Dad died in 1999, but it's not a heritage you escape. Sometimes one may feel deeply ashamed of what the police are or were - Orgreave, Hillsborough, the Birmingham 6. More often one is proud of our unarmed police who still manage to keep the streets safe, as they did when they took down the murderer of Jo Cox last year.
Today I am very proud, though I admit I wiped away a tear as I watched the funeral procession of PC Keith Palmer today. Thousands of police from all over the country lined the streets of London from Westminster Abbey to Southwark Cathedral. Elsewhere police left their offices, police stations and HQ buildings to stand, silent, as PC Palmer's cortege reached the cathedral. Significant numbers of people - ordinary locals, retired police, people who had made the journey specially - all stood in silence too.
The vast majority of our police carry no guns. Most of us prefer it that way. This is the first death of a police officer on duty for about eighteen months, since a Liverpool officer was run over by a criminal driving a stolen van. A couple of American students at the Shakespeare Institute happened to be in Liverpool on the day of his funeral and were blown away by the solemnity and sense of the whole community being involved. This funeral in Southwark was Liverpool amped up to 11.
I grieve for Mrs Palmer and her five-year-old daughter who will barely remember her father. I know the police "family" will look after them - I well recall my father, as senior officer of his subdivision, going to great lengths to help the widows of two officers who died off-duty, of natural causes, under his command. It can never be enough, but they will look after their own.
First, I want to bring everyone's attention to this new commercialasking people to send money and, "pledge support to President Donald Trump." This scares the hell out of me, and the only word I can think of is coup. </p>
And in case you missed it: While awful, awful things were happening in airports, some awful, awful things were happening in the White House.
An explanation written by Minneapolis clergywoman Meg Riley:
While the world was (understandably) focusing on the immigration executive order, a quieter – but equally disturbing – plot was developing.
Quick background: the National Security Council (NSC) is a federal council comprised of important high-level government officials including the President, Vice President, Secretary of State, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and Director of National Intelligence. The NSC’s primary job is to use this broad expertise to advise the President on national security matters and assist in carrying out security directives.
Yesterday, the President removed the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Director of National Intelligence from the NSC. He replaced them with Steve Bannon. Bannon has no government, intelligence, or high-level military experience; his experience is leading a propaganda outlet (Breitbart News) that peddles nationalist and white nationalist viewpoints.
This would be deeply concerning in and of itself. But one of the jobs of the NSC is to oversee a secret panel that authorizes the assassination of “enemies of the United States Government” – including American citizens. These targeted killings are fully authorized by law under the Congressional military authorization act following 9/11. There is no trial, no due process, and no public record of the decision or the assassination itself.
Just to recap the absurdity: the President of the United States has appointed a known propagandist, nationalist, and white supremacist to replace the highest military advisor in the country on a council that authorizes secret, legal, targeted killings of American citizens (and others) without due process.
What You Can Do: - Call your Senators and Congressperson this week and demand that they publicly and legislatively oppose Trump’s appointment of Steven Bannon to the NSC. - Spread the word about this news to your networks, since this is not getting a lot of coverage right now.
This stuff is scary even for those of us an ocean away.
Just now you have to laugh or cry. Mostly grimace through the tears. Boris seems to want to brown-nose Trump, while Farage is already doing so. Meanwhile, Trump's transition team is in a constant state of flux. It's even possible a Republican Congress will refuse to work with him (Though I'm not holding my breath, considering just how many jerks there are in politics.)
But we went to see Rhiannon and her Mummy today, and it's hard to stay too miserable with a baby in your life who smiles when she sees you and wants to play games. So, just in case it cheers you up too, here's a little more of our lovely little girl.
I am genuinely terrified of the possible result of Thursday's Referendum. I want my country back - not handed over to Farage, Boris, IDS, Gove and their goons. I believe we are part of Europe in every possible way, not just geographically. If we leave, we lose so much - not just economically but culturally and in domestic terms. That "red tape" the Brexit side goes on about? It's mostly stuff that protects me and people like me from rapacious exploitation - by the pals of Boris, Gove etc.
John Oliver, a Brummie by birth, says it all, really. And the song at the end is priceless.
Another much-loved National Treasure has left us. Victoria Wood was only 62, and may not have been as well known outside the country as her close friend Julie Walters, but she was an amazing comedian, writer and performer. Bloody cancer.
