The day after tomorrow

Today is the day after tomorrow and all is well; well I know what I mean. We’re back at work and there’s no tidal wave, no earthquakes (not in this part of the UK anyway) and no... time to stop worrying about those events we can’t control. Whether it’s recession, bird flu or Manchester United winning the premiership; there’s little we can do, so it’s a good idea to think of those areas where we can make a difference. As to the rest we give our best, because whilst effort expended on lost causes may not be the smartest thing, it’s the human thing. And I’m happy with that.

That was the worst Christmas ever

That was the worst Christmas ever. My Mum followed up her Christmas day stay in hospital with another surprise visit, preceded by bleeding out in the hour leading up to New Year’s Day. If they time her eye operation right she could have a Christmas/New Year/Easter day triple - there should be a prize. Mrs R is still below par, there’s a mountain of washing waiting for me in the kitchen, another of ironing in the spare room and work starts on Tuesday, for which the outlook is uncertain.

With this in mind I concede it’s possible my review of 2010 may show a small amount of bias:

It was crap.

As might the prediction for 2011:

It will be crap.

On the plus side there’s a new coffee shop in town and they do a lovely chocolate muffin.

Flux

I wrote some time ago on the nature of faith and on the whole I was happy with the balance. It was at least a start, but unable to sleep last night I remembered another more earthly bound inspiration; the need to be of use. Perhaps this is a common denominator.

However I’m sure it’s a combination of sometimes competing factors that give us reason, though I suspect we are ill-suited to maintain our grasp on all those applicable; more likely the existence of one compensates for the lack of another. And that’s probably just as well. What of a future where mankind becomes extinct not through famine or war, but through reaching a zenith in securing the source of happiness and having nothing left to achieve.

The love of human beings

Helen says to Jane “you think too much of the love of human beings” and though I understand the context in which this is said it stays in the mind of this non-believer (I still find it difficult to say atheist), I suspect until long after I finish. On the Wikipedia page for Jane Eyre are listed numerous adaptations; missing the one of which I am most familiar and noting another being released next year. I’ve seen several and though the religious element is there I’ve never felt it forced; maybe I’m making allowances for the time or my psyche provides a natural filter, or perhaps such elements as they are have been downplayed for more modern sensibilities.

It contrasted with a scene in William Boyd’s recent adaptation of his own novel, Any Human Heart, in which an irritating member of the clergy who after having been earlier rebuffed by a declaration of atheism is finally told to “fuck off”. That jarred a little; I thought it at first a rather clumsy and unnecessary scene, a sop to atheists, since I’ve never met a religious practitioner quite as inept. Yet Logan Mountstuart was the antithesis to that ghastly picture of a perfect human being; it is what makes his story so interesting - it is why we care. His reaction demonstrated not superiority but his ability to strike out, his flawed humanity. Jane describes it well in a ‘victory’ of her own:

Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.

Resurgam

Since I have some time free before returning to work, a week no less, I am resolved to lock myself in a room where I cannot be disturbed and do something useful with my life: read a book. Since this will fail I am resolved to allocate some time to myself during each day in which to read. Since this will also fail I can only hope that the resolve I showed last night in actually switching off the television will be maintained for the short time I have left – before I start making excuses again.

Last evening’s sacrifice was to skip the opportunity to complete the Die Hard experience with Die Hard 4.0; a film that is from all accounts awful but something I need to see for what I believe is called closure. Come to think of it, though I enjoy the original there’s a particularly nasty scene near the end where John McClane’s new friend Al, deskbound because of an accidental shooting, learns how to kill again. I was sure I’d written about that in the past but a quick search on my blog reveals that I haven’t – either that or the search isn’t working.

Instead I read, and of all things I have started with Jane Eyre. I confess my choice was encouraged by the knowledge that classic literature on an eBook reader is free, and if nothing else I am cheap. It’s good; I’m already on chapter ten and though the chapters are pretty short, let’s accentuate the positive.

Santa bought me a Kindle - I didn’t want one but now I have one I quite like it. I figure 30 to 40 more classics will cover the cost; parsimony will make me a more rounded person!

Jane’s friend, Helen Burns, is dead; and I’m sure there’s something I wanted to say, prompted by her instruction concerning the nature of love. Similarly I was struck by the numerous adaptations of this story compared to a recent adaptation of Any Human Heart, the portrayal of religion and such, but I must save that for another time, gather my thoughts if I’m able and do them justice. That'll be the day.

The friendly beasts

I put it down to weariness. A series of weights that alone we can lift, but together cause us to buckle; maybe it’s the other way around. I am glad for Christmas, and my relief that my daughter retains the magic is tangible, but I am so tired. The day before Christmas Eve my Mum had her long overdue operation and she wasn't discharged until today, Boxing Day. I’m thinking I should have bought more drink.

I coast along on the kindness of others; the Tesco till attendant, the girl in the bookshop who admires the colour of my calendar, I have a feeling I gave the same one last year, the Starbucks barista whilst waiting on John Lewis. Or the family pet that sidles up and nudges you with his nose... he doesn’t know any better, but he looks happy.

Accent this day

A blog is good for many things, though I'm not sure what makes a good blog. One moment I decry the tribalism of political life, the next I'm all too happy putting the boot in. Last night I had a dig at those complaining about Russell Crowe's accent, today I say the following:

...except for the accents in Oliver Stone's Alexander; those were terrible.

They were rubbish; which unfortunately says as much about me as it does the film.