In Celebration of the News

Some time ago, a friend of mine went on her travels and asked me if I could keep an eye over the newspapers whilst she was away. In actual fact, what I thought would be a bit of a chore turned into an exceptionally interesting journey through the newspaper and became a self-inflicted discipline for myself to ensure that I regularly scoured and commented on the news that I thought she (and I) would find interesting.
Sadly, life has since taken over and I have not been as disciplined in my ritual reading or indeed buying of the paper. I regularly visit the website but it doesn’t have the sensual pleasure of actually holding, felling and even smelling the scent of ink on paper that buying the paper does.

As with all starts of years or completion of previous ones, I tend to be full of hopelessly optimistic intentions. One of these is to see if I can keep abreast of local, national and international news more frequently. I would hope that I could keep this up and am now endeavouring to buy the newspaper as frequently as possible.
Being on holiday is a good starting point but sadly, I am already behind with my commentaries. Also, it is now nearly midday on Sunday and I haven’t even been to the shops to buy my Observer.

Still, there was plenty in the newspaper on Friday that warrants a comment so here I go.

.......................................................................................................................................................

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/jul/22/london-bus-female-ordination-pope

2005 was the year that the Pope was elected. I remember it well as my Dad and I got up each morning during the Easter break and asked one another if Karol had died yet. I went off to my next holiday destination in Dorset before the “Polish Previous” finally lost his battle for life and slowly slipped away.
Joseph Ratzinger was always going to be a controversial choice, mainly because many thought that the crown should pass back to an Italian after being usurped by the Pole in recent years.
And this was even before they got to the issue of his slightly dubious Nazi past.

So for some reason, despite his distinct lack of apology for the appalling behaviour of paedophilic priests and his own disgraceful annulment of responsibility, our glorious nation has decided to invite Ratzo to our shores as we have not been visited by a Pope since Karol Wojtyla in 1982.
That in itself, I would have thought, would be enough to protest about. Quite frankly, that would seem to be the most important issue to raise with the Pope.
Catholics would say that he has been appointed by God and therefore cannot be sacked from the job. I say, firstly, that it is actually people who make the appointment. Whether they choose to consider their decision as being influenced by a higher order is up to them. I say, secondly, that there is a first time for everything. Look at what happened to the Speaker of the House of Commons last year.

But as is peculiar to Britain, we apparently cannot be as forthright as we would like. We seem incapable of actually showing our feelings in a demonstrable yet calm manner. It is beyond our comprehension to actually say what we feel. As a nation, as individuals we skirt around issues hoping that the subject of concern will arise by default.
It won’t.
So instead of having a go at Ratzinger about the Paedophile issue, we are going to take umbrage at the lack of enlightenment regarding women’s ordination.
The two issues though, according to the Catholic Church, are not unrelated. They have, in fact, joined them together in new statements.
A new document, providing stricter and swifter action on paedophile priests, also mentioned that the attempted ordination of women to the priesthood was one of the most serious crimes in church law.
Can you imagine how a person who has endured perpetual abuse from one of these so-called men of the cloth would feel on reading such a thing? It goes beyond despicable.

As for me, this whole non-event will pass me by. I am relatively indifferent to the ordination of women. There is nothing theologically problematic for me. Jesus had twelve male disciples because of the time that he lived in. I’m sure that had he been around today he might have popped at least one Mary into his troop of happy followers.

Talking of women, and equality and all such things, there was an article stating the bleeding obvious yesterday about the disparity between teenage conception rates.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2010/jul/22/teenage-pregnancy-government-study

There are numerous statistics in the article but some tend to stick out more than most. 83% of 18 year old girls say that they were having sex. Of those 18% had been pregnant at least once. This figure ran higher in, guess what, deprived communities where parents did not have A-levels or employment or decent housing etc. Amongst the girls who got pregnant, 21% of them did so more than once. Now this little figure in itself tells you more than people are prepared to see.
If 21% of them got pregnant again, then clearly it is not because they do not know how they got pregnant.
There is this absurd naivety in some parts that these girls only get pregnant because they don’t know how they actually get pregnant. The answer, according to these naive people, is to give them factual information about penetrative sex.

