I was able to spend so much of it away. I can't think how so many survived and seem optimistic and cheerful. It's very salutary.