I'm going to share a couple of pieces of her brilliance. First, Acorn Antiques, a wonderful send-up of all that is bad in low-budget soaps (especially one called Crossroads). She isn't in this episode, but she wrote it.
A wonderful TV special from 1992 - she is the breakfast TV presenter, and several other characters. Julie Walters and Celia Imrie are in this again.
And, with the equally lamented Alan Rickman and a galaxy of other Brit stars, a superb Regency pastiche.
I've seen lots of posts, here and on FB, about the tenth anniversary of 7/7. I wasn't living in London, or nearby, as I was during the IRA bombing campaigns of the 80s, but the sheer scale of deaths, the horror of a double decker bus peeled open like a sardine can, the stories of the survivors all made a big impact. And there was the inevitable waiting for online friends to check in, worry that they could just have been in the zone. A friend of my younger daughter was worried because her mother commuted daily by train to the City, and could easily have been in one of the trains.
It's part of the experience of my life, since my late teens at least, to know of terrorist attacks, and know people who were, or could have been, near. My brother and his young family were at the other end of the street when the Warrington bomb killed two children. My father was on an IRA hit list. I've been in pubs and coffee shops that were later bombed. Like most Brits I have trained myself to respond with anger and determination not to give in, not to change my plans, routes or usual haunts because some bastard has tried to kill people.
It's not really 'stiff upper lip', any more than it's a failure to feel deeply enough. It's a coping strategy, in a small, densely-populated set of islands, where avoiding centres of population isn't really an option. You just have to get on with it, and making a fuss only makes that harder to do.
7/7 revealed flaws in preparations - the mobile networks collapsed, impeding emergency services communication. By sheer chance one bomb went off right next to the BMC, where a slew of senior doctors were available to do first aid. Otherwise the toll would have been higher. There were lots of stories of everyday heroism too. We've seen and heard a lot about them over the last day or so.
What really matters is that we keep going. I hope people will still take their holiday in Tunisia, go to Kings Cross by rail, take London buses routinely. Because if we stop doing any of these, the bastards really will have won.
I'm deeply saddened by the news of the death of Charles Kennedy, for many years an MP and a former leader of the LibDem party. I remember listening to entertaining three-way discussions in which he was partnered with Austin Mitchell and Julian Critchley, and remember above all his principled stand on the Iraq war. The world is poorer for his passing.
There's a report in the paper that Jeremy Clarkson has actually learned something from his bruising encounter with the BBC.
He's joining the Guardian.
Following what he described as a “dark night of the soul”, Clarkson said he hoped to “regain the trust of the British public” by dedicating his time and financial resources to sustainable energy, road safety and forging mutual understanding and tolerance between people of different cultures and religions. * * * * * * * *
I missed last month - still too dazed from The Wedding, I think.
Yesterday was busy, but fun. Mostly.
[Under the cut, to save your flist.] As usual, Dave brought me coffee in bed just before leaving for work. Unusually, I actually got up as soon as I had finished it. I pootled around, doing dishwasher tasks and the like, then pached a bag and left the house.
I drove over to the University campus, arriving in good time but with no better chance of finding an actual parking space. I parked in the place next door to the building I actually wanted - the Writing Department is a part of the Science Park, so it is among various office suites, and the Jaguar-Landrover offshoot had room. Naughty, but the alternative was parking at Tesco and walking, which would have made me late.
The occasion was the weekly meeting (during term time) of a writing group I recently joined. It's organised by a bunch of people who recently graduated from the MA in Writing course - it turned out that I knew almost everyone in the group. It follows the usual workshop plan; on the Monday we were sent three pieces of writing, on which we did, in effect, a thorough beta job. (Not that this term is actually familiar to the folks in the group, I suspect. I haven't actually admitted to the nature of most of my writing...) Each in turn goes through the main points, which are discussed by the group as a whole - we then hand over the papers or email the annotations if we've been working from a screen. It was very enjoyable - three very contrasting pieces of writing with much to discuss and a very good atmosphere. Serious criticism but also respect for the quality of the work and the aspirations of the writers. My turn to submit will be early next term. The University has now finished until mid-April.
After the workshop session, which lasted a bit over two hours, I passed on the chance to go for coffee with the others, which I did last week. I chatted briefly to Amelia, who did her MA in my first year, went back to Canada (BC) for a while, but has now come back to England, semi-permanently.