Let me tell the world a little secret. Girls know how babies are made. They’ve usually known it for a long time before they have the chance to find out. What they are not doing is linking that knowledge with behavioural change. They are not taught in schools about the wonderment of sex. They are not taught about the emotional brilliance of sex. They are not taught about the alternatives to penetrative sex.
Things need to change.

These young women need some support and some people cannot see the irony of the statements linking inequality to conception rates as though there it is a shock.
It is no shock.
Working on young women’s aspiration, keeping them physically and emotionally fit would be a start.

And at the end of the article there is a statement from the Department of Education stating that there is an “encouraging decline” in the figures (no mention of a feasible increase in the 14-16 year old conception rates then?) but that there was “clearly still much more to be done to encourage young people to make safe and healthy choices”. This from a government department who wants to banish all personal, social and health education away from the very children and young people who need it.

Still talking about women, I am forever humbled by the incredible work done by so many women in countries and times where the female opinion is seen as second class or irrelevant.

There was a full page spread on the three princesses of Burma, that is the three daughters of former prime ministers., who are doggedly determined to get democracy into the country whilst recognising that this is going to take some time.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/jul/22/burma-three-princesses-electoral-fight

Along with Aung San Suu Kyi, these really are remarkable women.
We do tend to take our own flawed democracy for granted. Even to be able to write as I am about to regarding the impending referendum on electoral reform is unimaginable in some quarters. Doing it as a woman is even more so.
Perhaps it is worth hanging onto such thoughts when we feel our democracy is slipping by whilst simultaneously vehemently protecting what should be rightfully ours, i.e. the right to speak and demonstrate an opinion that may well be different from those in power.

Another remarkable woman is Edna Healey, wife of the Labour politician Denis. She died this week, aged 92 which isn’t a bad innings. She started her working life as a teacher and also worked for the English Speaking Union (see previous blog to see the difference between remarkable women and one Ms. Palin). She didn’t have her first book published until she was into her 60s so there is hope for us forty, fifty and sixty something’s yet.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2010/jul/22/edna-healey-obituary

Totally unrelated, I caught an article that mentioned the demise of the great hotel in Venice where Thomas Mann’s tragic tale of unrequited love and destructive deaths was set.
Oh how I howled at that film!
http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2010/jul/22/venice-italy-hotel-des-bains
The Hotel des Bains is finally closing its doors for the last time, only to be reopened as what I can only assume to be highly expensive apartments.
This is the way of the world nowadays, even in small towns in Wales, where the large and successful hotels of the 70s and 80s even, are making way for apartments that only the very wealthy can afford.
That is not good for the local economy. It means that more properties will remain dormant in the winter months without the need to employ local residents to “serve”. It is such a tragedy when people cannot look at things holistically and see the knock – on effect of actions taken.
In my previous blog, I mentioned Barry Island. Everyone knew, despite their protestations to the contrary, that communities would be smashed apart by the demise of the collieries but nobody thought about the effects on once thriving businesses such as Barry Island. Whilst it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, one can see how it appealed to many who just needed a short release from the mundane.

On the next page there was a picture of loveliness with a display of lavender in a field, not in my beloved France, but in the western parts of this very country. When I am down in Somerset in the up and coming weeks I will venture out to see if I can find this field of purple.

So I move rather unflowingly into the article about the wording of the referendum question. The wording that is being suggested right now is “ Do you want the United Kingdom to adopt the ‘alternative vote’ system instead of the current ‘first past the post’ system for electing members of parliament to the House of Commons?”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2010/jul/22/voting-reform-coalition

In my ever optimistic hope for the new government, I was hoping that some party political bollocks was going to be put aside and the parties could all work together, debating well and deciding for the good of the nation rather than their own political interests. I fear that this issue will see all parties voting with political tact rather than a genuinely effective and helpful move forward. Of course, the real choice is not there in the question but it appears that Labour may not support the Liberal Democrats, possibly out of petty stroppiness that they wouldn’t play their ball game in the early days of May this year.