Then I drove down into Coventry, an interesting experience currently, as there are roadworks almost everywhere. Up the other side of town to the Foleshill Road, which is where the Indian community (well, South Asian - quite a few Pakistanis and Bangla Deshis as well as Indians) have their shops. This is something of a fun park for me - textiles, restaurants and supermarkets all close together. I browsed in Tahim's, which is the biggest of the fabric shops, then moved through several others, before finding what I was looking for - three identical ivory-coloured pashmina-style shawls, for the grand price of a fiver apiece.
After making the purchase I had time to kill, so I went into one of the many little cafés in the area - 'restaurant' is too posh a word. I had a samosa, a stuffed paratha and a dish of yoghurt for the princely cost of £1.90. The yoghurt was essential for mouth-cooling purposes, of course. I cruised round a few of the shops, because it's probably illegal to go to that area and not buy barfi (Indian sweetmeats. Very yummy.) I also bought a plastic bottle of lassi and some Bombay mix style snacks.
The lassi was a good idea, as I was thirsty and had a certain amount of time to kill, so I read my Kindle for a while - I am deeply into Claire North's Touch currently, and loving it.
The real purpose of my hanging around in Cov was a meeting I had at the Ramada, at 3.00pm. Sian, the lady in charge of conference lettings gave me coffee and we went over the basic plans for this year's writerconuk. More news on that before very long, I'm sure.
I called in at Hobbycraft before going home, and managed to be very strong and restrained and didn't buy all the paraphernalia for a new hobby. I was tempted by a die-cut machine, but I don't actually do cards and scrapbooking, some lovely pastels, but I have plenty currently, some books on sewing, some Easter decor stuff and several packs of fat quarters. Be impressed; I was.
I drove home, past the school where I used to work, which had a flag at half mast, which worried me a little - still haven't found out why that happened. I felt really positive about my day as I drove home.
When I got into the house I made coffee and settled down in front of the computer. My entire FB feed was full of tributes to Terry Pratchett, whose death had just been announced. Instant mood downer. Of course, I knew he was ill, of course I knew his time was limited, and each time he was on TV he was clearly less well. But still... We have all been cheated, by a vicious, insidious disease. Pterry was a great writer and a great man - warm, funny, essentially humane. I confess there may have been a few tears.
I rang my husband, who had not heard the news, and he decided to leave work early (it was nearly 7.00. That's the way he operates) and come home. We raised a glass of wine to Sir Terry, though we don't normally drink on a Thursday evening. It seemed appropriate, somehow.
We watched the usual mix of TV - the finale of the Sewing Bee. I felt the woman should have won, because Matt's 'avant-garde' dress really desperately needed pressing, and some of the seams under the hoop looked very skew. Then Banished, which none of my flist have mentioned, but we are enjoying it very much. It's based on the considerable amount of material available on the First Fleet which took the first convicts to found the penal colony in what would become Sydney. It has Julian Rhind-Tutt and Russell Tovey, so there is plenty of pretty to drool over, often sweaty and muscular bodies revealed in interesting contexts. I found myself looking up various of the characters on Wikipedia, which has a lot of good links to lists of the convicts. I knew quite a few of the names from Timberlake Wertenbaker's play Our Country's Good, which I taught at A Level. It's interesting to see what the 'real' people were like - rather hoping Russell Tovey's character doesn't follow the path his namesake did. Then Newsnight had a reasonable tribute to Sir Terry.
Bed at around midnight, in time to listen to more news. I am a Radio 4 junky, so it's the soothing tones of Sailing By that sent me to sleep.
Now our Birmingham lays claim to being the second largest city in England. Possibly Britain. It's enormous, multicultural, has a big shopping centre, including a Selfridge's, has more canals than Venice (but nowhere near as pretty.) I don't love the crowds, but I go there shopping when I need to, and it has a very high cultural profile - its own branch of the Royal Ballet, its own Symphony Orchestra, several good quality professional theatres - you get the picture.
Pretty it ain't, though. It's one of the places the original Industrial Revolution started, and it shows. So when the loony was forced to retract, it was even funnier when he apologised effusively, grovellingly, including: He said he would be issuing an apology on his website for "this comment about the beautiful city of Birmingham".
FB and Twitter have had a lot of fun this evening, as you can imagine:
One claimed: "Birmingham's refuse collectors are all Bin Laden."
Another tweet said: "As someone born and raised in Birmingham, I must admit there was a pressure to read the Kerrang."
(Reference to garbage cans, which we call bins, and to a Brum radio station.)
Also:
Ozzy Osborne was part of a Muslim sleeper cell known as Black Shaheed. Ozzy short for Osman #foxnewsfacts
After much lobbying from jihadists, band Duran Duran is to change their name to Quran Quran #foxnewsfacts
Spaghetti junction was renamed Halal Meat Ring Road when the Caliphate was established in 1934.
The city is now called Birming because Ham is not halal.
Radical cleric Mullah Kintyre demands everyone should bow down to Macca to pray five times each day.
And possibly my favourite:
British citizens respond to new sharia laws ordering hijabs on tableware, with flair and imagination. #foxnewsfacts
In other news we have more fairy lights in the house than any sane person would know what to do with, fur fabric fibres still floating about though I've lost count of the number of times the room's been vacuumed. And the cape needs a collar and it will be finished.
I got new fabric to line the cape (satin-backed crepe - or is that crepe-backed satin?) and have cut out everything except the interfacing, so tomorrow should see the sewing machine full speed ahead. I spent a lot of time doing traditional tailors' tacks to mark out the placing for the slit for the hands, which I am terrified of getting skewiff.
The news from Paris has haunted me all day, yet when he got home at eightish Dave hadn't even heard, so we had a grim hour of TV news, which may be why we've watched repeats on Dave most of the rest of the evening. The attack on the office of Charlie Hebdo is horrific, but worse is the fear of self-censorship that may ensue. I rather feel for Ian Hislop right now.
The week after next is going to be even busier than planned - within six days there will be The Wedding, a funeral in Yorkshire and a graduation. Definite plans for a day in bed at the end of that week!
Another internet friend died today. Claire was somebody I first met on Compuserve and reconnected with on FB. Her husband was a retired minister and she was dedicated to church music and to the natural world - she loved migratory creatures like whooping cranes and monarch butterflies in particular. She was sweet and gentle and will be missed.
We have no protocol, no tradition, no ritual for the loss of internet friends. So many just go away, whether to other platforms, to RL concerns or to death - who knows? I think of so many LJ friends who just stopped coming - keswindhover, peasant_, frimfram, mabus101, selinde2, beanbeans and many more. In some cases I know where they went or why, in others, no idea. Some I know have new babies, new jobs, massive changes of life or interests. But, my point is, if they died, or if many of my still-posting friends died, I wouldn't necessarily know. And when someone does leave us terminally, we often only find out via a kind friend or family member. Last year we lost louise39 and pickamix and we were at least able to share some of our sadness. With those who "just vanish" we never can.
I don't know there is a solution. I find myself mildly disturbed by some of pickamix's scheduled postings, so long after she left us, but at least she had time to say her goodbyes. I wish I knew about others, like scheherezade1, whom I met once at a JM concert, but who has not been here for years.
I love my flist - and it is hard explaining to people without our level of internet engagement why the loss of a pixel friend diminishes me as much as if it were a promontory, fills me with sadness and loss. You will "get it", though, I hope.
My nails are splitting and crumbling. I may have to avoid shaking hands at The Wedding. Shallow? Moi?
We all have memories, I'm sure, of laughing at something he was in until we were helpless. How sad that he couldn't find his own inner happiness or peace.
I've just booked a hotel room and membership for the World SF convention in London next month. Several people I know are involved in running/planning/speaking, but I'm feeling somewhat nervous - it's a long time since I've been to a really big con.
In other news, my nephew not only got a First in Maths but also came top of his university. The very old one half an hour south of Banbury. Hard to beat that - yes, he's going straight on to PhD study.
I was saddened by the news of Rolf Harris's conviction. I always found Savile and Hall creepy, but when I was a child I thought Rolf was wonderful. I just hope no more of my childhood heroes are tainted.
ETA: UpdateThe fire is out, and investigations are proceeding. Apparently car-owners could collect their cars if they went to the Council Offices by 4.00. Glad to know they are working hard for the ratepayers.
Motorists were unable to recover their cars after the fire broke out.
The fire service say people can collect their cars by reporting to the Council House before 16:00 GMT.