It is going to be an interesting time. Will the left of the Liberal Democrats be vociferous in their reluctance to play ball because this bill does not contain the very thing that they wanted, i.e. proportional representation? Will the Tories not vote for the Bill despite the fact that they have boundary changes included in it that will effectively give their lot the advantage in subsequent elections? Will Labour swallow their swollen pride and back the party that hints at a left of centre stance?

We shall see.

My final comment is short. There is little to say other than applaud an interesting piece of writing from Simon Jenkins.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jul/22/clegg-truth-iraq
In this article, he explains some of the phoniness of governance. He explains how there is so much pretence and affectation in foreign policy, that Clegg spoke the truth about the ridiculous nature of war and the fact that the one with Iraq was illegal and that it is about time that Cameron backs his deputy up with some genuine and thoughtful dialogue with leaders of the Muslim world.
His summary is succinct.

“The prize for these two leaders (Obama and Cameron) is now great, of bringing the mendacious bravado of the past decade into line with the reality on the ground. It is to end two unnecessary wars and rebuild trust with a Muslim world that has no more interest in the pestilence of terror than does the west. It is to accept that the world is not a place of blocs but of individual states, each with divergent interests and fears. It is to realise colossal savings in defence spending and to shift the emphasis of foreign policy from state-sponsored paranoia to global trade and prosperity.”

It is comments such as these that prevent an idealistic visionary with a sense of hope from going completely insane. There is a possibility of world peace and harmony between people if only someone would stop playing silly buggers and listen as well as talk.
This world is not just about the self. That is merely one element.
Considering the needs of others even if there is little that can be personally done about it, has to be one of the things that differentiates humans from other species. We have a mind. We have a soul. We have a functional and thoughtful brain if we choose to use it in such a manner.
Honesty and integrity is what we should do on an individual and collective level. If we are fed up with our friends, then we can say so politely and carefully. If we cannot see the commonalities with our so-called enemies then we should open up some means of communication to discover whether there is an essence of affinity somewhere.

Pretence is a nasty, insipid disease that has been carefully imbedded into our international political thinking. Blair lied. Bush didn’t even care if he was lying or not. Countries inflate their importance. People don’t tell the truth.
Jenkins is telling the two leaders here to do something; to think, to listen, to bury the hatchet, to make a choice that may have to include a back-track.

That is one thing that I also love about politics. It is ultimately about relationships and management of people. The world is far more connected and straight forward than some of us would like to think.
As Jenkins states with reference to Greek mythology, poor leaders are “always stirring up some war or other in order that the people may require a leader”.
Poor unenlightened people with no control over their emotions do the same.

It’s time to stop now but I do hope that over the next couple of weeks I will keep some sort of comment via this blog.
The intention is real even if the actual may be different.
Sounds like a politician’s mantra.

Words on Wales

Firstly, I need to point out something incredibly important before I continue with this writing.
I am a Francophile. I love everything about the country and I am more determined than ever that France is my place. It is and shall be my haven, my sanctuary but not my escape. The move will be positive and purposeful. Having spent the last couple of days travelling, I have not had the Tour de France on and have missed the final stages of this brilliant, intriguing and unique competition. As the weather is gloomy today in my current part of the world, it looks as though I am going to be able to enjoy seeing Paris in glorious sunshine for the conclusion of what has been an interesting Tour.

So, having established that I am a Francophile, I wondered whether there is an alternative for a lover of Wales. Am I a Cymruphile or a Pembophile, loving the extremities in the west more than other places in the country? Who knows but there must be a word for it somewhere, and once we have decided on an English word for a lover of all things Welsh, then what might the Welsh translation be? Or maybe I am a Westophile because the lure of Devon and Cornwall beckons me constantly too.

I am having to write this without the support of internet access which is a pain in the proverbial.
Last week, there was a great article in the newspaper about Sarah Palin and her propensity for making up words. I cannot even remember the word that she had managed to conjure up but needless to say, it wasn’t a real word.
When questioned on this error, she reminded the audience that she was in good company as previous presidents had also invented words (!) but more significantly, the great William Shakespeare had made words up so she was only doing the same.