"We have lost one of the most influential, courageous, and profoundly good human beings that any of us will share time with on this earth. He no longer belongs to us - he belongs to the ages," (President Obama)
"A good head and good heart are always a formidable combination. But when you add to that a literate tongue or pen, then you have something very special.” ― Nelson Mandela
“I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can only rest for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not ended.” ― Nelson Mandela
His walk is ended now, and it is for us, all of us, to carry on his torch.
He was only 60; that's no age. (And Brucie just keeps on going...)
He was so talented and so funny. Non-Brits may know him as the Albino in The Princess Bride, but any Brit of my generation will remember him as part of the Not the Nine O'Clock News team, and for his partnership with Griff Rees-Jones.
Clearly this is about planning for the long term. Tony Robinson, Baldrick, writer, actor, presenter of Time Team, all-round Good Egg, has just been awarded a knighthood. Rowan Atkinson, his boss in four series, has a CBE, not to be sneezed at, but not as posh.
Well done Sir Tony!
"The 66-year-old said he had been left "a little gob-smacked".
"I also pledge that from this day on I'll slaughter all unruly dragons, and rescue any damsels in distress who request my help.""
The events in Boston are horrific, whoever did them.
So are other bombings, everywhere, which destroy lives even for the survivors. In far too many places all over the world. Let us try to remember all such victims, especially those killed or hurt earlier today in Iraq.
Why, in the name of all possible gods, does anyone believe blowing up innocent people proves or achieves anything?
Not many MPs have a pair of Oscars, but Glenda Jackson does, and shows all her theatrical expertise in her speech to Parliament today. They were summoned for a day of tribute to Thatcher - most of her real opponents stayed away or tempered their language in respect for the death. She said it how it was. And use the word "heinous" twice.
I'm not in any mood to party, and the use of the word "Rejoice" is forever tainted for me, just as are the words of the prayer of St Francis, which she quoted on her entry to Downing Street before proceeding to do the exact inverse in virtually every case.
I'm old enough to be able to remember the suffering she caused, the needless wars she provoked, the mass privatisation at knockdown prices of what even a previous Tory PM called "the family silver", the changes made in her era to bank regulation and council house tenancies which kick-started the debt culture of today.
She was formidable. But so is Sauron. She knew what she wanted and believed in it passionately. So did Voldemort. She introduced despicable laws to attack GLTB people. She destroyed the manufacturing basis of my country. She wrecked communities, especially in the North.
I did my celebrating when her own party turned on her after she forced through new, unjust taxes which provoked riots not seen again until the present Tory government. I rejoiced when she wiped away a tear on leaving No 10. Now I find that I don't really care that a sick old woman died in the Ritz. I do care about the legacy of division and bitterness she left.
And that someone rich enough to live in the frigging Ritz will get a grandiose funeral at her country's expense. I say she should be accorded the cost of a pauper's funeral and the rest should be privatised. Sponsored by her rich friends or paid for by her wealthy son out of the profits he made via his mummy's connections.
I remember her as triumphant, mostly over the misery of other people. I do not party, but I certainly will not mourn.
The Pope is retiring. Last time this happened Henry V was fighting Agincourt. However, on that occasion it was Gregory XII stepping down in an attempt to heal the Great Schism - resigning at the same time were two other Popes - the Antipope, elected in Pisa, John XXIII and the Avignon Pope (taken very seriously as a pope, especially in France), Benedict XIII. Note the name.
Other Popes resigned - one, Celestine V, made a decree in 1294 (around the time Edward I of England was invading Wales and hammering the Scots) - Celestine announced it was OK for a Pope to resign, then put his money where his mouth was and promptly did so.
Apart from him and a Martin who was tortured to death in Byzantium (they took their religion very seriously then), however, there were two other Popes of a retiring nature. Both called Benedict:
Benedict V (964): Forced to stand down by Holy Roman Emperor Otto I, who had another preferred candidate Benedict IX (1032-45): Sold papacy to his godfather, then had change of mind and tried to seize it back - he was later excommunicated. (More at the BBC)
Perhaps this Pope would have been more inclined to hang around if he'd selected a different regnal name?
Whoever takes over has one heck of a job on his hands. I wonder if he will manage to drag the Church at least into the twentieth century - the current one is probably too much to hope for.
In which I ramble about life, the universe, the Buffyverse, the world of my work and studies, my family, my friends and my sometimes overheated imagination...
sad
blah
All in the past