The commonalities between William Shakesepeare and Sarah Palin: Discuss.
The answer to such an essay might be minimal other than they both probably married someone far too close in blood relationship.

But I think I have found a place for Sarah and her emerging linguistic skills.
She should come to Wales.

I’m convinced that they make the language up as they go along, which would suit the Hockey Mom from Alaska. Yesterday, for instance, I was travelling down a road between Barry and Cardiff that was called something like “Fford y Millenyai”
Okay, it wasn’t that exactly but it looked like Millennium Road, which considering we were heading for the Millennium buildings seemed apt. However, I had the sneaking suspicion that the Welsh equivalent for “millennium” might have been fashioned about twelve years ago, in time for the aforementioned buildings and the turning of the century – or indeed, millennium.

So, I thought that Ms. Palin would be very much at home here. It looks as though it is probably as wet here as it is in Alaska too.
And there are many words in Welsh that have more than a passing resemblance to English, i.e. they are English! So she could spend copious hours of enjoyment inventing translations.

But of course, I jest. Or I “cellwair”!

I want to write today in praise of two things: Wales and Words, not that the two things automatically go together.

The Welsh for “word” is “gair”.
Gairs are so important and getting them right is vital to convey true meaning and enable the listener or the reader to really understand precisely what is being said. Yesterday, I had the joy of looking at a range of articles in the newspaper where words were so important; in the context of their original usage and the way they were used by the writers for interpretation. I shall not go into details of every piece just now for that is following in the next blog but it just struck me as to how important words, and the right words, are.

Take Simon Jenkin’s piece on Nick Clegg who chose to use the apparently abhorrent “illegal” word when talking about the invasion of Iraq. The headline ran “Clegg told the truth on Iraq” implying that he had used exactly the right words but Downing Street begged to differ.
Nick Clegg said it was “the most disastrous decision of all”. Jenkins responded to say that “Downing Street hurriedly explained that what he actually meant was that the invasion was a triumph of British arms and as lawful as the driven snow”. Wordspeak. Excellent.

I sometimes wish the exact words and phraseology would come to me so that I do not end up stumbling and thrashing around for the right thing to say or write just at a time when I need it most.
I am very envious of people who know the precise thing to say in discussion or on paper. It is an immense skill and they should be encouraged and praised for their ability.

In another article, there was mention of the wording that is going to be used in the referendum on electoral reform. The lack of certain words such as “proportional representation” is a telling sign. I hope these words do not come back and taunt Mr. Clegg for an eternity.
In another article, words are going to be used to taunt another leader; one Mr Razzinger, aka La Papa, who on arriving in this country will see buses passing by bearing a message of hope to many Catholic women who believe that females can be ordained too. More on this later.
Words: How can we live without them?

My sat nav went all politically correct on me yesterday. No sooner had we ventured across the Severn Bridge that it decided I was on my way to Castell Newydd and Caerdydd rather than South Glamorgan’s famous cities in English. I ventured further along towards Abertawe, passing through all manner of places that were less familiar with their Welsh names. Not that this is a bad thing. Barry sound so more exotic when you call it “Barri” (where is Sarah Palin when you need her?) and Aberdelgleddau sounds far more interesting than Milford Haven.

Which brings me conveniently back to the my second point of writing.
Wales. Cymru.
It’s a wonderful place to be!

For some apparent reason unbeknown to me, unable to explain, I had booked a motel room just outside Port Talbot. We could have driven all the way to Pembrokeshire but as I was not sure what time we were leaving the Metropolis, I booked us into a 9/10ths stopper! That way, in the morning, there is but a short meander to our final destination.

Port Talbot has long been a family joke: as is Barry. On Friday, I managed to go to both.
The joke about Port Talbot is that it is always raining. The solid, confident hills arch over the town, framing it in natural darkness. On the other side there are the grey depths of the Bristol Channel. The linear town huddles between the two with the M4 sandwiched along its streets; a very odd place indeed.
At one end of the town is the length of the steel works that bellows out its perpetual boom of smoke. At the other, well, there is Aberavon that eventually roams across the estuary into Abertawe, better known as Swansea.

It’s a strange place.
It’s not the sort of place that you would come to on your holidays. There is something marginally depressing about it. It is a working town with a constant cloud and there doesn’t appear to be anything that would make you stay here.

I’m not being disingenuous. This sort of comment comes from a long list of Port Talbot born people, or certainly people from around this area such as Richard Burton, Anthony Hopkins, John Humphreys and indeed the very port Talbot born Rob Bryden. It is reiterated by friends of mine who have come from this place too. However, there is more than a glimmer in this gloom and it is too frequently ignored.

In the twilight of what was Friday evening, my family and I drove down to Aberavon. I was expecting a shallow, pebbled beach that was marred with industrial fluids from the factory to the east.
But I was wrong. What I found instead was a massive three mile beach (though locals may suggest it is actually longer than this), full of dark gold sand and a splendid view over the Mumbles. With a setting sun, it really did look quite spectacular and to prove the point, I have taken a photo to show that the camera cannot lie with an undoctored image of the place.

I decided that I would return in the morning for a decent walk which I did; alone apart from a couple of workers who were raking the sand in a tractor. Very Zen!

But it is something else that is really the main glimmer of hope. Having a beach to walk on, no matter what its state, has to be a good thing but as I walked along the shore yesterday, I held my head up and saw the omnipresent flame of the Steelworks, spluttering away whilst the town-folk stayed in bed.
And one thought came to mind.
In its way, this town survived Thatcher.
Isn’t that worth celebrating?

Obviously, the steelworks is not as big as it once was. The woman from Grantham saw to that but it kept on going. It survived where others vanished. Its flame still burns. A large container ship pulled into harbour as I walked, awaiting what I do not know. The coal is long since burned but there is still action at this site.

I did my O-Level geography in 1982. One of the themes studied was industrial Britain and I can remember the discussions we had about Port Talbot and the significance of its natural shallow waters and the surrounding mining industry.

I wonder what they study now.

My geography teacher was marginally impressed that he had met someone who had actually been to Port Talbot! I’m sure there were more around. My home town was inundated with teachers from the Valleys. I recall the diagrams that we had to draw with all the technical configurations of smelting house, burners, blast furnaces etc. Some are long since silenced but there is still action there.
For me it is interesting that I studied this so near to the demise of the mining industry in Wales and the effect that such a loss of finance did for places like Barry.

Barry, poor dear Barry! A natural bay with a delightful beach and a natural headland either side, Barry should be a winner but it isn’t.
Butlin’s went years ago and has been replaced with a crop of Barratt homes that look totally out of place. The Pleasure Island Park looked as though it stopped working in 1984 too but lo and behold there were some rides springing to life on Friday afternoon.
As I wandered through, I wanted to howl.
It was so depressing.
Rides that looked once gave such pleasure to people who deserved some fun for all the pitiful hard lives that they led, sat there motionless, decrepit and doomed.
Even with the sounds of Gavin and Stacey singing around the place, it still felt like a place that had lost its soul in the middle of the 80s.
Damn the woman and her politics. She really ought to be driven out to such communities to see what she has done. Or maybe Cameron could come along and see for her.

I return once more to Port Talbot. It didn’t really survive. Swathes of the town were dramatically affected by the reduction in output from the Steelworks but it kept going.
As we travelled down to Aberavon (the beach part of Port Talbot) you drove through a fairly large council estate. It could have been in the middle of any industrial town in the Midlands. It actually reminded me of parts of Dundee. It was clearly an inescapable victim of lack of investment and loss of jobs. Yet the South Wales Socialist Club towered impressively over neighbouring buildings and was well and truly open for business. The restaurant at the far end of the town was buzzing. The community had remained intact just about.

This isn’t a part of Wales that people want to see. As the Middle Classes drive through in their hoards with the bicycles and boogie boards attached to their roof racks, they like to close their eyes to the reality of the industrial past but there is a glimmer in Port Talbot that is fighting to survive.
And there is a very big part of me that hopes they do so.